Page 88 of Bad Witch

“How does it work?” he asked.

“You will take a dose of the potion, and only the person you are…um, talking to, will see you in your altered form.”

He was silent a moment. “Are you attempting to deceive me, female?”

She was quiet a beat. “There is a saying here above ground…beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The potion works like that, only instead of seeing you as you are, the object of your desire sees you the way they want you to be, in a way they find the most alluring. Which means it’s impossible for you to see yourself the way they do.”

He said nothing for several seconds, then, “I would like several bottles.”

“I can arrange that.” Tempest didn’t miss a beat. “How do we get it to you?”

“Will it travel well?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Have Warrick take it to a demon named Moza. He resides in the upper levels. He isn’t hard to find. He will get it to me.”

“And for this, you will give us the information we need?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” she said and stepped back.

“Now, will you tell us what we need to know?” War said.

Garan dipped his chin and turned. His cloak billowed out around him as he crossed the room and exited through a door. Everything went silent, and we waited.

Ten minutes passed. “Do you think he’s forgotten we’re here?” Warrick said.

The room on his side of the screen shook and the sound went in and out, as if something loud was distorting the laptop’s speakers. What did come through was earsplitting, and fucking bloodcurdling.

Five more minutes passed, then Garan was striding back toward us. His cloak flew out behind him as he walked, and his red skin glistened with sweat. He carried a metal bowl, gold or brass it was hard to tell, and fire danced inside it.

He placed the bowl on the table in front of the computer. “The answers you seek reside in Tregan’s fire.”

Had he just gone and gotten that from Tregan? Holy fuck. He had, hadn’t he?

“How does it work?” War asked.

“I ask the fire if it has the answers you seek. If it does, it will tell me,” he said.

His head tilted down and, though we couldn’t see his eyes, I could tell he was looking into the fire. He barked out words using a harsh ancient language spoken only in Hell.

“What did he say?” Tempest asked me.

“Fire, reveal your secrets to me.”

She watched rapt as Garan spun the bowl. As it spun, the weird shapes and designs on the outside of the bowl became a moving image. A great beast, opening its mouth wide and expelling a blast of fire. An eerie whirring noise came through the speakers, growing louder and louder.

Garan said something else, but I couldn’t hear him over the odd sound that seemed to have a rhythmic ebb and flow, like strange music.

Garan shoved back his hood, the movement so fast that I only got a flash of red eyes and black, glossy horns before he buried his face in the bowl of fire.

Tempest gasped and pushed back against me.

I kept my arm locked around her. “It’s not hurting him,” I said, but I wasn’t really sure. Hellfire didn’t hurt us, but I had no idea about Tregan’s fire.

Garan lifted his head, and the flames grew higher, his face again concealed.