She felt tears prick behind her eyelids. Bloody hell, Ursula. Do not cry. Do not cry. Not in front of Kester. She needed to prove she had both the skill and character to be a hellhound, or she could forget about that whole “self-preservation” thing.

“So—” Kester held up his hand and then laid his blade on the mat indicating that the sword-play was on hold. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

Kester stared at her like she was off her meds. “Prove that you know how to charm people. Look approachable.”

She scowled. “How am I supposed to prove that?”

“By not making that face, for one thing.”

She lowered Honjo and straightened. She pushed out her chest, smiled and cocked her head.

“Much better, but your smile doesn’t look genuine. You’ll need to soothe him. Keep him from panicking.”

Ursula felt a familiar heat rise within in her. First, she had to force people to sign away their souls. On top of that, she had to condemn them with a lullaby, cooing at them as she consigned them to hell? How much would she end up hating herself if this was the person she was to become? But she couldn’t say that out loud—not to Kester.

“Put down your sword.” Kester stepped closer, his green eyes drinking her in. “Ask me to sign the pact.”

She tucked her sword in the corner of the room before straightening her shoulders. She tried to force a pleasant smile onto her face. “You just need to sign here.” She pointed to an imaginary pact in her hand, using a firm but gentle voice, like she was a police negotiator convincing a suicidal man to step away from the edge of a bridge.

Kester answered in a perfect impression of Hugo’s posh British accent. “No I don’t want to sign. This must be some sort of stunt. Are you having me on?”

“This is not a stunt. Hasn’t your career taken off since you asked Emerazel for her power?” The content was good, but Ursula stumbled over the last few words.

He continued to ape Hugo’s accent. “I’m not doing it. I’m not giving my soul away.”

“You have to. You agreed to the bargain.”

He shook his head. “Relax your shoulders. You’re supposed to look alluring.”

“How did you do it, when you broke into my kitchen? I was ready to bash your head in with a frying pan, and then the next thing I knew, I wanted to do whatever you wanted.”

“Some of that was my natural charm, but some of it was magic. It’s taken me a long time to learn how to bend people’s wills, and I’ve honed the skill well. You were surprisingly resistant to my influence. I don’t encounter that often.”

“I’d had a very bad day.” She eyed him warily. “You can mind-control me?”