“It’s just instant,” the witch said, her hair in disarray as she handed me a mug.
My forehead wrinkled, and my nose did as well. “Instant?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know, made from powder. Dehydrated coffee? Crystals? Just add water. Like the cocoa we had yesterday?”
I gasped and looked into my mug, somehow more apprehensive about drinking this strange concoction than of being poisoned. “But I thought this was made from beans.”
“So was the cocoa,” she hissed. “Just chug it. You demons really do know so little, don’t you? When Snore, God of Thunder over there wakes up, we’re going to go on a little field trip into town.”
I swallowed a mouthful of bitter, dirty water, grimacing. I suddenly started to miss Hornbellow very much. “It’s just, isn’t it supposed to be made from beans?”
Her glare turned into a glower. “And I can’t afford to feed you two and your cat for however long you’re staying here. If you and your book boss are planning to put up for a while, then you’re gonna have to think about contributing. Money.”
That was still a sore subject for me. I frowned. “Money.”
“Yes. One, or both of you, will need to get what’s called a job.”
I gasped again. “But I’ve never worked a day in my life.”
Her knuckles went white as her grasp tightened over her own mug of dirty water. “Listen here – wait, what the hell was your name again?”
“Quill,” I said, leaving out the rest of my name, despite the fact that there was no way for her to link it to Asmodeus. I’d spent very little time in the human world, or California, for that matter, but apparently my antics had gained me a fair bit of notoriety. You throw a fireball and set off a catastrophic dimensional implosion once, and suddenly you’re the bad guy. Where’s the justice?
“Listen here, Quill. I’m not sure what kind of life you were living before you were forced into my hovel, but we can both tell that you’re going to have to make some adjustments. Scratch that, a lot of adjustments.”
“Do you at least have some sugar for this?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Cupboard above the stove.”
I nodded. “For what it’s worth, I do appreciate your offerings. Thank you, uh – you know, it’s only fair that you give me a name to call you, too.”
The witch stiffened, then waved a hand. “Fine, whatever. Just call me Crystal.”
“Thanks, Crystal.”
I headed to the cupboard, desperate for some sugar. A single beam of sunlight pierced the gloom of the makeshift kitchen’s windows. It was a poetic, and truthfully, somewhat mocking accompaniment to this small, new revelation. I thought back to when I first saw the strange amethyst of Crystal’s eyes, the supernatural clarity in them. Despite finally finding some help out in the human world, my future seemed murkier than ever.
I mean, would I really have to find a job?
18
I didn’t have the heart to wake Pierce up. The events between morning and being kicked out of hell must have worn him out as much as me. Crystal, however, didn’t feel the same way, poking him in the ribs.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I said, recalling how Pierce liked to sleep with his daggers under his pillow. “He’s cranky when he wakes up.”
“Well, he’s going to have to wake up at some point. Sun’s up. He can’t stay in bed forever.” She stabbed at his stomach again, calling his name insistently until he stopped snoring, groaned, then rubbed his face in irritation.
“What’s the damn rush?” he grumbled, pulling himself into a seated position, dragging his forearm across the drool-stained corner of his mouth. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”
Crystal stood over him with her arms folded, her expression darkening like a cloudy day. “That’s what you think, buster. I was just telling your friend over here that we’re going to have to figure out the money situation.” She turned to me, still frowning. “Speaking of which, doesn’t that book of yours have an in with your prince? I mean, she’s a prince. Doesn’t nobility come with money?”
“Not how it works,” I said, shaking my head and lying through my teeth. “She’s not exactly pleased with us, and asking her for a favor at this point is a lot like asking to be set on fire.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then I don’t know why I’m doing this, helping you out, when there’s bound to be nothing in it for me.”
“Prince Asmodeus will surely reward you in time,” Dantaleon said soothingly, drifting into the conversation from his perch over on the bookcase. “Patience, young witch.”
Reward her? Yeah, with a fireball to the face, probably. There had to be a way for me to make it right with Crystal at some point, but I had to take care of me first. Well, me, and Pierce, and Mr. Wrinkles, that is. Dantaleon could jump in a lake, for all I cared.
Crystal’s glare did a cycle around the room, settling on Pierce, then me, then Dantaleon. “Fine,” she declared with a huff. “But no one eats for free. Well, the cat does. I’m a witch, but I’m not heartless. Can’t let the little guy starve.”
Pierce groaned, pressing his forearms against his stomach. “What about this little guy? I’m starving already.”
“But you ate so much last night,” I said, at exactly the same time as Crystal, and with about the same amount of exasperation.
Not fifteen minutes later, we were sat around a makeshift dining table in Crystal’s makeshift kitchen. I say makeshift, because before Pierce and I came around, it was clear that she was used to living all on her own. Perfectly happy to do so, too, I suspected, based on the resentful glances
