‘‘Not the biggest garbanzo in the three-bean salad?’’ she asked with a smile.

I gave her a wary look. ‘‘Not even close to it, no.’’

‘‘That’s all right.’’ She patted my hand for a moment, then turned to preen in front of the black-draped mirror that sat in the room Magoth had (unwillingly) assigned to me. ‘‘I like my men a bit dim. Makes them easier to handle.’’

It was my turn to stare in disbelief, and stare I did. ‘‘It’s true I don’t know anything about your background other than you felt it important, for some reason that is completely beyond my comprehension, to try and obtain the currently vacant position of prince of Abaddon, but that aside, I think you are grossly underestimating just what exactly is Magoth’s true nature. He’s manipulative, greedy, self-centered, ruthless to the extreme, and he brings new meaning to the word ‘diabolical.’ In short, he is everything evil you can possibly imagine . . . and so much more.’’

‘‘Sweet, sweet May . . . singing my praises to the delicious Sally, are you? How thoughtful.’’

The voice that spoke held a note of amusement that didn’t lull me into a sense of comfort. Magoth in a normal (read: evil) mood I could handle, but a playful, amused Magoth was especially dangerous.

‘‘I’m simply telling her the truth about you,’’ I said cautiously, turning to eye him. As a mortal, Magoth had been an incredibly handsome man, with sinfully black hair and eyes and a seductive manner that had left women over the centuries sighing . . . those who survived his attentions, that is. Although demon lords could change their appearances to suit their whims, Magoth had never altered his, finding that his true form suited his purposes just fine.

He leaned with languid grace against the door frame to my room, a wicked light dancing in his black eyes, his hair once again slicked back, making obvious the resemblance to his movie-star self of some ninety years before. ‘‘May I enter?’’ he asked now with a slightly raised eyebrow at my slowness.

‘‘Sins of the saints, you make him ask to come into your room?’’ Sally’s little gasp of surprise drew Magoth’s attention to her as he oiled his way into the room.

‘‘It is a little game we play, my sweet May and I—she insists that I not enter her so charming chamber without her express consent, and I pretend to go along with it. And speaking of games, shall we indulge in a threesome?’’ Magoth flung himself down on my bed and patted the mattress with a seductive look pointed at me. ‘‘I’ll have to let May go first, since she will be my consort, but you may feel free to indulge in your wildest fantasies with me, Sally. I’m sure May won’t protest if you ride me like a rented mule.’’

‘‘Oh!’’ Sally said, shooting me a quick glance, but I was unsure if she was startled by the thought of indulging in a threesome, or by the fact that I would apparently not be bothered by my so-called lover’s infidelities. ‘‘I don’t . . . um . . .’’

‘‘She’s not interested any more than I am,’’ I said, coming to Sally’s rescue. I would have added a frown at Magoth for lounging around on my bed, but the mask was now so tight, it prohibited movement . . . not to mention the fact that Magoth wasn’t in the least concerned whether or not I frowned at his actions. ‘‘Did you want something in particular?’’

‘‘If I said ‘you’, would you hold it against me?’’ he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows. ‘‘And by it, I mean your delectable self. Naked? And dabbed with just a light touch of that edible jasmine oil I had made for you?’’

I crossed my arms over my chest. ‘‘Take a look at my face, Magoth. What do you see?’’

‘‘I see a woman who is trying desperately to make herself beautiful for me, and yet, I already find you attractive. Did you want me to bed you wearing the facial mask? It’s rather kinky, although not nearly so kinky as having you slathered in pig’s grease and bound to that delightful little device I showed you in my playroom—’’

I held back a shudder. ‘‘Your playroom could double as a torture museum, not that I’m going to enter it again.’’

‘‘But, my sweetest of all sweet Mays, I assure you that a little tingle of electricity in clamps placed on well-oiled nipples can be stimulating in ways—’’

‘‘Will you stop?’’ I interrupted in a loud voice, not wanting to get him wound up again. ‘‘I am not going to sleep with you. Not now, not ever, and certainly not when there are pig’s grease and nipple clamps around.’’

Sally sucked in another startled breath, no doubt in response to the manner in which I had addressed Magoth. ‘‘May, honeychild, you must take a little smidgen of advice from one who is wiser and very, very slightly older—an attitude of respect, tinged with a tiny little morsel of humility, can go a long way when dealing with those in authority.’’

Magoth laughed and rose from the bed, waving a hand that had his clothing melting right off his body. ‘‘Perhaps you just need to be reminded of what it is you are so callously and ignorantly spurning, my queen?’’

‘‘I’m not your queen,’’ I said evenly, holding back my temper.

‘‘Oh, my!’’ Sally’s eyes just about bugged out as she took in Magoth in all his glory. ‘‘You’re . . . er . . . aroused.’’

He leered at her as I said, ‘‘He’s always aroused.’’

‘‘My sweet one speaks the truth,’’ he said, glancing down with pride at his penis. ‘‘I have incredible sexual prowess and can give pleasure for hours on end.’’

‘‘Hours?’’ Sally asked, sounding a little breathless. Her eyes went a bit misty as she gave him a very thorough visual once-over.

‘‘His idea of pleasure isn’t the same as yours and mine,’’ I said softly, leaning in toward her.

‘‘How do you know what I find pleasurable?’’ she shot back, and for a moment, there was a glimpse of something in her eyes that might explain why a woman who appeared perfectly normal would suddenly decide she wanted to become a demon lord.

‘‘I don’t,’’ I admitted. ‘‘But Magoth’s form of pleasure usually holds a sting. Sometimes it’s fatal.’’