How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days (19 page)

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Authors: Saranna DeWylde

BOOK: How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days
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C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO
Laying the Pipe
J
ill sauntered into the dump that Michael called his bar, office, and home. Though it was the middle of the morning, she breezed through the doors as if she owned the place, and as tight as her pants were in the crotch, her balls should have been visible. Or they would have been, had they been more than metaphoric.
Not seeing the bartender, she went around back and poured a shot of vodka. She set it down, then took a swig out of the bottle—she’d never said the shot was for her.
Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she decided on having another. After all, it wasn’t every day one got to help mastermind a revenge plot against a woman-murdering douche bag. Today was going to be a lovely day, all thanks to Seraphim Stregaria. Jill raised the bottle to her, knowing that somewhere, Seraphim would know. She took another pull and enjoyed the burn that slid all the way down.
“That was quick,” Michael said, emerging from his office. “I just shot that guy not five minutes ago. Who hired you?”
She gave him a dazzling smile. “It’s a demon thing. I belong to Ethelred. He sent me to help.”
Michael squinted, clearly suspicious. “For free? What’s the trick?”
He really didn’t recognize her. Jill wasn’t sure if she should be thankful or insulted. On the one hand, it was convenient as hell. On the other, he’d choked the life from her. One would think that would be memorable.
Or not. He was just another shit bag in a long line of shit bags, and if she hadn’t been memorable to any of the others, she didn’t know what would make this one remember her. They were users, pure and simple. But that had been a lifetime ago.
“No trick,” she announced. “I’ll just be watching everything you do. Or is that the trick that you’re looking for?” She tried to pour Michael a drink but broke off as she almost slipped in a pool of blood that had gathered behind the bar. Shaking her head she muttered, “Sloppy, honey. Very sloppy, indeed. What would your mother say?”
“What? What did you say?” Michael’s full attention was on her now. He suddenly reminded her of a turkey vulture; big, ugly, and always picking at dead things.
“I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to keep a dirty house. Why, what did you think I meant? It’s not like I called her a whore.” Jill shoved some Russian Tea at him. She’d prepared it just the way he liked.
Michael shrugged. “You can call her a whore if you want, I don’t give a shit.” He downed the drink and motioned for another. Both of them forgot the body on the floor. “Have you had these before? This is just how I like them.”
Jill smiled. Michael returned the expression. They looked like a couple of grinning fools to anyone peering in from the outside, and Jill was even happier on the inside. She couldn’t wait to get Michael hot for her. She was going to wreck the man in a way that defied human comprehension.
“I bet I can do it
all
‘just how you like it.’ ” She made sure her lips caressed those last words, made sure this was an invitation that he couldn’t refuse.
“Can you?” Michael moved around the bar and pressed Jill up against the wall, his hand cupping her breast. “You know I like my women to behave like they should.”
“Like they should? How is that,
Nana
?” Jill crooned the Russian word for “daddy.” Yeah, she’d done her research. That would turn him on. He’d feel the need to see what made her tick. Too bad he hadn’t when she was alive. He didn’t even remember her. But he’d damn well know her name in a few weeks when the regulars stopped patronizing his clubs. And he’d damn well know it when he was begging her to stop what she planned to do to him. He’d know exactly who she was, and he’d be screaming her name when she was balls deep in his hind end with her prosthetic tools. He’d remember everything about her, but by then it’d be too late. The thought made her smile.
“So you like the Russian, little girl?” he whispered in her ear. “Are we going to be good friends? What’s your name, you spicy little demon? Hmm?”
Poor Grace. Why had she ever been with this jackhole? If she didn’t liked Grace so much, Jill might have actually thought less of her. How could the quarter-demon granddaughter of the Devil and the Baba Yaga be so naïve?
Jill had never had any illusions. She’d been interested in getting out of the rackets, in being made Michael’s woman, and dumping all her other johns. He’d displayed moments of charm and had been halfway decent in bed—at least before the kinky stuff. She’d hoped to save up and start a new life. Not that Michael would have ever known. She’d had a plan to get away, and it had been foolproof. Too bad Michael hadn’t let things get that far along.
“Very good friends, Michael,” she said, leaning close, taking control of the encounter and pushing him back against the bar. “I’m not like anything you’ve ever experienced.”
She crushed her mouth to his and shoved her hand down his slacks to fondle him as freely as he’d done to her. He made a small startled sound and tried to back away, but he was up against the bar and there was nowhere left for him to go.
“Very nice. I have to go for now,” she said as she broke the kiss, and wiped her mouth on the back of her hand like he’d been a good shot of vodka, and licked her lips. “But I’ll be seeing you.” Then Jill snapped her fingers and pointed them at him like guns and left the bar.
 
Michael shook his head. What the fuck had just happened to him? He was a little dazed, somewhat confused, and sporting teak hard enough to be used in an industrial nail gun. That hadn’t happened to him in a long time, at least not from just one kiss. When he got ahold of that piece again, he was going to pound it until he could see morning through the other side. Saucy little puss, that one. And what really surprised him was that he’d liked her. He didn’t usually like surprises. They were bad for business. This demoness was clearly an exception. She reminded him of Grace.
He noticed the table in the corner was empty, as it had been for a few days now. Sasha had wanted leave to play with his new toy, and where Sasha went, Petru followed. But what that meant was absolutely no one was in his bar. No patrons, no workers. The jukebox was dark, the King was quiet. He had scores and scores of people who depended on him for their livelihood, but there was no one around to get rid of a dead body when he needed. It was completely unacceptable.
There was something else, too. For the first time in ages, Michael was completely alone. The silence was like a heavy shroud. He found himself wondering about his mother, wondering where she’d been hidden since her “death,” and what it would take to find her. Not for any familial reason, but to drain her power.
He decided to call Grace, to check on her. Her time was almost up and he was surprised that he’d yet to hear from her. That way, if something had indeed happened to her, he could capitalize on his good fortune. If she’d come to her senses, all the better. He’d take advantage of either sequence of events.
He dialed her number and honestly expected her to answer. As if she were still his girl and this whole Nikoli thing had never happened. As if she hadn’t been forcibly ejected from his penthouse. As if—
Her voice mail picked up. At the end of her message, he sang softly to her, sang the way she’d liked so much when they first started dating. “Love Me Tender” was always a winner. Then he sighed. “Grace, I don’t know what’s happened to us, but I love you. Give me another chance. We’ll be a family. You, me, and Nikoli.”
He hung up. This might work better than all of the strong-arming, which hadn’t budged her an inch. He should have kept her in the cocoon of his world, could have been done with all of this by now. Grace could have gone to the headsman with a smile. Now all of that was semen under the bridge.
It was still too damn quiet, so he dialed Sasha’s number, which also went straight to voice mail. The man was apparently taking his vacation time very seriously. It was annoying. Michael hated cell phones. They were so intrusive. But he liked being able to reach anyone at any time of the day, night, or in between. Cell phones meant no one was ever unavailable to him. At least, not if they liked their kneecaps. Assuming they didn’t turn their phones off. He hadn’t thought to tell Sasha to keep his phone on; the guy had never taken personal time. Of course, he’d never asked Michael to buy him a woman before, either.
Michael made a mental note to buy Petru his own phone. It would probably have to be like one of those designed for the elderly, with big numbers and not too many bells and whistles, but the Russian rhino had to be smart enough to answer a phone. Didn’t he? For all of his simplicity, Michael liked Petru. The man did his job, kept his head down, and didn’t ask questions. His kind was loyal to a fault. That was why it hadn’t seemed odd, his absence corresponding with his friend Sasha’s. But it was frustrating that he couldn’t be reached when he was needed.
Sinking into a booth, Michael surveyed the empty bar and his one-eyed jukebox. Uncharacteristically, he felt a bit out of control. Events in motion now were the culmination of years and years of plotting, conniving, and backbiting, and while this wasn’t exactly what he’d intended, he was on the bullet train now. There was no slowing down, no stopping, and certainly no getting off.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-THREE
Magickless
T
hat guy is a total cock. Did he really profane the King on your voice mail? He’s desperate, his contract should be up in four days.” Caspian snorted and watched Grace move awkwardly around her kitchen. She was shuffling here and there, moving like a six-tailed cat in a room full of haunted rocking chairs. Not really her loveliest moment, and yet, there was still something about her. He wondered if there always would be, or if he was just addled from being locked up with her for three days.
“What’s with demonkind and the King?”
Caspian took umbrage. “That guy isn’t a demon.” No way was that scum stain Grigorovich in the same class as he.
Grace shrugged. “Okay. I still don’t get the attraction.”
“Talent is universally recognized,” Caspian replied.
“No. I didn’t say he wasn’t talented. I just mean . . . a jukebox that only plays Elvis? I never got why Michael had that installed. What’s wrong with a little variety?”
“What’s wrong with a little fidelity?” Caspian countered.
She eyed him. “Are you kidding me? One guy’s music, forever? That would be boring.”
“No, you pick up little nuances that you didn’t hear before. It becomes comfortable, and what pleased you about the music the first time should please you always.”
“You’re serious?” Grace said. “Who listens to just one artist? Especially these days. Variety is the spice of life.”
“Next thing you know, Grace, you’ll be telling me you love steak but that it would be wrong to eat it at every meal.” The thought! Why
not
eat steak at every meal? He’d tried many different things, but steak was the best. Milky Way bars had been a close second but he’d outgrown them. While he remembered the taste fondly, steak was a better pick.
Grace rolled her eyes. “It would be wrong to eat it at every meal. At least, it would be wrong to expect
me
to eat it at every meal.”
“You know, Gracie—”
“Don’t call me Gracie.”
“Your gran did.”
“That’s Gran.”
“Woman, I’ve seen parts of you that she never has. I think I deserve some special treatment.”
“I think I don’t like being called Gracie,” she retorted.
He sighed. “Fine, whatever. Look, as I was saying—”
“How rude of me. Do go on.” Grace bent over to rustle around in the refrigerator, again looking for something edible, or at least nontoxic, for them to throw together and put in their mouths. Something with nutrition.
“You’re doing it again.” Caspian cocked his head to the side, following the movements of her delectable derriere as she rooted around in the fridge.
“So sorry.”
Some boots were made for walkin’, but that ass was made for—“Huh?” Caspian had lost his train of thought.
“About the interrupting. You were saying?”
“I forgot.”
Grace stood up and moved back to the stove, taking his peep show away—or at least taking it on the move. She was wearing a man’s shirt, something he did not like. The bottom of it covered her buttocks, just revealing the sides of her thighs. This he liked very much. He especially liked when she bent over, how he could see tender round flesh. He could stare at that part of a woman for hours.
“Steak?” she prompted.
“Oh, right. As I was saying, that’s an analogy that many modern males use to justify cheating on their wives. They don’t think it’s fair that they should be forced to endure the lifetime supply of the very meat that they picked out and purchased. They should be allowed to get takeout every so often.”
“I think monogamy and Elvis are two very different things,” Grace said.
“Yes, but you’re the one who used the steak analogy.”
“I was being snarky!”
“You’re always being snarky.”
“That’s not my fault,” Grace grumped as she bent back over into the refrigerator.
“I didn’t say it was your fault,” Caspian agreed. “I just said that you’re always being snarky. It wasn’t a complaint, it was just—”
“Wait. What you said about purchased meat.” Grace stood up again and turned around. “Was that like ‘buying the cow’?”
“No. I never said that.” Caspian had a horrible inkling where this was headed.
“I think you did. You just called me a cow. Didn’t you?” Her voice was deceptively calm.
“Where did you get that?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. You were talking about ‘steak at every meal,’ and then you were talking about purchasing a lifetime supply of meat in reference to marriage, fidelity, and/or sex. Where does steak come from but cows? So, as you’re making a reference to a man/woman relationship, the man is buying the . . . ?”
“Steak.”
“Exactly.”
“No,” he said, realizing her inference.
“No? Then what is he buying?”
Caspian huffed in exasperation. “The
steak
.”
“So you called me a cow.”
“I did not!”
“Look, is he buying steak or not?”
He was beginning to believe she was looking for things to fight about. “Gracie, what is your problem? That horse is dead. It had a Viking funeral and burned for three days. Shut. Up. About. The. Cow.”
“Or what, big, bad demon prince? What are you going to do about it?”
He wanted to show her what he was going to do about it, but he needed to wait until he had his powers back. Caspian didn’t fancy getting his tongue stuck anyplace tight again, even if parts of that experience had been most delightful.
Grace hiked her shirt up to show off a bit more leg. Then she bent over and touched the floor, baring her naughty knickered bottom to his admiring view. “Or what, huh? What are you going to do about it? Got no courage without your demonic powers? Afraid you can’t hack it without the three-pronged tongue? Afraid you’ll seem like a
mortal
lay?”
Not only was she taunting him verbally, every word or two was punctuated by a shake of her ass. It was as if it were the one talking to him, it was the one daring him to come over there and show it a good time. He’d bend her over the couch—Well, maybe not the couch. Their last interaction on that thing hadn’t gone so well. But he’d bend her over something, damn it.
She flopped on the couch next to him. “See? You’re really not so impressive now.”
“Oh, no? I think I hear a challenge,” he said. But he didn’t move.
“I think you better get your ears checked, because I’ve been throwing them all day and have gotten no action. But if we’re going to just talk . . . are we ever going to talk about what happened on the couch?”
“No. That topic never again need see the light of day.”
“I thought you’d leave and never come back.”
“Is that what you want?” Caspian asked, keeping his tone light.
She didn’t answer but stuck out her tongue, signifying that she wasn’t going to answer.
He decided to lighten the mood further. Grabbing her around the waist, he made his hands like tickly little spiders all over her body. She squealed as they tumbled to the floor. She squealed and squirmed and giggled. He liked to hear her laugh. He also liked that little thing she did with her butt when she was trying to get away from him—the way she squirmed and pushed up against him in the most delicious way. So far, she’d done it every time he tickled her, so she could count on constant tickling from here on out.
He finally managed to corral the little harridan exactly where he wanted her, flat on her back underneath him.
“Do you hear that?” she said, finally catching her breath.
“Hear what?” he asked with a frown.
“That thudding sound.” Grace looked up at him with wonder, touching her hand to his chest. It stopped where his heart would be.
Where his heart
was
. There was no denying it now.
“It’s your heart! It’s beating.”
“Yeah. It’s been beating a couple times every few hours for a while now.” Caspian shrugged it off; he didn’t want her to know what a big deal it really was. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.
“It’s beating really fast, Caspian.”
“Never mind that.” He brushed his lips across the fullness of her lower lip. He could feel her resistance but wasn’t sure what he’d done. He didn’t want to ask, either. They’d been killing their time in quarantine by watching movies, and whenever the film hero stepped in shit, Caspian was expected to just know what the hero had done wrong. Caspian didn’t see how he could measure up, but he swore to try and figure it out. Especially since they’d both made fun of the sods who couldn’t get their acts together and sweep the heroine off her feet in a reasonable time frame.
“Why did you have to be so hot?” Grace murmured, though she didn’t look like she wanted an answer. Then: “What’s it like in Hell?”
Okay, he was trying very hard to seduce her, and she wanted to talk about Hell? This wasn’t really how he’d planned the night going.
“Not so bad, really,” he said. “Once you realize it’s all about the PR.”
“Are there trees?”
“If you want there to be.”
“What about fire?”
“If that’s what you think you deserve.”
“Huh,” Grace said. “What if I don’t feel bad for anything I’ve done?”
“Then you won’t be going to Hell.”
She took a few moments to ponder that. “What about Michael? He’s done some truly horrible things, but they’re things he doesn’t think are wrong.”
“His punishment will come in a more, shall we say, fleshy form?”
Grace laughed. “Yes, but what if I wasn’t involved? What if I didn’t summon you? Would he still pay?”
“Are you asking me about God?” Caspian said.
“I guess I am. If there’s a Hell, then there must be a Heaven.”
He didn’t want to think about any of this, so he just copped out. “Well, then, you’ve answered your own question.”
“What about Nikoli?” Grace continued. “If he dies, will I ever see him again? Will I go to Hell for being with you? What about for just being what I am? Please, Caspian, tell me what it’s like,” she pleaded.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful.”
“Really?”
“Really,” he said. “It’s much like Oregon. Of course, that’s the landscape that appeals to me. It might be different for others. Like I said, Hell is perception. So is Heaven.”
“When your powers come back, will you show it to me?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he promised. Though he didn’t know if his powers would come back. He had a heart now, and it was beating, strong and sure. He might be stuck in this world. To live, to die, to be human. The idea scared him more than being tongue-tied to her crotch again. He’d be human for Grace, but if she didn’t want him, he didn’t want to stay in the mortal world without her.
“You’ve already been there,” he pointed out.
“When?”
“The dressing room.”
“That was Hell?”
Caspian nodded. “What did it look like to you?”
“Well, to me it looked how I always imagined Mount Olympus.” She took a deep breath and paused, as if she were considering her next words. After a moment she decided, “I have to ask you something else. I want you to tell me about Nikoli. I want you to tell me the whole truth. Everything you know.”
She blinked once and stared into his eyes. To him, she looked like an empty vessel waiting for some great fulfillment, and all he had to give was pain. “You already know, Grace,” he said.
“Tell me,” she commanded.
“Don’t ask me to break you.”
“Tell me.”
“Where are your pictures of your son, Grace? Why aren’t there any around your apartment?” Caspian asked.

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