by RJ Blain
I had completed four years of education so I could hand scrub a sidewalk with neutralizer while drunk gorgons rolled around in their own vomit. My cheek twitched. Why did gorgons have to look so damned close to humans? Except for the gray-green cast and snakes for hair, they came as close to human as the truly magical species got. With some makeup and a good hat, some even passed as human until they made eye contact.
“Yes, Gardener. You lost your chance for a basic manslaughter charge about five minutes ago,” Calems replied.
Officer O’Daniel wagged his tail while his tongue lolled out of his mouth.
I sighed. “Stay with the car, wear sunglasses, don’t get bit, and try to look cool or something. Please tell me the CDC sent some supplies until they could send a truck.”
“In the trunk.”
“Yippee. Let me out so I can get this over with.”
Calems laughed, freed me from the backseat, and wouldn’t stop chortling, especially when I wailed my dismay at the contents of his trunk. While I’d love to get my hands on the shotgun, he slapped my fingers and pointed at the five-pound bag of high-grade neutralizer.
If the CDC thought a single bag would be sufficient to deal with a quartet of gorgons who were smearing their mess all over the sidewalk with their bare hands, they were nuttier than I was for agreeing to handle the clean up.
To make matters worse, one of the gorgons was a male, which meant one thing: it was gorgon breeding season. The males didn’t come out of hiding unless they were looking for a human surrogate to help them reproduce with their females. For a single male to be out with three females meant trouble and a lot of it. The females would be looking for human women willing to engage in the strangest lesbian sex known to Earth. If everything went well, which it usually didn’t, the surrogate would then turn her attentions to the gorgon male and engage in the second strangest sex act involving humans.
After the surrogate mother was treated for petrification, the tiny fertilized gorgon eggs were retrieved so the gorgons could nest with them. Then the woman was paid a filthy amount of money for serving as a breeding vessel for the gorgons.
The male caught sight of me and looked me over head to toe. A lecherous smile crossed his lips. His snakes, while fewer in number, closely resembled real ones in size. I didn’t recognize the species, although I would have bet everything I owned they were venomous—more so than usual.
Yippee. I went from unlucky virgin unable to find a willing man to having too many, and my latest suitor could pump me so full of venom I wouldn’t know which end was up after a few minutes. “No, I will not service you or your ladies. If you’re looking for a surrogate, call the CDC.”
“No fun,” he hissed, flicking his forked tongue out at me. “You should. Pay well. Three mates, all mine. Good times. You have nice big hips, good breasts. Curves. You would help us produce beautiful whelps.”
I did the math: a mile long trail of nasty bile, a trio of females, an aroused male, and at least fifty human statues of pedestrians too stupid to get out of the way or really unlucky. The gorgons must have struck out at the bar, which probably meant everyone at the bar had gotten petrified and needed my help, too.
Oh boy.
“Hey, tiger. How many did you stone at the bar?”
He hissed at me again. “They weren’t interested. Good offer, yes? Be the mother of my children and I won’t petrify you.”
Yippee. The gorgon was really trying to coerce me into having sex with all three of his brides with him as the grand finale. A regular woman would’ve ended up petrified once, twice, or three times depending on the skills of the mating gorgons.
With three females all wanting a surrogate, I expected the ‘lucky’ woman would end up petrified at least three times.
“You should be interested. You look so sturdy.”
“Sturdy? Really? That’s your line? I look sturdy? Give me a break. How many did you petrify?”
“Only one or two. Come on. We’ll have fun, little lady.”
I sighed. “Sorry, not interested.”
For a drunk he moved really fast, and his spittle splashed onto my cheek. His rancid, alcohol-tainted breath washed over my face. He ditched his sunglasses and stared me in the eyes, and every last snake on his head rose up and hissed with him. A tingle spread through me.
Any other human would have begun petrifying, their muscles stiffening. A determined gorgon ready to breed would have approximately five minutes to get their business done before their victim was no longer able to serve as a surrogate without reversing the petrification first.
Hell no. Infuriated he had tried to petrify me so he could turn me into a play date for him and his brood, I kneed him in the groin and proceeded to feed him a knuckle sandwich. “Excuse me? Let’s try this again, pumpkin. I said no. Do you know what the word ‘no’ means? It means I’m not fucking interested, asshole! Don’t you know what the penalty is for deliberating attempting to petrify a civilian? Oh, wait. I’m not technically a civilian. I’m certified by the CDC, you scum sucker. If you thought petrifying a civilian could land you in trouble, wait until you see what happens when you assault a CDC rep.”
On his way down, the bastard’s snakes pierced their fangs through my shirt and jeans. That would hurt later. It’d hurt a lot. If I were really unlucky, I might even pass out on the sidewalk from the venom.
“I’ll kill you, little girl.”
Oh hell no. “Now you’re threatening to kill me?” If he wanted to start with that shit, I had a bag of neutralizer with his name on it. I ripped it open and dumped the entire thing on his head. “How about this? I don’t think so.”
The male gorgon shrieked and writhed on the ground at my feet. The neutralizer wouldn’t kill him—it wouldn’t even hurt him for long, much to my disappointment. He’d feel it in the morning, though, and that would have to do. “Listen up, dipshit. If you don’t want to spend your entire breeding season behind bars in solitary confinement, you’re going to haul your ass to that sidewalk, you’re going to tell your girlfriends to stop playing with their own puke, and you’re going to clean this mess up. No games, no more funny business, and if you even think about trying to breed with me, I’m going to start braiding your snakes together with tiny pink bows as a reminder you need to ask really nicely for a willing woman to help you out. Keyword: willing.”
He bit through my jeans and sank his fangs into my calf.
“You did not just bite me.”
Snake fangs really hurt, and the male decided to start gnawing on me. If he wanted a fight, I’d give him a fight. I grabbed a handful of his serpents, yanked his head up, and stepped on his face with my free foot. “Eat this, bitch!”
It took a werewolf and two cops, all dressed in hazmat suits, to pull me off the gorgon. In any other situation, a CDC representative yanking a burlap sack over a sentient’s head would have counted as excessive force. I snarled curses at the idiot male. “You tried to use me as breeding stock, you son of a bitch!”
Officer O’Daniel pinned my arms to my side, and with a grunt, picked me up and backed away so I couldn’t keep kicking the shit out of the gorgon at my feet. At least the three females cooperated, donning sunglasses and hiding their snakes under heavy shawls to prevent accidental petrification.
Calems stepped between me and the gorgon male. “All right, Gardener. Don’t kill him.”
Ignoring my protests and threats of violence, the werewolf carried me over to the waiting CDC truck and growled, “Spray.”
Instead of a spraying neutralizer, I got a bucket of pink, thick fluid dumped over my head. The werewolf released me and hopped around like an excited puppy. “Me next. Me next!”
Damned werewolves. While they could be excellent cops, sometimes their second nature reduced them to excited two-year olds on a sugar high, and I’d never met one who didn’t love a spray down with neutralizer more than life itself.
“You may as well or he won’t be happy,” I muttered. Dripping neutralizer, I rai
ded the truck for a proper sprayer, steel brushes, a mop, and a bucket so I could start cleaning the damned sidewalk. “If that gorgon even thinks about touching me again, I’m shoving this nozzle right up his ass and pulling the trigger. Do I look like a baby factory to you?”
No one answered, a wise decision all things considered. Still fuming, I headed to the contaminated sidewalk and unleashed a torrent of pink foam, got on my heads and knees, and blew off steam scraping drying bile off the concrete. Everyone else watched from a safe distance, and I wasn’t sure if they were avoiding me or worried about accidental petrification.
At least they made themselves useful and brought fresh buckets of water to make my job a little easier. It took me five hours to reach the bar, and when I peeked inside, I groaned at the collection of naked statues arranged in compromising positions. A bat-winged male was tangled with three human women.
How lovely. The gorgons had teamed up with an incubus. Who the hell knew what would happen in nine months? The CDC would have its hands full, that was sure, and the reporters would have a field day with the headlines.
By the time the evening news aired, ‘Come here often?’ would be the new inside joke at the bar. I really needed to burn my certification. Damn it. The CDC had already done that for me, and yet I was still doing their dirty work. What the hell did a girl have to do to lead a normal life?
I sighed, turned around, and banged my head into the door.
Unfortunately, the damned werewolf stopped me before I could pummel myself into blissful unconsciousness.
The trick to dealing with a petrified orgy usually involved one sacrificial lamb in a hazmat suit, several sprayers, and backup—non-human backup lacking a reproductive system.
Unfortunately, the sacrificial lamb—me, in this case—didn’t get a hazmat suit. At least I had left my wallet with Calems, where it would be safe and sound.
I ordered everyone to stay at least twenty feet away from the bar’s entrance; even petrified, the incubus was doing something to the place. Fortunately for me, my pride, and my dignity, I’d been living in a state of sexual frustration my entire adult life. I could handle some discomfort. The incubus had nothing on what Quinn did to me, and I could handle close quarters with him without humping his leg.
I could escape the bar without losing my grip. I couldn’t say the same for anyone outside or the patrons in the bar when the neutralizer reversed the incubus’s petrification, but I would be fine. How bad could it be? Every CDC representative tangoed with an incubus at least once in their careers. I’d escaped three incidents without losing my virginity.
What was once more?
I prayed Quinn would forgive me if I rubbed myself all over him or humped his leg the instant I saw him. It’d be a battle. How could I lose? I doubted I could. Quinn just had to look at me to light my panties on fire. Add in the influence of an incubus, and I’d be the happiest woman on Earth.
If I blamed the incubus, would anyone really care? Quinn might, which popped my bubble of wishful thinking. I sighed. No matter what, I wouldn’t jump Quinn until I got him somewhere at least semi-private. He wouldn’t mind if I jumped him somewhere discrete.
Muttering a curse, I went all in and requested an angel. Angels could turn a petrified orgy into something a little easier to manage. So much divinity in one place would suppress the sexual urges of an incubus long enough to get the victims separated, herd them out of the bar, and get them clothed.
I had no idea what I’d do about the incubus, but I’d figure that out after I hosed everyone down and reversed the petrification.
In a miracle of the highest order, the CDC sent two angels. In typical angel fashion, they manifested outside the bar in a column of golden light within five minutes of my call. On the surface, they looked human—almost. They had two legs, two arms, and a chest connecting all the pieces together. Feathered wings of white with bands of gold and sky blue sprouted from their shoulders. Neither one of them wore a single stitch of clothes, but they didn’t need them.
With nothing to cover, what was the point of clothing?
One day, maybe if the seas parted and the skies burned, I might get used to an angel’s lack of a head.
“Hi. I’m Bailey. I’m certified with the CDC. Have you been briefed?”
“They said you have an incubus problem.” I couldn’t tell which one spoke. How could they speak without a mouth? If they didn’t eat, how did they not fall over dead?
I suspected immortals enjoyed toying with humanity just because they could. Angels could pull a far better teleportation trick than I could. I was willing to bet they could manifest a head with eyes, nose, mouth, and even hair if they felt like it. Instead of voicing my opinion, I replied, “You could say that. A quartet of gorgons hunting for a human surrogate joined forces with an incubus, so I have a bar full of petrified people, more gorgon bile to clean up than I care to think about, and an incubus in the middle of a foursome. When the reversal of petrification begins, it’s going to get rather rowdy. I’d like to start spraying the area down and save the incubus and his girlfriends for last. Unless you’re immune to petrification, if you could stay by the door until hell breaks loose, I’d appreciate it.”
“Wise. We can help you once hell breaks loose, so do not worry. We will leave the details to you.”
I got the feeling the angels wouldn’t notice a gorgon even if it tried to gnaw on their ankles. “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”
Look at me, capable of mastering the art of being polite to people in the face of gorgon bile. Since pissing off an angel or two would end my existence on Earth, and probably elsewhere, too, I grabbed the nearest sprayer, yanked out the pin, and went to work. I went the deluge route, soaking the whole bar down, ceiling included, and hoped I neutralized the bile and other gorgon fluids in the place long enough to get the naked revelers outside for a proper decontamination.
I didn’t envy the people stuck with the paperwork—or the paternity tests that were required.
Did Quinn even like kids? Would he mind an entire herd of miniature people? I was game for entire herds of miniature people.
Stupid incubus. Stupid ovaries. Stupid ovaries in the presence of a tripped-out incubus.
The closer I got to the incubus, the stronger his influence grew, until I was dripping with sweat. I really wished Quinn would walk through the door so I could solve every last one of my life’s problems with sex—a lot of hot, kinky sex. I stormed to the door, dumped the first empty extinguisher onto the sidewalk, grabbed the next one, and somehow kept my tongue under strict control so I wouldn’t start cursing in front of a pair of angels.
The bastards were probably having a field day watching me dodge the patrons slowly reversing from petrification. Their poses as statues had been bad enough, but as they returned to living flesh, they resumed their orgy right where they had left off, and they weren’t quiet about it, either.
Jesus Christ in a bucket, couldn’t they at least keep it down? With my face burning bright red, I ditched the second empty canister, grabbed the third one, and unleashed the pink foam on the incubus and his trio of eager ladies.
Being within ten feet of a petrified incubus made me want to abandon ship, hunt Quinn down, and drag him into an alley. The instant stone began reverting to flesh, desire seared through me, so intense I panted as my body warmed and ached.
I shook, and my first step back began with a whimper and ended with a breathy gasp. The little bit of distance helped, and I made it a second step.
There would be no pouncing and jumping the incubus. I would head right for the door without a single side trip. I wouldn’t jump the angels, either. I’d save the sexual assault for the only sober, uninfluenced man capable of putting up with me for any length of time.
I really hoped Quinn would forgive me when I got my hands on him.
“Should be clear,” I whispered.
I didn’t moan. I refused to acknowledge the sound that came from my throat had any resemblance to
a moan. As far as I was concerned, the first one hadn’t slip out, and neither had the second.
If I ever ended up in an incubus-infested bar again, I’d remember to ask for earplugs, some sedatives, and maybe some sort of suppressant for my ovaries. Did they sell such a thing? If it didn’t exist, someone needed to invent it, fast.
Most importantly, if I ever ended up in an incubus-infested bar again, I’d remember I wasn’t immune to angel song. Two angels singing in chorus had me on my knees by the end of the first note. By the start of the second, I couldn’t even remember my own name. My body went cold and numb, and on the third note, the heavens descended and bashed me over the head.
An angel brought me back to Earth with a slap across the face so hard I yelped. I blinked at the headless, winged figure, who clutched a handful of my shirt in an iron-strong grip. A six inch layer of pink goop coated the entire bar. Yippee. Someone must have brought in a tanker of neutralizer while leaving me with a duet of angels. One of them must have kept me from drowning in the thick gunk.
“Other humans are flighty birds, squawking their dismay you are in here and not out there. They complain. It is not our fault our song so moves you. Please convince your fellow humans you have not been struck down.”
My throbbing head disagreed with them; if they hadn’t struck me down, they’d done something. Smited? Smote? Ah, hell. At least I hadn’t drowned during the hosing. I hung limp in the angel’s hand, turning my head enough to get a look at the pink disaster around me. The bar wouldn’t be the same, and it wouldn’t surprise me if the place shimmered for years to come. “Incubus?”
“Calmed. Asleep. The humans took him away. We use their meter as they instructed, it kept quiet, but still they fear.”
I giggled, forced my hand to move, and gestured to where the angel’s head should have been. “It’s the whole no-head thing. Don’t worry about it. You’re so awe-inspiring they can’t handle your awesome incubus-smiting ways.” Oh, yippee. I sounded drunk. Great. “Maybe a halo. A halo might help.”
