“Oh, yes you are.”

It had the right sound, but the cadence and accent were wrong. I stared, riveted, as Algaliarept took on my outline, running its hands suggestively down itself, flattening its chest to my lame excuse of womanhood and giving me hips that were probably a little more curvaceous than I deserved. It dressed itself in black leather pants, a red halter top, and high-heeled black sandals that looked ridiculous out in the middle of a snowy graveyard.

Eyelids lightly closed and lips open, it shook its head to make my frizzy shoulder-length red curls take shape out of the lingering haze of ever-after. It gave me more freckles than I could possibly have, and my eyes weren’t the red orbs it showed when it opened them, but green. Mine weren’t slitted like a goat’s either.

“You got the eyes wrong,” I said, and I set my spell pot down at the edge of the circle. I gritted my teeth, hating that it heard my voice quaver.

Hip cocked, the demon put out a sandaled foot and snapped its fingers. A pair of black shades materialized in its grip, and it put them on, hiding its unnatural eyes. “Now they’re right,” it said, and I shuddered at how close it matched my voice.

“You don’t look anything like me,” I said, not realizing I had lost so much weight, and deciding I could go back to eating shakes and fries.

Algaliarept smiled. “Perhaps if I put my hair up?” it mocked coyly as it gathered the unruly mass and held it atop my, er, its head. Biting its lips to redden them, it moaned and shifted as if its hands were tied above it, looking like it was into bondage games. Falling back onto the sword the angel held, it posed like a whore.

I hunched deeper into my coat with the fake fur around the collar. From the distant street came the slow sound of a passing car. “Can we get on with this? My feet are getting cold.”

It pulled its head up and smiled. “You are such the party pooper, Rachel Mariana Morgan,” it said in my voice, but now with its customary highbrow British accent. “But a very good sport. Not making me drag you into the ever-after shows a fine strength of mind. I’m going to enjoy breaking you.”

I jerked when a smear of ever-after energy cascaded over it. It was shifting forms again, but my shoulders eased when it turned itself into its usual vision of lace and green velvet. Dark hair styled long and round smoked glasses twisted into existence. Pale skin and a strong-featured face appeared, matching its trim, narrow-waisted figure in elegance. High-heeled boots and an exquisitely tailored coat finished the outfit, turning the demon into a charismatic young businessman of the eighteenth century, possessing wealth and poised for greatness.

My thoughts touched on the horrific crime scene I had contaminated last fall while trying to pin the murders of Cincinnati’s best ley line witches on Trent Kalamack. Al had slaughtered them in Piscary’s name. Each of them had died in pain for its enjoyment. Al was a sadist, no matter how good the demon looked.