Page 12 of Court of Heathens

“You don’t seem to be. Say you’re sorry and I’ll help,” I tell her as I lean in, my forked tongue flicking across her ear. “Or better yet, let’s make a deal, little witch.”

“Never. You’ll want terrible things from me.” One finger slips from the top, but my stubborn Freya doesn’t ask.

“The only thing I want from you, little witch, is the thing you’ll eventually give me, and we both know it, but keep fighting because it will only make your surrender that much sweeter,” I say as I lean back.

Her hand finally gives and she plummets, heading right for the floor far below. My girl might be a witch, but she’s still breakable.

I evaporate then reappear midair, catching her as I stop us so we simply touch the floor, the book clutched to her chest. “Stubborn little witch,” I murmur as I check her over for injuries.

“Pesky, annoying demon,” she responds, but her lips tilt in a smile—one I can’t help but return.

No, it’s not so bad at all.

CHAPTER 8

The demon doesn’t put me down until we are back inside my house. I’m mildly surprised to see the god sitting there patiently, and I huff, struggling from the demon’s arms and slamming the huge tome down on my workbench.

“Okay, one freeing spell, coming right up,” I mutter as I glance at the god. “Do you, like, want a drink or something?” There’s a sputter, and I point at my demon without looking. “It’s called being a good host.”

“I once asked for a blanket and you sewed my mouth shut,” he retorts.

“You enjoyed that, and what do you call that?” I gesture towards the huge entertainment system bought just for him, and he quiets down. “That’s what I thought. Now be a good boy and fetch the god a drink. What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you god, or does it have power like the demons and you can’t tell a lowly mortal like me?”

“She talks when she’s nervous,” my demon adds helpfully, but he manages to duck to avoid the vase I chuck at him.

“My name is Phrixius,” the god says confidently, and I just stare.

“Phrixius?” I repeat, and he nods proudly, as if it should mean something to me. As if I should worship the ground he walks on.

“What kind of name is Phrixius?” I snap.

“A godly one, passed down by the heavens?—”

“It’s dumb. They clearly hated you, and I’m not calling you that. How about . . . Bob?” I respond.

The chortling that comes from my demon makes me grin. “You wish to call me Bob?” the god repeats, and I worry I offended him, but honestly, he said he wouldn’t smite me, so what do I have to lose? I gamble my life every day picking on the demon.

“Or Fred?” I suggest, and he blinks. “How about Faro? No, wow, you are hard to please. I mean, Phrixius, really.”

“It is a name given to me by the universe and fitting of my station as the ruler of all magical beings,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. So, Todd, what were you doing when I summoned you?” I ask as I open the tome, a cloud of dust hitting me in the face as I cough and wave it away. “Let me guess, ruling over existence?—”

“I was watching the horizon.” His voice is quiet, and I turn to see him, his eyes far away. “I was debating my existence and what it meant.”

“Ah, the casual Tuesday existential dread. Nice to know gods feel that too.” I nod before clapping my hands. “Well, Rodger, let’s find this spell and free you.”

“He looks more like a Richard, you know, because then we can call him Dick,” my demon chimes in.

“Demons can be banished, you know,” Phrixius offers casually.

I jerk around, but my demon covers my eyes. “Ignore him. He’s lying. Free the bastard so he’s gone, and we can get back to what we were doing.”

I elbow him, ignoring the scent of sulphur wrapping around me as I focus on the book, but my eyes go back to Phrixius. Is he right? Could I banish the demon? I need to get him alone and find out before I free him. Otherwise, he’s not likely to help me, but it seems my demon knows my thoughts and is determined to stick by my side at all times and not give us a moment of peace.

I spend the next few hours researching the spell and hoping mydemon will get bored and wander away like he usually does, but he sits right next to me, glaring at the god as if he personally offended him. It’s distracting, and I sit back, rubbing my head.

“Why are binding spells easier than freeing spells?” I mutter.

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