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

by Sarah Hawley

For all the angry girls who were told they were too much.

Calladia’s eyes had widened over the course of his diatribe. They were a lovely shade of chestnut brown, he noticed for no reason whatsoever.

She sighed. “Look, I’m not a bad person. Fair to middling, maybe, but not bad. I wouldn’t feel right leaving you alone and hurt with Moloch nearby.” “But you do feel right belittling an injured amnesiac? Your morality seems to have a sliding scale.” She shrugged. “I said fair to middling, not good.”

“You can stay in my spare room. For one night only.” Astaroth perked up. She was taking him home? That was an improvement on You’re an evil, despicable monster with no heart. “Oh, lovely, thank—” Calladia talked over him. “But there will be no funny business or mischief or acts of evil while under my roof. I’m going to weave so many wards, your testicles will be obliterated if you so much as sneeze wrong.” So much for an improvement. “That seems excessive.”

“I would never pass up the opportunity to bask in more of your radiant company,” he said, following her. She raised a hand, showing the string that dangled from her fingertips. “Testicles. Exploded.” He winced. “I shall be on my least abominable behavior.”

humans were odd like that. One thing on the outside, another within. They might not be able to alter their physical forms the way werewolves or shape-shifters could, but they were shifters of a different sort, adapting themselves to new environments with ease.

Too loud, too messy, too angry, too coarse, too unambitious . . . Calladia had been too much of all the things her mother despised and not enough of everything else.

The sound repeated, and to Astaroth’s horror, he realized it was a sniffle. “Are you crying?” he demanded. “No,” came the aggressive, if muffled, response. Then, “Shut up and mind your own business.” He tried, but it was difficult. The sound of her soft weeping sent him into an agitated state. He needed to move around, fight something, kill something, anything to make the tears stop. “What would make you stop crying?” he blurted out when he couldn’t take it anymore. “Just leave it, all right?” She wiped her nose, steering one-handed. “I’m sad about my house.” “That bastard shouldn’t get to make you cry. He should be wearing his own entrails.”

Storage boxes, files, abandoned exercise equipment, tacky family heirlooms . . . it was a wonder Calladia herself hadn’t been locked up down here during her adolescence like some subterranean version of Rapunzel, left to rot in the dark.

Calladia could be a mushroom. Better that than a delicate flower slowly dying in a vase.

Considering she was driving like she was actively seeking out adorable Disney animals to turn into roadkill, there wasn’t much more pissing off to do before she hit her limit, so Astaroth went for it.

“As your sworn enemy, I can reliably inform you he did not succeed. It would take magic beyond the most powerful witch’s abilities to turn you into anyone but exactly who you are.”

“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.”

“So that’s a no on the bargaining. A shame. You have such a lovely soul.” She scoffed. “What does that even mean?” “I can see your soul if I engage my demon senses. All souls glow, but yours is particularly bright.”

“As evidenced by myself, the best things are built to last.” Calladia let out a startled-sounding laugh. Her teeth dug into one side of her lower lip, and her eyes were bright. It was a real smile, surprised out of her, and it was just as stunning as he’d imagined.

“I promise it’s not as weird as it seems.” She grimaced. “Or maybe it is as weird as it seems. It’s complicated.” “All the good sex is,” Alzapraz said, raising his glass. Calladia choked. “Wait, that’s not—” “Just ask Isobel when you see her,” Alzapraz continued. “Tell her I haven’t forgotten that thing she had me do in 1286.”

The witch was mean. Oddly, Astaroth didn’t find it upsetting. He eyed her profile, amused that someone with the bone structure of a storybook princess had the manners of a feral cat. She was full of contradictions, which made Astaroth want to learn everything about her.

“Very well. My vow of silence begins now.” “How long will it last?” she asked. He made a show of considering. “At least . . . two minutes.” Calladia made a stifled snorting sound. “Don’t make me gag you.” “Kinky,” he said, biting his lower lip. “Will you tie me up, too?” “Yep, I’ll tie you to a tree in the woods overnight. It’s supposed to rain.” Astaroth shivered. Tent camping was bad enough. “I’m shutting up.” Calladia smirked. “Atta demon.”

How had she ended up in the woods getting a marketing lecture from a six-hundred-year-old embodiment of evil?

“Shag a few society influencers and add in a good skincare routine, and you’re already at an advantage.”

Astaroth’s brand was apparently “fashionable sexy murderer.”

“I guess you get good at it after that long.” “Oh, I was good at it from the start.” He smirked at her eye roll. “Why, looking for tips?” He’d gladly give her some. Or literally the tip, should she express interest.

“Absolutely not. We hate each other. Two sworn enemies on a quest, that’s all.” Totally normal. Everyone ended up on a road trip with their disgustingly attractive nemesis at some point, right?

“They could hurt you.” “A little pain spices things up, don’t you think?” As if that sentence wasn’t enough to play havoc with the pleasure centers of Astaroth’s brain, Calladia followed it up with a wink.

“And men are more trouble than they’re worth.” “Men are definitely trouble,” he agreed. “But trouble can be fun.”

“You’re a good person, even if you don’t always believe it, but I’m not. Say the word, and I’ll punish him in the vilest ways you can imagine.”

“You think human police would be able to stop me?” His smile was grim. “I’ve been around a long time, Calladia. Just because these are less violent times doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how to be a monster.”

“Castrating my ex would be a mistake,” she said, voice higher-pitched than normal. “Or any other maiming.” “What about light torture?” Astaroth asked, clearly aiming for levity but failing. The strain was as evident in his voice as it was in hers. “No torture.” Her heart raced, and the dizziness she felt as she reversed away from the cliff had nothing to do with the height. “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.”

*Results may vary. Do not make a wish on an empty stomach. If your wish is followed by acrid green smoke or disembodied cackling, evacuate immediately. If a wished-for erection lasts more than four hours, seek medical attention. No returns on babies or pets. Do not wish for the apocalypse; it won’t work, and you’ll look like a jerk. This statement has not been evaluated by the FDA.

“Do you need anything?” Astaroth asked. “Sure,” Calladia said sarcastically. “A stiff drink, a quesadilla, and a new set of lungs.”

She was getting to know his tells though, and she recognized he used snark to deflect attention whenever he did something heroic. And yes, the retrieval of Mexican food did count as heroism.

“1 2 3 4 5 6 worked.” “Seriously?” She chuckled. “That’s, like, the least secure passcode in history. So much for being a master strategist.” He gave her a dark look. “It got you quesadillas, didn’t it?” She lifted her fork. “Touché. I rescind my mockery.”

“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.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Casanova. I don’t think you’re a misogynist, for the record, but you clearly woke up on the wrong side of the bed and are determined to make it my problem. I have zero interest in that bullshit, especially when I haven’t had coffee yet, so you and your attitude can go meet your hand in the bathroom and work it out.”

“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.” “Make me,” she said, a challenging light in her eyes.

She wanted to hear him moan and know it was for her.

“Impatient?” Yes, she was. Now that she’d crossed that line, Calladia didn’t want to stop. She wanted to ride this impulse as far and as fast as she could before reality caught up with them.

“We need to workshop your definition of justified violence,” she told Astaroth.

But with the way Astaroth was staring at her like she’d blown his mind and hung the moon all at once, she couldn’t regret it.

Being in nature made her feel small, but in a good way. Maybe that was part of being human. In the long stretch of time, she was just a blip. And when you were a blip, you didn’t have to worry about the weight of eons. You could live as loudly as you wanted in the space allotted to you.

“It’s because I’m human,” she said in a teasing tone. “Small life, big dreams, zero fucks to give.” Like a corgi in the universe’s dog park. He lifted her hand to his mouth. “Your life is many things,” he said, lips pressed to her skin, “but it’s far from small.”

“Oh, my warrior queen,” Astaroth said softly. “Has anyone ever worshipped you the way you deserve?”

“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.”

“When did you get so nice?” He scoffed. “I’m not nice. I’m honest.” “I thought you were a famed liar.” She swiped at her eyes. “To the rest of the world, maybe. Not with you.”

“You’re more than strong though. You’re funny and loyal and witty. You’re adventurous. You burn, Calladia, and it’s not your failing if other people can’t handle your light.”

She looked messy and giddy with pleasure, and Astaroth felt the urge to beat his chest like a gorilla. Maybe point at her and grunt. My mouth did that.

“I had a boyfriend in college,” she blurted out. “Though maybe it’s weird to call him that, since he was fifteen years older than me.” “Taylor Swift would call that a problematic age gap,” Astaroth said.

“I’d like to point out that no one is prettier than you,” Astaroth said, running his hand in soothing strokes over her side, “though I acknowledge that’s not the point.” She laughed awkwardly. “You may need your eyes checked, but thank you.” He frowned. “I’ve noticed you don’t like compliments.” “I don’t get a lot of them.” She knew how to react to a challenge or insult—hit back—but she’d never quite known what to do with praise. “Then clearly I need to compliment you all the time.”

That hadn’t been the real end of it, of course. It had taken time to build up her strength and confidence again. It would still take time for all the damage Sam had inflicted to heal. But like building a muscle, the places she had torn had become stronger with time. She would never let anyone make her feel small again.

It was embarrassing how much time she’d spent letting Sam tear her down. She hadn’t recognized the bars of her cage until she was too weak to open the cell door and escape.