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Screwtape and Wormwood were his favorites. They made a strange pair, and had been in the act together so long that they were inseparable now.
Wormwood was glossy black with bright red eyes, quiet and clever and unusually observant for a rabbit. He had no domesticated vacuousness, tame as he was, always alert and watching. Screwtape was a white dove, also red-eyed. Moloch hadn’t ever clipped her wings and hoped she would try to fly again someday, but she still walked around behind Wormwood, preening and plucking at his fur when he held still and following besottedly when he didn’t.
When they sat with Moloch, Screwtape sat on his shoulder, whispering her little dove secrets into his ear. Wormwood sat in his lap or at his feet, staring as intently as a cat might at anyone who came near. It might’ve been unsettling to anyone who saw it and Moloch had seen more than one person break eye contact with the rabbit and hurry away.
They had the run of his quarters. If one of his goons ever questioned or grumbled, he had to remind that every sorcerer needed demonic familiars and when dealing with demons, it was best to stay on their good side. Then he would grin, hypnotic eyes flashing and stepping in front of the mirror that didn’t show his reflection. That usually ended the discussion.
One of his employees had slapped Screwtape out of the air when she flew by his head. He had stamped her like she was a bug before Moloch could stop him. He had spent days realigning her little bones, keeping her very carefully drugged through the shock, and nursing her back to health. She never flew again, and that goon had found out how real the cut-in-half illusion really was. Word got around. It didn’t happen again.
Now, they were packing up. This location had been compromised and they were moving to safer one. Moloch handled the animals himself.
“In you go, flutterlove,” he crooned to Screwtape, carrying her to her specially designed travel case. Her water was dyed red as always to make the goons think he really did feed her blood. “All she can do is flutter anymore, poor little fallen angel. But we’ll take good care of her until she can. Yes, we will.“ She cooed back, sharp little beak touching his lips and ear. Once she was safely in her travel-nest, Moloch scooped up Wormwood, who had been hopping along at his heels. The rabbit was silky-soft and smelled faintly of flash powder.
“You’ve been in the back room again, haven’t you, fluff monster? I told you to stay out of there. One stray spark and nothing left of you but your cottontail!” He tweaked the tail in question, and scratched his fingernails up Wormwood’s spine, making the rabbit arch, again like a cat. “You’re still upset because I retired you from the performance, aren’t you? It can’t be helped. It would break poor Screwtape’s heart to imagine you in a hat with another dove. And more than that, I can’t have you disappearing, can I? Not my babybunnyboy.”
He set the rabbit in the case with the dove and shut it carefully. “There. Owls are out tonight. Don‘t want our sweeties all eaten up, do we? No. Nasty, nosy owls. They aren‘t as wise as they think they are, my dears. Gets them in all sorts of trouble.”
Chuckling evilly, but carrying the box as if it was precious, Moloch swept off to another vanishing act, setting the booby-trapped floor as he left.