Chapter 29
Hazelton stomped through the puddles left behind by the rainstorm, each splash a punctuation mark to his fury.
He couldn’t believe it—there wasn’t even a whisper of a witch’s presence anywhere in the city!
For hours, he’d been prowling the streets, reaching out with his senses, but the telltale ripple of magical energy he’d been relying on was completely absent.
The witches seemed to have vanished into thin air, and it infuriated him.
“What the hell is going on?” he growled, kicking at a discarded can that clattered noisily against a wall.
And then there was Hortense. Or, more accurately, the absence of Hortense.
The elf had been a thorn in his side, constantly nagging him about her precious trees and demanding more money.
Hazelton grimaced at the thought of heading back to the forest to deal with her.
He could re-absorb some of that witch’s power while he was at it—her energy had been tantalizingly potent, even if it wasn’t as strong as Sorcia’s.
And maybe he’d zap Hortense for good measure.
Pain had a way of motivating people, and the green bitch needed a reminder of who was in charge.
But then, of course, there was the debt.
Hazelton ground his teeth as he remembered the deal.
Trees. She wanted more trees. What kind of idiotic demand was that?
She lived in the damn woods! Couldn’t she just plant acorns or whatever elves did?
They were supposed to be nature’s guardians, weren’t they?
Couldn’t the forest just sprout more trees on its own?
“Freaking elves,” he muttered under his breath. “She can dance naked under the solstice moon for all I care.”
Then he chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “No, wait—that’s witches, you idiot.”
The thought amused him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to shake his frustration.
The city was starting to come alive with the early morning bustle.
A jogger passed him, obliviously cheerful.
Hazelton sneered and reached out, sending a wave of irritation toward the man.
The jogger stopped mid-stride, his face twisting in confusion.
Then he cursed loudly, muttering to himself as he abandoned his run and stormed down the street.
Hazelton grinned wickedly. Humans were so easy to ruin. Their happiness was a fragile thing, so simple to shatter. It was almost too easy, but it gave him a small moment of satisfaction.
“Damn, I love being a demon,” he muttered, his grin fading as he turned his thoughts back to Sorcia. Where had she gone? Was she just out of town, or was she actively evading him? That seemed unlikely—her coven had been everywhere until a few hours ago. Now they’d vanished like smoke.
Then a fragment of gossip resurfaced in his memory, something he’d overheard from the witch right before he’d taken her. Something about her High Priestess getting back with Marcus Tinsley, the High Priest of the Central Coven.
Hazelton paused mid-stride, his eyes narrowing as he considered the implications. Marcus. That name churned in his mind, a mixture of irritation and grudging respect.
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” he murmured to himself, the beginnings of a plan forming in his twisted mind. “Let’s see what dear Marcus is willing to sacrifice for his precious Sorcia.”
The thought of tearing into their bond, of corrupting whatever connection they shared, sent a thrill through him. The chase wasn’t over. Not yet. Hazelton’s anger cooled slightly, replaced with the cold, calculating focus of a predator closing in on its prey.
Hazelton wasn’t an idiot. He had done his research before embarking on this plan.
He knew that Marcus and Sorcia had dated years ago, but their relationship had ended abruptly.
He never discovered why, though the whispers in the witching community hinted at a nasty fallout.
Apparently, they hadn’t spoken for years.
Of course, gossip was notoriously unreliable. The witch world didn’t have tabloids or gossip websites, which Hazelton found both baffling and irritating. How was a demon supposed to create effective chaos when his targets didn’t leave enough breadcrumbs to follow?
“Humans,” he muttered with revulsion, kicking at a loose brick.
He was supposed to focus on humans, but they were so boring.
Predictable. Shallow. He could sour a mood or spark a fight in a matter of seconds, but it lacked the challenge he craved.
Sorcia and her coven, on the other hand, were intriguing.
They were clever, resourceful, and dangerously determined. That’s why he had to be smarter.
An idea sparked, and he stopped mid-stride. “Her house!” he blurted, startling a woman walking her dogs. The tangled leashes sent her tumbling to the ground, and she scolded the confused animals as Hazelton reached for his phone.
“Real estate!” he said with a dark grin, dialing a number. He’d pose as a potential buyer, gain access to Sorcia’s records, her movements, maybe even her magical protections. It was brilliant. Except…
“Damn it,” he growled when he realized it was still too early for anyone to be in their offices. He jammed the phone back into his pocket, muttering about wasted time. “Later. Everyone will be at their desks in a couple of hours.”
For now, he’d work on suppressing his anger. That would be the tricky part. Witches could sense a demon’s nature if he wasn’t careful. He’d have to bury his fury deep enough that even someone as powerful as Sorcia wouldn’t detect him. Details, he thought with a self-satisfied chuckle.
Hazelton turned the corner, heading back to the warehouse he’d been sleeping in. The place was dingy and reeked of mildew, but it served its purpose—seclusion. He’d hidden there for the past few days, brooding and plotting. But as soon as the building came into view, he froze.
Movement in the sky caught his attention, and he quickly ducked behind the corner of another building. Peeking out, he narrowed his eyes as he saw what looked like two witches descending toward the sidewalk.
“Damn, damn, damn!” he hissed under his breath.
The freaky elf woman, Hortense, stood awkwardly on the pavement, looking decidedly unhappy. She stumbled slightly, and Hazelton noted with irritation that Marcus—muscular, tall, and clearly formidable—didn’t bother to steady her. Instead, he seemed more focused on the warehouse.
And then there was Sorcia. Hazelton’s blood boiled at the sight of her. She looked confident, composed, even after everything he’d done to rattle her. Worse, she seemed to be issuing orders to the others.
Hortense pointed toward the warehouse—his warehouse. Hazelton’s eyes widened as he realized they were closing in. The brute of a man glanced at the building, his sharp gaze scanning it like he was calculating how to breach it.
Hazelton knew he didn’t stand a chance in a direct fight, especially with the muscle-bound witch by Sorcia’s side. Cursing under his breath, he pulled back further into the shadows, gritting his teeth as he tried to reign in his rage. He couldn’t afford to give away his position. Not now.
His frustration only mounted as he looked around.
Where’s a crowd when you need one? Demons traditionally hid in bustling streets or crowded squares, using the mass of human emotions to obscure their presence.
But it was too early for that. The sidewalks were practically empty, and he had foolishly chosen an abandoned warehouse as his base.
“Brilliant planning, Hazelton,” he muttered bitterly to himself. He clenched his fists, forcing himself to think. This isn’t over. It’s just a setback.
But as he glanced back at the trio outside his hiding spot, the glint of determination in Sorcia’s eyes made his stomach twist. He’d underestimated her. And that, he realized, might be his biggest mistake yet.
Cursing under his breath, Hazelton’s mind raced. He couldn’t outrun them, and hiding in the empty streets was laughably impossible. His options were grim—until fate, or perhaps a spirit god with a twisted sense of humor, intervened.
A group of women in bright, matching athletic gear appeared in the distance, speed-walking with robotic determination.
Their arms pumped aggressively, hands spread wide as if slicing through invisible barriers.
Hazelton blinked, momentarily distracted by how absurd they looked. Speed-walkers? Really?
He nearly laughed out loud but clamped his lips shut. It might be ridiculous, but it’s also perfect. Without a second thought, he darted across the street and inserted himself into their midst.
The women shot him sharp, suspicious glares.
Their synchronized pace faltered slightly as they adjusted to the unwelcome intruder.
Hazelton felt their irritation bubbling, and for once, he didn’t fan the flames.
He suppressed his anger, pulling his own simmering rage deep into his core.
If the witches picked up on his aura, maybe they’d overlook him amidst the fuming speed-walkers.
The group’s brightly colored leggings and reflective headbands were enough to make him cringe, but he kept his head down and focused on blending in. How do humans willingly humiliate themselves like this? he thought with a scowl.
Two blocks later, Hazelton finally risked a glance back. No witches in sight. He exhaled deeply, relief washing over him.
“Thanks for the company, ladies,” he said with mock cheerfulness, giving the group a saccharine wave as he peeled away. His words earned him nothing but cold, pointed glares.
Once he was far enough away, he slowed his pace, straightening his wool pea coat.
His dress shoes weren’t exactly suited for this nonsense, and the slight ache in his feet only soured his mood further.
Exercise, he scoffed inwardly. What a ridiculous human habit.
I don’t even have a heart—why would I care about coronary disease?
And as if a demon needs to worry about lifespan!
He chuckled bitterly as he caught sight of a bustling coffee shop ahead. It’s warm, inviting glow spilled onto the sidewalk, a beacon of mundane human activity. Hazelton’s dark grin returned. Perfect.
Sliding into the back of the line, he rubbed his hands together like a stage villain preparing for mischief. He didn’t have any money, but he could easily manipulate one of the baristas into thinking he’d already paid—or better yet, steal someone else’s order.
He scanned the patrons inside, his grin widening.
Couples chatted, a businessperson furiously typed on a laptop, and a group of teenagers huddled in a corner booth, laughing too loudly.
The place was ripe for chaos. If he worked this just right, a spilled coffee could turn into a loud argument, maybe even a full-blown brawl.
Hazelton’s fingers tingled with anticipation. This is what demons are made for, he thought gleefully, stepping closer to the counter. “Time to spread a little joy.”