The Lying, the Witch, and the Werewolf (Down & Dirty Supernatural Cleaning Services Book 4)

by Kate Karyus Quinn

  “It might not be salt, but it’s definitely salty,” she says, dumping a copious amount all over her pile of fries.

  “Wait—is this….?” I put the shaker down, fast. There’s only one thing I can think of that would be salty, but not actual salt. It would also explain why everyone around me seems to be really enjoying their food.

  I mean, sure I’ve definitely groaned in ecstasy while biting into one of Dickie’s freshly made Bavarian creme with chocolate frosting donuts. Any other reaction would be an insult.

  But the cheeseburgers and fries being served up here are in no way deserving of the moans, groans, and even shrieks of pure pleasure going off on every side of me.

  “It’s incubus sperm, isn’t it?” I say to Seamus, who is thankfully one of the few people whose eyes aren’t rolling back in his head with orgiastic pleasure. Having once had my own—accidental—run in with incubus spunk, I know exactly the reaction it has on the body. It’s like every nerve ending is alive and totally turned on. Any touch or movement results in spine bending orgasms. A burp made me come so hard I almost blacked out.

  “It’s actually sun-dried incubus semen. I put a suggestion in the comments box the other week asking them to put labels on the condiments…” Seamus shakes his head. “But I guess they haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

  “How come you’re not seasoning your food?” I ask.

  “I found that food digests better if I’m, ahem, not preoccupied with other things,” Seamus smiles sheepishly.

  Beside me Serephina’s elbow knocks against mine and it sends her into full body shudders that either mean she’s an epilectic mermaid or else…

  “Oh wow, that was good for me,” she says, reaching for another french fry. She slants me a knowing look. “Was it good for you?”

  “I think I’ve lost my appetite,” I say, pushing back from the table. I feel something nudge my knee, and across from me, Priapus gives me a wide smile.

  “Keep your wiener-schnauzen to yourself,” I snap at him, causing Seraphina to wag a finger in my face.

  “Paige,” she says, “that is no way to address a god.”

  I’m about to tell her that I’m a huge fan of sushi and I’m going off-grounds to get some, when the room falls into a hush. Heads hit the table all around me, squashing cheeseburgers and sending shakers of sun-dried incubus sperm toppling.

  I sigh, dipping my own head down to the tablecloth as Hairy Underwood is brought to sit at the head of the table. The procession is dramatic, with Kama moving in front of her stuffed dog, tossing flower petals into his path.

  “What is the deal with this?” I hiss to Seraphina, who glances over at me, her own forehead touching the table.

  “Hairy is a direct descendent of the first Dalmanther ever,” she whispers. “When he passed away…” Seraphina sighs deeply as if just the thought of Hairy’s death is tragic. “It was horrible. This was years before my time, of course. When Together We Come wasn’t even an official thing, but just a small group of like-minded friends.”

  “Okay, but then…” I say, knowing there’s more to this story.

  “Well, Kama was devastated. She made plans to bury Hairy—and herself—here on the grounds.”

  “Wait. What? Like, bury herself alive?” I ask, wanting to make sure I’m understanding this.

  “Of course,” Seraphina confirms, like this isn’t all cuckoo crazy. Then again but just hours ago I’d considered sending Shit into the afterlife with my Thunderstick, so maybe I’m not totally right in the head either. It also makes me think that I need to reconsider my ‘all I need is my dog and vibrator’ mentality.

  “That’s where our motto comes from,” Seraphina adds. “Where comes one, so come we all.”

  “Kama thought that up while she was getting ready to bury herself alive?” I ask.

  “No, Hairy did,” Seraphina says looking at me like I’m slow for not understanding this already. “He told her about the motto and then gave her the entire vision for the Together We Come community.” Seraphina leans in closer to add, “Hairy even came up with having a podcast.”

  “Wow,” I say, not having to fake my amazement. “And Hairy tells everyone these things or—”

  “Oh no,” Seraphina says. “He only talks to Kama. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  Well, they’d definitely not have her super sweet house and money to fund this place. But it doesn’t feel like they’re just humoring Kama with her whole ‘my dead dog talks to me’ thing. Judging from Seraphina—and the bowed heads all around me—they all believe it. On the other hand, though, it’s also hard to believe that Kama is the one playing them. I guess it’s possible that the whole crazy lady thing is an act, but if it is, Kama sure is selling it. I’ve got a sick feeling in my gut again. Hairy Underwood isn’t the only thing rotting in Denmark.

  But he’s definitely the only dead thing in the room. The incubus salt is tearing through the diners like a five-alarm fire. It almost feels like a religious ceremony with all the people now screaming out, “YES!” and “Oh gods oh gods oh gods.”

  “You’re welcome,” Priapus keeps saying in response to those cries.

  “Hey guys, check this out,” one man says, and I watch in horrified fascination as he unwinds a thread from the tablecloth and ties it around the base of his penis. Then he crosses his arms behind his head, and with an incredibly focused look on his face, jerks his hips backwards. The tablecloth skids out from under my fingertips to reveal a highly polished cherry table beneath it…and not a single piece of dishware has moved.

  The few people who aren’t already otherwise engaged give the performer a round of applause, but I’ve seen enough. Of everything. I’m out of my seat and headed for the door, even as I hear Seraphina shouting behind me.

  “Paige, wait! We haven’t gotten to dessert—cream-filled nut balls—yet!”

  17

  I stalk out of the dining room and down the steps of the mansion into the night, curling my arms around me for warmth. Right now my yurt seems like the safest place to go, so I head for it, pulling the flap shut behind me. There’s nothing even resembling a lock—I can’t even tie the thing shut.

  “Dammit,” I say, kicking at the pieces of broken toothbrush still lying on the ground. Actually, it might be a good thing it’s no longer working. If it were, I might tell Nico to come get me right damn now, and sort out this freakshow on his own. Because I’m done. I’ve seen enough, and I want to go home.

  Home…which I share with my pixie ex-sister-in-law who is spying on my former boyfriend who I turned into a vampire against his will.

  “Shit,” I say, suddenly aware that I’m crying. I wipe at my eyes madly, frustration and anger all bubbling to the top in the form of tears.

  Except it’s not just frustration and anger that I’m feeling. There’s something else, too. Something that made me get up and run out of that lovefest. And it had nothing to do with being repulsed.

  I miss Liam.

  Not just him as a person, although he was great, but also what he represented. The hope of having a normal guy. And a normal life.

  VSK killed that hope along with Liam. And I guess my refusing to let Liam die contributed too.

  Fuck. I pause, my hand halfway to the broom that will magically whisk me away as soon as it is between my legs and feels the highs of my emotions. I pull my hand back and take a deep breath.

  Okay, so I miss Liam, and that’s really why I bolted. Fine. I cross my arms and wipe away the last stray tear. What exactly am I supposed to do with that news flash?

  “Paige? Can I come in?”

  There’s a soft voice outside of my yurt, one I don’t recognize, but doesn’t sound threatening at all. Not that I need to be afraid of someone doing something against my will—I remember the man using the telephone earlier, and how he’d automatically backed away from me when the spell Adorra had cast around me let him know I wasn’t interested.

  I realize with a touch of surprise th
at I haven’t felt in danger once since being here...unless you count my sanity.

  I open the flap and stick my head out to find Seamus the satyr standing in the moonlight.

  “Hey,” he says, one of his hooves scratching at the ground nervously. “I’m sorry that dinner was so upsetting for you.”

  “No, it’s…” I shake my head. “It wasn’t really dinner that upset me,” I admit.

  He nods, like maybe he gets it. “I brought you some food—utterly free of incubus interference, I promise.”

  He hands me a little brown baggy with some grease stains in the corners, and I nod for him to follow me into the yurt. When he does, he lifts his palm and a little sconce hanging from the center begins to glow, illuminating the room.

  “They didn’t show me how to turn it on,” I say, diving into my burger. “Kind of unfair that it’s a magic light in a human’s yurt.”

  “It’s not magic,” Seamus says, covering a smile. “It’s just a motion-sensor light. I guess you must not be…moving around a lot in here.”

  I feel a blush rising. Yes, it’s true that I came to a sex cult and then took a lot of naps.

  Seamus’ mouth twists like he’s about to make a joke, then thinks better of it. “I have to admit that Adorra may not be the most thorough tour guide.”

  “No,” I say, finishing off my burger. “I feel like she left a lot of things out.”

  Things like tainted chocolate, why she’s having yelling matches with the wife of a Humans First politician, and what exactly Vicky and Seraphina are working on in the lab.

  “A. Lot. Of. Things.” I repeat pointedly, causing Seamus to scratch the ground with his hoof again.

  “Look,” he says. “I can’t let you in on inner circle stuff, Paige. I just can’t. All I can do is ask you to trust me when I tell you that no one is being hurt or mishandled in any way here.”

  I snort and look away, but it’s mostly just for show. I don’t know this guy at all, but weirdly, I do trust him. There’s something about his soft voice and little curled horns that make me want to curl up with him and get warm. And by that I mean, like take a nap and cuddle…the way I did with Liam.

  “Shit,” I say again, moving my eyes toward the ceiling, as if defying gravity will make the tears not fall. Seamus takes a step toward me, but I move back. For all I know wanting to get warm and take a nap is some kind of weird satyr magic.

  Seamus puts both his hands up to let me know he’s not a threat, then sits on my cot. “I’m sorry that you’re so upset, Paige,” he says. “But also, I’m sorry that I couldn’t help but eavesdrop a little at dinner. You told Seraphina that a broken heart is what brought you here. It just so happens that I have a little something that might be able to help with that.”

  “I swear to god, if you think you’re going to heal me with your dick, I’ll shove that broom up your ass!”

  And then he’ll probably shoot sky-high to the moon, propelled by my rage as he’s anally transported off the planet. But he doesn’t need to know that part.

  “No, Paige, listen.” His hands are up again, but this time they’re going to a charm hanging around his neck. “It is magic, but it’s definitely not dick magic.”

  “Okay…” I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Satyrs don’t have any special gifts as far as being supes go,” he tells me. “We are mostly just known for drinking, fighting, and fucking.”

  “So you’re like the frat boys of the supe world?” I ask.

  “Kind of,” he agrees. “But I had a lover once, a young witch, who made me this special pendant.” He holds it on his palm so I can get a better look. It’s a complicated bit of scrollwork, but nothing that looks like precious metal.

  “What does it do?” I ask.

  “It allows me to shift,” he says, “but not in the way a traditional shifter would, physically altering their bodies. Instead, it casts a glamour over me, making beholders believe that I appear a certain way.”

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly leery again. “Does that mean you go around pretending to be a movie star and getting into girls’ panties?”

  Seamus looks shocked for a moment, like it had never occurred to him—and maybe it hadn’t. He does seem like a very straight shooter.

  “No, not at all,” he shakes his head. “What I’m trying to say to you is, if you have any unresolved issues with someone, I can take on his physicality and you can say anything you need to say to him.”

  “That’s nice and all,” I tell Seamus, “but I don’t have a picture of him, or anything.”

  “Well,” Seamus says, coming to his feet. “There is one thing that satyrs are good at.” He reaches one hand toward me, and I take it, tentatively.

  “We are highly empathetic,” he says. “Just close your eyes, and concentrate on his face. Let me do the rest.”

  I hesitate a moment longer, but the idea of seeing Liam again...even if it’s not really him, is more temptation than I can withstand. I gotta admit, it also helps that this Seamus the satyr’s gentle spirit reminds me a lot of Liam. I think the two of them would’ve really hit it off.

  So I do it. I close my eyes and think of Liam and the planes of his face.

  The way his eyes would crinkle when he smiled, and how he never could get his hair to fall just quite the right way across his brow. Then I move past his face to something deeper; the sound of his voice, the light tripping of his British accent, and the special sparkle in his eye when he teased me.

  Then I open my eyes, and Seamus is no longer the man in front of me, holding my hand.

  It’s Liam.

  I sit frozen as my heart stutters inside my chest as if all my emotions have mashed together and none of them can quite get out. But then one breaks free.

  Joy.

  “Liam!” I cry out, tears filling my eyes. I ignore the little voice reminding me it isn’t him, and that little voice is silenced when Liam responds in his familiar British accent…

  “Paige.”

  I bring a hand to his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want to be a vamp, but I couldn’t just let you die—”

  “We don’t have to talk of that,” he interrupts.

  “Yes we do!” I counter, more heated than I intended. But c’mon, man. It’s the elephant in the room; we can’t just sit here and talk about the good times without acknowledging how it all ended. “We had that lovely date in the park and…” I sniffle a little remembering it.

  Liam smiles sadly too. “It was the best night of my life.”

  “I—”

  Biting my lip, I realize that I can’t say the same.

  It was a good night, a great one even. But the best? I’d sort of forgotten that after our date Liam wanted me to meet his mom. That’s when I realized we were not at the same place in our relationship. It’s like we were doing the hokey pokey together and I was at the part where you put your left leg in, while he was at the put your whole self in portion of the song. Sure, we still managed to shake it all about—and it was really good too—but not ‘I’m ready to meet your mom’ good.

  It occurs to me that maybe my fear of starting a new relationship has less to do with me worrying that VSK will hurt them and more that I will. Maybe after what happened with Jax and my parents disappearing, I’m just too broken to love someone with all my heart.

  That’s a depressing thought.

  Almost as depressing as coming to a sex cult and using the first guy who comes to my yurt for therapy. If I was thinking straight I would’ve had him shift to Mikey Stephens, the boy I had a crush on for most of high school. He liked me too...until he realized he had to stand on his tiptoes to kiss me. That fact didn’t bother me, but it was a dealbreaker for him. Since then I’ve been self-conscious around shorter men, as if I’m responsible for their self-esteem. With Seamus’ help, I could’ve gotten some free therapy to put all that behind me. Right now he’d be wearing Mikey’s face and showing me that a man who stands at boob level has unique a
dvantages unknown to his taller brethren.

  Instead, I’m looking at my ex and remembering that I failed him in more ways than one.

  I release Liam’s hand and he immediately shifts back to Seamus. His eyes, when they meet mine, are gentle and concerned. “Not helpful?” he asks.

  “No, it was,” I reassure him. “Just not in the way I expected. I think when I get home, I gotta talk to the real Liam and finally be totally truthful with him about our relationship and where it was going.”

  “Well then I guess my work is done here,” Seamus says with a smile as he stands up.

  “Wait,” I call out. I follow him to the door of my yurt. “Is there anywhere here to get a drink where it’s not like a prelude to sex? Just more hanging out and being social in a brotherly/sisterly type of way?”

  Seamus frowns, thinking. “Well, there’s the Friends With Benefits club, but I don’t think that’s what you mean.”

  “No, definitely not,” I agree.

  “But if you’re looking to avoid any romantic encounters for now, I can show you the infirmary.”

  “Infirmary?” I ask, wondering if I’ve finally stumbled onto the dark side of the cult, like maybe those anti-STD spells don’t work so well. And I bet those people aren’t on the chore list, either. “How many people are there?”

  “Oh, it varies,” Seamus answers. “But there’s always at least a few people on no bed rest.”

  “No bed rest?” I repeat.

  He nods. “Chafing. It’s a serious problem around here. For mild cases you get yellow tagged, meaning slow it down. But a red tag puts you out of action and into the infirmary.”

  I grimace, imagining how much sex would need to be had for one to reach red tag status. Then I also recall the scene at dinner and understand why the infirmary always has a few beds full.

  “All right,” I say to Seamus. “Let’s go visit those poor red-tagged folks and share some purely platonic cheer.”

  18

  I wake up hungover, and with my bed partner from last night licking my face.