MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The flour cloud settled slowly, revealing a man in a tailored three-piece suit.
He was covered head to toe in white powder and looked absolutely furious.
Cathy's brain stuttered to a halt. The man was tall and sharp-angled, with a jawline that could cut glass and cheekbones that belonged in a museum. His suit was charcoal grey, perfectly fitted, and somehow the flour seemed to slide off the fabric like water off waxed leather.
Then he opened his eyes.
They were completely black. No whites. No iris. Just endless, hungry darkness.
The hand around her throat wasn't squeezing, not yet, but the heat radiating from his palm was fever-hot and wrong. Cathy's knees buckled. Her magic flared in automatic response, a weak pulse of gold light that flickered and died.
The demon's eyes widened.
He released her throat and brought his hand to his face, inhaling deeply like he was savouring the scent of wine. His black eyes focused on her with sudden, terrible interest.
"You're a Johnson," he said, his voice dropping to something quieter and far more dangerous. "A true Johnson."
Cathy swayed on her feet, barely managing to stay upright. Her magic was gone. Drained completely. She felt hollow, scraped clean from the inside out.
The demon stepped over the rubble of her kitchen table, moving with predatory grace. He brushed flour off his sleeves with exaggerated disdain, then looked around her tiny, destroyed apartment. His lip curled in visible disgust.
"You summoned the High Prince of Gluttony with grocery store spices."
His voice was cold and aristocratic, laced with barely restrained hunger. It made her ribs vibrate.
Cathy's survival instincts finally kicked in. She forced herself to stand straighter, even though her legs were shaking. "I summoned a minor imp. You're clearly in the wrong apartment."
The demon laughed.
It sounded like grinding glass, sharp and wrong. He took a step toward her, and Cathy's heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might break through.
"Your substitutions," he said, gesturing at the ruined summoning circle with one elegant hand, "created a beacon strong enough to pierce the Seventh Circle. I was in the middle of a very tedious council meeting when your pathetic little spell yanked me through the realms."
He took another step.
"Demons in Hell don't eat. We consume magic. Souls. The ambient energy of the living world." His black eyes fixed on her, and Cathy felt like a rabbit staring down a wolf. "And you, little witch, smell delicious."
Turnip waddled out from under the couch.
The opossum planted himself between Cathy and the demon, his pink nose twitching. He hissed, a sound that was more pathetic squeak than threat.
The demon stopped. He looked down at Turnip with an expression of genuine confusion.
"Is that a rat?"
"Opossum," Turnip corrected, his voice shaking. "And you leave her alone."
The demon moved faster than Cathy's eyes could track. One moment, he was across the room; the next, he was circling her slowly, his hands clasped behind his back like a professor examining a particularly interesting specimen.
"The Johnson Family Reserve," he said. "The wellspring hidden in the orchard. It still exists."
Cathy's mind raced. He knew about her family's magic. He knew more than she did, apparently, because she'd never heard the wellspring called a reserve before.
"You summoned me for a reason," the demon continued, his tone almost conversational now. "You need something."
Cathy was still terrified, but desperation made her reckless. The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
"I need to reclaim my family's land. There's a Feast in six days, and I need to petition the High Council. But I can only petition if I'm an established head of household. I need..." She swallowed hard. "I need a husband."
The demon stopped circling. He tilted his head, considering.
"A week on Earth," he said, almost to himself. "Access to a Johnson witch's cooking, charged with her magic. A potential path to the Reserve." He smiled, and it was terrifying. "How delightfully convenient."
"So you'll help me?"
"I'll play the role of your fiancé," he said, his tone making it clear this wasn't a negotiation. "In exchange, I want a taste of the Johnson magic. The real magic, not whatever weak scraps you're currently producing."
Cathy tried to think of a counteroffer, but the demon moved closer, backing her against the wall. The heat radiating off him was suffocating.
"You could refuse," he said softly, his black eyes boring into hers. "And I could simply take what I want. But there are rules about consent and contracts, even in Hell. Besides..." His smile sharpened. "I'm bored. Playing human sounds entertaining."
He was close enough now that Cathy could smell the sulphur clinging to him, could feel the wrongness that surrounded him like a second skin. Her traitorous body noticed how beautiful he was, even covered in flour and radiating danger.
"Sign a contract with me, little witch," the demon said, extending his hand. "Or I'll eat your familiar for an appetiser."
Turnip squeaked in terror from somewhere behind her.
Cathy looked at the ruined kitchen. In the six days she had left. At her complete lack of options. At the demon's extended hand, elegant fingers tipped with what might have been claws.
Her hand started to rise.
The demon's smile widened, showing too many teeth.
"Excellent choice," he purred. "Now, let me tell you exactly what I'm going to take from you."
His fingers closed around hers, burning hot, and Cathy's vision went white with pain.