Page 43 of The Misfit Mage and His Darling Demon

“We’re already difficult enough to track. If Fae magics find a way to amplify our cloaked presence, I don’t see that going well.”

“Could be quite profitable,” Mora said.

“How could you possibly need more currency? You take an exorbitant amount in your finder’s fee. I can’t even fathom the absurd prices of your other services.”

“You should see what I charge my enemies.” She smirked. “And it’s not about money. I have more than I can count, enough to roll around in bed with Kell, and no need to add to my income revenue.”

“Bah.” I waved a dismissive hand. If she tried turning this into another discussion on why immortals should focus on their investment portfolios, I’d strangle her. She only ever used currency as a way to distract or confuse me.

“To answer your question, Bezzy, it’s about power and prestige.”

I stifled a laugh. “I always forget your obsession with status and authority.”

Power was the only thing Mora had to work for in the mortal realm, likely a humbling experience for a former king of Bael’s Hell. One of several thousand, but still a fraction of a hair above the millions of other demon lords or the billions of Diabolic peasantry, good for nothing but eternal servitude.

“What can I say”—Mora twirled past me, curtsying—“you can take the demon out of the monarchy, but not the monarch out of the demon.”

“Before you go recounting the number of kings and queens you’ve been inside or had inside you, answer my original query.”

Her lips curled into a minxy yet reserved smile, her eyes distant, looking at nothing but memories. Mora had a certain expression when reliving her long list of lost lovers, one I’d been privy to observing too many times. Those lesser beings incapable of eternity lived on forever every time her mind wandered, even if only for fractions of seconds at a time.

“I’m always looking for ways to cultivate relations with our brethren, and I can think of quite a few demons that’d offer their souls or a thousand others for the peace of mind that comes with a full-proof cloak from fellow Diabolics, especially from theirdevils. Who knows? Maybe this tech can be applied to Mythics, mortals, or all of the above.”

I didn’t like the idea of that one bit. There’d already been a few demons circling like vultures since my reemergence, my bond with Wally convinced foes I’d lost my footing as an all-powerful Diabolic deity. If they actually managed a blitz attack, it could prove irritating, constantly watching, waiting, and wondering what old rivalry with some worthless demon I’d sparked merely by living my best life.

“Could benefit you, too.” Mora stepped in close, shoulder-bumping me. “Beelzebub of history drew quite a lot of attention. Perhaps the Bez of the future seeks a more reclusive romance, one without prying eyes.”

I glared.

She’d kept an ear close to the ground on whispers of demons daring enough to challenge a devil with a mortal attachment, something she herself had always remained vigilant about. Suppose I never figured it that difficult given how Mora handled herself when linked to lovers, but the minute I bound myself to Wally, that theory vanished. Considering Mora’s observations since I left Seattle, I probably have her watchful eye to blame for this entire situation. Her extra attention on demon threats likely led to her discovery of missing Diabolics, the Fae involvement, and this fancy dimension-defying villa. The question was, what purpose did she have in acquiring it? Mora never revealed her hand, so asking outright would only result in skirting the truth, given how carefully she weaved half-truths and intricate lies.

“So, you’re only interested in the cloaking magics? Or is there more to this technology?”

In most cases, if I desired the truth from Mora, I had to follow the web she weaved in hopes of finding the answers I sought.

“I told you,” Mora said. “I don’t want this type of travel to become so easily accessible. Mythics and mortals have no business gallivanting around the Hell realms. And there’s no profit in expanding tourism in Hell.”

“Their perception is so limited; they wouldn’t even register half the sensations.”

“Exactly. Who was that fool that inaccurately chronicled his short stint? Damien, Donnie, Derek…”

“Dante?” I asked, playing confused with Mora, who knew the name but wanted to tiptoe the conversation in a distracting direction.

“He never even went.” Mora let out an exasperated sigh. “Drank too much wine with satyrs, listened too intently to sirens, and lost himself in a delusional, drunken stupor. But could you imagine if someone did go to a Hell realm uninvited? I know of few as lenient toward interlopers as Bael.”

I could imagine it. Had imagined it for some time, in fact. The terror of someone finding a loophole into Beelzebub’s Hell.

“Speaking of Diabolics,” Mora said. “How about we split up, cover more ground?”

So she could sleuth about undisturbed, evaluating anything and everything?Yeah, right.

“Sounds like a plan.” I nodded.

Mora vanished in a blur, and I followed suit, listening intently to the light patter of her shoes and the swish of her body darting down long stretches, then cutting quick corners. While I couldn’t observe her in action, I heightened my senses, absorbing the slightest vibration, which created a full scene of events.

It helped Wally’s pursuit of Kell had lessened. It didn’t help that Kell wiggled her hips, taunting him as she ripped apart incantations from the library. I cracked my neck, savoring thereleased tension carried in Wally’s shoulders, and focused on Mora.

The slightest brush of her fingertips on items big and small, the soft murmur of a satisfied hmm, the lingering steps as she paused to examine something closely. There must be a thousand things in this villa she wanted, yet she didn’t grab a thing. Not even pocketing a small trinket, which I’d already done with the less gaudy jewels in the baron’s collection.

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