A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch (Glimmer Falls #2)

by Sarah Hawley

Ozroth hadn’t claimed the witch’s soul though. No, he’d dawdled and brooded and pined for the witch like bloody Lord Byron himself (and Astaroth ought to know, since he’d shagged that dramatic bastard for a few months in the early nineteenth century).

Baphomet was the most important person in the room. He was the council’s nominal head, having committed to a centrist position, and he served as tiebreaker whenever the four conservative and four liberal demons failed to come to an agreement.

This is so funny to me; this is basically a demon-run Supreme Court

She writes explicit Wars of the Roses tentacle fan fiction, too.” Way, way too much Wars of the Roses tentacle fan fiction, which she posted to AO3 like a horny human teenager

“Are the tentacles aligned with Lancaster or York?” “I wouldn’t say aligned with so much as inside of,” Astaroth said, “but that’s not the point.

If she can confidently write Henry VI taking it up the arse from a Yorkist squid, she very well might have invented all sorts of falsehoods about me.”

If Baphomet didn’t intervene—and he wouldn’t if the majority were in favor of Moloch’s plans—the council would swerve in a fundamentalist direction it would take centuries to course-correct.

Calladia had assembled the simple furniture herself after buying it from the werewolf-run furniture and home accessory store LYKEA.

Some people required armor to look intimidating, but Calladia managed it just fine in workout gear. He imagined her in armor and stifled an appreciative shiver. There were few things as appealing as a woman who was comfortable in her power.

Astaroth made an annoyed sound. He started to respond, then winced and rubbed his forehead. “Lucifer, this headache. Zero stars for amnesia.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those precious types who can’t sleep unless they’re in a proper bed.” “Is that precious?” Astaroth asked. “Or is it a reasonable expectation, considering the technology available? I was born in the late medieval period. Why would I choose to revisit it?”

The banter is so good 😆

“Well, for starters, camping isn’t about comfort. It’s about getting away and enjoying nature. Cooking over a fire and staring at the stars.” “I can enjoy nature through a window, thank you very much.”

I’m with Astaroth on this one

Astaroth scowled. “Don’t underestimate my ability with a blade. I have at least one foggy memory of wreaking havoc on a battlefield.” “Cool story, bro,” she said. “Let me know when you spot a battlefield.”

He eyed her profile, amused that someone with the bone structure of a storybook princess had the manners of a feral cat.

Astaroth’s brand was apparently “fashionable sexy murderer.” “I don’t think I have a brand,” she said. Astaroth scoffed. “Of course you do. No makeup, workout clothes that show off your muscles, a few well-placed conversational barbs, and a general combative air. You want everyone to know you’re strong, don’t care how they expect you to act or look, and won’t suffer fools.”

He didn’t realize he was quietly singing until Calladia gasped. “Wait,” she said. “No way.” She was probably surprised by his recall of the lyrics—as was Astaroth, now that he thought of it. “I don’t know how I know the song,” he said. “It’s just familiar. Maybe there’s an amnesia exception for music?” “Not that,” she said, flapping her hand. “You’re a Swiftie?”

“Your hostility wounds me.” Calladia bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh. “Good. You could use some wounding.” “Is brain damage not enough for you?”

Calladia ordered a panini, while Astaroth settled on the salmon, which was what she should have expected from his pretentious ass.

“Damn. That would have been a good one.” “A good what?” Astaroth asked, distracted by the sight of Kai regaling his team with some story that involved copious hand-waving. “A good fight.” She tipped her head to each shoulder, cracking her neck. “I have to limit my brawling in Glimmer Falls so I don’t get banned from my favorite spots, and a woman has needs.”

“The best revenge is to forget him and live a happy life.” “How odd,” Astaroth said. “I always heard the best revenge was flaying a bloke alive, forcing him to eat his own liver, and lighting him on fire.” He’d recovered the edge of snark that hinted he was probably kidding. Calladia played along. “We really need to work on your conflict resolution skills.”

She looked . . . soft. Calladia had never been soft. Yet she kept staring, enraptured by this vision of a woman who might have existed, had she not had to erect so many walls to protect herself.

She’d thought of him as a wild animal when she’d first let him stay with her. Dangerous and unpredictable, an exotic intrusion into Calladia’s boring life. His deadly edges seemed dulled, but how much of that was real, and how much a product of his amnesia? And were they really dulled? Or had he blunted his edges for her alone?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Calladia grabbed a pillow from the floor and tossed it in his direction. “That I beat you up? I thought I had.” Pain stabbed through his head, and his eye twitched. “It was completely unprovoked.” “Mmmm, was it though?” she asked skeptically, chucking another pillow and narrowly missing his face. She wasn’t taking this seriously enough. He batted the next pillow aside. “I didn’t do anything to you,” he argued, “and then you hit me and insulted my hat—” “It was a terrible hat,” she said.

Astaroth gasped, because now he recalled it wasn’t just a good hat; it was his favorite. “That fedora cost more than four hundred quid and came custom from my favorite London haberdasher!” Calladia scoffed and shifted to kneel facing him, apparently giving up on the pillow wall. “I don’t know why you’re buying hats using sea creatures as currency—” “I said quid, not squid.” “Either way, you overpaid.” She looked him up and down condescendingly. “You looked like the flag bearer for the incel cause.”

“You’re a conceited know-it-all.” “Takes one to know one,” he shot back. She glared as she delivered the coup de grâce. “Your cane sword is tacky, and you have horrible taste in hats.” Astaroth bared his teeth. “Take that back.”

“I hate to say it,” she whispered back, “but I think we should attempt diplomacy.” Astaroth made a face. “Can’t you cast a spell and turn his organs inside out or something?” “Did you know werewolves have excellent hearing?” came Kai’s response from outside.

Sandranella winced. “Definitely fanfic. I don’t think I’ll ever recover after reading that link you sent me.” She gave Astaroth a sympathetic look. “I heard she forced you to beta read her latest explicit fic on AO3. My condolences.”

Sandranella sighed loudly. “Lilith, I know you’re thousands of years old and afflicted by madness, but can we please focus for a moment?” “I’m not afflicted by madness.” Lilith winked. “Madness is afflicted by me.”

LILITH 🤣

“That warlock who advised you,” he told Calladia in a surge of desperation. “The one whose name sounds like a prescription drug.” “Alzapraz,”

“Maybe they aren’t just victims in need of protection. Maybe they’re warriors waiting for a chance to fight for their cause.”

“Listen to me,” he said, fisting the strands at their roots. “You deserve everything you want. You should take everything you want, the way you once promised me you would. And if you can’t do that yet, say the word and I’ll do it for you.”

“No.” His denial was loud. “Don’t let her diminish you. You’re a warrior, Calladia, and you don’t need to apologize for being who you are.”

“There you go, sounding like a Jane Austen character again. Next I’ll find out you have a country estate and a fondness for waltzing.”

His thumb traced her cheekbone. “I’m sorry that bastard hurt you. Is he still alive?” That didn’t sound enough like a joke for her comfort. “You’re not allowed to murder him.” Astaroth pouted. “Why not?”

Had this kindness and consideration been hiding under his ruthless façade all along? Or had losing his memory given Astaroth the chance to reclaim the person he’d been before the centuries had hardened him?

She retrieved two mugs from a shelf above the fireplace that held tableware and occult-looking figurines. Astaroth squinted at one of the figurines, whose head had started bobbling when Isobel’s sleeve brushed it. Its base was inscribed with the odd word Spock, and the black hair, pointed ears, and blue shirt were vaguely familiar—perhaps an elven deity?

He’s been around 600 years but he’s not familiar with Star Trek lol

“I’m amazed someone as precious as you is happy with plain old breakfast tea,” Calladia said. “I expected you to be into oolong seasoned with rose petals and civet poop or something.”

“I have a safe full of gold doubloons,” he offered. “Doubloons?” Calladia asked incredulously. “Who are you, Blackbeard?”

“She’s off-limits,” he snapped, standing as well. Calladia shot him a damning look. “So are other people. You do not get to hop off the redemption train just to get on the murder train.” That seemed unfair. “What if I only kill annoying people?” “No!”

“You might try Hagslist.” Astaroth wasn’t familiar. “Hagslist?” “It’s an online marketplace,” Isobel explained. “Most often used to find housing, odd items, and unusual sexual encounters.”

Calladia joined him at the door, thread stretched taut between her fingers. “Let’s Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid this shit.” Astaroth had a vague recollection that perhaps that story hadn’t worked out so well. “Which one are you?” he asked. “And wait, didn’t they die?” Calladia grabbed the knob and ripped the door open. “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!”

In trying to protect her heart, Calladia had instead created a prison for her true self. She let the final walls around her heart fall away and gave herself over wholly to this moment and this man, who, despite his flaws and his troubled history, had helped her find the key to her shackles.

Astaroth liked her temper and attitude. Calladia liked his snark and pretentiousness. And just as he’d supported her in taking this crucial step of cutting off her abusive mother, she would support him as he fought to bring change to the demon plane.

Maybe humans were on to something with this nightly sleeping thing. They weren’t wasting time; they were optimizing cuddles.

“We are no longer a council comprised of multiple viewpoints, and we’ve been prioritizing our own power ahead of the well-being of the plane. We have effectively adopted a two-party system, which anyone on Earth can tell you is a recipe for disaster.”