Why so confident about drinking cocoa from a stranger, you ask? And from a witch, no less? Why, the same reason Pierce and I weren’t so easily taken by her odd brand of fear magic. Being a demon, or part demon, in my case, is not without its perks. It confers some amount of resistance to things that humans might consider less than comfortable, even toxic. Heat, for example, or poisons, and as we very recently demonstrated, fear. Oh, cowardly demons exist, for sure, but it takes a certain innate level of bravery to even stand within the presence of many of the demon princes. You think Asmodeus is frightening? Try the Prince of Wrath. Or the Prince of Pride. I’d only met Lucifer once, and that was more than enough for a lifetime.
The unnamed witch had grudgingly invited us into her home. The abandoned building, that is, which was far more comfortable on the inside than one would conclude by observing it from the outside. The floor was swept as neatly as it could be, the room done up with some clearly secondhand pieces of furniture, possibly rescued from a street corner or an alley. Pierce and I had each taken a stool. The sofa looked comfortable enough, if a little too dusty for my taste. A shelf pushed off into a corner had a stack of magazines and several books on display. All nonmagical, sadly, as I was quick to check. It was the very picture of someone’s idea of a living room. A little bit domestic, if not a little bittersweet, like someone’s idea of family.
“You live here alone, don’t you?” I asked.
She nodded, taking a quick swig of her own cocoa. “That’s right. Don’t get any ideas about mugging me, now. I was playing nice with you boys earlier.” She waggled her fingers and grinned. “I can play naughty, too.”
Pierce shuddered, but he seemed to feel better after taking a hearty slurp of his cocoa.
Mr. Wrinkles had curled up by the fire, his silvery coat turned an eerie purple by the flickering amethyst flames. The girl who would not be named had several tricks up her sleeve, it seemed. One of the most important lessons Dantaleon had ever told me was to always consciously assess what I might be up against, to let the enemy play their cards before I even considered showing my hand.
Speaking of Dantaleon, he was still playing dead, possibly his smartest move yet. If the girl tried anything on us, he could easily spiral up into the air and blast her away with a fireball. I’d hated her when she’d tried to get us to shit our pants with that spider hex. I didn’t think I hated her very much anymore, and my feelings had simmered down to good old-fashioned distrust. But then I watched her scrabble with what looked like her makeshift kitchen area, heard her open a can of something potentially edible, and perhaps I distrusted her a little less.
“Mrrow?”
Mr. Wrinkles had even fewer trust issues, or maybe he just liked it when people made an effort to feed him. The girl called him over, making the universal “pspsps” noise with her lips as she got on her knees and placed an open can of tuna on the floor, sliding a bowl of water next to it. Mr. Wrinkles, once as haughty and proud as his own master, shoved his face right in the can.
The witch stroked his head lightly, then, pleased with herself, smoothed her skirts down as she perched on the couch. I bit on the inside of my bottom lip, then relented.
“Thanks,” I said. “He’s been hungry.”
“I figured as much,” she said. “I don’t have much to offer you guys, but we’ll see about getting something in the two of you, too.”
Pierce practically leapt off his stool. “I’m actually starving, so maybe food? Now?”
She rolled her eyes, then thumbed over her shoulder. “Over on the counter. I set out a couple of cans and some spoons. Go get them.”
Pierce trotted over, vanishing into the darkness at the edge of the firelight. I heard glasses clinking, then the sound of him chugging water. I guess he was thirsty, too.
“So,” the witch said, crossing her legs, clasping her fingers across her knees. “The cat must be your familiar.”
I folded my arms and cocked an eyebrow. “Familiar? Why would you say that? Do I look like some kind of wizard to you?”
She shrugged. “I’m not dumb, you know. Someone nonmagical wouldn’t have resisted my hexes so reflexively. The two of you have at least a little bit of arcane training.”
From somewhere in the darkness, Pierce’s voice interjected. “He’s the wizard. I’m the warrior. Didn’t you see my muscles?”
“Pierce,” I hissed.
The witch laughed. “It’s really no big deal, you know. It’s not like I’m planning to murder you guys or anything. Hell, I’m inviting more trouble letting the two of you spend the night.”
I tightened my lips, feeling guilty about being so evasive. “I – that is, we thank you.”
She laughed again. “‘We thank you?’ Why so formal? You guys are weird.”
The outline of Pierce’s body reemerged from the darkness of the kitchen. He was making a strange noise somewhere between a snarl and a grunt. “Little help?” he said, half his lip still wrapped across the top of a sealed can. I slapped myself in the forehead.
“See what I mean?” The witch sighed, grabbing the slobbery can out of Pierce’s hand as she slipped into the kitchen.
Pierce disappeared, too, then made a decidedly wonderstruck noise at the sound of
