“Also no. Are you done with the pointless questions?” Because as soon as Astaroth claimed the floor, he would let the rest of the council know what kind of snake they held to their bosom.
“Not quite.” Moloch sauntered around the table, looking like the cat that got the canary. “You’ve always been overly fascinated with humans, haven’t you?”
Foreboding prickled down Astaroth’s spine. “I would hardly call it a fascination,” he said, striving for a bored tone. “I spend time among them to better learn how to manipulate them into bargains.”
“So you’ve always said. The flat in London, the many, many mortals you’ve had carnal relations with—yes, I know all about that—the ridiculous fashion shows you attend . . . all of it is to better manipulate humans, hmm?”
Moloch knowing that Astaroth had shagged mortals was not good. While many demons appreciated humans, seeing them as symbiotic counterparts, the conservative members of the high council disdained them as lesser beings, and Astaroth had always been careful to keep the, ah, extent of his interactions with humans a secret. “What’s your point?” he asked.
“I’ve wondered about you for centuries.” Moloch stopped just out of range of the sword hidden in Astaroth’s cane. Pity. “Something’s always seemed . . . different about you.”
The smile vanished as cold sweat beaded on Astaroth’s forehead. Moloch couldn’t know . . . could he? “It’s probably the long track record of success,” Astaroth said. “You haven’t had a decent war to fight in decades.”
“I did some research,” Moloch said, ignoring the barb. “The records around your birth are surprisingly sparse. With a mother like Lilith, one would think she’d trumpet the immediate arrival of an heir, rather than wait forty years to claim you as her son.”
“Who can say why Lilith does anything?” Astaroth asked. “She’s mad.” Fear festered in his gut though, and his throat felt tight. There was a reason his wonderful, exasperating mother hadn’t publicly claimed him right away, and if it was revealed, the high council would never see Astaroth the same way again. Which would be a death sentence for his ambitions.
Ambition—power—was everything. It was the only thing.
“I do agree she’s insane,” Moloch said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a leather-bound book with gilt edges. “But Lilith’s diary contains some very interesting information.”
Bloody fucking fuck. Did his cursed mother have to document her entire life? She had a whole bookshelf of similar-looking diaries in her den, filled out over the centuries, but Astaroth had never dreamed she’d write down the secret the two of them alone shared.
“What part of Lilith is insane are you missing?” Astaroth snapped to cover up his unseemly fear. “Just because she wrote something down doesn’t mean it’s true. She writes explicit Wars of the Roses tentacle fan fiction, too.” Way, way too much Wars of the Roses tentacle fan fiction, which she posted to AO3 like a horny human teenager rather than the millennia-old demoness she was.
“Wow,” Sandranella drawled. “Are the tentacles aligned with Lancaster or York?”
“I wouldn’t say aligned with so much as inside of,” Astaroth said, “but that’s not the point. If she can confidently write Henry VI taking it up the arse from a Yorkist squid, she very well might have invented all sorts of falsehoods about me.”
Moloch bared his teeth. “You’re very defensive for someone who doesn’t even know what I’m accusing you of. Unless you do?”
Astaroth struggled to shove down his rising panic. Proper demons—powerful demons—didn’t panic. Moloch was speaking in vagaries in hopes of prompting a confession. “Whatever it is, I know it’s nonsense.”
“Maybe,” Moloch said with a shrug. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
Baphomet tapped on the table. “Enough of these cryptic clues,” he said in that rumbling bass voice. “Let’s move on with the session.”
Right. Because after whatever devastating punishment Astaroth was about to receive, the council would carry on as always, discussing everything from community resources to the growing unrest among the hybrids who chose to live in the demon plane rather than the plane of origin of their nondemon parent.
Astaroth’s stomach churned again. He was one of the few voices on the high council in favor of protecting the rights of the hybrids and nondemons who lived on-plane. It was a tricky balancing act, and without his input, more conservative voices would prevail. If Baphomet didn’t intervene—and he wouldn’t if the majority were in favor of Moloch’s plans—the council would swerve in a fundamentalist direction it would take centuries to course-correct.
“Very well,” Moloch said. “Let’s discuss the terms of my victory. Obviously, Astaroth will be removed from the high council.”
Astaroth’s blood raged at the demotion, though he had planned to do the same to Moloch. Still, the punishment could have been worse, and there was always scheming to be done. Once Moloch was discredited, Astaroth would be back on top. “If you insist, I will gracefully resign for the moment,” he said, preparing to stand. “But first, I have some information to share with the council—”
“I’m not finished,” Moloch said sharply. He snapped his fingers, and a gargoyle leaped down from the rafters to open the council room doors. “The second part of your punishment will take place now.”
Astaroth stared, confused and alarmed, as a woman with long black hair and pointed ears entered. She wore glitter-spangled velvet robes and a necklace with a dramatic, cage-like silver pendant. When he opened his demon senses, he saw the golden glow of a soul emanating from her chest. A human witch, then, one descended from some fae creature. “Who is this?”
Moloch smirked. “You’ll find out.”
Another snap, and more gargoyles jumped down. These ones gripped Astaroth’s arms with granite fingers, keeping him in his chair.
“Get your hands off me,” Astaroth said, struggling to break free. There was a reason the gargoyles were used as demonic security though, and their stony strength was more than enough to subdue him. “Everyone needs to know something about Moloch—”
Moloch talked over him again. “Astaroth, formerly of the Nine, I hereby banish you to Earth.”
Astaroth’s head spun. “What? No!” He liked Earth, but he couldn’t shape demon politics if he was stuck there full-time.
Sandranella stood, looking alarmed. “Moloch, that’s an excessive punishment.”
Moloch shrugged. “He accepted the wager.”
Sandranella turned to Baphomet. “You must put a stop to this. It sets a dangerous precedent.”
“Moloch is right,” Baphomet said. “Astaroth accepted the wager. He can take the punishment.”