“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.”
TWELVE
Despite his grumbling about sleeping outdoors, Astaroth proved adept at helping set up the tent. Calladia hammered in a stake by the light of a glowing orb she’d conjured, sneaking glances at him. His brow was furrowed with concentration as he threaded a pole through the orange rain fly.
It felt odd to work together like this. Sure, they’d fought Moloch and fled together, but that hadn’t been an organized effort. This was a smaller, more domestic task, and the way he took direction and anticipated what tools she needed was honestly kind of nice.
“I would kill for a bath,” Astaroth said once the tent was assembled. He wiped his forehead. “There’s soot caked in unmentionable areas.”
Calladia retrieved her bugout bag from the back seat of the truck and dug through it until she found wet wipes and dry shampoo. “Here,” she said, tossing them over. “Better than nothing. The stream’s down the slope.” Once he was done, she’d take a turn.
“I’ll return shortly.” Astaroth scooped up the bag of clothes she’d bought him and a battery-powered lantern and disappeared into the forest.
Calladia turned to scan the woods opposite. This wasn’t an official campground, just a secret spot she and Mariel had discovered that was barely large enough for a tent. Calladia breathed in the scent of pine trees and sighed, shoulders relaxing for maybe the first time that day.
Astaroth returned dressed in the black pants and blue shirt she’d bought him. He bent to stash the bag in the tent, and Calladia couldn’t help a quick ogle. The pants looked unreasonably good stretched over his muscular ass, and she cursed herself for not buying a pair of baggy sweatpants instead. It was just that in the store, her eyes had been drawn to the black sheen of faux leather, and she’d instantly known he would like them.
Why that should matter, she didn’t know.
“How are the clothes?” she asked.
He turned to face her, holding out his arms in a ta-da pose. “What do you think?”
The shirt was a bit baggy, but the pale blue color echoed his eyes, and the pants looked indecently good from the front as well. Calladia swallowed. “Seems fine,” she said, trying to sound indifferent. “Do the shoes fit?”
He looked down at the plain white tennis shoes. “A bit naff, but very comfortable.”