A breeze sighed through the clearing, ruffling Sandranella’s white curls. “Moloch brought a witch to your banishment. He said she would cast a spell to prove you’d been lying to the council. You seized up when she cast it, and then Moloch booted you through a portal to Earth. After you were gone, he told us the witch could alter human life spans, and since she had just altered yours, it was proof of your half-human heritage.” She gave Astaroth a scathing look. “You should have told me about that centuries ago. You know I support hybrid rights.”
“In his defense,” Lilith said, “I told him if anyone found out he would be stripped of power and publicly humiliated. Oh, and possibly tortured for lying to the high council.” She shrugged. “I wish society wasn’t so regressive, but it is what it is.”
Astaroth was stuck on one thing. “What did the witch do to my life span?” he asked, feeling a heavy swell of dread.
Sandranella grimaced. “I’m sorry to tell you, but the witch . . . made you mortal.”
* * *
Mortal.
Astaroth stared at the demoness, head spinning. “She can do that?” he asked, dumbfounded.
The word kept echoing in his head like a bell calling the dwindling hours of his life. Mortal. Mortal. Mortal.
Mortal meant slower healing of injuries. It meant wrinkles and white hair and droopy bollocks, and he wanted nothing to do with it.
Calladia looked shocked. “That must be why you’re sleeping and eating so much,” she said.
Astaroth had never felt such a nauseating mix of terror and helplessness. “Can it be magically reversed?”
“I don’t know.” Calladia’s forehead furrowed. “I’ve never even heard of a spell like that.”
“I’ll find that bitch of a witch and make her reverse it,” Lilith vowed. “It’s amazing what a good vivisection can accomplish.”
Mortal, mortal, mortal.
Lucifer, what was he supposed to do? His cells were already degrading. Soon he would be afflicted with age spots and impotence, unless they could reverse it. Which meant finding the witch who had done this to him . . . or one similarly gifted in life magic.
“That warlock who advised you,” he told Calladia in a surge of desperation. “The one whose name sounds like a prescription drug.”
“Alzapraz,” Calladia said. “Mariel’s ancestor.”
“He’s immortal, right? Can he reverse this?”
Her mouth twisted. “I’ll call him and see, but he’s not a complete expert. He’s not going to die, but his body is still aging.”
Oh, fiery Lucifer. Mortal didn’t just mean droopy balls. It meant death.
Astaroth’s breaths came faster and faster. How did humans bear this sense of inevitability? How could they carelessly enjoy life, knowing it would one day be ripped from them? The forest spun around him, and he swayed.
Calladia was instantly at his elbow, helping him sit on a log. “Easy,” she said. “Deep breaths.”
“I don’t want to die,” Astaroth said in a small voice.
“Me neither, but you’re nowhere near that yet. We have time.”
“Do we?” His laugh was hysterical. “I could trip over a tree root in five minutes, hit my head, and that’s it.”
“You’re not going to trip on a tree root.” Calladia grabbed her phone out of her pocket and started dialing. “I’m calling Alzapraz.”
Lilith and Sandranella hovered nearby, blatantly listening in.
“Hello?” The wheezy voice was barely audible.
Calladia put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Alzapraz. Is now a good time?”
“Is it ever a good time?” the warlock asked. “Objectively, I don’t think time can be assigned a value.”
Lilith nodded, looking thoughtful. “That’s a good point.”
“Who’s that?” Alzapraz asked. “Are you with friends?”
“Not really,” Calladia said. “Or, kind of? It’s a long story, but basically, a few demons.”
Astaroth expected the warlock to express panic. Instead, Alzapraz mildly said, “Oh, have you added more to the party?”
“Who are you?” Lilith asked loudly.
“A gentleman never tells,” Alzapraz said. “To whom am I speaking?”
Calladia was shaking her head, but Lilith launched straight into it. “This is Lilith, first of her name.”
“The Mother of All Demons?” Alzapraz gasped.
Lilith looked pleased. “Oh, you know my AO3 username! What’s your favorite fic?”
“He doesn’t mean that,” Astaroth said distractedly. His head still hurt, full of the clanging of mortal, mortal, mortal. “He means that old religious rumor.”
“Oh.” Lilith laughed merrily. “That silly stuff again. No, I may be a massive slut, and proud of it, but I’m only the mother of one demon.” She waggled her fingers at Astaroth. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“The point is,” Calladia said, “we’re having an issue. Do you know how to cut someone’s life short?”
There was a pause. “I mean, there are lots of methods,” Alzapraz said, “but you can probably Witchipedia murder and pick a favorite.”
“Magically, I mean.”
The silence this time was longer. “Calladia,” he finally said, “what have you gotten yourself mixed up in?”
“Long story. Think an immortal human-demon hybrid cursed with a mortal life span by a witch. Can it be reversed?”
Alzapraz whistled. “Not a lot of life witches will mess with that. Nasty stuff, and very advanced. I don’t know how it’s done, unfortunately.”
Astaroth’s stomach fell. There went that hope.
“Do you know how to restore immortality, then?” Calladia asked.
Alzapraz coughed. “The problem with life magic is that there’s always a price. I managed to extend my life, but it came at the expense of my health. It’s possible we could look into something similar for your hybrid, but I have to warn you, the extreme geriatric lifestyle isn’t for everyone.”
Horror filled Astaroth at the possibility. “I’ll pass.” He didn’t want to be hauling his brittle old bones around the demon plane in a few centuries, complaining about his joints.
“So that’s it?” Calladia asked. “He just has to live with it?”
Or die with it, Astaroth thought bitterly.
“I’d ask Isobel, if you haven’t already seen her,” Alzapraz said. “She’s been around for a long time. She’s never cared about any life span but her own, but she’s knowledgeable about rare magic, especially life magic.”
Calladia thanked the warlock before hanging up. “So,” she said, looking at Astaroth, “looks like Isobel is still our best play.”
Astaroth stood. “Then let’s get going.”
“Wait,” Sandranella said, sharing a look with Lilith. “There’s something we still need to tell you.”
TWENTY-TWO
Calladia couldn’t believe how surreal the morning had gotten. A surprise werewolf ambush, the appearance of demons, and now the revelation that Astaroth was no longer immortal . . . It was a lot to process when the sun had been up for less than two hours. Not to mention what had happened before the werewolves, but Calladia was good at compartmentalizing, so she shoved that interlude into a box in her brain. There would be time to panic about it later.
She felt out of place among the demons. She’d gotten used to Astaroth’s otherworldly beauty, but now she was faced with two more stunning people. Lilith’s face held the same sharp angles as Astaroth’s, and her hair looked like molten fire. Her swashbuckling outfit was beyond cool. Sandranella’s face was perfectly heart-shaped, her eyes were dark and intense, and she resembled a warrior goddess in her wine-and-gold dress.
Were demons universally sexy? A question for a later time.