“On it,” Mariel said. “Almost zero percent chance of accidentally exploding you.”
Astaroth wasn’t going to think about that too closely. He was risking death already; if Mariel blew him up, at least it would be quick and dramatic, and everyone loved a martyr.
He cleared his throat, twitching when the sound echoed. Explosion avoided, thankfully. “Demons,” he called, Mariel’s spell amplifying the words as if he were shouting into a megaphone. “Join us! Fight for the rights of every demon, regardless of heritage!”
Calladia was moving him through the air above the surging crowd, keeping him apace of the protestors. Heads popped out from nearby windows, their faces turned to him.
“Moloch wants to destroy hybrids,” he continued. “After that, he will come for those with liberal leanings. He won’t stop until this is a conservative dictatorship. We can stop him today. We must stop him.”
“Yeah!” someone shouted.
They reached the main thoroughfare, where more bystanders had begun to gather, gawking at the proceedings.
“I am Astaroth of the Nine,” he declared, “and I am here to end Moloch’s tyranny.”
“Why should we believe you?” someone called out. “You’ve been on the council as long as him.”
Astaroth took a deep breath. There was no going back. “I have hidden the truth for far too long out of fear of losing my position,” he said. “I regret that. Now I declare, with pride and a commitment to fight for our rights, that I am a human-demon hybrid.”
Bystanders and protestors burst into a frenzy of shouts and cheers. He could see the gossip spreading into the distance, surging through the crowd like a tidal wave.
He looked down at Calladia, who gave him a grin and a thumbs-up. He smiled back before bellowing orders. “To the high council chambers! The fight has only begun.”
THIRTY-TWO
Even knowing her magic was keeping Astaroth in the air, Calladia was awestruck by the sight of him. As the procession made its way down the road toward a temple-like structure in the distance, Astaroth floated above it all, arms spread like a savior or a martyr. His red shirt rippled in the breeze, highlighting his lean, muscular body, and his stunning beauty was even more striking in these dim surroundings. His hair was a pale halo, the dark slash of his horns echoed the roiling smoke, and shadows lurked beneath his stark cheekbones.
“This is wild,” Mariel said. The eerie gray-black-purple atmosphere had affected her looks, too; her skin seemed luminous, while her green dress was so vibrant it nearly hurt the eye. “Oz described the plane, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me.”
Calladia agreed. The stark stone buildings and cobbled streets gave a medieval flavor to the scene, and the air smelled of smoke and spice. Flickering torches lined the road, but most startling of all was the scatter of golden orbs drifting through the air. Human souls, bringing light to this alien realm. They were different sizes and brightnesses, but each contained the emotions and magic of a person.
Mariel could have become one of those orbs. She would have been, had Oz not pulled a clever switcheroo after she’d been forced into a bargain with Astaroth.
Astaroth now reigned over the chaotic procession like Woden leading the Wild Hunt. He’d gone from villain to savior so quickly, it was hard to believe.
Calladia believed though. And she was committed to creating a safer world for him and those like him. She’d fight at his side until they won—and then fight whatever battles came next.
She kept an eye on their surroundings, checking for adversaries. Mariel was intercepting periodic rocks, spears, arrows, and fireballs, and Calladia had looped the levitation spell around her wrist and started a new weaving to cast a defensive shield around Astaroth. Themmie was zooming around, throwing rocks at people.
Mariel inscribed a swirl in the air, and a spear clattered to the ground.
Wait a second. Calladia frowned. “Mariel, raise your hand again.”
Mariel did, and as her fingers were silhouetted against the sky, Calladia saw a faint light emanating from her skin. Calladia lifted her own hand and saw the same thing.
“We’re glowing,” Calladia said.
“Weird.” Mariel turned her hand this way and that. “I feel fine.”
Calladia noticed small, dark green sprouts pushing up between the cobblestones at their feet. When she turned to look behind them, she saw a trail of greenery that hadn’t been there before.
A hunch formed, and Calladia studied a nearby soul. This one was the size of a grapefruit, bobbing along at head height between the road and a stream running parallel to it. The bank of the stream was narrow and steep, dotted with strange flowers. As the soul passed over a patch of dark purple buds, their petals opened, revealing gold centers. The flowers turned their faces to the soul as if it were the sun.
“It’s the magic,” Calladia said, excitement swelling in her breast. “Look, the plants are growing.”
Mariel closed her eyes, and Calladia knew she was consulting her nature magic. Her eyes popped open, and a wondering look suffused her face. “They’re feeding on the magic.”
“Should we be worried?”
Mariel shook her head. “They’re not stealing it from us. It’s like being adjacent to the souls, or to us, is enough to make them thrive.”
Calladia’s heart raced. If that was true, this could have enormous implications for the demon plane and the fraught witch-demon dynamic. “If witches and warlocks were allowed to live here,” she said, “bargainers wouldn’t need to harvest as many souls. Just the presence of magic users would give the plane energy.”
Themmie landed next to them. “Why do you look like you just got the shock of your life?” she asked. Calladia explained what they’d noticed, and Themmie gasped. “Ooh. Am I glowing, too?”
Pixies had minor magical abilities, mostly limited to cleaning magic. It had been a huge source of irritation to Themmie, who tended toward disorganization, that her one magical ability was something she hated doing.
Calladia leaned in, inspecting the pixie’s hand. Her rich brown skin didn’t seem to be glowing, but when Calladia cupped Themmie’s hand in her own, cutting off outside illumination, and put her eye to the gap in their fingers, she saw a faint bluish-green light. It was like looking at a glow-in-the-dark pattern in a darkened room. “You are!” she exclaimed.
Themmie screeched and fluttered off the ground in a show of excitement. “You know what this means, right?”
Calladia nodded, feeling giddy. “It means the demon plane’s problem with needing outside magic has a simple solution.”
“Immigration!” Themmie crowed. “Throw open the borders and let other species settle here. More magic! More hybrids! More life!”