Page 15 of Demon's Bane

It’ll all be worth it.

It’ll all be okay.

Just a few days.

4

Rhett

My mate wants nothing to do with me.

It’s been three days of agony, being so close to her and barely speaking, barely having a moment alone with her as she spends nearly every waking hour working in her tea shop.

I’m not sure if it’s a deliberate move on her part to see me as little as she possibly can while I’m imposing on her hospitality, but by the third day I’ve gone nearly out of my mind being shut up inside all day alone.

Well, almost alone.

Joan’s furry companion—hercat—watches me all day with unnatural intelligence in his yellow eyes. Enough so that I’m half-convinced he’s some kind of familiar or bespelled creature, half-convinced I really might be going mad from boredom.

I probably deserve it.

I probably deserve whatever levels of torment the Goddess sees fit for me to endure, the very least of them being idle stir-craziness.

The truth of our bond remains unspoken. In the brief moments I’ve seen Joan, I haven’t been able to bring myself to say anything. Not when she still looks at me with that wariness in her eyes. Not when she seems ready to jump out of her skinwhenever she’s near me. Not when me saying something would almost certainly lead to this tentative truce crumbling.

From what I can tell, humans don’t seem to recognize mates. Or, at least, Joan doesn’t recognize me as hers.

And with that in mind, perhaps I should hold my tongue. Perhaps I’d only frighten her further if I spoke.

Perhaps I should simply be content that I’m here at all, holed up in her small, but surprisingly cozy apartment. The furniture is smaller than any back in the demon realm, but comfortable and perfectly suited to my glamoured form. There are woven curtains on the windows and colorful rugs on the floor, an altar of some sort laid out on her mantle with candles and crystals and a deck of strange cards with ornate illustrations printed on them. The walls are covered with tapestries and artwork, and with some smaller pieces that look eerily lifelike, as if the subjects in them might start moving and talking at any moment.

I don’t trespass into any of her private spaces, but I take the time to poke around the main living areas, learning as much as I can about my mate without her actually deigning to talk to me.

Despite it all, by my third afternoon in this realm, I’m feeling cooped up and reckless enough to do something about it.

I grab a book off the shelf in her sitting room and descend the narrow stairway at the back of the building that connects to the shop below. I let myself in through a back entrance and walk slowly down a short hall into the shop’s main dining space.

The night I arrived, it was well after dark and most of the lights in the place had been extinguished. I’d gotten only the faintest idea of the layout and furnishings, but didn’t get a good look at any of it.

Besides that, my attention had been focused on something far, far more important than the decor.

Now, though, I scan the room slowly, taking it all in.

The tea shop is a study in organized chaos. Filled with tables and chairs and a few comfortable looking sofas and armchairs, all the furniture is mismatched and eclectic. There are potted plants scattered throughout, hanging in the front windows of the shop, with vines running along the walls and all the way up to the ceiling.

Inside, the air smells of herbs and spices and flowers. The scent of baked goods wafts out from the kitchen and from the well-stocked case at the front counter. From behind the counter, a woman with vibrant pink hair is talking to a customer, with three more lined up waiting for their turn to order.

Esme’s glamour must still be working well enough, because I don’t garner much attention as I choose a spot at an open table near the front corner of the shop and sit down. With the book as a prop, I try not to make it too obvious that I’m studying each of the patrons and keeping tabs on each customer who comes through the door, wondering if they might be the mysterious Seren.

I’ve also got one eye perpetually on the doorway behind the counter that leads into the kitchen. Beneath all the mouth-watering scents concentrated around it, there’s one more that reaches out and grabs me by the throat, one I’m certain I would be able to sense across any of the thirteen realms now that I’ve been blessed to find it.

I don’t want to let myself be distracted. Ican’tlet myself forget my purpose here. But nor can I deny what that scent of gentle witchmagick does to me.

A temptation. A command.

One I have no business surrendering to. Not now.

Settling in, I breathe deep and am surprised to find a few new scents of magick in the air. More like Joan’s than like Esme’s, I try to follow each back to the witch it belongs to.