Chapter Five

The demon was weird.

Mariel contemplated the weirdness of the demon as she repotted a philodendron. Inadvertent demonic bargain or not, she hadn’t wanted to shirk her part-time job at Ben’s Plant Emporium. While she was still hoping for Spark family funds for grad school, she was saving every penny she could.

Since Ozroth apparently needed to be attached to her at the hip, he was stalking her from an aisle away (There will be no bargain ever if you keep stepping on me, she’d snapped after he’d run into her for the bazillionth time when she’d stopped to water a plant), but she was all too aware of his presence nearby.

His hot, horrible, weird presence.

Ozroth the Ruthless had proven himself to be, so far, Ozroth the Very Annoying, Ozroth the Unwanted Magic Tutor, and Ozroth the Ravenous Dinner Eater. When he’d eaten her spaghetti last night, he’d looked alarmed and amazed, like no one had ever fed him before. He hadn’t said thanks, but he’d done the dishes, then stared at her wide-eyed before practically running to sleep on the couch.

Mariel wasn’t sure how the demon realm worked, but the little she’d heard about demonic deals hadn’t prepared her for this. She’d expected fire, evil laughter, and an eternity in Hell. Now even the existence of Hell was in question. The demon was cocky, easily offended, and annoying, but he hadn’t laughed maniacally even once, and when Mariel had called summoning him the worst mistake of her life, he’d looked . . . hurt?

But seriously, what was she supposed to do? Give her soul—and her magic—away to make him leave? Absolutely not.

“Patient for you, Mariel,” her boss, Ben Rosewood, called out, snapping Mariel out of her reverie. She stood, wiping her brow with a dirt-streaked hand.

Working at the Emporium made her happy, but she worried about the plants who went home with customers. Many of them were fragile, requiring attentive care, and the unlucky ones ended up with owners who struggled to make them thrive. It was why she’d set up Mariel’s Plant ER in a corner of the shop so she could magic struggling houseplants better.

Ben looked up from his notebook as Mariel approached the front counter. Why he insisted on paper records in the era of the internet was a mystery, but Mariel chalked pentagrams, so she could hardly judge. The werewolf was notoriously serious, but he looked a bit silly in Mariel’s opinion, with gold-rimmed glasses perched on his aquiline nose and his massive chest testing the limits of an argyle sweater vest. His brown hair was as shaggy as his pelt would be on the full moon.

“What’s the damage?” Mariel asked.

“Looks pretty dead to me.”

Mariel turned at the familiar voice and grinned to see Calladia. She was clearly fresh from the gym, her long blond hair tied up in a damp bun and her cheeks rosy from exercise. A desiccated houseplant was tucked under her arm. Calladia didn’t own any houseplants besides a cactus, so this must be a rescue.

Calladia set the plant on the counter. “I’m not sure even you can fix this one, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

Mariel concentrated on the plant: a pothos whose heart-shaped leaves had browned and withered. “How do you even kill a pothos?” she muttered. “They’re, like, the easiest plant to raise.” She set a finger on one leaf and closed her eyes, reaching out with her magic. Thankfully, she sensed kernels of life hidden in the stems, waiting to be coaxed out. “It isn’t terminal.”

“Just a flesh wound?” Calladia asked dryly.

“Can I get some water?” Mariel asked, and Ben appeared at once with a pitcher. “Thanks.” She wetted the soil a bit at a time, cooing praise to the pothos. “Good baby. You’re going to be fine. I can’t wait to see your handsome leaves!”

Ben snorted and shook his head. “Weird plant lady.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Grumpy werewolf bastard.”

The words were spoken with fondness. In the years she’d spent working at the Emporium, her boss’s dour nature had become a joke between them. And under his surly-yet-nerdy exterior, Ben really was a good guy.

Her other coworker, a gorgeous naiad named Rani, passed by carrying a potted palm. She’d just taken her morning hydration break: her brown skin was damp and gleaming, and the rainbow scales along her hairline were still vivid. “Wow, how did someone manage to fuck up a pothos?” Rani asked as she headed for the back.

“Right?” Mariel fed magic into the plant, and a green flush gradually crept over the brown. The leaves plumped, and soon the plant was thriving again. “I’m taking you home with me,” she told the pothos. “No more neglectful owners.” The pothos brushed a leaf against her hand in gratitude.

“I can’t believe how easy that is for you,” Calladia said. “You didn’t even need to say a spell! Every time I try messing with plants, I end up with pollen on my face and a bunch of angry bees in pursuit.”

Casting without a spoken spell was difficult but not impossible if a witch was naturally inclined towards a gift or had practiced it extensively. Mariel would need the language of magic for bigger workings, but her nature magic was instinctive, and it was easy to give a bit of her energy to plants to help them thrive. “Thank you for bringing it to me,” she said. “Where’d you find it?”

“A garbage can on Mom’s street.” Calladia winced. “After we had a very uncomfortable talk about the resort.”

“Oof. How’d that go?”

Like Diantha, Calladia’s mother was enthusiastic about investing in a resort and spa that was slated to be built in the woods outside town. As the mayor of Glimmer Falls, Cynthia Cunnington had been the instigator of the deal with the property developers, and neither Calladia nor Mariel had forgiven her for it. They were both vehemently opposed to the construction, which would disrupt the local ecosystem.

Calladia made a rude noise. “Put me in a barrel full of nails and roll me over a cliff, and I guarantee it’ll be more enjoyable than trying to make Mom see reason.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot to tell you! Themmie arranged a protest today at City Hall. The construction company is supposed to break ground this week.”

“Digging already?” The idea made Mariel’s stomach churn. “We haven’t even had a town hall about this yet.”

Glimmer Falls town halls were . . . something. Because so many magic families lived there, you never knew who might summon lightning or teleport something unwanted into the meeting. At one particularly memorable event, Diantha Spark had decided to add a little oomph to her petition for the town to take care of a feral raccoon colony. When twenty spitting-mad raccoons were dropped into the meeting, Diantha quickly won the popular vote to relocate them.

“I’m working to move the town hall up,” Calladia said. “There are too many questions about the land sale.”

The land in question was on a forested hill to the east of town. It was dotted with hot springs, and steaming waterfalls trailed down the rocky parts of the slope. Fire-breathing salamanders and glimmering, translucent fish lived in the pools, and other exotic creatures made their homes in the earth and trees. It was a rare ecosystem sprung from the magic woven into the earth.

That parcel of land was owned by someone long dead whose name was illegible on the deed, and a variety of impostors had risen up over the years, claiming the signature belonged to a relative. Those petitions had always been dismissed—until Cynthia Cunnington had been voted in as mayor, claimed the deed had finally been interpreted to leave the land to the city, and immediately granted rights to a prominent nonmagical real estate developer. From there, the plans to open the resort had moved at a breakneck pace.

“When’s the protest?” Mariel asked. “I’m off work in thirty.”

“An hour.” Calladia’s brown eyes moved over Mariel’s shoulder, then widened. “Holy hottie,” she whispered. “Don’t look, but a sexy man is standing next to the marigolds.” Her brow crinkled. “He’s sort of . . . glaring at you?”

Mariel groaned. She knew exactly who that was. “Ignore him,” she said, moving into the fertilizer aisle.

“Um, that’s shady as fuck,” Calladia said, tossing glances over her shoulder. “Do you know him?”

“Yes.”

“Is he a creep? I can fight him.”

Calladia’s dating history had left her with a hair trigger when it came to shitty men, and she loved fighting, especially when defending a friend, but Mariel wasn’t sure she wanted to sic Calladia on the demon just yet. She looked over her shoulder, frowning at Ozroth, who was lingering suspiciously near a white-flowered phlox she’d magicked to bloom out of season. The broad-brimmed black hat she’d bought him at a thrift store that morning covered his horns but made him look like an extra in Westworld. Go away, she mouthed at him.

In response, he spread his hands as if to say, What else am I supposed to do?

“Mariel.” Calladia gripped her shoulder. “Is he stalking you or something?”

“Yes and no . . .”

“That’s it.” Calladia pulled a hank of thread from her pocket and started weaving a design between her fingers. “I’m taking him out.”

Magic normally required three things: intent, precise language, and focus. For complex workings, a physical focus like chalked runes or woven string was often used to keep a witch’s attention fixed on the spell. Mariel was learning the chalk technique right now, but Calladia was an incredible thread witch. If she said she was going to take someone out, they were in real danger.

“No, wait,” Mariel said, grabbing Calladia’s wrist before she tied a knot that chopped off the demon’s dick or something. “It’s my fault. He has no choice about following me around.”

Calladia’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that what he told you?”

“It’s complicated—”

“Well, you’d better uncomplicate it before I end up in jail for brawling again.”

Mariel did not want to explain what was going on, but Calladia was a world-class snoop and could always sniff out a lie. Eventually, she’d need to come clean. “Not here,” Mariel whispered. “Somewhere we can shield. Your truck?” Mariel didn’t own a vehicle, preferring to bike everywhere.

They headed into the strip mall parking lot, and Calladia beckoned Mariel to hop into the passenger seat of her ancient red truck. Once inside, Calladia knitted a spell for a shield of silence. “Silente a veiliguz.”

All sound from outside the truck cab ceased. The spell would ensure no one could hear anything from inside the truck either. Ozroth had followed them; he leaned against the shopping cart corral for the small apothecary next door to Ben’s, arms crossed and face creased in a ferocious frown.

“Now,” Calladia said. “Tell me why a hot, evil-looking cowboy is stalking you.”

Mariel took a deep breath, then told Calladia about the muffins, the summoned ingredients, and her quest for the correct spell. “So I messed up the word for flour,” she said, cringing internally, “and instead accidentally summoned, uh, a demon.”

“What?!” Calladia screeched.

“His name is Ozroth the Ruthless, and—”

“You summoned Ozroth the Ruthless?” Calladia looked like she was going to pass out. “Hasn’t he eaten, like, a billion souls or something?”

“They don’t eat them. I guess it has something to do with their power grid?”

Calladia shook her head. “Girl, you are in so much trouble. How are you going to get rid of him?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Mariel’s fingers twisted in her mint-green skirt. “Apparently I summoned him for a soul pact, and he can’t leave until I give him my soul.”

Calladia’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “That’s . . . huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Yup.”

Calladia contemplated the demon standing a few yards away. “I thought he’d have fangs,” she said. “And red skin and a tail.”

“Apparently not.” In a way, Mariel wished he did. If he looked like a true monster, maybe it would be easier to contemplate extreme measures like exploding him. Of course, being immortal, he might knit himself back together anyway—she had no idea how those logistics worked. But Ozroth was a tall, brooding, absolute snack of a man, cowboy hat and all.

“Is he horrible?”

“He’s . . . strange.” He looked absurd, scowling next to a line of red shopping carts. A man tried to return his cart, saw Ozroth, then abandoned the cart in the middle of the parking lot. “He’s supposedly hundreds of years old and some amazing badass, but he keeps trying to make the most ludicrous deals with me. And he genuinely tried to help me with my magic for no reason, and I think I offended him last night when I told him he was an unwelcome houseguest?”

“Houseguest?” Calladia’s head snapped around. “Don’t tell me . . .”

“Yep,” Mariel said, popping the p. “The terms of the deal require him to stay near me until we complete a contract.”

Calladia looked scandalized and fascinated. “So is he sleeping in your bed?”

“No!” Mariel crossed her hands vehemently. “Absolutely not. Ew. He’s sleeping on the couch.” Sort of. Ozroth was so large, he barely fit. Mariel had come out of her bedroom that morning to discover him sprawled on his back, one leg draped over the armrest, the other planted on the floor. His arms had been akimbo, too, and he’d looked in danger of toppling off the furniture.

He’d looked so harmless—and uncomfortable—that Mariel had made a guilt-fueled early-morning trip to the store to buy giant-sized clothing and a hat capable of hiding those horns. It wasn’t his fault he was in her house, after all, and Mariel had been raised by Glimmer Falls’s consummate hostess. While Diantha Spark’s dinner parties were colorful, no one could fault her when it came to providing the best of everything.

“Wow.” Calladia stared at the demon. “So let me get this straight: you’re now roommates with a demon you accidentally summoned, and the demon can’t leave until you’ve made a bargain to give up your soul?”

Mariel thunked her head against the headrest a few times. “That about sums it up.”

“Well, shit.”

      *

“Two, four, six, eight, what do we appreciate? The woods! Hey hey, the woods!”

Mariel shouted the lines along with the other protestors. There were only nine of them marching outside City Hall, but the protest was drawing attention. Passersby slowed down or stopped to watch.

Mariel hefted her sign higher. protect the forest! protect the magic! was written on it in purple paint. “Stop the spa!” she shouted. “Keep our forest magical!”

A teenager shook his head as he walked by. “Weirdos.”

“Apathy isn’t cool!” Calladia called after him.

Mariel stifled a laugh. “He’s, like, sixteen. I think he gets a pass.”

Calladia sighed. “I just wish the people who actually need to hear this protest were here.”

“Like our moms?” Mariel asked dryly.

Next to them, Themmie passed out pamphlets detailing why the resort would be disastrous for the local environment. Her pink-and-green hair was in pigtails, and she’d painted tiny black salamanders on the apples of her brown cheeks. “There are animals in those woods,” she told a man she had cornered. “The resort will destroy their habitat.”

“Huh,” he said, gripping the pamphlet, eyes darting as if he was searching for an escape.

Themmie wrinkled her nose. “Would you like a selfie?” She had her phone out before he could respond. “Ooh, that’s a cute one! Thanks for supporting the cause!”

Mariel looked at Calladia and subtly rolled her eyes. But honestly, without Themmie’s help, this protest wouldn’t gain any traction. Once she posted on her Pixtagram, support would come rolling in—or so Mariel hoped.

The man finally escaped, and Themmie focused her attention elsewhere. “Hi!” she chirped, prancing towards her new target. “Do you support nature?”

Mariel groaned as she saw who Themmie had approached: Ozroth, who was leaning against a telephone pole, arms crossed over his chest and hat tipped low like he didn’t want anyone to know he was associated with the protest. Mariel had tried to get him to hold a sign, but he’d refused, saying, There’s a concept in the demon plane I’m not sure you’ve heard of. It’s called dignity.

And yeah, that had stung a bit, but Mariel cared more about the well-being of Glimmer Falls and its surrounding ecosystem than the mood swings of a fussy old demon, so she’d ignored him and started marching.

“No,” Ozroth said, glowering down at the pixie. The top of Themmie’s head only came up to his breastbone.

Themmie frowned. “That’s not very nice.”

Ozroth shrugged.

“The fire salamander is extremely endangered,” Themmie said, undeterred. “It only lives here and at one other confluence of ley lines in France. And the resort is going to turn those springs into hot tubs.”

“Sounds like an interesting ambience,” Ozroth said. “Are the salamanders a bonus feature?”

Mariel cut in. “No,” she snapped. “The salamanders will die or be ‘relocated,’ probably to some horrible zoo where they’ll also die. They need the magic in the earth and water.”

Ozroth switched his attention to her. “You care about these salamanders.”

“Obviously.”

His mouth curved up on one side, and Mariel was not going to focus on how soft his lips looked. “If only you knew someone who could help save them.”

It felt like the breath had been knocked out of her. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“Life isn’t fair,” he shot back.

Themmie looked between them, forehead scrunched in confusion. “Um, do you guys know each other?”

“Yes.” Ozroth smirked. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Mariel was going to punch him, she really was.

Themmie gaped at Mariel. “You have a boyfriend? Since when? Why didn’t you tell us about him yesterday?”

Mariel winced. Damn the meddling demon. She’d confessed the summoning mishap to Calladia, but Calladia had seen pretty much every magical mistake Mariel had made over the years, so the embarrassment was somewhat blunted. She’d been friends with Themmie for a few years, but the pixie hadn’t witnessed the true extent of Mariel’s failures as a witch. And sure, Themmie was endlessly supportive, but the shred of pride Mariel had left stung, and she didn’t want to admit the truth yet. Not until she had a way to fix this.

“I didn’t want to tell anyone until it was official,” Mariel said, narrowing her eyes at Ozroth. “Don’t you think this is jumping the gun, dear?”

He shrugged, smug and unbothered.

Themmie looked between them, clearly picking up on the weird vibes. “Okay, we obviously need some follow-up after the protest, but for now, let me get him an extra sign—”

“No,” Ozroth interrupted. “No signs.”

Themmie’s surprise quickly shifted to outrage, and she flicked Ozroth on the upper arm. “You do not get to date Mariel and not march with her, Mister Jump-the-Gun Surprise Boyfriend.” Her wings fluttered rapidly with irritation. “Hey, Calladia,” she called. “Bring me a sign.”

“Which one?” Calladia asked.

Themmie’s eyes narrowed with vindictive glee. “The hot pink one.”

Ozroth stiffened as Calladia jogged over with a pink sign covered in glittery writing. i  fire salamanders was written on it. “Absolutely not.”

Themmie grabbed the sign, then shoved it at him. “Time to step up, mister. Prove you’re more than a pretty face.”

Mariel’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Hecate, she loved her friends.

Ozroth gaped at the pixie, apparently stunned speechless. Themmie shoved the sign at him again, then started thwacking his chest with it.

Calladia looked between them. “What’s going on?”

“Mariel’s boyfriend doesn’t support the cause,” Themmie snapped.

Calladia coughed. “Her . . . boyfriend?” She cast a wide-eyed glance at Mariel, who cringed.

“It’s a long story,” Mariel said.

“He won’t be her boyfriend for long if he doesn’t march with us,” Themmie said. “I’ll break up with him for you, Mariel.”

Oh, Themmie, if only you could. But pixies were low magical creatures whose skills were limited to flying and some snappy cleaning magic. Perfect for flipping a house, less perfect for banishing a demon. “It’s all right,” Mariel said. “He doesn’t have to march.”

Calladia folded her arms. “I’m with Themmie,” she said, pinning Ozroth with a damning glare. “Your . . . boyfriend . . . had better step up if he wants to stay in your good graces.”

Ozroth’s throat worked as the three women stared him down. “Fine,” he said at last, grabbing the sign.

Themmie cheered, then lifted her phone. “Selfie for the cause!” she crowed, snapping a pic of the four of them standing together.

And oh, the look of baffled outrage on Ozroth’s face was worth all of this. Selfie? he mouthed at Mariel as Themmie flitted away.

She shrugged. “Gotta get with the times, old man.” Then she raised her voice. “Two, four, six, eight, what do we appreciate?”

Ozroth didn’t say anything, so Mariel elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ow,” he said. When she just stared at him, he expelled a heavy breath. “The woods,” he mumbled.

Mariel grinned. “That’s better. Hey hey, the woods!”

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