Sympathy for the Demons (Promised to the Demons #1) - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,8
I couldn’t stop gaping at him, noticing how his shirt sat on his shoulders, and the nape of his neck, and his long legs, and his butt—why was I looking at his butt?
And as I watched him, I had a shocking thought.
I hate Bernard. I wish I never had to see him again. I wish my warlock was someone like this. Then it wouldn’t be hard to love him at all.
He turned at the door like he remembered me again. “You want to come in?”
“Um…um…yes! Thank you, sir!” I hurried in and then I saw the inside of his cottage. It looked like he was working on either a spell or a meal or maybe both. I saw pots and pans out, and a table with chopped herbs and a mortar and pestle, and some little bottles, and half-chopped carrots. Then I remembered that he told the skink to stay in his animal form, so I quickly transformed into a toad and it all shrunk down and I was looking at his shoes.
“Sorry to lord it over you in my human form,” he said. “But it seems I have a lot of mouths to feed. What is your name?”
“Jenny.” I answered automatically and then I wondered if I could have told him my real name. But I wasn’t even used to hearing it now.
“Well, Jenny, make yourself at home for now. I’m going to go talk to my witch. I suspect this is all her fault.”
“Your witch opened the gates between worlds? She must be a very powerful witch!”
“I think she’s more of a curiosity-killed-the-cat type of witch,” he said, with a slightly fond laugh that made me feel envious of his witch. “We’ll figure out something so none of you ever have to deal with your wizards again.”
“Oh no, sir, I didn’t mean to stay!” I said, panicking a little. Mother would need her dinner, and there was laundry on the line, and I didn’t even know what she would do if she thought I was lost.
“What’s with the ‘sir’ business? Is that what your wizard makes you call him?”
“It’s—it’s just how I’ve been told I should talk to strangers,” I said. “With respect.”
“Where are you from?”
“St. Augustine, Florida.”
“Ohhh. They’re very particular about familiars there, I’ve heard. They go crazy if a wizard and a familiar fall in love. That’s why my witch’s family winters in Palm Beach instead. Drawing a line between species is one thing. I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to get romantic with one’s wizard myself…”
Oh good, I thought—absurdly. But it doesn’t hurt to let myself have a little fantasy, since I ended up here.
“But I wouldn’t put up with this ‘sir’ stuff,” he continued, now sounding more imperious, and he seemed even more attractive for it. “Clearly you came here for a reason. You don’t deserve to be treated like an inferior being. We’re the ones who protect and aid our wizards, so we deserve their respect, and if you don’t have that, you might as well leave them, since you have this chance.”
“You think this is permanent?” I asked. “The walls between realms are just…gone? And you don’t think that my warlock could still summon me from here?”
“So far no one has been summoned back,” he said.
I was completely stunned by his words and the idea he presented. To stay in Etherium forever and no longer serve Bernard and his mother…to move freely about a land as beautiful as Etherium…
“My warlock’s mother needs me to take care of her,” I said as I mulled it over.
“What?” Bevan scoffed. “Why would she need her son’s familiar to take care of her? We’re not slaves. We’re magical helpers, and you really shouldn’t even have business with your warlock’s family. At least, times might be changing, but personally I’m old school. You help your witch with magic, and then you leave. You’re not supposed to be a maid, a chef, a nurse, a companion, or anything but a magical partner. I would die for my witch, but I wouldn’t make her breakfast. That’s her problem.”
“A maid, a nurse, a chef, and a companion. I think I’m all of the above.”
“So forget it,” he said. “Stay here.” He picked me up and put me on the counter so he could get near eye-level with me by leaning over. Now his eyes seemed huge and I could see all the little flecks of color in them peering closely at a tumbled rock, framed by dark eyelashes