They stared at each other. Morning light made everything worse. In the dark, Ramona could almost convince herself this was all some wine-induced hallucination. But in daylight, Azareth was undeniably real. Solid. Taking up space in Ramona’s shabby bedroom like she belonged there.
She didn’t belong there.
“What have you been doing all night?” Ramona asked, sitting up slowly. Her head throbbed in protest.
“Working.” Azareth held up her phone. “Hell’s email system doesn’t stop just because I’ve been accidentally summoned. I’ve received forty-seven emails since midnight. Twelve required immediate response. Three were flagged as urgent. And one is from my direct supervisor asking why I missed the second half of my performance review.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I had a personal emergency.” Azareth’s expression was flat. “Which is technically true.”
“I’m a personal emergency?”
Azareth touched the bridge of her nose as though she might let out another long-suffering sigh. “You’re certainly something.”
Ramona swung her legs out of bed and immediately regretted it. The room tilted. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it. She pressed her fingers to her temples. “I need coffee.”
“You need water, Mortal. And aspirin. You drank an entire bottle of wine.”
The word hit her like a small slap. “Did you just call me ‘Mortal’?”
“That’s what you are.”
“I have a name,” Ramona said, her tongue feeling like sandpaper inside her mouth.
“You haven’t told me what it is.”
“Am I supposed to tell a demon my name, or is that how you own my soul?” Ramona asked.
Azareth rolled her eyes. “That’s for the fae, Mortal.”
Ramona opened her mouth. Closed it. “It’s Ramona.”
“Ramona,” Azareth repeated, like she was testing how it sounded. “Noted.”
“Are you going to use it?”
“Probably not.”
Ramona wanted to argue, but her head hurt too much and she was pretty sure arguing with a demon before coffee was a losing battle. “Fine. Whatever.”
Azareth stood up, and the cheap chair creaked in relief. “The kitchen is down the hall?”
“I can get my own water,” Ramona protested. “I don’t need my roommates knowing I’ve let a demon into the apartment.”
Azareth eyed her critically. “You know demons pass undetected all the time, right? Your roommates won’t know the difference between me and a witch.”
Ramona furrowed her brow, skeptical. “I don’t believe that for one moment.”
“You don’t think that if any of them had detected a demon for the last twelve hours, they’d have at least knocked?” Azareth said, gesturing to the door. “Besides, you look like you might fall over.”
Ramona stood up to prove a point. The room swayed. She sat back down. “Fine. Yes. Kitchen is down the hall. Second doorway on the left.”
Azareth moved toward the door, then paused. “How far is it?”
“What?”
“The kitchen. How far down the hall?”
