Page 26 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“You can’t just break into someone’s apartment.” I quieted, then shook my head. No. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. “What if they’re home?”

Bez slid the glass door open. It was unlocked. “Riley never locked this because, apparently, he was terrible at remembering his keys.”

“It’s the tenth floor.” I glanced over the railing at the daunting drop.

“Not everyone sucks at flying a broom. Just you.”

I ground my teeth. “Asshole.”

“Dick.”

I considered speaking out, but his frown frightened me. Not Bez’s face. Riley’s face, the face of the misfit mage who’d killed Carl and attacked me, the one Bez chose to possess.

Bez smirked, soft and friendly, nothing like the wickedness I’d experienced thus far. “Sorry. I’m exhausted. This is the most action I’ve had in a while, and you’re a fucking headache.”

That was the worst apology I’d ever heard. But considering he was a devil and he’d already tried murdering me, I guess he didn’t really do apologies.

Hesitantly, I stepped inside with Bez since it didn’t seem like I had any other options. The walls of the mage’s apartment were covered in cloaking incantations, highly intricate and nearly on par with what the sentinel regiment used.

“It’s not entirely you,” I said. “The face.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Too dashing for you?”

“Sure.” I scoffed, then eyed the messy apartment which smelled like I’d walked back into my frat boy phase. Well, notmyfrat boy phase. More like my misguided interest in douchebags with confidence.

“Whatever. I need a shower.” Bez stripped off his shirt, and I turned away. “Don’t try running, Walter. I’ll feel the tug of the tether linking us. The last thing you want is a naked, soaped up devil chasing you down the hallway.”

I snorted. As terrifying as that was, it was sort of ridiculously hilarious in the worst way. “Maybe I’ll fly away.”

“Yeah, riiiiight.” He stepped into the bathroom by the tiny hallway connecting the living room, kitchen, and bedroom. I plopped onto the couch. Screw Bez.

Turning on the TV, I flipped channels until I reached a news station. Not that it’d make a difference. No magic accountings ever reached the media thanks to the highly efficient infiltration regiment. The news did note the traffic jam on Heyward, caused by Bez’s reckless flames, but the reporter blamed a gas fire. Thank goodness for quick and effective glamouring.

He shouldn’t have been able to nearly harm so many people. I commanded him not to.

I sank into the dirty couch cushions, sadly the most comfort I’d had since this ordeal began. I didn’t tell him not to hurt anyone. The first time, I commanded him to stop. The second time, I said not to kill anyone. I slapped my forehead. “Of course. The commands are literal in their interpretation. But that begs the question how specific I can get with the commands before the time limit runs out. Assuming there is a time limit.”

Perhaps I could create an indefinite command, something highly thorough and detailed enough to consider every potential outcome. “Would clauses work on a devil?”

I eyed the bathroom door. Water blasted, but I bit my lower lip. I couldn’t chance Bez hearing me. I also had to wonder how long a command lasted. My first command held for hours, from the estate all the way to the tribunal. Then again, Bez might’ve been biding his time. I couldn’t ask him outright. Not unless I made answering honestly a command. Not that I knew exactly how to issue one. Strong emotion? Succinct clarity? Straightforward request? Something unambiguous in nature.

I ran my fingers through my hair, tugging my grimy curls. None of this mattered. Not really. I needed to prioritize the accusations the chancellors made. They wanted me dead for the Diabolic binding and my role in the attack on the Magus Estate. Something I could never do. In theory, maybe. But no. This level of cooperation and coordination and cunning required more than even my best hypothetical potential.

Still, they had evidence, which suggested my key card was used to embed the virus into the system. I mean, I understood the basic framework to creating a virus. Viruses replicated by creating their own files on an infected system, attaching themselves to a legitimate program, tricking processes, which further infected the computer’s boot processes and corrupted user documents, protocols, updates, and a whole plethora of systems.

But the framework and sophistication of the Magus Estate was built on multiple servers. An independent server specifically for the dimensional portals, and one for the archives, which split into separate ones for the repository and vault. Neither of which I knew the location of. I suppose, since it was all tech based, I wouldn’t need the physical location. Not if the virus was complex enough, which it’d need to be to account for over a dozen private networks and the magical layers entwined in each server. Plus, only the sentinel regiment had access to the servers.And only the highest ranked sentinel practitioners had that type of clearance. I might be the child to the sentinel chancellor, but she’d never explained how any of it worked.

The shower turned off, drawing me from complex conspiracies I lacked answers for.

“Don’t you just love feeling squeaky clean from top to bottom?” Bez stormed out of the bathroom. “Especially, the bottom. You mortals sweat in the worst places.”

The first thing I saw was his shaggy jet-black hair, no longer matted, and the roots a vibrant neon orange. The next place my eyes instinctually fell to was Bez’s cock because he’d strode into the living room stark naked, shaking his hips. I turned, closing my eyes. Still, in that fraction of a second, I got a very clear look at his appendage, which was clearly a shower, not a grower.

I swallowed hard. “Put some clothes on.”

“Yes, yes. But I prefer to air dry.”

He was the worst. The literal worst. That said, my curiosity itched. “How’d you change your hair?”

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