Page 50 of Obsession

Agreed. But even if we assume Lucy’s current coven is all light and love, it doesn’t mean she led Mama’s coven that way, I point out.

Correct. You still don’t know who’s telling the truth—Bettina or Lucy. Or perhaps neither are, not entirely. Regardless, I’m going to keep working down the list of demonic associations. I’ve already spoken with two demons who had ties with your mother’s coven.

What did the coven want in summoning them?

What is it every person who summons a demon wants? He shrugs. Power. Success. Wealth. The usual.

What about Delilah? I ask.

I’m still looking into her death. We make our way to the end of the alley and he texts his father, then pins me against the wall. “Make no mistake—I have every intention of calling due what’s mine,” he says seductively, running a tingle up and down my spine, causing a full-body shiver. “But not today. I have a case this afternoon. My wanton witch will just have to be patient, as difficult as that will be.”

“Your ego is absurd,” I retort, grabbing onto the back of a chair to right myself as we’re now back inside the break room. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the teleporting trick.

His phone chimes and he looks at the message. “Test results from Azrael’s samples are back—‘Dark magic detected. Soil sample consistent with areas in West Tennessee, Arkansas, Mississippi, and/or Louisiana.’”

“Well that’s not very helpful,” I grumble.

“When did you become such a cauldron half-empty witch? Of course it’s helpful. It could have been anywhere in the world, and we’ve narrowed it down to four potential states,” he informs me. “I’ve got to go. I need to finish up some work before this weekend.”

“Fine. But then for the entire weekend, you’re all mine.”

“Deal.” A contract floats in the air and I laugh, shaking my head no. Enough deals with this devil.

Later that evening, my phone chimes and I check the message:

Azrael: I’m bored to death. Meet me at the Peabody lobby bar.

Me: Your death humor disturbs me but okay. Be there in a few.

As soon as my finger hits send, I hear a knock on my bedroom door. Opening it, I’m surprised to find Azrael decked out in his seersucker suit and bowtie.

He extends his hand and I take it. “How did you get in here?” I demand. “Damion warded the apartment.”

“Darlin’, you can’t ward out death.” Well if that isn’t a sobering thought.

Taking my hand, we materialize inside an empty ladies’ restroom. He holds the door open for me, and we enter the Peabody. Grand marble columns frame the historic lobby with the bar situated in the center.

“The ducks must be at their palace for the evening.” I nod to the duck-free fountain. I’m not joking about that; the ducks live in a $200,000 marble-and-glass palace on the rooftop of the hotel.

“They can stay there for all I care,” Azrael gripes.

We snag an empty corner table, and a server around my age approaches and takes our drink order. “I’ll have an old fashioned, please,” I tell him.

“Whiskey for me. Thank you, son,” Azrael says in an overly exaggerated southern accent. He looks at me. “Better?”

“More finesse, less force. So where’s your new guy?”

“He’s not working this evening. Just as well. Turns out our chemistry was deader than a doornail.”

“Ha ha.”

Our server soon returns with our drinks. “Thank you kindly, lad,” Azrael says, now sounding more Scottish than southern.

“Now you’re trying too hard. Hey, did you know Eiael, the Angel of Occult Knowledge?” I take a sip of my cocktail and look around. It’s a weeknight and we have the place practically to ourselves. The last time I was at this bar was a few months back with Damion. Well, I was “with” him in that I was possessed by him.

“Yes. I met Eiael eons ago, and let me tell you, he was a pretentious angel back then. It’s no surprise he fancied himself a god,” he says, sipping his whiskey.

“Do you know what happened to him? Zazel says the angel is eternally locked out of the earthly realm.”

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