Page 58 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“The single bed. Nice angle. They’d most certainly search rooms with two guests. Clever little Alden.” Bez lay back on the bed, untying his tie. “But did you provide us with this one small bed to keep a low profile or so you could cozy up to me late in the night?”

“I got one bed because it was cheaper, and I don’t have a savings, and all my auto payments are going to cause my overdraft to go over, which means even if I manage to get my life back, I’ll be in debt and homeless. Definitely unemployed. Doubt they’d rehire the guy who bound himself to the one artifact holding a devil inside.”

“Good. You’re better than that job, scrounging around answering everyone else’s questions and filing their work and surrendering your credit for what? Their egos? I say let the archivists suffer without your presence. They can use those pennies they paid you to buy drinks to drown their sorrows.”

“No one’s missing me from the archives.” I chuckled, hiding the twinge of self-doubt because no onewouldmiss me. It wasn’t like I offered much to the repository or the archivist regiment other than serving as a glorified notetaker. “Once they have the Magus Estate up and running again, I’m sure they’ll be fine without me there.”

“Unlikely.” Bez sat up, legs crisscrossed, hands on his knees. “You were the most talented person I’d seen in the repository. And I had nearly fifty years to observe the comings and goings of mages.”

My face burned, and I smiled.

“You were also the most annoying person in the repository. Possibly the world. Which is also saying something since I’ve been here for centuries.”

I grimaced. I searched the grocery bags to settle my rumbling stomach. The apples and fresh berries were certainly a healthy option, or the protein bars I’d bought. Instead, I snatched the bag of Cheetos Bez not-so-subtly tossed onto the conveyor belt when we checked out.

“Those are mine.” He hopped off the bed, puffing his chest.

“Pretty sure I bought these.” I opened the bag and ate a handful.

“Bah. Currency.” He waved a hand. “Worst evil in this dimension.”

I crunched on the Cheetos, savoring the powdery cheese sticking to my gums and the irritation it gave Bez until he opened his candy and began stacking it on top of his raw steaks.

“Okay. You win.” I set the chips down and grabbed the grocery bag with some basic essentials.

Bez crumbled the remaining Cheetos on top of his candy-covered steak. “It’s a garnish.”

“It’s disgusting.” I went to the bathroom, realizing I’d bought toothpaste but not the toothbrush. Sighing, I squeezed toothpaste into my mouth, turned the sink on, splashed some water into my mouth, then furiously squished the cheesy puff crumbs away with my tongue and gargled.

Spitting, I didn’t bother cleaning the bits of toothpaste or Cheeto crumbs that clung to the dark rings of the grimy sink. Okay. Bez had a point. This place was awful. The shower curtain had a brown shadow of filth, and I really didn’t want to peer inside the tiny claw tub.

I pulled out the hair dye, preparing to change my blond curls to a pretty chestnut. It wasn’t much of a change but hopefully would do the trick for some eyes. I’d also keep my glasses off in most cases. Wish I could’ve gotten some contacts. Actually, no, I didn’t. I shivered at the idea of jabbing my eyeballs.

“What are you doing?” Bez waltzed into the bathroom, practically inviting himself without so much as a knock.

“Privacy much?”

“What?” he asked with a teasing tone. “I’ve literally been inside you in more than one way and explored every facet of your naked body. What privacy do you need?”

“I’m dyeing my hair.”

“Why?”

“Because I love autumn colors.”

“Your sarcasm is lacking but caught. Still, why not cast a glamour?”

“It’s just…it’s hard, and I don’t want to screw it up or worry about maintaining it or—”

“Failing?” Bez batted his long lashes. His expression held a playfulness mixed with a sincerity which was vexing. “You need to stop worrying about that and focus on the task at hand.”

Bez stepped behind me, squaring my shoulders.

“Easier said than done.” I sighed.

“It’s not. It’s easier done than said. Saying something means explaining and expressing every aspect of how the concept of magic works. It’s instinctual. An act of expression. Art.” He brushed his shaggy bangs, turning them hot pink. “When you didn’t have time to explain your incantations during the break-in for that damned grimoire, you reacted and solved the problem. When you fixated on every step, sigil, and concept, you floundered.”

“That’s just how I focus.”

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