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Chapter 4

In Which the Magus Whitworth Whitworth Greets His New Houseguest

“Out, out, you meddling scoundrel!” Whitworth grabs the next solid object to hand, a tungsten cube, and flings it at his unwanted guest. All the rage in his body goes into the throw, and it still falls short. He grits his teeth. “You have meddled in my affairs, ruined my grand ambitions, for the last time! Return to your Hell and trouble me no longer!”

The fiend called Vera, infuriatingly, does not move from where she stands. “Why, I don’t know what you mean!” the foul thing croons, in her most repulsive saccharine tone. “I think you’re the one who screwed up this binding circle. Look at this smudge here!” She indicates with her foot, smudging it more in the process. “And here, that’s a full break in the line! Amateur hour. And this character is wrong.”

Now the whore is just blatantly introducing more errors where he is sure they did not exist. Tacitly confirming her guilt. Whitworth growls unintelligibly. “If I am forced to tell you to vacate the premises again, there will–”

Vera speaks over him, cooing. “Oh, but just look at the gorgeous gal you got instead! Don’t you prefer her over some musty old high fiend?”

Despite himself, Whitworth hazards a glance. He immediately wishes he hadn’t.

When he noticed his circle had been tampered with, Whitworth was forced to change course, trapped between the backlash of an aborted spell destroying his manor and an unbound high fiend immediately rendering him into a bloody mist for daring to try and enslave them. Thankfully, it was still during the common stanzas at the beginning, so he had time to shift to a different species. Despite all his studying, succubus was the only one he could remember in the heat of the moment, so he’d grabbed a random one of those.

Of course she’d show up naked. The succubus at least has the good sense to cover her sex with one hand, though for some reason her other is occupied holding what looks like a carton of milk. Whitworth carefully avoids getting an eyeful of her chest, glaring instead at her round and misleadingly innocent face.

With wide, confused eyes framed by voluminous brown hair, the lustful little fiend regards Vera, tail flicking back and forth. Perhaps feeling his piercing gaze upon her, she then turns her attention to Whitworth. Judging by the immediate wrinkling of her nose, she finds him repulsive. Good. He certainly didn’t summon this abomination to lay with her.

“Tch.” Whitworth shakes his head, waving dismissively. “Get some clothes on the wretched thing while I figure out how to get rid of it.”

A melodious laugh from Vera. “I’m not yours to command, mortal. Need I remind you?”

The scorned succubus cautiously puts a toe over the line of the binding circle, testing her boundaries. When the sabotaged spell naturally fails to restrict her movements, she scuttles over to place Vera between herself and Whitworth. Cowering so, she finally finds the gall to speak up. “Actually, I’d like some clothes, if you have some that would fit,” she hesitantly requests, gazing up at the taller bird demon.

“Oh! Certainly, dear,” Vera accedes. Sliding a hand around her lesser kin’s shoulders, she finally makes for the stairs.

“See, not everyone is so eager to be indecent as you. Even demons of lust blush at your impropriety, slut!” The retreating demon ignores his haranguing. Gnashing his teeth, Whitworth turns back to his workbench to rummage through the mess of demonic tomes. He’ll rid himself of this growing infestation yet, even if it’s with his dying breath.