“You can stop snickering anytime now,” Willow growled, her face a scowl of annoyance.

Yet how could he stop his mirth? A grown woman wearing a cartoon pajama that would be more suitable for a baby? Too much.

“How do you use the washroom in one of those?” he asked. It seemed rather complicated as outfits went.

Turning to give him a view of her rear—where he noticed a square flap—she wiggled her butt. “Two Velcro snaps and I’m good to go.”

Surely, she didn’t mean…he realized how it would look, the square of fabric pulling away, revealing an opening through which only her posterior would emerge.

Obscenely interesting.

Also very distracting.

Diverting his gaze, he stared at her head. “Where did you see the demon?” Time to get back on track and business.

“I didn’t see a demon.”

“But your text said demon at my house.”

“Was. He’s gone now. It’s probably easier if I show you. Follow me.” She led the way through her small house to a sliding glass door at the back. She stepped through, and Alistair smelled it immediately.

His gaze honed in on the scorch marks on the ground. They started mid-yard and marched to the fence. He followed and noted the burn marks on the tops of the boards.

He whirled on her. “Why were you outside? You know it’s dangerous for your kind at night.” She knew of the demon problem, why would she risk herself?

“I was looking for my cat.”

No point in chastising her about her reason. He knew how attached witches were to their felines. “Did you find it?”

“No, because the demon took it.”

“How can you tell? Perhaps it ran off, frightened.”

That earned him a dirty look. “Whiskers doesn’t get scared. And I know a demon took him because look at what he crushed into the ground.”

She jabbed her finger toward a perfect imprint, six-toed, pressed into the charred lawn. “A collar. Whiskers’ collar.”

“Perhaps he slipped it off.”

“Or maybe the most obvious thing is fact: the demon took him.”

“Better the cat than you.”

The punch to his arm was harder than he’d have expected. He tossed her a startled look and got treated to a harangue.

“Don’t you dare make light of this. Whiskers is my baby. We need to find him.”

“Don’t you mean find the demon?”

“Find the demon, and you probably find my kitten.”

Digested and left as excrement wherever the thing nested. Best not to mention that quite yet.

“How do you suggest we follow this demon when we don’t even know what it looks like?” he asked, rising from his crouch to eye the fence he really didn’t want to climb. The slacks he wore were for looking sleek, not stretching.

“How hard can it be? You’re the wizard. Surely, you have a spell.”

“You’re a witch, and I don’t see you waving your wand and casting,” he retorted. Although she did have a valid point. Some trackers could enhance the trail of their quarry with magic, strengthening the scent or, in some cases, even illuminating their steps for a short time.

But those weren’t demons. They were too cunning to be tracked so easily.

“I can only brew something up if I’ve got a trace of the thing I’m looking for. Hair, skin, fingernail.”

“Burnt footprint won’t work?” he asked, pointing.

“Not unless he left blood behind. This is useless. You’re useless.” She flung her hands in annoyance and stalked back into her home.

He spent a moment staring at the burnt prints. Large steps. Upper-caste demon. Stalking the witch?

He didn’t like that. There weren’t many reasons for a demon to be in her yard. The most obvious one was dinner.

Alistair followed the witch, only to find the sliding glass door locked. He rattled it then pounded.

“Let me in.”

She appeared on the other side of the glass and shook her head. “You can go now. We’re obviously not going to find my cat.”

I can go? Did she seriously think she could dismiss him?

“We need to discuss what the appearance of a demon means.”

“I am not a complete idiot. I know what it means. I’m next on its menu.”

“You need to take precautions.”

“You’re right, I do, and yet you’re wasting my time yapping when I could be casting.”

She turned her back on him and, with a wave of her hand, tugged the curtain shut.

He stared at it.

Then laughed.

Game on, witch. Game on.