by Beverly Rae
He shot me a “what are you up to?” look. “I’d have assumed, Ms. Protector, you’d know the body doesn’t age as quickly after going demon.” He plastered on a shit-eating grin and patted the top of his hand under his chin. “Hence, my youthful appearance. It’s one of the few perks of demonic possession.”
“Oh, right, sure. For a demon you’re young.” I tried to appear innocent, keeping my punch line to myself. “Yet talking in human terms, you’re getting up there in years. In fact, some would call you a senior—”
He clamped his hand over my mouth, stopping my next words, but not my giggles. “Don’t you dare say it. I am not a—one of those.”
Without speech to aid me, I rolled my eyes, widened them in exasperation, and tried to speak anyway. “Mmmm. Err. Mmm-huh!”
“I’ll take my hand off your mouth if you promise not to call me what you started to call me.” He waited for my agreement which I gave by shooting him a thumbs up sign.
“Good.” Slowly, he lifted his hand from my mouth.
“All I wanted to say was that you’re a good-looking—”
“Jenn, I’m warning you.” Yet the tips of his mouth lifting in humor took the sting out of his words.
“—virile, vital young man.” Vanity, thy name is Blake. “Better?”
“Better.”
“I’m glad I could make you happy. You old fart, you.”
“Why you little—”
A crashing sound startled us from our playful conversation. Blake leapt up and headed out the bedroom door, yanking on his jeans. I followed, hot on his heels. He ignored the darkness, no doubt using his demonic night-sight ability. I turned on each light I passed, even though one second to flip a switch slowed me down. He’d already slammed opened the door to his study before I caught up with him.
“Blake! Wait up!” He roared and fear gripped me. Although my mind shouted at me, calling on my Protector training to proceed with caution, I threw that caution away and rushed on. With the dim moonlight shining through the slants of the blinds, I made out two figures, one holding the other against the wall, feet kicking above the floor. Switching on a nearby lamp, I gawked at the scene even though relief flooded through me.
A partially transformed Blake held a scaly gray gargoyle in place, his hand clamped around the creature’s pudgy, wrinkled neck. The gargoyle clutched Blake’s hand and tried spitting at him, spittle running down his snarling face in his wild attempt. I gasped at first, thinking of the acid in a gargoyle’s saliva—don’t let him scar my handsome man’s face!—then relaxed once I’d remembered a gargoyle’s spit was harmless against a demon’s tough skin. Fortunately for Blake, he’d managed to change his arm into demon form. The rest of him remained human.
“Whatcha’ got there, Blake, honey?” I swaggered over, taking care not to get too close. My skin would sizzle and shrivel in a flash if the gargoyle managed to hit me with his spit.
“We have an intruder. I found him rifling through the drawers in my desk.”
I sidestepped over to the desk to find the drawers pulled out and their contents strewn across the floor. “Gargoyles are breaking and entering now? What the hell for? Rotten cheese?”
Blake pivoted to me with an exasperated expression on his face. “I’ll give you three guesses what he wanted. Oh, and a special prize if you can tell me who sent him. Wanna play?”
“Ooh, goody, a game.” Pulease. I should turn in my gold Protector badge (yes, we actually have gold badges) if I can’t figure this one out. “The Bracelet. Final answer.”
“Jennifer Randall-Barrington, you’re a winner!” He shook the creature when he tried to lash out at Blake’s face with his long claws. “Knock it off, buddy, or I’ll break every nasty bone in your body and crumble them to dust.”
Stifled from his full voice by Blake’s fist on his throat, the gargoyle screeched as loudly as he could. Even from a distance, I could smell the stench of spoiled garbage on his breath. Why couldn’t this particular creature have stayed hidden away in one of the hundreds of underground tunnels beneath the city? Instead, he’d come to my house to hunt for the Bracelet. Lucky me.
“What’s your name, asshole?” Blake changed positions, dropping the gargoyle to his feet. Once his feet touched the floor, however, the little beast attempted to run. Blake bent the long, skinny arm behind his back and held him in place. “I asked you your name.” He twisted his arm again, sending the gargoyle into a squealing panic.
“Oh, get over yourself. We know you don’t feel pain. Stop acting as if you’re about to die.” I took a wary step closer. “If you spit at me, I’ll have my man rip out your guts. Maybe then you’ll experience actual pain.”
“Now answer me or I’ll take the lady’s suggestion and see what’s inside your disgusting body.”
“Name my Witspie.”
Couldn’t a gargoyle speak normally for once? “Witspie, who sent you?” Although I had a pretty good idea.
Witspie snarled at me and clammed up. Blake quickly lost his temper and whacked the little guy on the side of the head.
“Blake, what say we offer our guest a piece of cheese?”
“I’d rather torture him.”
Witspie screeched again, making me cringe against the fingernails-on-the-blackboard sound. “Why? He doesn’t feel the pain, anyway.”
“I know, but I enjoy it.”
“I can see that.” I mentally jotted down another asset on the pro and con list running in my mind. Perk number two for having a demon hubby. Let him do all the head-bashing. “But let’s try a different method.” I gave my husband a pat on the arm and motioned for him to let the creature go. He let go, grudgingly, and I moved between the door and the gargoyle. “Now, Witspie, tell us who sent you.” I used my best sing-song voice to entice him. “I’ll give you a nice, big piece of cheese if you do. Granted, it’s not rotten cheese, but it’s pretty smelly nonetheless.”
“Hey hold up, Jenn. You’re not promising him my Limburger cheese, are you? You know I love the stuff.”
I rolled my eyes at my sweet hubby, shooting him an “oh, come on” look, and crooked my head in question. He grumbled, but nodded his agreement.
“Can’t tell I you. Will master get very my angry.”
“I understand. And I wouldn’t want to get him angry, either. Hmm, what to do, what to do.” I put on a thoughtful, empathetic expression before raising one finger in the air in triumph. “By George, I think I’ve got it.” An image of Myra’s George the Great zipped into the forefront of my mind. Urgh. Do not go there, my friend.
Both Blake and Witspie locked onto me in anticipation. “You tell us who sent you to steal the Bracelet—”
“Which we don’t have, by the way.”
I wasn’t too happy with Blake’s admission, but I assumed he did so to try and protect me from any future break-ins. “Anyway, you tell us what we want to know, and you’ll get your cheese and you can be on your way. No harm, no foul. Tell Demogorgon you couldn’t find it.”
“No. Say Demogorgon, you find and you kill.”
I started to grin, having gotten Witspie to admit Demogorgon had sent him, until it hit me. Witspie didn’t mean for me to find and kill anyone. In true gargoyle style, he’d jumbled the words. Demogorgon had sent the gargoyle to find and kill me.
Witspie panicked—he must’ve seen the realization on my face. With a fierce yell, he tossed all caution to the wind and puckered up, ready to spit on me. I dodged the wad of acid he sent flying my way.
Blake shouted, all anger and frustration. “Damn you! You’re dead meat, you piece of shit!”
Witspie screeched and yanked out of Blake’s grasp. He didn’t, however, get very far before my husband managed to corner him behind his favorite battered recliner.
“The Bracelet master your brother has said. Killed thieves and your took brother it. You and Protector brother to defeat him are working.” Witspie tried feinting to the left to throw Blake off, but Blake was too smart. Witspie howled, scratch
ing out with his long claws.
“Demogorgon thinks Michael killed the human thieves and took the Bracelet.” I laughed even though I’d come to the same conclusion. “Your master is wrong.”
“Lie you! Says master his brother you work with.” Witspie dodged, darting under Blake’s attempt to capture him. With a snarl, he slashed out at me.
His claws grazed my thigh and I yelped in pain and anger. Rolling away from him, I scrambled behind a small desk just in time to miss getting hit by a missile of spit.
With a furious roar, Blake grabbed him and lifted him over his head. The gargoyle screamed, uselessly clawing into the air. Blake, his face radiating a fury I’d never seen in him, readjusted his hold on the gargoyle. In one swift motion, he brought the creature’s body down, placing it expertly over his knee, and bent the gargoyle’s spine.
The crack of the gargoyle’s back reverberated through the room. Blake pushed on his legs and chest, bending his spine even more. Satisfied the gargoyle was dead, Blake dropped the lifeless form to the floor.
Within seconds, the gargoyle’s body disintegrated, leaving nothing but a pile of dust on my clean carpet. Blake’s anger diminished quickly.
“Do you think he’s right? Do you think Michael killed those humans?”
I could see the torment in Blake’s eyes at the thought of his brother’s involvement in the murders. Part of me wanted to assure him it was only a gargoyle’s lie. The other part of me, the part that respected my husband, made me tell the truth. “Yeah, I do. I think Michael was involved. Whether he actually killed them or not, I don’t know.” Yes, I do. The old man told me he saw him do it.
“I hope not.” Blake glanced at the dust pile on the floor and wiped a hand over his face. “Killing these creatures is one thing. But killing humans…”
“Are you saying you’ve never killed a human?” I hadn’t given the idea any thought, yet being a demon kind of necessitated killing humans. Could my husband be different?
“I’ve harmed people, but I’ve managed to keep from killing one. So far.” He saw the surprise I knew showed on my face and added, “I’m serious.”
Wow. If I’m married to a demon, at least I’m married to a good one. “I believe you.”
The relief relaxed his features and he smiled at me. His smile, however, didn’t last long. “Do you think Michael has the Bracelet?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I used to think maybe he did, but not any more. If he had it, wouldn’t he have used it already? If he didn’t want to use it, wouldn’t he have turned it over to Demogorgon?”
“Good points.”
“Also, if Michael has the Bracelet, why would Demogorgon think we have it here?”
“Maybe because Michael was over here the other day and he thinks we’re working with Michael? Oh, hell, I don’t know.” Blake stepped over the pile of gargoyle dust and headed toward the door. “I’m wiped out. Let’s get some sleep and talk about what we do next in the morning.”
“Uh, Blake?”
He stopped to question me with raised eyebrows.
I pointed at the pile of dust. “What do you think I am? Your maid? You kill ’im; you clean up the mess.”
***
“Tell me you’re joshing me.”
I glanced at Partner who’d resumed his cowboy persona. Although I’d never admit it, the cowboy image was my favorite one. “Joshing?” I jerked up my head just in time to catch a blurred image with my peripheral vision. “Hey! Watch what you’re doing, man!” An older gentleman driving an ancient Chrysler whipped his car in front of me and I laid on the horn. Swerving quickly into the other lane of the highway to avoid ramming into his taillight, I cursed again to the accompaniment of my heart tripping the light fantastic. “Damn, isn’t there an age limit on how long people should drive?”
“Don’t try and change the subject.”
“Concentrating on my driving is not changing the subject. It’s staying alive.”
The Old Man in the Car darted in front of me again and I tossed out more expletives—my mother probably flipped over in her grave at least five times with this round of cuss words. For an old dude, he sure drove fast. The appearance of a blue pickup truck driven by a young woman with red streaks in her hair caught my eye in my rearview mirror. What was with drivers today? Why did these two want to hang around me? Didn’t they realize they could use the other lanes?
“Stop jerking the car around. I almost slid off the seat and onto the floor.”
“Pretend you’re breaking a bronc, cowboy.”
After a couple of grumbles, Partner took up his earlier harangue. “You and your demon husband—whew-ee, a demon!—have invited his ghoul brother over for a pleasant evening at home in the hopes of getting him to admit he has the Bracelet. Do you really think he’s going to fall for the old family dinner ruse?”
“There’s a bit more to our plan and you know it.”
“Like what?”
“We’re going to tell him I’ve changed.”
“Changed how? Into a good cook?”
“Hey, watch the personal jabs, dude.” Why is Bitchie-in-a-Pick-’Em-Up Truck riding my bumper? “And before you ask, no, you’re not invited.”
“Yet another mistake on your part.”
“Like you can eat food.”
“A blessing in disguise, little missy. Come on, let me ride on in to the party.”
“Ha, ha. I’m signing you up for open mike night at the comedy club.” I glowered at him before returning my attention to the road. “Little missy?” I swung my car into the left lane and Old Geezer mimicked my move. Without hesitation, Ms. Streak followed us. An alarm sounded in my head and my gut clenched with anxiety. “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”
“I’m your partner, remember? I can’t help you if you keep me turned off and locked away in your car. It’s bad enough I had to stay here while you diddled with another stupid open house today. And for what? No sale.”
I braked, forcing Streak to slow down. Geezer kept going several yards more before he noticed I wasn’t right behind him. I tried for an exit off the highway and missed. I could see Geezer cussing, working hard to position his car in front of me again. This is not good. Once again, Geezer and Streak maneuvered me into the trap like a bug stuck between two roach motels.
Still, this bug wasn’t about to check in and never check out.
“Partner, can we discuss your opinions, complaints, or whatever some other time? Right now, I think I need to focus on the shit about to hit the fan.”
His tone changed from whining to all business. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
I checked my speedometer and verified what I’d already sensed. With Geezer in front of me, he’d managed to slow me down. Streak did her part for the tag team and kept me pinned between them. “Get ready. We’re going to play Demon Demolition Derby.”
“Play what?”
I opened my mouth to give Partner more details when, suddenly, Geezer slammed on his brakes, lighting up his car’s one working taillight. “Shit!” Knowing my only options consisted of (a) slamming on the brakes and staying trapped between two probable demons, (b) running into the rear of Geezer’s car in hopes of hurting him without hurting me or (c) jerking the car into the right lane and hoping no one would broadside me, I made my choice.
I chose Option C.
I threw my vehicle to the right and braced for the possible collision. This time, however, luck was on my side. No screeching brake sounds. No loud crashes making steel meet steel. Well, at least, almost no sounds. A high-pitched screech signaled the left side of my car scraping Geezer’s tank, leaving what I knew would be an ugly scar on my precious Jag. “Dammit!” I didn’t, however, take time to complain about my poor Jag’s unscheduled repair job.
“What did you hit?” Partner’s lights flashed off and on, attracting my attention.
“Uh, not much. One of the demons tried to smash me between them. Do you think I can get their insurance information?�
� I chuckled mirthlessly, noting how Streak followed me, positioning her pickup inches from my bumper. Geezer, however, decided staying on my left side was better than taking the lead. Saying a silent apology to my deceased mother and her frequent grave-flopping, I shot Geezer the bird. “I’m thinking Demogorgon’s two thugs don’t want me to get home safely.”
I stomped on the gas, jumping ahead of my pursuers and catching them off guard. Nonetheless, they didn’t waste any time in catching up with me. Every time I tried to get away from them, Geezer proved himself the ultimate speed demon—pun intended—racing past me to slide ahead of my car. Time and again, I was trapped between them.
I yelled at the old man ahead of me. “Oh, for Pete’s sake! If you want to have a threesome, just say so!” Geezer, however, didn’t answer. “Hold on, Partner. I’m about to pull another fast lane change.”
At the moment I swerved to the left, Streak’s car bumped me from behind. I checked her out in my rearview mirror expecting to see her vicious, shit-eating grin and, instead, saw her cussing her head off and glaring into her own rearview mirror. Changing to my side mirror, I tried to see what was happening behind her.
A blue Chevy was fixed to her ass as close as she was to mine. Gritting my teeth, I made my sharp jerk to the left and checked my other mirror to get a glimpse of my unknown benefactor. But I couldn’t see much. Whoever this person was, she didn’t want to be identified. She sat low in the seat, crouched behind the wheel. A big floppy hat, the type gardeners wear, along with oversized black sunglasses hid her face from view. I waved a quick thank you and took advantage of the unexpected help.
Putting my foot to the pedal again, I zoomed past Geezer, who couldn’t find his way around the truck in front of him, and showed him my middle finger again. He snarled, his eyes flashing red. His many wrinkles morphed into scaly, puke-colored skin.
“Goodbye, Gramps and good riddance.” Using the skills I’d honed at the Society’s driving course as well as the many hours I’d spent drag-racing in my wayward teen years, I left the two demons behind me. Glancing in the mirror, I saw my rescuer ram Streak’s car into the rear of Geezer’s. The two demons’ vehicles careened to the right, hit the gravel and flew into the air, landing in the deep ditch at the side of the road.
