Page 38 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

“It wasn’t supposed to be single-handedly.” I ground my teeth.

It wasn’t supposed to be an attack, either. Liberation. Something to free the scattered Mythics under the reign of a cruel Magus. A man bent on outdated policies which divided mages, Mythics, and mortals of all kinds. I was only meant to help remove one enemy to all. Abe painted such delusional lies as truth, craftier than even Mora herself, I fell right into thinking I’d absolve a past of murders with one singular righteous kill. This region would hail me a hero. No such thing, though. Abe penned the perfect patsy in exposing my villainous actions, all while leading the charge against me. Still, I’d rather slaughter a thousand than suffer at the hands of one. Not that it worked. Abe bound me away and created the peaceful co-existence he’d always wanted, all while ensuring the mages and Mythics had a mutual enemy—the devil who came to massacre them. Interesting how someone deep within the recesses of this city had the same vision as Magus Remington when establishing a new narrative; however, they’d picked Walter Alden as their villain—a poor choice.

“You’ve been here this entire time?” I asked after mulling over past miseries for too long. Mora kept quiet, studying me, likely gauging how best to broach her next words.

“Kell loves the city, the seasons, and hopes to one day reunite with…” Mora paused. “I don’t have the heart to say covens don’t undo banishments. Especially when forbidden magics are used. I swear, witches are worse about shunning their own than mages. Probably why mages supersede them—a better consensus.”

A consensus that made Walter a target and scapegoat to cover someone else’s agenda. “Mages also have more numbers considering they can recruit when enrollment is scarce.”

Witches were a bloodline. Stronger magics, although it did little when the mages outnumbered them a hundred to one.

“I must say, Mora. Surprised your witch mate is still alive and kicking.” I snickered. “Kell must creak like old floorboards at this point.”

“My essence and the bond we’ve created allows Kell a much slower decay than the average mortal.” Mora giggled—her lips curled into a twisted smirk I’d seen far too many times, which meant she’d lost herself in her own humor. “It’ll be centuries before the crow’s feet creep in.”

“So, the Diabolic bond offers longevity?”

“What’s immortality if one can’t share it with those precious to them?”

“You’ve willingly submitted to several Diabolic bonds.”

“Yes?”

“How do you break one?”

In the three centuries I’d known Mora, she’d had a new partner every time our paths crossed. The next great love of her life. Following her heart in this realm often left her heartbroken with a body to bury and a new host body to find in order to maintain that low profile she loved. Sometimes even a village for us to burn. Surely, she’d had to sever a romance with a bond still active.

“You can’t break a bond.” Mora shrugged. “Well, I can’t. But I’m usually careful never to offer too much. Never know how long forever lasts.”

“Keeping your mortal on a tight leash for monthly restoration.”

“No. In the past, perhaps. Kell and I perform the ceremony maybe once a year. It’s the longest contract I can offer.” Mora sipped her drink, studying me. “Why are you so curious about Diabolic bonds?”

“Simply nice to see you making your affections last,” I said flatly, hiding my curiosity with disinterest. When I came to Seattle, she claimed Kell was the one. Something she’d professed at least a hundred times. It was somewhat comforting to know she’d made it work. “Half a century, you really are settling down.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“I’d still gamble on finding Kell’s chest ripped open, heart discarded, and you soaked in blood before you hit the hundred-year marker.”

“Bitter, jaded, nonbeliever.” Mora waved me away dismissively. “You’ll eat those words and whichever lovely cake I serve on our hundredth.” Mora licked her lips, eyes rolled high, savoring some delectable memory. “Oh, my goddess. It reminds me… We had the most decadent molten lava cake on our fifty-second. Chocolate made by these wonderful nymphs. Unicorn dust sprinkled on top. Yum.”

“Sounds delicious and very mortal.” I grabbed her cherry smoothie, sniffing the mana and blood laced in this sweet treat. “I see some things haven’t changed.”

“Low profile doesn’t mean a girl should abstain. Abstinence leads to binging and depression.” Mora pushed the bottom of the glass, inching it closer to my face. “It’s all about moderation, Bezzy. If you knew it, you’d have just as much fun without so many folks chasing you. You’d be happier.”

“Devils are never happy, dear. You’d know that if you knew more of them.”

“I’ve met enough devils to know I’ve had my fill.” Fluffing her hair, Mora shook away the memory of her forgotten Hell realm ruled by the boring Bael, one of the laziest, unchanging devils our many worlds held. Every time a glint of her past crept into her mind, she had the same faint expression, loss for words, and swift recovery. Pouty lips, primped locks, and some god-awful comment to follow. “I have one suggestion for you, darling. Get out of the city. Out of the state. Three away to be safe. Hell, cross a border or two. Someplace where the mages aren’t so empowered.”

Was that concern? With no biting comment, either. Mora had changed. Or perhaps I’d forgotten with so much time apart.

“Worried for little ole me?”

“Worried you’ll cause more trouble. Things are stirring here, dangerous things. Deadly. The Collective won’t lose; they never do. But I imagine a lot of Mythic factions are going to leap at this false sense of weakness, which means more enforcement from mages.”

“I can keep a low profile.”

“Your nose is growing.”

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