Page 72 of The Fake Divination Offense
“Well then,” Ilbryen says. “Would you care to introduce yourself?”
Tem makes a gargled noise of disgust. “What are you doing? He’s anUrzoth follower.”
“And yet,” Ilbryen pins him with a glare, “he allowed us into this room without violence and has made no move to attack, even with your obvious threat. A true Urzoth follower would have exhibitedsomeform of challenge or aggression by now. There is more going on here I would like to explore. Do you question me?”
Tem’s stance and expression clearly sayyes. But he proves he has at least some sense when he flattens his lips.
Alexo puts a hand on my chest, in the spot I’m coming to associate with him, laying his palm over my heart and holding it there for one fortifying moment, like he’s soaking me up.
He looks at Ilbryen one last time. For encouragement? For permission?
Her gaze holds steadily on him.
He sucks in a breath before his eyes flash up to mine, swollen with uncertainty.
“My name is Bel,” he says. “Belzaroth. I’m the mortal descendant of Galaxrien Vossen.”
I go immobile. Systems shutting down, switch by switch.
Ilbryen holds out a vial of blue liquid to him.
Alexo—Bel—gapes at her. “Really?”
“Youcan’t!” Tem is red-faced. “This is insanity!”
But Ilbryen bobs the vile toward Bel. “It’s a calculated risk. I think Mr. Monroe might be useful to us.” She flicks her emotionless eyes to me.
Not emotionless.
Observant. Shrewd.
Bel steps away from me and takes the vial from Ilbryen.
With a fleeting look of surrender, he uncorks it and gulps down the potion.
In spite of everything, the shock and questions and blow after blow, I lurch toward him, panicked.
Ilbryen holds up her hand. “It is safe. It’s to counter the illusion spray he uses.”
I stiffen in place, arms extended toward him, unable to get my thoughts to catch up with what’s happening.
Bel moans softly, and then he’s—changing. But alsonot. He’s still him, same height, same pink hair and freckles across his nose and a lean, lithe body.
But his skin transforms, goes from pale to rose gold. Pure,gleamingrose gold the same shade as his hair; he’s a living gilded statue, reflective and shining. His eyes are now all black with rings of gold around his pupils, and he adjusts the waistband of his pants to pull out something at the back.
A tail.
He has a tail.
That rose-gold color, nearly as long as he is tall, thin with a pointed, arrow-shaped end.
It whips agitatedly around his bare feet as he stands there, letting me stare at him.
He’s part demon. The mortal descendant of Galaxrien Vossen.
Of all the scenarios I’d been forcing myself not to think about in regard to his secrets, this wasn’t even possibility adjacent.
And in a stupid, simplistic way, I might be… relieved? Fuck, I thought Tem was doing unspeakable things to him, but Alexo—Bel,Bel—is in protective custody because a crazy cult is after him to summon their demon lord. A crazy cult that my own slightly less crazy religion is a sworn enemy of.
