Chapter 2
The experience I had two nights ago is still running through my head.
I keep waiting for the pull of a summoning again from the little witch.
Surely she wanted more than just a jar opened.
Except she was quite insistent. A smirk pulls at my lips as I remember her parting words.
I wipe the expression from my face when I realize what I'm doing.
I'm sure the witch would be as confused by this room as I was by her chalking.
It's surprising how human-like the space is, though the walls are made of obsidian.
The long table and chairs were sourced during one of the many wars the mortals engaged in.
None of us in my division were very happy when the witches called on us.
Mostly because they were a disrespectful bunch.
We weren't impressed. They haven't called on us en masse since.
I'm more impressed my little witch was able to summon anyone, much less me.
I'm high enough in the demon ranks not to be bothered.
I shake my head, wondering why I claimed her as my little witch. Calling her Clara seems…informal and personal. Neither of which we are to each other. I'm merely a demon who was forced to do her bidding.
“Omen, I need your latest report,” Dimitri calls from across the room.
And now I have to write a damn report about it. “I'll get to it.”
“Two mortal days is long enough. You don't want him coming down on your ass because you didn't do it.” Dimitri says as he collapses into the chair next to me. They're ornate and dig into my back, but I keep sitting on them instead of smashing them into the walls.
“What's he going to do? Ground me?” I chuckle when he scowls. Dimitri's always been a stickler for the rules.
“Possible. Or send you down to level seven. No one wants that shit. You actually know what the hell you're doing.”
“No pun intended,” I mutter, and he scowls again. “If you keep making that face, it'll stick like that.”
“What happened up top? Why are you putting it off?”
I grimace as I glance around. No one's close enough to overhear us.
Doesn't mean I want to actually tell Dimitri about my little witch.
Not my little witch. My encounter with the witch.
If he spreads it around, I'll get even more shit about it.
Humans, even of the witch variety, think we're petrifying.
We are most of the time, though a lot of that is probably born from rumors.
Demons are supposed to be unnerving and horrifying. Not that Clara seemed fazed by me.
“Okay, but if you say anything I'll set your room on fire,” I grumble.
He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “Do go on.”
“I was summoned by a witch.” I clear my throat.
“Holy fucking shit. A witch? Haven't seen one of those…oh wait. Yes, I have. Because them and fucking teenagers are the only ones who summon us.”
“Shut the fuck up and listen. She wanted me to open a jar.”
He narrows his eyes, then glances around slowly. “I thought it was a box.”
“What?” I pull back, searching my memories for a clue. “She isn't a descendent of Pandora. For fuck's sake. It was a jar of spaghetti sauce. Top was stuck, apparently.”
His dark lips part as he processes what I've told him.
I'll give him as long as he needs. I clearly didn't grasp the request at first. In my many centuries, I've never had one quite like it.
Ludovic will certainly think I'm taking the piss out of him when I turn in my report.
He doesn't have a sense of humor either.
I'll be lucky if he doesn't send me back to earth to help Nex find errant souls evading him.
It's tedious work and I fucking hate it.
And I won't even be able to tell him no since he's technically above me.
“Was it good?” he finally asks.
“Was what good?”
“The spaghetti.”
My jaw clenches. “I didn't stick around to eat it.”
“Why the fuck not?” he cries, and I kick him in the ankle.
“Shut the fuck up. I opened the jar, then told her to send me back. She did.” After sassing me.
He leans forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Well fuck. If they start asking us for easy shit like that, maybe Ludo will get off our asses.”
I snort. “Doubt it. He's—”
“Got eyes everywhere. Write your damn report.”
Dimitri shoves to his feet and prowls away, probably to terrorize some of the younger demons.
A fresh crop came in a month ago and he's been spending most of his time dealing with them.
Ludovic is supposed to be training them, but he foisted the job off on Dimitri.
He wanted me to help, but I told him I was busy. I wasn't.
It takes me another ten minutes to start the report.
As soon as I finish I vanish, aiming for my estate.
It's not truly a mansion, but dimensions in Hell, like most things, are wonky.
From the outside, I merely have a door. Inside is a maze of hallways leading off to a plethora of rooms. It's designed to disorient anyone who steps into my domain.
I built it myself over several decades. There's even a lush bedroom—an oasis of my own.
Contrary to popular belief, demons do sleep.
My clothes disappear, going to whatever pocket of time they're from.
As I collapse onto the silk bedsheets, I let out a sigh.
I haven't slept since I was summoned. On earth it might be mere seconds between summoning and appearance, yet the journey is much more brutal from Hell.
It's arduous and burns for some. Never for me, but it takes for-fucking-ever.
Afterward, it takes a while for my body to settle.
Exhaustion washes over me and darkness takes me quickly.
A yanking from my gut pulls me from sleep minutes later.
I groan as magic swirls around me, forcing me between the worlds.
Whoever the fuck got a hold of my summoning sigil is going to get my boot up their ass.
Except I'm not wearing any boots. Or shoes.
Or a stitch of clothing. I could fix my dilemma, but they deserve to see it all if they're bothering me while I'm sleeping. Not that they'd know.
Darkness wraps its tentacles around me, and I tense as the world shifts.
The journey isn't taking as long this time.
I wonder if the clothes slow me down or if it's a product of being topside just a short time ago.
Either way, at least I won't have to swim my way through the inky night to get there.
A loud pop echoes in my ears and my nostrils flare as a familiar room takes shape.
My little witch. I shake my head, banishing the thought.
Apprehension covers her round face, creating an adorable red glow on her cheeks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering where that came from.
I doubt I've ever used the word adorable in my existence and I'm not about to start now.
Just because she has a symmetrical face with wide blue eyes and glossy black hair and full lips doesn't mean anything.
Although, now I really wish I grabbed pants before I got here.
“You again,” I rumble, crossing my arms as I attempt to pull the shadows around my waist to hide my reaction to her.
“Me again,” she says, framing her face with her hands. “Sorry, I realize you probably have other things to do, but I need another favor.”
“It's not a favor if you summon me, witch.” My nostrils flare as her scent washes over me. Sage and lemon blossom—a cloying combination.
“While I'd usually agree, I need you to actually leave the circle. So, the favor is to actually come back when I ask instead of taking advantage of it. Which means I need something from you…” She bites her lip, a hopeful expression on her face.
“My name,” I grumble, sighing.
I never used to have a problem with giving out my name.
It's not like witches could do anything other than let me out of the circle. Unless they had my sigil, they wouldn't be able to summon me. She already has that, so my name wouldn't complicate things. My name is merely an insurance for her to send me back to Hell. I’m sure witches are taught something ludicrous, like they can brainwash us or force us to do their bidding. I could correct her, tell her it’s not that serious, but what’s the fun in that?
She twists her hands together. “I know it's probably a whole thing, but I promise I won't use it for anything nefarious. It's just my dad always said to have an exit plan that wasn't the front door. So, I feel like I'd be doing him a disserv—”
“It's Omen.” I could pretend I offered it up because I didn't want to hear her talk anymore. I'm not ready to admit what the actual reason is.
She grins and picks up a thick, black book. “Well, my name is Clara.”
“I'm aware.”
Her smile widens. “Okay, Omen.”
I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the curl of pleasure in my stomach. My name on her lips shouldn't affect me in any way. It doesn't. If I keep repeating it, my body might eventually accept it.
“So, now that I have your name. Omen,” she says with a lilt to her voice. “I just need to find the spell that allows me to let you out of there.”
“What exactly do you need me to do?” It's probably moving a box or something. As soon as I know, I can decide whether to tell her how to set me free instead of watching her thumb through the book.
“The batteries in the smoke detector are beeping.
I tried to reach the thing, but it's too high even when I stand on the table.
I wasn't about to put a stool on top of it. Tried that before and let me tell you, it was not a great idea. I swear I still have bruises.” Grooves appear between her eyebrows as she studies the page, and I fight not to curl my lip at the book.
“I figure you're so tall, you might be able to do it for me.
You might have to use the chair, but that's okay.”
“It's daemonium dimittere me. Although, just saying ‘release my demon’ might work.”
She glances up, her eyes flicking to my cock, which twitches at the attention.
Her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, further complicating the situation.
Her cheeks redden again, and I glance away.
It's been too long since I've bedded someone if I'm reacting to a damn witch.
If she keeps it up, we'll be in a world of trouble.
I could summon my shadows, form some sort of shield around myself. I should do that, but I won’t. The flush on her cheeks amuses me, along with the flash of desire in her eyes. Messing with her just might be the highlight of my night.
She speaks the words, her accent twisting the words in an unusual way. Slowly, I step out of the circle and she tenses. I slide into her space and tower over her. She presses her lips together, her scent morphing, and I smirk.
“Lead the way, little witch,” I murmur.
She nods, then pivots, and her black hair brushes my chest. My palm itches to wrap the strands in my fist. She marches away and I follow.
I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't plants covering almost every surface.
The rooms in the cottage are small with ceilings much higher than I'm used to.
I don't even have to duck under the doorways.
She stops when we reach a tiny dining room with a table which only seats four.
“Don't make that face. It's a family heirloom,” she snaps. Apparently the little witch has claws. I'm not surprised, though most witches fail to bring out their happy side when around demons.
“I wasn't making a face,” I mutter as I use one of the chairs to hide my throbbing cock.
“Sure you weren't,” she says under her breath. “Okay, so here's the batteries. That's the smoke detector. You know how to change it, right? I don't imagine it's very hard to figure out.”
“I'll manage. Perhaps you should…get the fuck out.”
She smirks, then flounces away. After a minute, things clatter in the kitchen, and I snatch up the batteries. I climb onto the chair, careful to protect my balls. I may be a demon, but it still hurts when I get knocked in the nuts.
The smoke detector is just out of reach, so I step onto the table. It takes me a minute to find the compartment and another two minutes before I figure out how to get the battery out. It doesn't look like the ones Clara gave me. My nostrils flare and I drop them at my feet.
“Witch,” I bellow.
Her footsteps rush in and she squeaks, covering her eyes. “Sorry, uh, what's up?”
“These won't work. The battery is shaped differently,” I grumble. I'd toss it at her, but she still has her hand over her eyes.
“What kind do you need?”
“How the fuck should I know? I'm a demon, not an electrician.”
She shuffles forward, holding out her free hand. If she comes any closer, she’ll be palming my shaft. “Just put it in my hand and I'll find it. Hopefully, I have one.”
If she doesn't find one, I'm not sticking around.
I drop the battery in her hand and she spins away to look, then rushes from the room once more.
She'll have to summon me again if she really wants this done.
Exhaustion pulls at my body. I wonder if I could curl up right here and take a nap while she's searching.
It's been a while since I've slept topside.
It's never as restful as I want it to be, though.
Clara skips back into the room, holding a battery up in triumph. She grins as she tosses it to me. I reach up and put it in, then close the little door.
“Do I need to press something to make it work?” I mumble.
She hums, then clears her throat. “You really have all the bells and whistles, huh?”
I glance at her and scowl. Her gaze is fixated on my cock. Actually, she's probably focused on the curved bars wrapped around my shaft.
“My eyes are up here, little witch,” I growl, and her wide eyes flit to mine.
“I mean, if you didn't want me to stare, maybe you should have put on some pants.”
“What would be the fun in that?” I smirk as she huffs and turns away.
I'm playing with fire. Good thing I'm practically made of flames.