Chapter One

‘‘Beautiful in is beautiful out; that’s what they taught us at Carrie Fay, and I absolutely believe it’s true. I mean, think about it—the sort of person you are doesn’t just stay inside you, now, does it?’’

Before I could sort through that odd bit of logic, a cold, wet blob smelling of earth and minerals was slathered across my mouth. ‘‘Mmm-hmm,’’ I contented myself with answering.

‘‘I’ll wipe off your lips, but no talking, sugar. We can’t have you moving your mouth as the mask dries. Anyway, it’s absolutely true. Just look at you, for instance!’’

The petite, blond, perky woman in front of me who had been applying an olive green clay mask to my face stepped back to consider me; she held a small bowl in one hand, and her other hand was sheathed in a latex glove covered in the same gloop. She waved at me with the bowl. ‘‘You don’t look evil in the least, and yet here you are, about to wed a demon lord!’’

‘‘Sally, I’m not marrying Magoth—’’ I started to say, but she cut me off with a frown.

‘‘No talking, sugar! I just told you that! Where were we? Oh, yes, how appearances can be deceiving.’’ Her frown deepened somewhat as she eye-balled me. I squirmed in the chair, never comfortable being the center of anyone’s attention . . . with one notable exception.

My heart gave a little quiver as a familiar ache started within me at the vision that rose in my mind’s eye—a man laughing with utter delight, dimples set in his beautiful latte-colored skin, his eyes flashing like quicksilver. Just the thought of him had my heart speeding up even as I mourned the fact that I hadn’t seen Gabriel in more than a month.

‘‘You look like a normal woman—although I have to say that the 1920s flapper hairstyle you seem to enjoy is a bit less than mainstream. But other than that, you look perfectly normal, kind almost, not at all like you were to become Mrs. Demon Lord.’’

‘‘I’m not marrying Magoth,’’ I said, trying not to move my lips.

‘‘Oh, well, consort, marrying . . . it’s all the same thing, isn’t it? Just a smidgen more on your forehead, sugar. You need a lot of exfoliating there. Whatever have you been using on your face? No, don’t answer; let the mask dry. Here, do you want to see yourself?’’ Sally put down her things and peeled off the glove, admiring her handiwork for a moment before offering me a mirror.

I kept my jaw clamped shut as I said slowly, moving my mouth as little as possible, ‘‘No, thanks. I’m a doppelganger. We don’t have reflections.’’

‘‘You don’t? I never noticed that.’’

‘‘It’s not something that most people know.’’

‘‘Must make plucking your eyebrows difficult.’’ She admired her own image in the mirror for a moment, fluffing up a strand of extremely styled blond hair before setting down the mirror and giving me a big, sharky smile. ‘‘Even if you can’t use the mirror, you have to admit that all this is awfully romantic.’’

‘‘Romantic?’’ I asked, my thoughts immediately turning to the dragon in human form who made my knees weak.

‘‘Yes! Terribly so!’’ She must have seen the look of confusion in my eyes because she continued as she packed away into a small pink duffel bag a good fifty pounds of cosmetics and accompanying items. ‘‘Magoth making you his consort and giving you access to all that goes with such a position, I mean. It’s so incredibly romantic that he wants you so much he’s willing to overlook the fact that you’re not at all suited for the position. It just goes to show that even a demon lord has his soft side.’’

I rolled my eyes. ‘‘Magoth has no soft side, and he doesn’t want me. Nor have I said I’d become his consort. I’m a wyvern’s mate, and that is where my heart lies, not here in Abaddon with Magoth.’’

Sally’s jaw sagged a little. ‘‘You’re a wyvern’s mate? The dragon kind of wyvern? The leader of, what do they call them, a dragon sept?’’

‘‘That’s it,’’ I answered, still trying not to move my mouth at all. The mask was drying, pulling my flesh taut, which didn’t make it easy.

‘‘A wyvern’s mate!’’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘‘Then what are you doing here?’’

I sighed. ‘‘It’s a long story, too long to tell you now, but the abridged version is that when my twin created me, I was bound to Magoth as his servant. Because I’m a doppelganger, he used me to steal items he wanted. One day I ran across Gabriel—he’s the wyvern for the silver dragons—and we discovered I was his mate. Magoth found out about it and demanded I steal a priceless dragon artifact for him, the Lindorm Phylactery. I refused and gave it to Gabriel, instead.’’

Her eyes, kind of a muddy green, almost popped out of her head. ‘‘You refused? You went dybbuk?’’

I nodded.

‘‘Sins of Bael! But . . . you’re still alive. And whole. Not to mention the fact that Magoth told me you agreed to be his consort. Why would he say that, let alone allow you to live without being in perpetual torment, if you went dybbuk?’’

‘‘Magoth is a bit . . . different,’’ I said, only barely stifling the wry smile that hovered on my lips. ‘‘I guess he knows that being his consort is more of a perpetual torment than anything he could do to me physically.’’

‘‘You find him unattractive?’’ she asked, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘‘He’s gorgeous!’’

‘‘Physically, I think he’s very attractive. What woman could resist those smoldering dark looks? Certainly the women of the last century couldn’t. And didn’t. You know he was a silent film star, yes?’’

‘‘Well, I know he looks kind of familiar.’’ She thought for a moment, then mentioned a name.

‘‘That’s him. The resemblance to his film self is more noticeable when he wears his hair slicked back. But regardless of his handsome exterior, it’s the interior that gives me nightmares.’’ I grabbed at her sleeve as she wandered past, continuing to gather up her things. ‘‘Sally, I know you’re spending time in Abaddon as part of your application for the empty demon lord position, but I don’t think you really understand what things here are really like, what the demon lords are. They may appear to be human, but they lost all shreds of humanity long, long ago, and Magoth is no different from any of the others . . . well, except he may be slightly more airheaded than the rest.’’