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The bathroom at Cathy’s apartment was barely larger than a closet, yet somehow she had squeezed Jeremy in alongside her, his tall frame making the space feel impossibly cramped. He stood shirtless in front of the mirror, examining his reflection with the focused intensity usually reserved for strategic warfare.
“I require a disguise,” he announced. “Your family will recognize demonic nature if I do not present as adequately human.”
Cathy took a steadying breath, trying not to notice the way the bathroom light caught the sharp lines of his collarbone. Focus on the practical. Focus on the spell. Focus on absolutely anything except the fact that she was seeing a Demon Prince half-naked in her bathroom.
“A glamour should work,” she said, opening her spell book to the section on illusions. “It will not change what you actually are, but it will make you appear like a warlock. Specifically, a wealthy, respectable warlock.”
“Then proceed,” Jeremy said, turning to face her fully. “Use whatever magic you require.”
Cathy began to gather the components for the spell. A mirror for reflection, some salt for grounding, a strand of Jeremy’s black hair for targeting, and then… she realized her hands were shaking. Her magic was still depleted from the botched summoning, and she had used a significant amount to sign the contract. The gold pulse in her palms was barely more than a flicker.
“I am not strong enough,” she admitted quietly. “The spell requires more magic than I have right now. It would need to be a significant working to make you convincingly pass as human to people who understand magic.”
Jeremy was silent for a moment. Then he held out his hand, palm up. “Take what you need.”
“What?” Cathy looked at the extended hand warily.
“The contract allows me to sustain you magically,” Jeremy said impatiently. “It is part of maintaining appearances. Your aunt would question why you are exhausted and drained if you are engaged to someone who should be providing support. Take my magic. Just enough to finish the glamour.”
Cathy hesitated, then reached out and took his hand. The moment her skin made contact with his, the difference was stark. His hand felt warm, almost unbearably so, and underneath the warmth was an absolute reservoir of power. She felt it thrumming through his veins, ancient and hungry and endlessly deep. She drew on it carefully, taking just enough to replenish her own magic. The moment the magic flowed into her, she understood why Jeremy had warned about demons consuming their mates. This kind of power was addictive. It tasted like everything good she had ever felt magnified a thousand times over. It tasted like being whole.
She pulled away, panting slightly, before she could take more than she had intended.
“Better?” Jeremy asked, his dark eyes watching her with interest.
“Yes,” she managed. “Thank you.”
“Do not thank me,” he said. “Thank me by succeeding at this glamour and ensuring my cover remains intact.”
Cathy focused on the spell, pouring her now-replenished magic into the working. She spoke the incantation in a low voice, weaving the magic around Jeremy like golden thread. She felt the demonic energy beneath the glamour, vast and hungry and barely restrained, but layer by layer, the illusion took hold. The bathroom seemed to flicker. For just a moment, she saw both versions of him overlaid: the terrifying creature of shadow and appetite, and the human mask she crafted. When the glamour finally settled, Cathy caught her breath.
Jeremy was devastatingly, impossibly handsome. The glamour had softened none of his dangerous edges, merely reframed them as human attraction instead of demonic menace. He had sharp cheekbones that could cut glass, a jaw that looked carved from marble, and eyes that appeared a very pale silver instead of entirely black. His hair remained black as midnight, and the contrast between the dark hair and pale eyes created an almost hypnotic effect.
“Is it sufficient?” Jeremy asked, turning back to the mirror to examine his own reflection.
“It is…” Cathy struggled for words. “Yes. You look like a warlock. A very attractive warlock. An intimidating, wealthy warlock whom your extended family will probably be secretly impressed by.”
“Good,” Jeremy said. He turned back to her. She saw the moment he noticed the way she looked at him. Something shifted in his expression, making the bathroom feel even smaller. “Now, we need to discuss the nature of our engagement narrative.”
“Right,” Cathy said, stepping back slightly. “We should have a story. How we met. How long we have been together. Something that will hold up to scrutiny.”
“At the manor,” Cathy said, “Turnip needs to be your mute familiar. Just an opossum. No talking.”
Turnip bristled from under the couch. “Absolutely not. I have opinions about fashion and demonic etiquette.”
“Those opinions will get us killed,” Cathy said flatly.
Jeremy glanced at the opossum. “Can he be silenced magically?”
“I can stay quiet on my own,” Turnip huffed. “I am a professional. Sort of.”
“He cannot,” Cathy said at the same time.
Jeremy produced a small crystal. “Glamour silencing charm. He can remove it if he chooses, but it will look natural to observers.”
Turnip eyed the crystal with deep suspicion.
“We can work on the details during the journey to your aunt’s estate,” Jeremy said. He picked up his shirt and began to button it with deliberate slowness, each motion controlled. “For now, understand this: when we arrive at your family gathering, you will introduce me as your fiancé. You will touch me frequently, look at me as though I am the center of your world, and reinforce the narrative that I am both powerful and devoted to you.”
“That does not sound fake at all,” Cathy said dryly.
Jeremy smiled, and it was every bit as dangerous as his black-eyed version. “No. It will be very convincing precisely because it will contain an element of truth. You are drawn to me. That hunger I feel radiating from you, little witch, makes the performance far more authentic. Your family will not doubt an engagement that is written across your face.”
“I am not drawn to you,” Cathy lied. “I am frightened of you. There is a difference.”
“Fear and desire live in the same part of the nervous system,” Jeremy said, brushing past her in the cramped bathroom. His shoulder grazed hers, and she felt that same spark of connection she had experienced while signing the contract. “Your body knows the truth even if your mind has not caught up yet.”
Cathy wanted to argue, but he already moved out of the bathroom, his glamour settled perfectly around him like a second skin. Instead, she turned to the mirror, trying to convince herself that her flushed face stemmed only from the stress of the situation and absolutely not from watching a Demon Prince button his shirt in her bathroom.
Behind her, she heard Turnip’s voice from the other room. “He is eating something. Something made of ambient magical energy from the apartment. He is literally consuming the residual magic from the walls.”
“Jeremy!” Cathy called out. “Do not eat my apartment!”
“Then feed me something better,” he called back. “Your cooking smells like it might be more interesting than drywall.”
Cathy grabbed her coat, already mentally cataloging what ingredients she had on hand. If she had to spend the next six days feeding a Demon Prince to maintain his cover, she would do it properly. At minimum, she could ensure he did not resort to consuming her furniture through sheer boredom.