Page 3 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

I didn’t get involved or express an opinion. The queen would have my head if I did, especially after losing her son to a demon attack.

Still, you had to remain hopeful. The fact there was dialogue between both sides, excluding Queen Margarite, was a good thing. The peace talks were often led by a pretty impressive demon by the name of Phillipe, who’d become a figurehead, a heartthrob, and a target for hate.

It’d be nice if things did calm down, for this constant, palpable tension to ease up. Unless someone came up with an amazing spell to put those walls back up, demons were here to stay. We had to adjust, so coming up with a solution was imperative.

Fingers crossed.

I stripped off my clothes, my pocket crossword soggy beyond repair. But never mind. I had loads stashed in various drawers around the flat.

Hitting the shower, my fingers a bit sore from the spells, I lathered the night off me, smothering myself in almond shower gel and shampoo. The smell always reminded me of my late grandma, who used nothing but this stuff in her baths and showers.

Man, I missed her so much.

Done with getting clean, wrapped in my dressing gown and PJs, I fired up the kettle for a much-needed cup of chamomile tea.

Laurel & Hardy mug in hand—Grandma’s favorite comedy duo—I settled into my living room armchair with my lamp on, a crossword book on my side table.

Bliss. What else could a man ask for?

The busy Saturday night rolled by outside my window, the rain not a deterrent for those party people. The noise never bothered me, I just kept away from it, kind of enjoying the background noise it provided.

“Oh, you’re home,” Darcy, my pet white rat, greeted me.

He climbed out of his cage, scurrying along the tube connecting it to the table beside my armchair. A handy bridge indeed.

“You’ve only just noticed?” I asked, filling in the first word on my grid.

“Pardon me for dreaming of Angelina Jolie.”

“Again?”

Darcy appeared on my table, stretching his body. “If only they could be real, Roman. If only.”

He had serious crushes on the Hollywood actress, as well as Hugh Jackman.

“Have a good night?” he asked.

“Not bad.” I sprinkled his favorite rat-safe white chocolate drops on the table for him. His beady red eyes lit up with ratty glee.

“Glad to hear it.”

He tucked into his chocolate.

I found Darcy on a job a year ago, just after my grandma’s death.

He was weeping at a bus stop, wet and alone.

A sobbing rat isn’t something you encounter every night, and hearing him talk back to you when you ask what’s the matter isn’t either.

I mean, I’d asked the question without expecting a response. Maybe just a squeak.

Turned out, Darcy had been new at being rat then, turned from human to rodent in a failed Synth spell.

He’d been a witch, tried to master the art of transformation, which was virtually impossible, and ended up stuck in the tiny body with the ability to talk and lust after Hollywood stars, but bound by the rules of a drastically shortened lifespan.

There was no coming back from it, the magic unbreakable.

I’d tried so many times to help him, but the situation remained hopeless.

Poor guy. He’d left behind his dreams of settling down with the right woman or man, moving to Iceland, and starting a family.

I’d taken him in, bought him a cage, gave him free roam of the flat. He was properly toilet trained, and never left little pellets or pee stain surprises anywhere. Though he did have an annoying habit of gnawing on my carpet.

Darcy had become my best friend, my only friend, really. We watched movies together, I read him stories, kept him fed and watered and made sure his life was comfortable, painfully aware he probably only had a year left. Maybe two.

I never let myself think about him not being here.

He didn’t know what I did for a living, and never asked again after I told him it was complicated.

“Enjoying those?” I asked.

He paused his nibbling. “Always. What are we doing tonight?”

“I’m pretty tired.”

He released his squeaky version of a scoff. “Not tired enough to give crosswords a rest, eh?”

“Never.”

“Watch a movie with me.”

“Do I have to?”

“You can fall asleep if you like.”

I lubricated my throat with some tea. “I’d rather nod off in my bed.”

“Spoilsport.”

“Cheeky rodent.”

His whiskers twitched. “Please, Roman. I’m gagging for my empress.”

“Empress?”

“Yes, she is.”

“I wasn’t agreeing.”

“Are you attacking my goddess?”

“Oh, she’s a goddess now?”

An angry squeak.

“I’d never come for the empress,” I said in a lackluster droll. “She is cool.”

“More than that.”

“But when are we going to start watching non-Angelina and Hugh movies? It’s been very one-sided lately.”

“Hugh…” he drawled. “My Hugh…”

Bloody hell. “Fine. Let’s make a deal. We’ll watch what you want tonight, but tomorrow is my choice.”

“Deal.”

“Give me half an hour.”

“No problem.”

As I got to work on a new grid, filling in three words, my phone buzzed with a call from Princess Piper—Queen Margarite’s daughter, and heir to the throne.

“Hello, Your Highness,” I answered.

“You’ve been summoned by Her Majesty.”

“Really? For when?”

“Now.”