Page 13 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

“I trust your judgment,” I said. “Always have. Always will. I simply wish you would trust mine.”

“Fine.” Wally sulked, dragging his slippers with each step back to the bedroom.

“Do you wish to talk more?”

“Nope. I need to get back to freelance gigs. Lots of super fun work to get through.”

I sat in silence, keeping the screen frozen on Sandra’s face and listening to the intensive notes Wally scribbled, providing highly detailed backgrounds on items that would, in turn, bepedaled for far higher sums than we’d be compensated given the amount of effort he put into all his labors.

I wanted him happy, wanted him to treasure his work like he once had, but I refused to budge on this Fae nonsense. Obvious trap.

My telephone buzzed, and I ignored it. Few had my phone number, yet unknown mortals found it all the time, wishing to discuss my expired warranty or someone warning me of tax evasion that the IRS sought, which required I send them currency immediately through something called a money order. Fuck the mortal government. They could fight me over their pennies.

The incessant thing persisted. I huffed, contemplating disturbing Wally, as only he knew how to use the magics of the apps to block unwanted callers. It’d be easier to just break the damned thing, but Wally was already mad at me, and I’d already gone through a half-dozen telephones. Apparently, this thing cost a lot, which was absurd for a fruit, one made of metal or not.

It wasn’t some unknown caller—it was worse.

Mora. And she sought to video call me from the glow of the screen request.

I dragged my finger along the wiggling answer prompt four times before the FaceTime thing activated.

“Bezzy,” she said as she moved about Mercury’s Marketplace. Snippets of shop signs revealed themselves during her strut through the street.

“Why do you insist on calling me every time you are out and about?”

“I’m a busy person. Not all of us can sit at home most days relying on our mortal partner to do the heavy career lifting.”

I growled and went to hit the red end button.

“I’m teasing.” She lifted the phone to greet me with a coy smile, always something wicked hidden in her eyes even whenplaying.

“What do you want, Mora?”

“Checking in. How’d the evening go? Was Wally in awe? Was he captivated? Was he ever so grateful he decided to relive the event which created such a lovely anniversary?”

“I’m not telling you the details of our evening. I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

“You’ve answered your phone while in the throes of passion twice; surely you can tell me how your date went. I’m curious.”

I furrowed my brow. No, she wasn’t. Mora rarely showed an interest in the play-by-play of my romance. She wanted to fish for details on the Fae Divinity.

“It was interesting,” I said. “Fluttering Fae, bewitched mortals, Wally got a job offer, the flight was relaxing, no Collective presence, I stopped for—”

“A job offer?” Mora interjected, as suspected. “Quite exciting. Doing what exactly?”

What was she up to?

“Nothing.” I shrugged. “He declined, preferring the flexibility of working with your illustrious clientele.”

“I’d hardly call them illustrious; irksome, entitled, incompetent, annoying… But I digress.” Mora moved the camera of her telephone to her soft smile, positioning herself somewhere secluded where the sun didn’t hit. “This sounds like a wonderful opportunity for Wally. One he shouldn’t pass on.”

“That’s what you said about selling those petrified gremlins, and I’m still cleaning slime off my suits from that botched venture.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Bezzy.”

“We have plenty of other ventures to explore. We’ll gain through those.” I clicked the red button. “Goodbye, Mora.”

“Wait.”

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