Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
“So how do we handle tonight?”
Collecting herself, she said, “You can surrender now and salvage some of your pride. My streak is only going to continue.” That wasn’t true. The last time the two of them had gone head-to-head, she’d been hired to protect a warlord’s daughter from an unfitting suitor. That suitor had hired Rök to steal the female away.
One problem: the beautiful daughter had wanted to be stolen by Rök, had sneaked out from Poppy’s protection, straight into the demon’s arms.
Left fuming over her lost pay, Poppy had thought the two would hole up in some lair and make like rabbits. Instead, Rök had dropped off the woman with friends before returning to Poppy. All nonchalant, he’d asked, “You like fancy restaurants?” She’d agreed to a date partly out of sheer curiosity.
“Surrender?” he scoffed now. “Oh, Red, I’ve won against you as much as I’ve lost.”
“Oh, player, I’ve nothing to worry about. You’ll get summoned before we enter the castle, and the night will be mine.” Any woman who slept with a smoke demon could summon him at will. Over the centuries, he’d racked up an army of these swimbos—a play on She Who Must Be Obeyed—so he was prone to vanish.
During Poppy’s date with him, he’d been summoned by a lover and had never returned. Which was for the best.
He grinned. “Is there anything sexier than a jealous witch? If there is, I can’t think of it.”
“I am not jealous.” Hand up if you’re a jealous witch. Me, me! “Look, if you leave now, I’ll walk on the next job.”
“Where’s the sport in that? Besides, I could just teleport you home and return here, snagging the prize for myself.”
Her hand darted inside her bag to snare one of her magic pouches. “Try it, demon. Oh, do.”
He held up his palms in surrender. “Why would I beg off when I can see how much you want this gig?”
“Why do you want it so bad?” Poppy and the demon must be after the same thing. When she’d been told the answer to her curse lay within these walls, she’d pictured a magical talisman, a cursebreaker, that would set her free.
Rök’s cagey look perked up her witchly acquisitiveness.
Tapping her chin, she said, “Are you in need of funds? Poor demon hasn’t been saving his coin?” The most hazardous merc jobs were the most lucrative, and she’d heard that he’d signed on for one lethal mission after another, almost as if he had a death wish—or a huge debt. “Taking all your girlfriends to eat at pricey restaurants must empty your pockets.”
“Hmm. Do I do that? In any case, I like to work. Keeps me young.” He looked no more than thirty, but he was thirteen centuries old. “Admit it: mercs have fun . . .” He trailed off, his gaze flicking in the direction of the glowing ghouls.
Despite the earlier rain, their number had grown to three, a larger one and two smaller ones. Rök rested a hand on his sword.
Poppy didn’t spook easily, but something about that trio filled her with disquiet. Keeping her tone light, she said, “Scared of a few ghouls?”
“Anybody with sense avoids them.”
A scratch or bite could turn even an immortal into the undead. “Then off you go.”
“Sticking around, if it’s all the same.”
Wasn’t all the same; never would be after he’d hurt her so badly.
Rök gestured to the front door. “What are you waiting for?”
The boundary spell, duh. “You don’t know?” His commitment to research usually rivaled hers.
“Checking to see if you do.” His lazy grin made her more suspicious.
“Whatever.” Spears of moonlight penetrated the clouds. It was time. Which meant she had no shot at losing him before the castle opened. Her muscles tensed with readiness, and she felt his attention like a touch.
A wave of mystical energy swelled from the building, swarming outward over them. The magic was dark, tasted bitter. Am I ready to take on this castle? She stared at the door. Will I ever exit again?
Maybe she should wait and prep more. Though everyone in her coven figured she was a conjurer (she had the most luck with those spell pouches), she’d demonstrated no innate caste power. And tonight, she had nothing except a handful of pouches and an activated curse.
Ergo: saddle up!
So foolish. Yet the next opportunity to enter—during another Halloween full moon—wouldn’t be for nineteen years. Her curse would drive her insane by then.
When the door swung open with a hiss, she straightened her shoulders and started forward. Here goes everything. . . .
Rök muttered, “In over your head.”
“Only way to swim.” Inside she blinked against the gloom—she had no demonic night vision—until olden gas lights flickered on. Their dust-coated sconces painted the foyer in a harsh light.
“No one lives here, right?” Rök followed her in. “So who’s paying the gas bill?”