Ren was not so relieved. She had less than one hundred and twenty seconds until she was to teleport with a monster from hell. But what wouldn’t she do to evade the warlocks?
And what wouldn’t she do for that wishgiver?
Well, anything except sell her soul for it.
The Queen of Evil sounded like a confidence artist, offering a fantastical dream. And if something seemed too good to be true . . .
A carnie like Ren offered deals like that—she didn’t accept them.
But she would let Munro think she intended to bargain with Dorada and that he and Ren were locked in a battle of wills over her future as a human. In fact, she planned to use Munro to get close to the sorceress. Once Ren located the Queen of Evil, she’d take Dorada’s head and her ring. If the wolf got in her way, Ren would stab him yet again.
With the ring in hand, she would wish to go back in time and save her parents. Another wish would return her to her previous life.
Her mother used to say, The universe speaks to us every day. My dearest daughter, are you listening?
Mama, I am! Ren’s situation was no longer a tragedy. She would find her footing in this era, and then execute her plans.
Munro gazed down at her. “Have you ever traced before?”
“Never.”
“Though I have a time or two, I’m no’ a fan of it. An untrustworthy demon could trace us anywhere in the worlds. To give up control like that is difficult for me.”
She’d gotten an idea of how much Munro valued his control. Yet if what he’d told her about Quondam was true, then the proud male before her had become a mindless pawn of warlocks to save her life. For her, he’d given up the thing he needed most.
And he expected Ren to sacrifice just as deeply for him.
He added, “But I trust Desh.”
Could she? Before Ren’s time, fire demons had attacked the circus, killing her aunts, uncles, and grandparents in one night of terror. But the circus had reassembled and outsmarted those demons. Every immortal species had its strengths and weaknesses—
A gigantic male with huge forward-pointing horns appeared before them. “Who here is wantin’ a ride?” The demon had ringing telephones strapped to his belt.
Loa said, “Four phones, Deshazior?”
“And they’re all a-chatterin’! Start another business, I says to meself. How hard could it be? I says to meself.” He cast Loa a heated wink. She smoothed her hair and winked back. Wrenching his gaze from the priestess, the demon gave Munro and Ren a jerk of his long chin in greeting. “I understand ye’re pressed for time, so shall we?” He offered his hand to Ren.
Though she ached to return straightaway to her homeland, she hesitated.
The demon tempered his voice to say, “First-timer, then? Where’re me manners? Ye must be Kereny.” He gently took her hand, enfolding it in his oversized paw. “I’m Desh, and I’ll be yer teleporter today. Loa texted that ye two have hit a rough spot of late”—his brows drew together, his demonic face earnest—“but I’m here to help ye through it.”
Her intuition told her Desh was a trustworthy male. Perhaps there were, in fact, good demonarchies? “It’s nice to meet you,” she said, and she meant it.
“Have no fears, luv. I’ll trace you in front of the nymphs’ inn as gentle as an egg laid into a nest.”
She managed a nod.
Munro asked Loa, “Are you sure you’ll be safe here?”
“As my grandmother used to say, I’ll be safe as celery at a vampire convention. You know I have other tricks up my sleeve.” Boa had slithered over to coil around her feet.
Ren avoided looking at the snake. “I appreciate everything, Loa.”
The priestess smiled at her. “Thank the kindness of my heart—and Munro’s stout credit.” Before the demon traced them, she said, “Good luck with your quest to find the sorceress.” She cocked her head, as if listening to those spirits, then muttered, “Unless Dorada finds you first. . . .”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Carpathian Foothills, Transylvania
“I don’t know what’s more bizarre,” Kereny said, still wobbling. “That a demon just traced me or that he kissed my cheek good-bye.”
That move had almost gotten a storm demon killed—not to mention Desh’s parting words to Munro: “Now the second twin is off the market! Nymphs the Lore over are weepin’ on this day. Who’s to service them if not for Hot and Hotter?”
Kereny had raised her brows at that, but Munro had told her, “I’ve merely been practicing for the real thing.”
Now she took in the bucolic scenery. Time stood still in this rustic valley. The historic-looking inn was a sprawling pastel building with equally colorful guesthouses scattered across the foothills.
In the village, horse-drawn carts carried grain past medieval stone houses. A blacksmith’s hammer clanged like a metronome. Shepherds in old-fashioned garments tended their flocks.