teenagers have a good grasp of impact and consequences. There’s a reason the age of majority is set years after those hormones screw us up…”
Mammon cast a glance at Azmodea. “This is even better than I thought.”
She nodded. “I know.”
His smile was incandescent. “No wonder he’s been so grouchy.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t think anyone else has ever gotten him like that.”
Azmodea raised a brow. “Sure hasn’t.”
“How long do you think we can bring this up at family dinners?”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “Oh, at least the next hundred years.”
“He’ll be so peeved,” Mammon said, his voice dreamy, eyes sparkling with delight.
Azmodea nodded sagely. “Even more than when you sent him those hellbats.”
Mammon snickered. “How long did it take him to wash the guano off—three hours?” He turned to me, one hand over his heart. “You,” he declared solemnly, “are my new favorite being. This gift you’ve given us is—” he kissed the tips of his fingers “—priceless.”
“Gift?” I repeated hollowly.
“Why, yes.” He beamed. “You see, my uncle has this impenetrable wall of control around him, a perfect facade of strength and invulnerability, like he can do no wrong, has no faults, not a single chink in his armor. He’s been unbearable with his goody-two-shoes haughtiness for far too long.”
“Far too long,” Azmodea echoed, shaking her head.
“You managed to take him down a peg, without even trying.” Mammon grinned. “And now we have all this ammunition against him…”
“Well,” I said, clearing my throat, bitterness churning in my stomach, “I’m sure glad to be of service to your personal family feud, at the expense of my freedom and sanity.”
Mammon tilted his head in question.
“What you consider a gift,” I elaborated, “is a life sentence of isolation for me.” I waved my hands at the room. “According to my absentee husband, this is all I need to live for...I don’t know, what’s my life expectancy now? Do I live as long as you guys?”
Mammon and Azmodea exchanged a glance.
“Do you think it’ll be like…?” he asked quietly.
She shrugged. “Possibly. It’s similar enough to be a precedent.”
“What is?” I leaned forward.
Azmodea hesitated. “There’s...one other case of a human bonded to a demon and living in Hell.”
“It’s not a marriage, though,” Mammon chimed in.
“No, it kind of predates that entire concept.” She grimaced. “A weird human custom, if you ask me. Based on the idea of ensuring patrilineal bloodlines…”
“Well, it’s not like humans can sniff out kinship.” Mammon scratched his chin.
She raised an elegant auburn brow. “They wouldn’t have to if they went by matrilineality.”
“Not to interrupt this fascinating discussion of anthropology,” I said, holding up a finger, “but about that other human living in Hell…”
“Oh, yeah.” Azmodea snapped her fingers. “She’s been here since the beginning, hasn’t aged a day, so in her case, the bond altered her mortality. Chances are you’re changed as well, but only time will tell, I guess.”
“Right.” I blew out a breath. “So I’m possibly looking at an eternity of...this.” Leaning back, I glanced around the room. “However much my unwitting trickery delights you, I inadvertently screwed myself over too.”
“Now, now.” Azmodea patted my hand. “I’ll talk to him, darling. He’ll come around, eventually.”
And how much time would pass until then? What would be left of my sanity?
Mammon regarded me with a thoughtful expression while Azmodea went on to ask me about my life, answering my questions about Hell and demons. I soaked up the information, basked in their company, not knowing when I’d see them next.
When they got up to leave, I refrained from begging. Barely.
Azmodea kissed me on my cheeks again and sailed out the door in a swirl of fiery hair and glittering fabric, but Mammon lingered behind.
“You know,” he said, leaning against the door jamb, “there is a way out of these rooms besides this door here. My mother prefers the diplomatic tactic of trying to talk to Azazel—” he rolled his eyes “—but I’m a fan of sneakier methods, so I’m inclined to tell you.”
My heart skipped a beat. “Please,” was all I could whisper.
Mammon made a pained sound. “Begging me unprompted.” He gave me a longing look, then banged his head against the door jamb. “Honest to Lucifer, your sweetness is wasted on Azazel. Pity you’re bound to him. I’d whisk you away and spoil you rotten, sweetheart, but alas, I’m afraid he’d hack off my hands if I dared touch you.” Studying said body parts, he grimaced. “They’re a bitch to regrow.”
I raised both eyebrows, struck mute.
“Anyway…” Mammon shrugged, his easy smile back