A Demon’s Guide to Wooing a Witch
: Chapter 21

Astaroth’s emotions rioted like bees whose hive had been kicked. He was angry, randy, angry about the interruption to his randiness, confused, alarmed . . . It didn’t help that, despite facing a hostile werewolf trying to nick his witch, his cock was still half hard.

Curse everyone on this platform who wasn’t Calladia. Curse the entire universe for interrupting him when he’d been knuckle-deep in her luscious cunt.

Lucifer, the feel of her. The sounds she’d made. It had been everything he’d imagined and somehow, impossibly, more.

And now he was supposed to think about his mother?

Despite remembering very little about Lilith, Astaroth cringed at the juxtaposition of his mother and the grand time he’d been having fingering Calladia. It was enough to deflate his erection, which was probably good for his critical thinking skills.

Lilith had commissioned werewolf bounty hunters to find them? “What does she want?” he asked.

Kai cast him a scornful look. “I don’t know, maybe you stayed out past curfew. Why don’t you hurry home to mummy and let a real man take care of your girl?”

“Hey!” Calladia did something with the yarn wrapped around her knuckles, and Kai’s knees buckled. “First off, I’m a woman, not a girl, and I don’t belong to anyone.”

Astaroth felt a fierce burst of pride. He might think of her as “his” witch, but that was a private, relational expression, not a claim of ownership. He was her demon as much as she was his witch. “Quite right,” he said. “And, that real man nonsense is an artifact from less progressive times. Most species have moved beyond that.”

Not demons though, he realized with an uncomfortable jolt. Gender relations had nothing to do with the power struggles on his home plane, but the concept of a “real” demon still held sway.

Astaroth didn’t care if this werewolf deemed him less than a “real” man. So why did he care so much that he wasn’t a “real” demon?

It was a disquieting thought he didn’t have the time or focus to delve into, so he focused on practicalities. “Did Lilith seem hostile?” he asked Kai, wanting to get a sense of what he and Calladia might be walking into. His mother had sounded friendly on the phone, but she was famously (and proudly) insane.

Kai gasped. “Her name is Lilith? Like . . . the Lilith?”

“I’m sure there are others with that name,” Astaroth said, “but none with her notoriety.”

Kai whistled. “Damn. And she’s a MILF. You’d better get down there and talk to her before she rips out someone’s spine.”

“She’s here?” Calladia asked.

Kai pointed over the edge. “And she brought a friend.”

Astaroth looked to Calladia, because she was his partner in this quest and he wasn’t willing to go anywhere without her. “Shall we?”

She straightened, regal as an empress. “Lead the way.”

The elevator was uncomfortably slow. The winch mechanism ran on magic, so there was nothing to do but stand and wait during the descent.

Despite the November chill and his lack of a coat, Astaroth was sweating. It was one thing to talk on the phone with the mother he barely remembered. Meeting her was another thing entirely. It would be nearly impossible to hide his amnesiac condition, and he had no idea how she would take it. Probably not well, considering all her talk of power and vengeance and drinking blood out of the skulls of her enemies.

Calladia laid her hand over his. “Hey,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Her consideration took him aback. Not just because he thought he’d been doing an admirable job of hiding his trepidation, but because she sounded downright sweet. He liked all her iterations up to and including “vengeful harpy,” but this gentle consideration . . .

Well. It rearranged something inside him.

“A bit nervous, to be honest,” he said.

“Same. I wish we knew what she wanted.”

The werewolves hadn’t been much help, especially since Tansy had promptly picked the two up with their talons and flown them away, squawking about poor customer service and Tansy’s good reputation. Or at least that’s what Astaroth assumed the griffin had been upset about.

“Maybe she just wants to talk in person,” Astaroth said.

Calladia looked skeptical. “So she hired bounty hunters rather than calling you and setting up a time to meet?”

He grimaced. “Good point.”

“If she causes trouble, I’ll take care of it.” Calladia held up the yarn she’d already tied a few knots in.

Her confidence was marvelous. Calladia hadn’t even survived three decades on Earth, and she was ready and willing to challenge one of the oldest demons in existence.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Astaroth said.

The elevator finally hit the ground. Calladia slid the door open and tried to walk out first, but Astaroth stepped in front of her. If they were heading into danger, he wanted to face it first.

Two black-horned demonesses stood at the base of the tree. One was tall, with deep brown skin and a shock of white curls, and he instantly recognized her from his memory of drunkenly watching a science documentary. The other was shorter, with pale skin and waist-length red hair dotted with braids.

A wave of emotion nearly knocked the breath from him. He knew them.

“There you are, Astaroth!” Lilith said, striding toward him. She wore buckskin trousers, tall boots, and a ruffled white blouse with a red sash. A dagger was sheathed at her waist. For a moment he wondered if she was going to stab him, but she stopped within arms’ reach, looked him up and down, then made a tsking sound. “What are you wearing? This isn’t on brand at all.”

He looked down at his black faux-leather trousers and rumpled blue shirt. “It looks better when it’s clean,” he said, for lack of anything else. Whatever reception he’d been expecting, it hadn’t been so mundane.

Then again, Lilith didn’t know he was an amnesiac. Maybe only a week or two had passed since she’d seen him last, and this wasn’t as momentous an occasion for her as it was for him.

Lilith’s eyes were the same pale blue shade as his own. They traveled from his horns to his shoes, and she gasped and clapped her hands when she spotted the fireplace poker he was carrying. “I’m not familiar with that weapon,” she said, bending down to peer at it. “What is it? Something for disemboweling? The hook doesn’t seem sharp enough, but sometimes a blunt tool is more fun, right?” Her smile was bright as she straightened. “Makes the suffering last longer.”

“Ah.” Astaroth awkwardly lifted the implement. “It’s a fireplace poker. For tending the fire.”

“Ooh, do you brand people with it?”

“Not recently,” Astaroth said.

The other demoness approached with an elegant, gliding walk. She wore a wine-red gown with a golden breastplate, and rings adorned her fingers. “Astaroth,” she said in a rich alto voice. “Glad to see Moloch didn’t put you out of commission for good.”

“Quite.” Astaroth gave her a tight-lipped smile, wishing he could remember her name and what the nature of their relationship was.

Calladia stepped forward with her hand out. “I’m Calladia,” she announced, and Astaroth felt a surge of gratitude. Clever Calladia had taken the initiative to gain the information he lacked.

“Sandranella,” the white-haired demoness said, and the name pinged through Astaroth’s head, nudging at buried memories. She nodded at Calladia but didn’t shake her hand.

Calladia twined her fingers through the yarn again. A subtle threat, should Sandranella be familiar enough with the knots some witches used to cast spells. “So, why’d you send bounty hunters after us?” she asked, blunt as ever.

“It’s one of my love languages, obviously,” Lilith said.

“That and abductions,” Sandranella pointed out with a smirk.

“He has a phone,” Calladia said. “You could have called.”

Lilith waved her hand. “What’s the fun in that?”

Sandranella turned her attention to Astaroth. “Is this human a . . . ?” She trailed off, jerking her head in Calladia’s direction.

Astaroth wasn’t sure what she was asking. “A what?”

“You may have been banished,” she said, “but knowing you, you haven’t stopped working.”

“Oh!” Now Astaroth understood her meaning. “No, we haven’t made a bargain. In fact, we’re . . .” It was his turn to trail off as he debated how to describe Calladia. His ally? His enemy? Some odd combination of the two?

The woman whom he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes, thoughts, or hands off?

“They’re banging,” Lilith announced. “Astaroth has been dipping his quill in mortal ink again. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Calladia and Astaroth winced in unison.

Sandranella looked taken aback. “Have you?” she asked Astaroth. “One would think you’d have better things to focus on, such as plotting Moloch’s downfall and regaining your position.”

Astaroth shrugged. “I can multitask.”

Calladia shot him a withering glance before turning her attention to the two women. “We aren’t banging. I’m accompanying him on a quest.”

“Ooh, a quest.” Lilith’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Love a good quest. What are you hunting?”

“The secret to taking down Moloch,” Calladia said. “And—” She snapped her mouth shut, apparently realizing she’d nearly given away his amnesia.

Bollocks, Astaroth thought. His mum wasn’t likely to skim over that juicy clue.

Sure enough, Lilith pounced on the information. “And what?” she asked. “A legendary weapon? A dragon’s heart? Those are tasty,” she informed Sandranella in an aside, “and they can be a potent aphrodisiac. Just ask Henry VI. After he rode one into battle, he carved out its heart and ate it, praying for victory.”

“Uh, what?” Calladia asked. “Dragons stopped being used as war weapons in the 1400s because they were becoming endangered.”

“Lilith,” the other demoness said gently, “was that perhaps something you read in a fanfic?”

Lilith’s brow furrowed. “The dragon heart? I’m sure that was canon. Right before that tentacle monster stumbled upon him.” She cackled. “Or oozed onto him, rather. Slurped up to him? Smacked sucker-marks into his ass?”

Sandranella winced. “Definitely fanfic. I don’t think I’ll ever recover after reading that link you sent me.” She gave Astaroth a sympathetic look. “I heard she forced you to beta read her latest explicit fic on AO3. My condolences.”

Astaroth wasn’t sure what in Lucifer’s name they were talking about, so he grunted.

“Anyway,” Sandranella continued, “what’s this about searching for the secret to take down Moloch? You told me you were working on a scheme.”

“Did I?” he asked, then quickly revised the sentiment. “Ah, yes. I did.” A long pause. “Remind me which details I shared with you?”

Sandranella pursed her lips, looking disapproving. “You wouldn’t tell me. You said you wanted an airtight case before confronting him at the high council.”

Astaroth mentally kicked his past self for being so secretive. “Quite right,” he said, forcing a laugh. “I was just testing you.”

Sandranella gave him an odd look. “What did that spell do to you?”

“Erm . . .” Astaroth met Calladia’s gaze. He widened his eyes, silently begging her to jump in.

“What spell?” Calladia asked, thankfully drawing Sandranella’s attention away from him. “I’m not up to speed on the particulars of his banishment.”

“Why do you need to know?” Sandranella’s tone wasn’t mean, just matter-of-fact. “This is demon business.”

Astaroth jumped in before Calladia could argue. “She’s an ally. I trust her.”

Beside him, Calladia inhaled sharply.

“So much of an ally you didn’t bother to tell her about the spell?” Sandranella folded her arms over her breastplate. “Some trust.”

“He’s probably embarrassed,” Lilith said. “Performance anxiety and all that.”

“What?” Astaroth looked down his body, horrified at the idea a spell might affect his prowess. “I can perform just fine,” he hurriedly assured Calladia.

Lilith patted his forearm. “Don’t worry, dear. Aging must be mortifying, but we’ll find a way to fix this.”

An icy chill swept over Astaroth’s skin. Not a product of the wind, but a premonition. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his temples and wondering if he’d misheard. “It’s been a busy few days. What do you mean, aging?”

Lilith frowned and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling all right? I always say you’ll catch a chill spending so much time on Earth.” She shuddered. “At least move to the Bahamas, rather than that dismal, rainy country.”

How was he supposed to talk his way out of this? Did he even need to? His mother seemed odd but caring, and Sandranella didn’t come across as hostile either. But trusting another demon with the truth of his amnesia would leave him open to attack should his gut instinct be wrong.

Sandranella narrowed her dark brown eyes. “There’s something he’s not telling us.”

“Ooh,” Lilith said. “I forgot to ask. Astaroth, what is the pedigree of the mortal you’re fornicating with?”

Astaroth nearly choked.

Calladia gasped. “Excuse me, did you just ask about my pedigree? Like I’m a show poodle?”

Lilith’s brow furrowed as she looked Calladia over. “Oh, are you a shifter? Please say you’re house-trained, at least.”

Calladia made an outraged sound.

Sandranella sighed loudly. “Lilith, I know you’re thousands of years old and afflicted by madness, but can we please focus for a moment?”

“I’m not afflicted by madness.” Lilith winked. “Madness is afflicted by me.”

Sandranella pointedly turned away from Lilith and focused solely on Astaroth. “Astaroth, how long have we known each other?”

Bollocks. “A while?” he guessed.

She nodded as if he’d confirmed a theory. “What’s the last thing we did together before that high council meeting?”

“It’s . . . ah . . .” He racked his brain, but nothing emerged. “Went to brunch?” he guessed.

Sandranella snapped her fingers. “I knew it! You don’t remember, do you?”

Apparently the charade was over. Risky or not, he needed to come clean. “I may have a mild bout of amnesia.”

“Tell us everything,” Sandranella ordered.

Astaroth gave the condensed summary: a blinding headache, patchwork memories, and no recollection of whatever had happened to him before Moloch had portaled to Earth and attempted to kill him. After a recommendation from a warlock, they were currently on their way to a witch who could help restore Astaroth’s damaged brain and recover his memories so they could defeat Moloch, or, barring that, who might hold the key to ending the demon’s life.

Lilith did not take the news well.

“That wretched, smiling weasel had the gall to try to murder my son? I’m going to rip his entrails out, knit them into a scarf, and wear it while I cut him into pieces!” She unsheathed the dagger at her waist and flung it, skewering a birch tree with so much force the trunk split in half. “I’m going to use his shattered bones for toothpicks!”

“So you don’t even remember the spell.” Sandranella winced. “You may want to sit down for this.”

“Just tell me,” Astaroth said. “It’s not like things can get worse.”

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.”

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