Page 11 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

Baron Novus clapped his hands, the smile filling his face returned. “Remarkable. To think a mage would hold such in-depth comprehension of our magics after seeing only a single layer of it. I am rarely astounded, but consider me charmed.”

“If you want his fucking autograph, next time, just ask.” Bez snarled. “Your curiosity has been sated, now begone before my little mage’s pleas for mercy fade, and I rip off your oversized, empty head.”

“I myself have only encountered Diabolics and their leash holders on select occasions,” Baron Novus said. “But I was always under the impression that those with bound Diabolics kept a tighter hold on their behavior. You must be truly formidable, Walter, to allow your devil such slack.”

I waved my hands back and forth, straining to grin and feeling my blood boil from the offense Bez took from the comment. As he should. Baron Novus might’ve meant well with his honesty, but the blunt tactlessness of it was going to get him murdered. “He’s not on a leash.”

“Yes. If one of us were to don a leash in this relationship, it’d certainly bemyWalter.”

My face scrunched as the smirk on Bez’s face, and the snark in his voice left me frazzled.

“Hmm. Mortal mating practices, I presume.” Baron Novus withdrew a card from his breast pocket and blew a breath carrying a cacophony of echoing whispers.

Releasing it from his fingertips, the card whirled, dancing delicately on a breeze as soft words continued murmuring, all the while golden letters became engraved upon the card. It landed at my feet, written in Sylvan symbols—the Fae language—that burned brightly on the vanilla card.

“I’ve heard you take on freelance work and wished to extend an offer to a potential career opportunity.”

I picked up the card. Though the letters seemed aflame, the card was icy to the touch. “Really? What kind of work?”

“It would require extensive hours, remote opportunities,” Baron Novus said. “But some of my possessions would not be suitable for travel, so you’d need to work here.”

“In The Chicago Theatre?” I asked.

Baron Novus’ wide mouth formed a thin smile, made exceptionally thin by his lack of lips. “No, no.”

He flicked his wrist, wiggling his elongated fingers with whimsy. Golden rings clinked together, and glitter funneled from his palm, directed by the melody of seemingly random noises his jewelry made. Fascinating how the Fae used a tune of any kind to harness or control their vast magics.

“You would work in my villa.” Baron Novus held his arms out, beckoning, flaunting the silhouette of a home’s entryway behind him. “I have many precious gems that need proper examination. Your expertise in the field would be most fortunate, and I’d be honored if you handled my belongings with half the care you’ve shown to the many artifacts you’ve studied for the Collective. I would love to hear your assessment of them.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Bez said. “Walter has his hands and mouth full assessing my precious gems. They require all his attention at the moment.”

My face burned. Bez looked half a second away from whipping his dick out and marking his territory.

“Hmm. Such crude euphemisms, devil,” Baron Novus said, adding a high-pitched chime at the end.

“You should leave before my graceless nature matches your dancing fairies, and I butcher you like your leading Fae butchered this evening’s performance.”

“Consider the offer, Walter Alden,” Baron Novus said as he vanished, his voice still carrying around the destroyed auditorium. “Perhaps after you’ve had a stern talking to with your Diabolic, you can make a sensible decision.”

Bez’s glare fell onto me. “Oh, yes, Walter. We should have a stern talking.”

“Awkward introductions aside, this seems like a great opportunity.” I clutched the card, giving Bez a weak smile. “Maybe even a funny anecdote for the future.”

“Most certainly. And so long as that anecdote doesn’t involve fairies, share the story with whomever you wish.” Bez snatched the card away, ripping it to pieces and tossing the scraps into his black flames.

4

Beelzebub

The anniversary of our intimacy should’ve ended with me taking Walter home and bedding him, getting my dick wet, and plowing him throughout the night. Instead, it was ruined by the Fae. What should’ve been a night of Walter rambling about the joyful experience he had observing the Fae and sharing all his annoying theories turned into a discussion on the grand opportunity he’d been given, reasons we should consider it, and how inconsiderate I’d acted by taking the offer from him. What he considered an overreaction to my misunderstanding pissed me off more than the damn Fae who’d snatched him away to begin with.

Unable to sleep, I stayed awake on the couch watching angry wives drink and scream and scheme, babbling about the import of their lives. Their pettiness delighted me, and I took a bit of satisfaction that their loud voices on high volume gave Walter a restless night, too.

I glared at the glint of the golden letters on the card. Destroying it didn’t work. It reappeared to Walter upon our return home, refusing disposal until Walter alone officially accepted or rejected the offer. Tricky Fae magics. So, I did the sensible thing and kept it within my reach on the coffee table, out of his grasp.

“Did you seriously have to watch that all night?” he asked, groggy and surly. “Maybe we can have a real conversation about the offer today. You know, instead of you shooting me down every time I attempt to bring it up.”

“I have never once shot you.” Tempting as that was, given his attitude.

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