Page 12 of The Misfit Mage and His Devilish Desires

“And Lilith is constantly jerking herself off over thegloryof her Hell realm,” Corson added with a snicker.

I glared. The audacity to speak about his devil in such a manner. Even if she were a vile shrew—I’d had the misfortune of Lilith’s visits to Beelzebub’s Hell on the rare occasions when she deigned another world worth her ventures. I’d bet if she heard this Corson’s cocky comment, she’d toss his ass back into Oblivion.

“Okay, but where is this banner?” Wally gestured everywhere, searching for the hidden cue on Diabolic etiquette when it came to a situation such as this.

“Oh, sweetie.” Mora crinkled her face and spoke with a pitchy lilt. “Still can’t channel your Diabolic senses? His banner’s practically on your lap.”

“Hence why I figured you were berating me.” Corson grinned. “Maybe you didn’t like my display, didn’t like me slapping your face with my big, thick Diabolic energy.”

“I’m about to slap you, demon.” I snarled.

“Apologies.” Corson raised his arms in feigned surrender. “I’m terrible at diplomatic policy, yet Mother continues to drag me into this stuff. I’m merely attempting to be friendly.”

“Don’t want your friendship.”

“Boo.” The arrogant blue demon pouted. “Here I was hoping we’d stay up late, braiding each other’s hair and sharing secrets while eating the ice of cream.”

Wally continued searching for the banner, stepping right through the translucent fabrics. Since Wally hadn’t come close to mastering control over his Diabolic abilities, he couldn’t enhance his vision to see between the dimensional layers of reality where the banner of diplomacy floated. Each strand of fabric moved like a floral flag, some pedals coiled inward while others stretched out far, revealing emblems unique to Lilith’s Hell. Beacons of her devil’s signature. These intangible pieces of energy conjured by a devil weren’t exactly the essence of Lilith’sbeing, but they carried her scent, radiated her aura, commanded her authority.

“What exactly brings you here?” Mora asked, cautious but too curious not to investigate.

“An invitation, of course.” He reached into the satchel hanging at the side of his leather skirt, meant to evoke some warrior garb from a long-forgotten culture. Retrieving a piece of parchment, he opened it with essence and unveiled the flaming orb that served as a key to Lilith’s dimension.

Beelzebub would make similar ones for his demons venturing outside the realm. It was linked directly to the full power of a devil. Even as such a tiny item, Lilith’s being oozed through each flick of the fire, casting an immense palpable presence.

I clamped my jaw, teeth ready to crack under the pressure.

“Lilith has decided to hold a banquet in honor of Walter Alden’s ascension as a devil, per se, and would like to extend him an invitation to her Hell.” Corson bowed, raising his arms and offering Wally the fiery orb.

“Oh, fuck me,” I groaned.

Corson cocked his head. “Maybe if you ask nicely, phony devil.”

“Stop talking to me, or the next thing I rip out of you will be your tongue.”

“He’s jesting.” Mora laughed, then elbowed me not-so-subtly and shot me a glare that absolutely meant I needed to shut the fuck up, but I had no energy or desire to placate this prick at our feet.

Correction, at Wally’s feet. Wally, who stared at the flames in awe, curious and cautious and calculating every observation that’d likely turned all the gears in his overly active mind.

“She’s having a banquet for me?” The flickering fire danced in Wally’s eyes, illuminating the hazel irises until the black voidof essence completely overtook his sight. The black orbs studied the fiery invitation. “Why? How?”

“As the newest devil, Lilith wishes for an audience with you,” Corson explained as if Wally should grasp such things.

“She knows I’m not a devil devil, right?” Wally raised an eyebrow and bit his lower lip as he did his very best not to elaborate on the unique complexities of his situation. His forehead crinkled in the cutest way as he held back the extra notes he wanted to add to the conversation.

Honestly, devils so rarely birthed themselves into existence, it made some modicum of sense Lilith would crave to have one of her carnal festivities with a knock-off devil. True devils were consciousness constructed in the dead, empty spaces of the universe. They filled the void of nothingness with tangibility, conjuring a Hell realm for their being, for their world, for their eternity. But the last devil rising I’d heard of was more than a thousand years ago. With so many infinitely growing dimensions, there were few empty spaces to carve out Hells in this universe.

“She knows all,” Corson answered Wally’s question. “Lilith can never be deceived.”

That wasn’t a response so much as a warning, a threat, a promise she’d learn the full extent of Wally’s being. I could think of no other reason for her to offer him a key to her Hell, a party in his honor.

“Here is all the information on the Devil’s Banquet.” Corson handed over the flaming orb, which Wally carefully cradled between his hands. “During the event, you’ll be expected to present yourself to Lilith’s Court and declare war, alliance, or neutrality with her realm.”

“W-w-what?”

“It’s all very standard,” Mora said with a smile. “Most devils choose neutrality with each other, alliances becoming demanding.”

“And most devils are too cowardly to attend a Devil’s Banquet and declare war,” Corson added.

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