Demons Like It Hot (14 page)

“Glad you both got that settled. Now, you haven’t got all night,” Minerva said. She held a blue stone, with laces of gray flowing across its surface, in her hand. “Take this stone. It will help you travel.”

He’d never seen such a beautiful stone. “I’m unfamiliar with this stone.”

“It’s a fairly new discovery—to humans at least. It’s called angelite.”

Matthias stifled the cough deep in his throat. He glanced at Serah. She simply rolled her eyes.

“I should have figured,” Serah said. With a reluctant sigh, she took the stone, allowing Minerva to close her fingers around it.

Minerva took three slow steps backward and clasped her hands together. “To activate the stone, close your eyes. Take five deep breaths to clear your mind. Then simply visualize yourself where you most want to be.”

“Nothing is that easy.” Serah let out a hearty chuckle.

Minerva shrugged. “With that sort of attitude, you’re right.”

If only Serah would acknowledge just how important she was. How powerful she could be if she just believed in herself. Matthias tamped down the desire to throttle her then and there. He wasn’t angry. He was frustrated. He balled his fists and clenched his teeth. His words, meant to be firm, came out as an angry growl. “Stop trying to fight it, damn it.”

“Fine!” Anger swirled in her eyes. “But seriously, I might be able to smell demons, but this whole Pure-Blood shit… it’s a bunch of… well,
shit
.”

“Try me,” Minerva said with finality.

The words came out like a challenge. Anything to prove this goddess wrong. Then again, her being the goddess of wisdom would only add to the challenge. The anger simmered away, as determination took over. She clenched the stone tight in her hand and slammed her lids shut.

So
she
could
go
anywhere
she
wanted, eh?
She’d always dreamed of lounging on a Tahitian beach sipping mai tais. “I know exactly where I want to be.”

“Is it just like normal
Peragrans
?” Matthias asked, as if in tune with her devious thoughts. Then again, the way he invaded her fantasies, he probably was.

Minerva nodded. “Yes, minus the Ice Capades routine.”

Oh
well. Didn’t hurt to try
. The rules of
Peragrans
were pretty straightforward. You could only teleport to a place or person that you were familiar with. At least she wouldn’t freeze her ass off. “So that means my back-up trip to Matthew McConaughey’s place isn’t going to happen either, huh?”

Matthias blew out a breath of air. “Correct.” Ice laced his voice.

“Bummer.”

She inched an eyelid open and snuck a covert glance at Matthias. Still wearing the wrinkled linen shirt and loose cargoes, he stood tall and proud; his lips remained straight and severe. Biceps bulging, he crossed his arms as he leaned against one of Minerva’s oak bookcases. Her breath caught. Even the loose linen shirt couldn’t hide the pure strength that rippled through his body.

Who
needs
Matthew
McConaughey?

What the hell was wrong with her? He was an insufferable asshat. He looked at her like she was his last meal and a leper at the same time. It agitated her beyond words.

But every time he touched her, it was like molten lava flowing through each and every vein. She should’ve been afraid but instead she was intrigued. Too damn intrigued, and she didn’t like it.

And from what she could see, he didn’t either.

Which further fueled her ire.

“I have a thing for Matthew McConaughey, if you haven’t guessed.”

“Matthew McConaughey?” Minerva said with a snort. “Actors are so overrated.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Matthias barked. “I didn’t come here to discuss actors.”

Wow. The way he barked, you’d almost think he was jealous. Yeah right!
“Heck, I didn’t want to come here at all.”

“Can’t we all just get along?” Minerva grabbed Serah by her sweater sleeve and pulled her to stand next to Matthias. “Time for a group hug.”

She might have been wise, but Minerva was weird as hell. Bemusement filled Serah’s face and Matthias’s brow scrunched. An awkward minute of silence followed.

“Too much?” Minerva grinned.

Matthias offered a slow nod.

“Oh, well. Maybe next time?”

“Uhh… sure,” said Serah, stone still secure in her hand, as she patted Minerva’s back. “Next time.”

“I sense some sarcasm.” Minerva’s lips curved downward into a mock frown.

“They don’t call you the goddess of wisdom for nothing.”

“More sarcasm!” Minerva beamed. “A trait often attempted, but only mastered by the truly witty.”

“Wit and wisdom go hand in hand, huh?”

“Of course.”

“Sarcasm and wit serve a purpose, but don’t you have a stone to use?”

Party-pooping, another one of Matthias’s demonic talents. Despite Minerva’s odd tendencies, Serah liked the goddess. Matthias, on the other hand—it didn’t take a mind reader to see the aura of distrust that swirled around him.

Then again, he didn’t seem to trust many people. Probably an occupational hazard. Serah blew out a breath of air. Did he trust her? Probably not, or he wouldn’t be hovering over her every move.

Like she should care.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” And she meant that in the literal sense. Like a stone could just zap her here and there. Maybe if she was Lucy or Kalli. Not this pure demon detector that they thought she was. But might as well give the demon and goddess a show.

She closed her eyes again and took in the first breath of air. Nothing funny yet. She exhaled and took two more breaths. Still nothing. Three down, two to go. She took breath four and still felt as normal as she had before she held the stone. No biting cold swirls nipping at her nose. She sucked in as much air as her lungs could hold and blew it out in a slow breath out her nose.

“There’s no place like home.” All that was missing were the ruby slippers.

Still nothing. If she had transported herself clear across town, she would have felt something. A pinch? Wind through her hair? A TSA agent giving her a much-too-thorough pat down?

Slowly and deliberately, she opened her eyes—and wished she kept them closed.

“Wha’ the hell?” the high-pitched screech pierced her eardrums. “Where did ye come frae?”

There sat Mr. Whiskers on her black Italian leather sofa with a tub of popcorn between his cute kitty legs. One paw held a cigar, smoke wafting from it, and the other held a lowball glass of scotch. Serah just shook her head. She should have known the cat wasn’t normal.

Interesting mix, though.

Even more interesting location.

“No smoking in my house!” She grabbed at the cigar in Mr. Whiskers’s paw. “Cuban cigars? How the hell did you get these? They’re illegal.” She put her hands on her hips. “You can talk? What in the hell are you? The Cheshire Cat?”

“Guess the moggie is oot o’ the bag. Ah was sent tae tak’ over the chimp’s job.” Mr. Whiskers pinched his cigar out. “Ah’m sorry. Ah thought ye’d be gone fer a while. The packages hae been delivered. Kalli just left.” He shooed his paw at her. “Now move. Yer blockin’ ma view. Mel Gibson is gettin’ ready tae moon the Sassenach dogs.”

A cat with attitude. Who would’ve known. Then again, he was Scottish.

“Aren’t you a little shocked that I am standing here?”

Mr. Whiskers arched a whiskered brow. “Only fer a second. Ah kent ye had it in ye. Ah’m jist a wee pisht ye did it in front o’ the tellie.” He pushed a button on the remote that sat next to him and paused the movie. With a high-pitched sigh, he flicked his now-unlit cigar.

“At least you have better tastes in movies than my last imp, even if they’re a tad historically inaccurate.”

“At least they got most o’ the accents right.” He swirled his scotch and took a sip. “Ah love guid Scottish whisky. It’s the water o’ life, ye ken?”

“I’m more of a Cabernet kind of girl.”

“Wine is weak.”

“Whatever, Whiskers.” She plopped into the sofa next to the demon cat and grabbed a handful of popcorn. “What’s your real name?”

“Farquhar MacTavish, at yer service.”

Serah cringed. “I could get arrested for saying that name in public.”

“Jist call me Farquie. That’s wha’ Inanna calls me.”

“So where is your hot Persian tail? Is she special too?”

“She is.” He sighed. “She has tae spend time wi’ her human. Who kent keepin’ a secret imp identity could be sae hard? Inanna says she makes her wear silly pirate costumes an’ forces her tae sleep wi’ her.” Farquhar cringed. “Ah tellt her tae start peein’ oot of the box. Mebbe she’d send her tae the beastie shelter.”

“Ouch. I didn’t realize she had it so bad.”

Farquhar shrugged. “She’ll be fine. So where’s th’ mercenary turned Paladin?”

“How long does it take to
poof
?” She preferred to use the layman’s term. Butchering was an understatement when it came to her speaking Latin.

“Depends on how far awa’ he is an’ if he’s been here a’fore. Travelin’ tae an unfamiliar place can tak’ a while. Five or ten minutes.”

Serah relaxed. “Then I have some freedom. Thank God.”

She threw a popcorn kernel up into the air and opened her mouth to catch it. Instead a sharp burst of wind swirled around and sent the popcorn spinning and pinging against the wall. She slammed her mouth shut, shock pounding through her system.

“Damn, Serah. He’s guid.”

Five to ten minutes, her ass.

And like that, freedom zipped away with each frigid gust.

She didn’t know whether to be relieved or pissed. And that’s what really pissed her off.

Matthias brushed off chunks of ice and snow from his shoulders. He hated the
Peragrans
and the brutally icy portals. One of the small sacrifices for a minute or two of travel. It was certainly better than the alternate… especially when you were in a hurry.

And he’d left her alone too long.

Then again, she wasn’t completely alone. Sitting next to her on the sofa was her wannabe protector. And to make matters worse, he was sipping scotch and smoking a cigar. Not a bodyguard, more like a sidekick. A very inept one at that.

“How’d you get here so quick?” Serah asked, pushing a piece of popcorn between her lips.

“Och aye. How did ye?”

“I am a trained warrior with over seven hundred and fifty years of experience.”

“Wha’ever,” the cat meowed out. He set his cigar on an ashtray sitting next to him on the sofa. Taking one final swig of the amber liquid in his glass, he tossed it back. “Ah spoke tae Rafe. He says ye’r clean. I’m still watchin’ ye though.”

Matthias gritted his teeth. He should have known it was more than a cat. And a Scottish one, to boot. Things couldn’t get any stranger. “Another imp?”

“Och aye. Farquhar MacTavish at yer service.”

“This is ridiculous,” Matthias grumbled.

“Ah guess he’s gettin’ the guest room?” Farquhar narrowed his eyes into a penetrating glare. “Wow. Kickin’ the kitty tae the curb.”

“You have to start acting like a cat, damn it.”

“Lickin’ ma crease, pissin’ in a stinky box, an’ chasin’ ma feckin’ tail?” Farquhar puffed up his fur. “I’d say I’m daein’ a damn guid job.”

“Since when do cats smoke cigars and drink…” She looked at the label on the bottle on the table. “Glenfiddich? Where’d you find the money for that?”

“Nae jist any Glenfiddich. Forty-year single-malt.” He grinned, whiskers turning upwards. “Ah hae ma ways.”

This was absolutely ridiculous. How could this pint-sized ball of fur protect her if all he did was sit back with fine scotch and Cuban cigars and watch movies all night. And where was he getting Cuban cigars? Weren’t those illegal?

Then again, he’d seen Farquhar and his lady friend give him the slicing of the century earlier. That, oddly, counted for something.

He wouldn’t give the imp the benefit of the doubt.

“So you got the all clear?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Then you are relieved of your duties. Go, be a cat.”

“This is crazy.”

So was talking to a cat. “And meow, damn it.”

“Meow.” Farquhar extended his middle claw. With a not-so-graceful leap, he plopped to the floor. Tail swishing back and forth, he dropped into the pet bed in the corner. “Dinnae get on ma bad side, Ambrose.”

“Don’t get on mine, and I won’t get on yours.” He turned back to Serah whose mouth fell open in shock.