“Oh?” was all he said. He was goading me; it was abundantly clear.

He wanted me to rant at him that he could make these girls sick … that he could kill them … in his reckless need to torture me. He wanted me to do it because that would mean I’d failed in this first task to win back that little piece of stolen soul.

“It is rather fortunate, then, that as otherworldly beings, my minions do not carry any of the viruses that earthly pets would, is it not?”

My jaw dropped, but I slammed my mouth shut fast enough that my teeth clacked. “Well, I suppose that’s something,” I conceded.

His grin widened, and he leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. “I can’t guarantee they’re not brimming with demonic illnesses, though … I have no idea how your small female humans would react to some of those.”

My fingernails bit into the palms of my hands. He was lying. I was almost positive. He was trying to get a rise out of me. And I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

He had to be lying. Because if he was telling the truth, and I said nothing, kept my mouth shut and let this debacle unfold … was my soul worth more than their health? Their lives?

I gritted my teeth, turning away from him … just in time to see Faith place her wicked little creature onto the canvas.

And all Hell broke loose.

The thing screeched, rocketing off the canvas and across the drop sheet, leaving little smudged, painty pawprints everywhere. The girls screamed. Harper dropped the other monstrous mammal, who ran in the opposite direction, hissing wildly.

As the girls scurried away from the painting area, one of the critters careened into the stand holding Faith’s ‘slay’ piece, knocking one of the feet out from under it.

The easel teetered precariously, and as Faith screamed, “Save it, please Jemma!” and I leapt in the direction of her slipping artwork, the other little terror also took a flying leap … at the stool where all the paints were balanced.

I tried to sidestep that disaster, but my foot caught on a wrinkle in the drop sheet, and I went down with a squeal.

Just as the paints toppled on my chest.

* * *

“How are you holding up, Mouse?” Satan Junior asked. Anyone would think he was concerned and not crowing about how well his little debacle was playing out. He propped Faith’s artwork up against the wall. He’d deigned to get off his backside, saving her piece in the nick of time. With not a single splatter of paint on him.