The Witch Queen of Halloween

Rök’s claws scrabbled along the edge of the hole as he fought  the ungodsly suction.

Something I said?

By the time he’d powered his way out, the witch had left him without a glance back. He heard the light tap of her boots as she climbed the stairs.

She knew I could get out of there. Surely, she knew.

He jogged up the steps after her. Okay, maybe he could have been cooler in the moment, but when he’d seen her eyes brimming with concern for him, an uncontrollable thrill had seized him. “Wait up,” he called.

Shoulders tense, she strode back in the direction of the foyer.

He followed her out into the spottily lit entryway. “What gives?”

She turned to him with shimmering hands. “You let me waste a pouch on you! Each one takes a day to prepare, and now it will fizzle away to nothing.” The light from her palms intensified. “Unless I use it.”

“Ah, but you wouldn’t, because I’m growing on y⁠—”

Her blast sent him tumbling down the hall. “The hell, witch!” He scrambled to his feet, then loped back to her. “You’re out-of-bounds.”

“Because it’s all a game? Tonight might be a joke to you—a bit of seduction for fun—but this is my life! Now I’m down a pouch with hours left to go.”

“You’re here to break the curse, aren’t you? I can’t imagine you’d take bullshit like this lying down.”

Her chin rose a notch. Unwilling concession.

“Why here? Did this wizard hex you?” Rök’s fangs sharpened again.

“No, he died before the curse struck. But something in this castle is supposed to help me.”

“How do you know?”

Exhaling, she lowered her hands, her pique dwindling. He’d learned this witch had a fiery temper, but the storms were quick to pass. “I went to Mariketa the Awaited last week. She tried to sense how to break the curse and came up with one instruction: go to this castle on this night, a lone witch, to find my answer.”

“That’s it? Fortune cookies say more!”

Poppy sighed and gave him a look: You’re not wrong.

“Can’t you get some other Wiccan to help you?”

“I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything.”

“If you found out who did this to you, couldn’t you force them to lift it?”

“If. If only. We’ve found no trace of whoever did this.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I first saw a visitor for only an instant. Now they come sunset to sunrise on Halloween, getting stronger and stronger. Soon, they’ll start to bleed over into other days. I’ve plotted the trajectory of visits; eventually the nightmares will be constant, and I’ll be insane.” She gazed up at him. “Or worse. Rök, what if they stay embodied outside the castle? I sense they will. They’ve got a real taste for it now.”

“Then we have to uncover who cursed you. Who are your main suspects? I can help you track them.”

“I’m not telling you anything else until you reveal why you’re here. Who hired you, and what are you looking for?”

When he hesitated, she said, “What if your job is to find the very thing I need? Mariketa gave me a last piece of advice: If you find your prize in the castle, don’t let them steal it from you. I thought the tip was strange, because she knows I’m a witch merc; no one steals from me.” Poppy raised her hands again, managing a faint glow. “No one.”

“I’m not here to steal from you.” Recognizing he had no choice but to come clean, he admitted, “I’m only here because of . . . you.”

She canted her head. “Why me?”

He scrubbed a palm over his mouth, debating how much of his day he should divulge.

Earlier . . .

Rök sat at the bar in Erol’s, phone in his hand, staring at the selfie of him and Poppy from their date. They’d been standing side by side, all but melting into each other, and he’d had the crook of his arm around her neck. Her eyes had been merry, those coral lips curled into a smile.

They looked like they’d taken a thousand such pictures together. Seconds after that snap, they’d been kissing as a warm rain fell.

Gods below, that witch could kiss.

Since then, he’d tried to convince himself he didn’t need a certain red-haired Wiccan in his life. But whenever he saw her now, heat banked inside him. Involuntary smoke would emerge from his fingertips and the ends of his horns.

Humans never would guess that demons had souls. But we do.

And Rök believed that Poppy Dyer was the other half of his.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and signaled for another refill, surveying the busy bar. This holiday wasn’t usually anything special because every day was Halloween in the Lore. It just meant immortals could move among humans more readily.

With the Accession in full swing, though, everything took on new significance.

Erol’s was packed to the rafters with Loreans looking either for hookups—or for power. Couples in the back groped while others huddled over drinks, plotting for an upper hand. Alliances were formed; backs were stabbed; pleasure was had.

Immortals, man.

Tired of it all, he ignored glances from amorous females. The prospect of empty bedsport left him cold, had for years. Resisting the urge to look at that pic again, he wondered how long he’d have before his next awkward summoning.

The bartender, a seal shifter from California, brought over a pitcher of brew, frowning at Rök’s empty steel mug.

Apparently, he’d crushed it. He muttered, “Put it on my tab.” He needed another job, a truly grueling one to lose himself in.

The shifter gestured to one of Rök’s horns and said in a get-a-grip tone, “My dude . . .”

“Huh?” Rök reached up and found a piece of his cabin’s siding stuck on the tip—from where he’d been ramming his horns against the wall. Dark gods, the state of me. He yanked off the wood, crumbling it in his fist.

On a scale from not fucked up to completely fucked up, Rök was redlining the FU max limit. A demon denied his mate didn’t get to be a selfless gentleman. In this strung-out shape, Rök came to a conclusion: I can’t hold out any longer. I need⁠—

“Poppy.”

He jerked his head up when someone mentioned her name.

Not far down the bar, a raven-haired female with flashing eyes poked Deshazior, a demon transporter, in his burly chest. “You’ll tell me where you traced her, or I’ll permanently blast your demonic testicles right off your demonic body.”

It was Poppy’s older sister, Lea, a witch so fierce she must channel the Furies. She couldn’t find Poppy and was worried, which meant Rök was seriously bloody worried. He’d bet the other Dyer sisters were out combing the city.

Though Lea’s threat would make most males quaver, Desh, a storm demon as old as dirt and a former pirate, didn’t flinch. He nodded at Lea with understanding, replying in his salty accent: “Wish I could help ye, luv. Don’t know a Poppet.”

“You bought a pouch from Poppy last week! You run the Luber service”—Lore Uber—“and I overheard you two talking about a trip together.”

A trip together? Desh was like a bad penny. Rök had laughed when Cade got jealous over Holly’s friendship with Desh. Now that storm demon was teleporting around with Poppy in his arms!

Lea snapped, “You’ll take me to her now, or I’ll GELD you!” Her palms began to glow with magic.

Desh pulled at the collar of his T-shirt, one that read: Luber Teleporting! No job too small, some jobs too big. “I got a privacy policy. Can’t help ye.”

“We’ll see, demon.” Her raised hands crackled, the rattle before a strike.

In a balls-preserving move, Desh traced away midbeam, leaving his barstool pulverized.

“Damn it!” Lea glared around the room. Immortals, unfazed by the confrontation, shrugged and got back to business.

Rök traced over to her. “What happened to Poppy?”

Lea sneered at him. “Well, if it isn’t Rök Kours. I’m surprised your summoners allowed you outside of a bedroom.”

He remembered that sneer from the last time they’d talked, when he’d charged over to Poppy’s house straight from that restaurant two years ago.

Lea had intercepted him in the yard and had uncannily seen what he’d suspected—that Poppy was his fated one. . . .

Lea raised her glowing palms, threatening him with battle magic. “Poppy might be yours, but you are not hers. Wiccans don’t have mates. What we have is untapped potential and a need for magical protection. When Poppy takes a warlock for her partner, he will unlock her powers, and our entire coven will be strengthened. You can’t do that for her. You’ll only hobble her for the rest of her life. How selfish are you?”

“I could protect her.” Was he really declaring for Poppy? This was all happening fast. Why wouldn’t this witch let him see her?

The light in Lea’s palms grew brighter, her expression murderous. “Or you could leave her alone and let her develop her own powers in order to protect herself. Let me explain this to you simply, demon. You’re in a quandary. . . .”

Now Rök said, “Two years ago you told me about my quandary, that if Poppy was my mate and I was decent, I would let her go for her own good.” Rök hadn’t at first. But after Poppy had stood him up and started seeing that warlock, he’d realized that she likely agreed with her sister.

So for years he’d suffered because he’d wanted to do the right thing by his female. Chaos had been his partner.

No more. Baring his fangs, he said, “Since then, I’ve accepted two things. Poppy is mine. And I am not decent.” With that, he traced away to search for Desh.

Figuring the storm demon would head to one of his other favorite haunts, Rök teleported to the shadows behind Lafitte’s, a low-key bar. Sure enough, Desh was inside, carousing with the humans despite his huge horns. Even outside of Halloween, he mingled with mortals, claiming cosplay for his appearance.

Rök noted he’d changed his T-shirt to one that read: Big Easy Prosthetics! For every horny occasion!

“I smell a smoke demon!” Desh called. “Where ye been, Rök? How’s Rothkalina these days? I wouldn’t know ’cause I haven’t transported a single client there. Or anywhere for that matter. I don’t even have clients! All too private, see?”

Wasting no time, Rök said, “I don’t often blackmail, but when I do, I do it quickly.” Though Cade always razzed Rök about his spy intrigues, sometimes they worked a trick. “You remember the dirt I uncovered on you?”

Desh swallowed. “What do ye want?”

“For you to trace me to wherever you took Poppy.”

“None doing.” Desh crossed his beefy arms over his chest. “I’m no angel, mind ye, but I can weather some blackmail more than me business can a privacy violation.”

Seeing no other recourse, Rök played the one card all demons would respect.

And Desh bent the rules.

Good thing too. Or Poppy would be dead.