He watched as she slowly submerged her feet. “So,” he said, returning to the earlier conversation. “Tell me more about Mariel.”
Calladia did, painting a brief yet vivid sketch of a sweet, beautiful woman with a good heart and unpredictable magic. Witches tended to be specialists or generalists; while Calladia was a generalist, good at most things, Mariel was clearly a specialist with an incredible affinity for plants. The two women had been friends since childhood, forming a strong bond based partly on having control-freak mothers.
Calladia’s deep love for her friend was obvious, and Astaroth felt a mix of guilt and envy. Guilt that he’d targeted someone Calladia valued this much, even if he couldn’t remember it, and envy that someone else got to experience the gift of her unshakable loyalty. She might deny being a good person, but Calladia loved deeply and fought hard for the people she valued, and if that wasn’t goodness, what was?
A buzzing came from Calladia’s backpack, and she stiffened. “Oh, no,” she said, dread creeping into her tone. “I forgot about my mom’s event.”
“You wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway,” Astaroth said.
“Yeah, but that’s not going to stop her from being pissed at me.” She sighed and got up, then walked to her pack.
“Why answer?” Astaroth asked as she pulled out the phone.
She put her finger to her lips. “Hey, Mom.” When a muffled but clearly angry voice responded, Calladia pulled the phone from her ear, made a face, then put it on speaker.
“—told you it was important! Josiah Jenkins is a high-value possible donor, and he’s big on family values. What am I supposed to tell him about your absence?”
“Tell him I’m out of town at that fake wellness retreat,” Calladia said. “Or tell him a demon recently blew up my house and I don’t have time for political dinners.”
“I’ve already spread the word it was a gas leak, so make sure you stick to that story. Bad enough to have one demon in town; if people suspect you’re involved with more demon business, it’s going to ruin your reputation.”
“You mean your reputation?” Calladia shot back. “I don’t have a reputation to protect.” She sat, setting the phone on the rock next to her, then plunked her feet and lower legs in the water all at once, wincing at what must be a sting of sudden heat.
Over the phone, Calladia’s mother sighed. “I know you don’t value it now, but someday you will, and you’ll be grateful I went to these lengths to keep you respectable.”
“I don’t want to be respectable. I want to be me.”
“You mean reckless, violent, rude, and unmotivated?” Cynthia’s laugh sounded bitter. “Sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve such an ungrateful daughter.”
Calladia flinched. Astaroth waded toward her, tempted to grab the phone and drop it in the hot spring.
How could Cynthia treat her own child like this?
It took a lot to truly appall Astaroth, but after only this short conversation, he was horrified. “Has she always been like this?” he asked softly.
Calladia’s eyes were wet, but she wiped the drops away with the back of her hand and held up her finger, signaling him to wait. “I’m not ungrateful,” she said. “You kept me fed and a roof over my head when I was a kid. You paid for school and magic tutoring.”
“A substantial amount, too!”
“A substantial amount,” Calladia echoed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to end up exactly like you. I have my own dreams, my own goals.”
Cynthia scoffed. “And what are those? Besides embarrassing me every time your name ends up in the gossip column for fighting.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t fight all the time if I wasn’t so bloody mad all the time!” Calladia shouted. “Maybe I’m reacting to an atmosphere of constant disapproval. You ever think of that?”
Astaroth gripped her calf beneath the water as if he could anchor her and keep her safe as this storm swept through.
“Why are you swearing like a British person?” Cynthia asked. “And really, what do you have to be angry about? You’ve lived a charmed life. You’ve had anything and everything you wanted, whenever you wanted it.”
“Everything except your approval.”
“Approval has to be earned,” Cynthia snapped. “So far, you’ve only tried to spite me.”
“Bullshit,” Astaroth said softly, holding Calladia’s gaze. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears. He stepped in front of her, grabbing her other calf as well. There was nothing sexual in the touch; he just wanted to be there for her.
Calladia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, blowing it out through pursed lips. He saw her pulling herself together as her expression smoothed into a calm mask. Then she nodded. “I won’t be at dinner tonight,” she said into the phone, mirroring her mother’s icy tone. “I’m your daughter, not a prop for the campaign trail. And until you can see me as that again, I won’t be attending any other dinners either.”
She hung up. The phone immediately began vibrating again, but she switched it off and threw it overhand into the forest. “Good riddance,” she muttered.
Her legs had relaxed enough for Astaroth to step between them. He moved his grip from her calves to her face, directing her to look at him. “That was appalling,” he said.
“Which part?”
He looked at her incredulously. Did she have to ask? “Every word out of your mother’s mouth. I’m a demon, and even I think that was downright cruel.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to my life.” Her shoulders sagged. “Maybe she’s right. I do go out of my way to piss her off.”
“No.” His denial was loud. “Don’t let her diminish you. You’re a warrior, Calladia, and you don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”
Her lips trembled as she smiled, and a tear slid down her cheek. “When did you get so nice?”
He scoffed. “I’m not nice. I’m honest.”
“I thought you were a famed liar.” She swiped at her eyes.
“To the rest of the world, maybe. Not with you.” He held her gaze, willing her to see his sincerity. “Like calls to like, Calladia. You’re a force to be reckoned with, no matter what your mother says. I’m six hundred years old, and you still put me in my place.”
Her mouth twisted. “That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It is. You’re just not used to people who admire strength.” He considered the hunch in her shoulders and the tragedy still written across her features, wanting to erase them and bring back his proud, fierce queen. “You’re more than strong though. You’re funny and loyal and witty. You’re adventurous. You burn, Calladia, and it’s not your failing if other people can’t handle your light.”
The glow from the floating torches cast stars across her watery eyes, and her hair gleamed gold. She was luminous without even trying.
To Astaroth’s shock, she wrapped her arms around him and leaned down, pressing her face into his shoulder. It couldn’t have been a comfortable position, perched above him on the ledge as she was, but she settled into him with a sigh. “Thank you,” she whispered.