“Don’t worry,” Themmie said as she drank her third milkshake. Her wings twitched, and she was practically quivering from sugar intake. “If they’d killed each other, we would have heard screaming by now.”
“How comforting.”
“Unless the kill was quick. Oz could have gutted him and disposed of the body before anyone noticed.”
“Hey,” Calladia said, offended on Astaroth’s behalf. “Why do you assume Oz would win?”
Mariel, Ben, and Themmie gave her matching skeptical looks.
The werewolves had decamped for a rugby game, and the demonesses had returned to their home plane to set plans in motion, so only the four friends were left at NecroNomNomNoms. It felt nice to be with them, though Calladia still felt awkward about the whole sleeping-with-the-enemy thing. Not that she’d outright admitted to sleeping with the demon, but Mariel had given her a series of knowing and judgmental looks that said she knew what Calladia had been up to.
“Oh, come on,” Calladia said, leaning into the argument to cover up her worry. “Astaroth would totally win in a fight. He’s more experienced than Oz.”
“And at least forty pounds lighter,” Ben said.
“He’s an accomplished swordsman.”
“Yeah?” Themmie asked. “Where’s his sword?”
“He’s very good with a stick, too.”
“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” Mariel asked. “Has he been bludgeoning you with his stick frequently?”
Busted. Calladia’s cheeks grew hot. “None of your business.”
“That is exactly my business,” Mariel said. “I’m your best friend, and the last I knew, you hated Astaroth’s guts. Now you’re hooking up with him?”
Themmie slurped loudly. “Mmmm,” she said. “This is delicious.”
Bless Themmie for trying to distract from the awkward conversation. Calladia shot her a grateful look.
“Maybe I’ll get one, too,” Ben said, looking warily between the three women. The introverted werewolf had been helpful in strategizing an approach for their campaign, but it was clear the emotional undercurrents at the table made him uncomfortable.
“Not the milkshake,” Themmie said. “Well, the milkshake is good, too, if a little savory. I mean this role reversal.” She brought her fingers to her lips for a chef’s kiss gesture. “Delectable.”
Curse Themmie for being a drama-mongering agent of chaos. Calladia scowled at her.
“What do you mean a role reversal?” Ben asked.
Calladia braced herself. She should have known she wouldn’t get away without, as Astaroth would say, getting the absolute piss taken out of her. Mariel was a forgiving type, but her raised brows and pursed lips told Calladia she was going to make her squirm first.
“Well,” Themmie said with gleeful vindictiveness, “Calladia here was adamantly anti-Oz when he first showed up. I seem to recall a late night at the Centaur Cafe when we had a heated discussion about Mariel hooking up with him.”
Mariel snapped her fingers. “Now that you mention it, I remember that night, too.”
Calladia groaned and thumped her forehead against the table.
“Calladia was appalled,” Themmie explained to Ben. “Kissing a demon! Just imagine it!”
“I’d rather not,” Ben said.
Themmie was just getting started. “Calladia was practically clutching her pearls. How could Mariel want to bump uglies with someone who wanted to steal her soul?”
“The horror!” Mariel echoed.
“Our dear Calladia would never do such a thing herself, right? And definitely not with the demon who actually wanted to steal Mariel’s soul. No, sir, she’s far too discerning for that.”
Calladia glared at her friends. “Are you done mocking me?”
“Let me think,” Mariel said, tapping her chin. “No.”
Themmie cackled. “You brought this on yourself, Calladia. If you expect us to give you grace for bagging and tagging that jackass, you need to let us roast you first.”
“Okay, fine,” Calladia grumbled. “But I will have you know I never would have done any bagging, much less tagging, if he wasn’t different.”
“You really believe that?” Mariel leaned in, expression turning serious. “You honestly believe his amnesia is real and he’s a better person now?”
It sounded ludicrous. Astaroth of the Nine, legendary demon bargainer, magically transformed into a better person by amnesia? Calladia ought to scoff at the very thought. She had scoffed when Mariel had claimed Oz was genuine and really cared for her. As experience had taught her, some people were liars who would say and do anything to get power over a partner, then gradually chip away at that partner’s independence and self-worth.
Calladia had always been a creature of instinct. After Sam, she’d stopped trusting her heart, but it was still beating, and it insisted that Astaroth truly had changed. Sure, it had been alarming when Isobel had proposed killing mortals to extend Astaroth’s life span, but he’d promised they’d find another way.
Was it irrational? Maybe. But she believed him.
“Yes,” she said, looking Mariel in the eye. “I do.”
Mariel bit her lip. Then she held out her hand, pinkie up. “Pinkie swear?”
“What is this, grade school?” Ben asked, nudging his gold-frame glasses up his nose.
“Shhh,” Themmie said, whacking him on the shoulder. “The pinkie swear is a sacred pact.”
“If you say so . . .” Ben had the baffled, nervous expression of a man introduced to space aliens and trying to respect their customs.
Growing up, Calladia and Mariel had played pranks, teased, and sometimes lied to each other, as all children did. Coupled with unpredictable mothers, they’d realized they needed to implement a foolproof system of trust with each other whenever absolute honesty was required. Mariel had been skeeved out by the idea of a blood pact, so they’d settled on the tried-and-true method of the pinkie swear. The tradition had lasted to adulthood.
Calladia extended her hand and looped her pinkie finger around Mariel’s. “I pinkie swear I believe Astaroth has truly changed after getting amnesia and that he’s much nicer and not nearly as ruthless or murdery anymore. I pinkie swear that I think his feelings for me are genuine. I also pinkie swear that if I find out he’s been lying to me, I will kick his ass so hard he’ll cough it up.”
They shook once, then released hands.
“Pinkie swear witnessed!” Themmie crowed.
“Weird women,” Ben said.
Mariel set her hands on the table and leaned in. “In that case,” she said, eyes gleaming with interest. “I need all the details.”
“Well, he really is good with a stick,” Calladia said. “Literally. He fought off Kai’s pack.”
“Avram told me that,” Ben said. “I still can’t believe you got in a fight with my cousin.”
“We got in a fight with each other,” Calladia said. “Very consensual. And speaking of consensual, about Astaroth’s metaphorical stick . . .”
She broke off as the door swung open, letting afternoon light into the restaurant. Two familiar horned silhouettes appeared.
“Oz!” Mariel shot to her feet and hurried over. “Everything okay?”