A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch

Astaroth crouched on the truck floorboard, keeping his head down. The position was uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to risk being seen.

After what felt like an eternity, footsteps approached. His pulse accelerated . . . then calmed when Calladia appeared at the driver’s side door.

“Took you long enough,” Astaroth groused, clambering onto the seat once he’d peeked out the window to confirm no one was watching. His knees popped, and his muscles ached from being in one position too long. A faint, delicious smell hit his nostrils, and he sniffed. Instantly, he was transported to another time and place. “You ate curry?” he asked, mouth watering. “There’s an Indian restaurant down the street from my flat. Nothing quite like it.”

“Yeah? Tell me more about your flat,” Calladia said, starting the truck.

“My flat is . . .” Astaroth trailed off, realizing he’d spoken without thinking and produced something tangible. “Wait, I remembered something!”

Her lips curved. “You sure did.”

Exhilaration rushed through him. It was as if the spiced scent of curry had roused the memory from its slumber. A scene played out vividly in his head: rain-slicked pavement, the whoosh of passing black cabs, the lights and chatter of a London night. “I have a flat in Islington,” he said, thinking of black upholstery and Art Deco interior design. “I’ve lived all over England, but London’s always been my favorite. There’s so much of humanity to experience there.”

“You like experiencing humanity?” Calladia asked as she drove out of the neighborhood. “That seems odd for a demon.”

“Mortals live such colorful lives. It’s fascinating.” Humans were bright but fleeting, like flowers that opened at dawn and perished at dusk. He outlived them all, yet they still managed to surprise him.

No one was more surprising than this particular mortal. He studied Calladia, contemplating her contradictions. Her features were delicate, but her demeanor was ferocious. She might weep, then immediately vow revenge. She hated him but had rescued him anyway, and now she was taking him with her.

“What did you learn from Ozroth?” he asked.

“Apparently you and Moloch have hated each other for pretty much forever,” Calladia said. “As for why he’s trying to kill you, Oz thinks it has something to do with a wager you lost, but he doesn’t know the specifics. Just that you placed a bet on his success in taking Mariel’s soul.”

Wagers were an essential method of conflict resolution in demonic society. What price had been named though? The uncertainty was maddening. “What else did he say? What weaknesses does Moloch have?”

“Beheading, I guess.” Calladia flicked on the turn signal. “But he’s apparently an incredible swordsman who will gut us before we get near, so we’ll need to get creative.”

The words we and us hung in the air between them like shining Christmas baubles, beautiful yet fragile. Astaroth didn’t remark on it, lest she immediately revise the sentiment into something less collaborative, but a warm spark lit in his chest.

Calladia unlocked her phone and gave it to him. “Here, read these instructions.”

Astaroth squinted at the notes on the screen. “What’s this?”

“Alzapraz is Mariel’s ancestor, and he referred us to a life witch who can hopefully help us kill Moloch or at least mess him up. She also does memory magic and can maybe help your amnesia.”

“What?” Hope surged as Astaroth looked up. “Wait, did you tell them about me?”

She shook her head. “Alzapraz knows, but he’ll keep it a secret. Anyway, this witch is named Isobel, and she’s super old and lives in the woods.” She jerked her chin at him. “Directions, please.”

Astaroth cleared his throat, then started reading. “Head east and begin the fable. Stalk the red deer, and when you have found it, ask for advice. You shall be directed toward nature’s bosom and the middle of the beginning of the end of your journey.”

“Wait, what?” Calladia pulled over, then snatched the phone out of his hand. “Give me that.” She reread the words, lips moving silently, then gaped at the screen. “What the actual fuck is this?”

“A quest, apparently,” Astaroth said. “You didn’t ask for more details?”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.” She poked the screen, then held the phone to her ear. Astaroth heard faint, tinny ringing. He leaned in, unabashedly eavesdropping, until Calladia rolled her eyes and put the phone on speaker.

“Hello, Calladia,” an ancient-sounding man said.

“Hey, Alzapraz,” Calladia said. “I just looked at the directions you gave. They make no sense.”

“Sense can be surprisingly subjective.”

Calladia looked like she was biting back a sharp retort. “What do they mean, then?”

Alzapraz coughed before replying. “I thought it was fairly obvious.”

Calladia covered her eyes with her free hand. “Alzapraz, this is a bunch of nonsense about fables and a red deer and nature’s bosom.”

“It is!” He sounded delighted.

“Bloody warlocks,” Astaroth muttered under his breath.

“You don’t have an address or anything?” Calladia asked. “Or a phone number?”

“What would be the fun in that? This is the half of the puzzle I have, and the red deer will have the rest.” Chatter sounded in the background. “Ooh, brownies. Happy questing!”

The call disconnected.

Calladia tossed the phone onto the seat, then thumped her forehead against the steering wheel. “Why?” she asked. Another thump. “Why can’t anything be easy?”

Astaroth was inclined to agree. There was a time and place for witchy drama, but this was not it. “Did he say how long the trip would be?”

“No, but he showed me the general area on the map. I’d bet a day or two.” She sat up straight, yanking on her disheveled ponytail. “There’s nothing to be done for it tonight. Let’s find a camping spot.”

As they headed east, Calladia explained that the first part of the quest, at least, wouldn’t be too bad. Because of the steep hills and mountains bordering Glimmer Falls to the east, there was only one road leading that way. It wound up a slope between the area’s famed hot springs, then dipped into the next valley. Halfway down the hill was a pullout that led to a decent camping spot near a stream.

Astaroth liked the sound of that stream. They both smelled like smoke, and he wanted to wash the remaining soot out of his hair. Granted, it would be followed by sleeping on the ground like an animal, but at least he’d be a clean animal.

The forest surrounded them, trees interlacing overhead and blocking out the night sky. Calladia’s headlights provided the only illumination, highlighting the twists of the road as they rose in elevation. Periodically, the beams caught something in the woods: a plume of steam rising from the ground, the scaled green loop of a snake dangling from a branch, a flash of movement that set the bushes rustling.

It was a beautiful area, vibrant with life and magic. He might have enjoyed exploring if it wasn’t for the situation, but right now he only wanted three things: his memory, a bath, and a sword. Moloch’s severed head would be a bonus, but as that was unlikely to fall in his lap, he focused on more attainable things.

“Do you know where to get a sword?” he asked Calladia.

“Yes.”

Astaroth perked up. “Can we go there?”

“Nope.” She gave him a sardonic look. “I may be helping you find Isobel, but I’m not going to arm you.”

“How else will I behead Moloch?”

“Did you miss the super successful and scary swordsman part? Ozroth says he’s better than you.”

Astaroth scowled. “Don’t underestimate my ability with a blade. I have at least one foggy memory of wreaking havoc on a battlefield.”

“Cool story, bro,” she said. “Let me know when you spot a battlefield.”

The witch was mean. Oddly, Astaroth didn’t find it upsetting. He eyed her profile, amused that someone with the bone structure of a storybook princess had the manners of a feral cat. She was full of contradictions, which made Astaroth want to learn everything about her. “You’d be fearsome on a battlefield, too,” he said. “Eviscerating enemies right and left with that sharp tongue.”

“I’m going to eviscerate you with more than my tongue if you don’t shut up and let me drive.” Her lips had quirked at his comment though.

Astaroth settled against the seat, satisfied at having provoked the smile from her. “Very well. My vow of silence begins now.”

“How long will it last?” she asked.

He made a show of considering. “At least . . . two minutes.”

Calladia made a stifled snorting sound. “Don’t make me gag you.”

“Kinky,” he said, biting his lower lip. “Will you tie me up, too?”

“Yep, I’ll tie you to a tree in the woods overnight. It’s supposed to rain.”

Astaroth shivered. Tent camping was bad enough. “I’m shutting up.”

Calladia smirked. “Atta demon.”