He had to act now. He could easily take out two toadoks before they got anywhere near the boys, then lead the others into the forest where he could lose them without difficulty.
Now they were directly between himself and the boys. Caroc aimed his bow at the creature bringing up the rear. Blood roared in his ears, louder than the fast-flowing river. A steel trap crushed his chest, and he stretched his mouth desperate for air. He wasn’t breathing. He’d been holding his breath. He took a short gasp, too loud.
The toadok stopped and turned around.
Caroc squatted in the water reeds again and tried to quieten his breathing. His bow was still trained on his target.
The creature’s yellow eyes scanned the surrounding vegetation. It squinted directly at him. It had spotted something, perhaps the arrows in his quiver, the vibrant green fletching out of place with the drab browns and mottled greens of the reeds.
One of the boys squealed as his friend dropped a worm down the back of his shirt. The toadok turned its attention to the ruckus. The child was squawking now. The worm had wiggled into his pants and slipped between his arse cheeks.
Only feet away, the toadoks waited for the offending item to be removed—even toadoks are respectful when such a situation occurs. Caroc pulled the bow string taut, all he needed to do now was release the arrow. His fingers trembled.
The boy dropped his pants. Caroc could see the boy’s pale bottom jiggling up and down as he searched frantically for the unwelcome guest. Found, the worm was held up and offered to his friend who steadfastly refused it.
Sweat rolled down Caroc’s forehead into his eyes. He tried to blink the stinging pain away.
The toadoks waited patiently for the boy to put his pants on. As soon as he’d fastened his belt, they emerged from their hiding places amongst the rocks and tall grass. There was a brief struggle. One toadok was lashed across the face with a fishing rod, and another had a worm thrown at him. The boys were easily subdued and swallowed whole to be transported back to the village—guests of honour at the feast.
Caroc still had his arrow notched and ready to fire as the last of the toadoks disappeared into the forest. The roar of the river replaced the boys muffled cries.
Morwen dozed in the warmth of a sunbeam. They’d had the morning to get acquainted. She had nothing but time on her hands now her patients were dying as fast as they were brought into the makeshift hospice. What a way to wait out the apocalypse.
Her sleep in was disturbed by a thud, and the bedroom door flew open. “You were right. He’s cheating on me.” Morwen opened an eye, squinting in the bright light. Her sister, Anwen—who else—stood at the end of her bed, her eyes and nose red from crying, fists bunched at her sides. “He’s a weasel. I want him dead,” she spat.
Morwen sat up. Szat, who was sleeping curled into a ball like a cat, poked his head out and eyed a half-eaten pie on the bed stand. Morwen passed it to him without thinking, and the demon retreated back under the blankets to create as many crumbs as possible. “I’ve got a better idea,” Morwen said.
The first demon Morwen summoned was too attractive. Her only revolting feature was a pair of obscenely large breasts, and Morwen was sure Goron would have a differing view on those. The next had long legs, the third a shapely behind like an overripe plum, the fourth summons was perfect. The demon had the enviable physique of a plucked turkey left out in the sun to bloat. Her blotchy face, flecked with enlarged oily pores, ended in fleshy jowls sagging over folds of fat.
“He won’t sleep with that!” Anwen exclaimed bile rising to the back of her throat at the thought of such things.
“Demons can change forms at will,” Szat said. He’d finished the pie and poked his head out from under the blankets for the show. To illustrate his point, he turned into a spring lamb and began to leap around the bed before quickly becoming exhausted.
“They make love and fall asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning we gather everyone we can and parade them into his bedroom. The demon…”
“My name’s Botha.” The demon’s jaw was constrained by her many chins. Her cheeks, as fat and plump as new pillows, muffled her voice and made her hard to understand.
“…sorry, Botha will be in her natural form, and Goron will be a laughingstock.”
“I love it.” Anwen clapped her hands and twirled around the room.
Morwen grinned. This was what being a warlock was all about, not nursing the hopelessly sick, or in her case, being forced to euthanise them so she could get some peace and quiet.
Botha grinned too. She didn’t understand why.
“Go, you know what to do.” Morwen arched her back and slipped out of bed.
“Oh, he likes blondes the most.” The demon paused, the door half open. “You might also like to change your scent. The aroma of latrines isn’t seductive unless you’re trying to mate with a sewer rat.”
“Make yourself smell like a beer, he’ll find you irresistible,” Anwen added. Botha grunted in assent.
“I do like the plan.”
