Page 18 of Demon's Bane

I reel with the knowledge. Has she been to the demon realm? Impossible to believe she ever could have been without my knowing, when the bond between us pulses like a living thing. I would have known. If she’d ever stepped foot into the demon realm, I’m certain I would have known.

“Yeah. I’ve seen a couple of demons. Sylas, when he came for Emilia. And Eren, uh,KingEren, I mean, when he came for Allie and when they recast the bargain.”

And what did you think of them?

The question is vain, more than a little pathetic, and as it lodges itself in the back of my throat, I want to ask it anyway. I want to know if she finds my kind repulsive, to know what sort of reaction I’m going to get when I take this damned glamour off in front of her for the first time and let her get a look at me.

“Joan? You back there?” The pink-haired woman from behind the counter—one who also has witchmagick emanating from her—pokes her head into the hall, eyes widening when she sees us standing there. “Oh. Sorry to interrupt. I can come back—”

“It’s alright,” Joan says quickly, taking another step away from me. “Marli, this is Rhett. He’s a friend who’s staying with me for a few days.”

The lie slips easily from Joan’s tongue, though I watch her posture tense as she delivers it. Her gaze darts from me to Marli and then back again, like she’s waiting to see if Marli will pick up on my otherness, if she’ll be able to sense around the glamour like Joan sometimes seems to be able to.

But the other witch just nods, gives me a quick smile, then turns back to Joan.

“Pete’s at the back door with a delivery you need to sign for,” she explains.

“Alright, thanks,” Joan says. “I’ll be there in just a sec.”

With another nod, Marli disappears back through the doorway.

Joan looks at me, and though I know our conversation is at an end, I’d do just about anything to have it continue.

She gives me one last appraising inspection and lets out a resigned sigh.

“Act human, keep the glamour on, and try not to scare any of my customers, and you’re free to hang out in the shop.”

It’s a victory. A small one, but I’ll accept any triumph that lets me stay close to her.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “And have you had any word from Seren?”

A cloud crosses her expression at the reminder of our task from the High Priestess. “No, not yet. I’ve reached out to her, though, and I’m working on it. So hopefully you’ll be getting the answers you need and can get back to your realm soon. You know, so you don’t have to be a prisoner here anymore.”

I should be happy about that.

If Joan were any other witch, I would be.

To get out of this realm, to shed this damned glamour, to get the answers I’m seeking, and do what I need to do to help my village.

Strange, how a simple conversation with her could make me forget. For just a moment, none of the rest of it existed. Her and I, the Goddess magick of our bond swirling between us, nothing else in any of the thirteen realms mattered.

But the moment doesn’t last, and as a faint knock sounds from somewhere even further back in the shop, her attention strays from me back to her responsibilities.

“I look forward to speaking with her, to figuring all of this out,” I say softly, and with a final nod, Joan turns to go.

Joan is omnipresent in her shop.

One moment, she’s behind the counter filling orders alongside Marli. The next, she’s back in the kitchen and more delicious smells make their way into the front room as she takes trays of baked goods out of the oven. One more, and she’sstopping by a table in the dining area, talking to the customers seated there and making sure they have everything they need.

Her energy is boundless. It’s only when the shop closes in the late afternoon that some of the bounce in her step goes away, and her expression slackens from perpetual cheer to one that shows hints of her exhaustion.

“Do you need any help?”

“What?” She pokes her head out from where she’s crouched down behind the front counter.

“Help,” I repeat. “Do you want any?”

Joan slowly stands, brow furrowed with confusion. “Um, no?”

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