by Vivi Andrews
“Dude, it’s the fuzz! Hide the weed!”
Prometheus snorted a laugh and even Rodriguez the Hardass’s lips twitched. Sutherland College’s motto was Making the Future Bright, but if the odor coming from the cracked windows of Phi Gamma Gamma was any indication, it should have been Making the Future High. It was probably a less than promising sign for that future that the residents of Phi-G couldn’t tell the difference between Prometheus and Rodriguez—with his tats on every visible skin surface—and cops. And a worse sign that their reaction to a sting, such as it was, was to shout, “Hide the weed!” next to an open window.
After many thuds, a few feminine squeals and the sound of something crashing, the front door of the frat swung inward to reveal a walking PSA. Don’t do drugs, kids, or this could happen to you.
The kid looked like he hadn’t showered in a few days. He was wearing a pizza-stained T-shirt and jeans with his feet bare on the grimy floorboards. And he was sweating like he was facing the devil himself on soul-collection day.
But the really interesting part—in the fuck-me Chinese prophecy sense of the word—was the energy pulsing behind the not quite closed sliding doors of what looked to be the common room. This was the address where Prometheus had expected to find the shitstorm, but that was not the kind of demonic energy he’d expected to feel—those weren’t corporeal mischief demons they’d been summoning. Something was off. The boys of Phi-G had been very naughty indeed.
“Can I help you, officers?”
Rodriguez frowned past the kid, his attention snagged by the gap in the common room doors. “We aren’t—”
“Sure you can,” Prometheus cut in before Rodriguez could ruin their advantage by admitting they weren’t cops. “What’s your name, son?”
“Uh, Darren?”
“I’m Detective Murtaugh and this is my partner Officer Riggs. We’re investigating a series of incidents nearby—vandalism, theft, public menace, that kind of thing. Mind if we come in for a moment?” He started to move forward as if the invitation were a foregone conclusion.
Darren visibly paled and feinted half-heartedly to block his way. “We don’t know anything about that.”
“No?” Prometheus arched a brow. “Are you baking?”
“Baking?” the kid yelped.
“I can’t quite place that scent. Cookies, perhaps? Something smells delicious.”
“Brownies,” he blurted, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down as he swallowed convulsively. “We, uh, we really love our brownies at Phi-G. Always have some in the oven, you know.”
“You do seem to be expert bakers. Why don’t we move this conversation into the common room?”
“I… uh…”
“Surely you don’t have anything to hide?”
Darren couldn’t seem to decide whether Prometheus was screwing with him or not. Which just went to show that pot had corroded his most basic instincts. Very few people looked at Prometheus and didn’t see a predator. Their survival instincts usually went off like sirens in his presence, but this kid was too busy trying to figure out if he was going to be expelled to worry about the bigger problem of the big bad wolf at his door.
Prometheus smiled, showing all his teeth. “Let us into the common room, Darren.” He put a little extra push behind the words, going Jedi-mind trick on Darren’s pot-fried ass. The stoner’s will crumpled like a soggy paper cup and he rushed over to jimmy the sliding doors open. They resisted every inch of the way, the tracks broken and warped. Every inch of the room beyond that was revealed made Prometheus’s grin stretch broader.
“I should have gone to college,” he muttered under his breath to Rodriguez.
Couches and foosball tables had been shoved against the walls to clear the center of the room, which had been covered with plastic and four inflatable kiddie pools. Each of the kiddie pools was filled with a different neon colored Jell-o. And huddled against the side wall, where Prometheus and Rodriguez hadn’t been able to see them from the front entry, about ten frat boys were clustered…with a dozen sorority girls in colorful bikinis, half of them already dripping sticky, gelatinous goo.
And every single one of those girls radiated a fierce red energy, distinctive of those possessed by demons and devils.
“I think we found our infestation,” Rodriguez mumbled.
They certainly had. But these weren’t demons. The energy was off. Too sexual. Demons tended toward the androgynous. The girls were definitely possessed, but Prometheus knew better than most that demons weren’t the only things that could possess a human. This group of supernatural visitors hadn’t come from the spell he’d sold the frat kid who’d come to him. Prometheus was careful—or as careful as a man who believed in chaos could be—never to sell spells that could be used to summon sex devils. That was his teenage fuckup, thank you very much, and he generally liked to avoid inflicting his mistakes on others.
“We were just—”
Prometheus didn’t wait to hear what they were just. This many sex devils—even if they were of the playful nymph variety—were dangerous. Far too dangerous to be allowed to remain.
He focused his energy, raised a hand and banished them with a flick of his fingers. Easy.
Or that’s what should have happened. The dozen nymphs released their hosts, the fiery red of their energy flaring bright for a moment before it was sucked in on itself, but a fraction of a second before it vanished, something jerked back, pulling against him. A dark, sinuous energy rolled down his spine, a sultry hello that felt all too familiar. And distinctly unwelcome. Shit. It couldn’t be her, could it? She’d been ignoring him for years, why would she start screwing with him now?
But then, right when the tug grew stronger and he felt his own magic start to seep down the line that connected him to whatever was pulling back on the nymphs, the ward he’d had tattooed on his lower abdomen to protect against the Big Bad Bitch began to burn, and the pull released, the nymphs vanishing with a snap.
Fuck. It was definitely her. And if she was watching him, playing with him, things were worse than he’d thought. For the first time, his cockiness wavered.
Rodriguez swore in Spanish. “Did you just exorcise the whole room? How is that even possible?” Then his awe melted into irritation and he growled, “How the hell are we supposed to question them now?”
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Don’t worry? We need to know who summoned them.”
“I know.”
“How can you—?” Rodriguez growled and shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”
Across the room, the newly awakened sorority girls began to shriek and smack the nearest frat boys upon discovering themselves bikini-clad and covered with Jell-o. Since they seemed to be more than holding their own against the cowering frat brothers, Prometheus left them to defend their own honor, collaring Darren as he tried to sneak out of the room. The little stoner squirmed in his grasp, squeaking protests.
“C’mon, man, none of this is illegal!”
“Jell-o may not be, but we both know your famous Phi-G brownies have a few special ingredients on the not-so-legal side of the spectrum. Now, I could book you and bring you in and have you expelled and put in jail for three to five years, but that just sounds like a shitload of paperwork and I’m not here to bust your ass on drug charges. Unless you make me do it. I’m here because some of your recent pledges have been crossing the line on some of their pranks. So just point me in the direction of the brother in charge of pledge initiation and nobody has to go downtown or do any bullshit paperwork. Unless you want to go to prison…”
“Tyson!” Darren all but shouted, breaking the land-speed record for ratting out a frat brother. “Tyson’s in charge of all that stuff. Nobody needs to do paperwork, dude. I swear.”
“Where can we find this Tyson?”
“Philosophy 101 in Kent Hall.”
“He’s at a class?” Prometheus didn’t bother to disguise his surprise.
&n
bsp; Darren shrugged. “All the hot freshmen chicks take Intro to Philosophy. Prime hunting ground.”
The future of America, ladies and gentlemen. “Which way is Kent Hall?”
Armed with directions and a description of Tyson as a “tallish dude with an Orioles cap”, Rodriguez and Prometheus set off across the quad.
“Murtaugh and Riggs?” Rodriguez grunted as they dodged a Frisbee. “You didn’t worry he would catch the reference?”
“Nah. Kids these days have no respect for the classics. Besides, I don’t believe in worry. If his smoked-up brain could function well enough to put it together, he deserved to catch us. We aren’t cops.”
“Cops can’t handle demons. But you didn’t have any trouble, did you? I’ve never seen anyone clear a room like that and you didn’t even look like you were trying. Though it would have been nice to question a few of them first. Confirm we have the right summoner.”
“We have the right summoner.”
“How can you be so sure it’s this Tyson guy—aw, shit. You taught the little prick how to do it, didn’t you? He’s summoning sex devils and putting them into the sorority girls, and you knew about it because you orchestrated the whole damn thing.”
“Rodriguez, your lack of faith in me hurts. It really does.”
“Does that mean you didn’t do it?”
“I didn’t orchestrate anything. I’m more of an enabler than a planner.” Though he hadn’t enabled this. He’d enabled the little prick, as Rodriguez so aptly called him, to summon lesser demons to inhabit the freshman frat pledges for two-hour stretches and told him how he might be able to summon corporeal mischief demons if he could get enough focused energy. Fairly harmless in the scheme of college hijinks. This was something else. Someone else had a hand in here. Prometheus just hoped he was wrong about who. The last thing he needed now was the Big Bad Bitch taking an interest in his activities again.
Rodriguez didn’t notice his introspection. He was too busy being disgusted. “Madre de Dios. You have no shame, do you?”
“Shame is for the weak.”
“And the remorseful. Aren’t you supposed to be atoning for your sins?”
“I’m leading you to the kid who summoned all the demons we’ve been chasing, aren’t I? And there he is now.” A kid in a backwards Orioles cap stepped out of the brick hall, oozing earnestness as he walked between two hot young coeds. Prometheus held back, letting the cocky little slimeball work his game until Tyson whipped out his phone and punched in their numbers—no need to add cockblocking to his list of sins. When the pair of blondes had bounced off, he and Rodriguez closed in on the little bastard.
“Tyson. Buddy. Remember me?”
Tyson froze in place—clearly having better predator-sensing instincts than Darren, though the rabbit-like if-I-don’t-move-it-won’t-eat-me response wasn’t the best survival tactic in this case.
“You’ve been busy, buddy.” Prometheus tucked his hands casually into his pockets as Rodriguez folded his arms and glared menacingly from Tyson’s opposite shoulder. Who’d have thought Prometheus would get to be the good cop? Life was full of surprises.
“I didn’t break any of the rules you gave me. I swear.”
“No, strictly speaking, you didn’t. But when did you start summoning nymphs, Tyson? I didn’t give you any instructions on how to do that.” Sex devils were way too close to her territory. Prometheus didn’t touch that shit. “How did you do it?”
“I dunno, it was kind of an accident. What’s the harm, man? We were just having fun. That’s what college is for, right?”
Technically for learning, but why split hairs? “Summoning a nymph to possess a girl so you can have sex with her is rape, douchebag.”
Tyson went white. “Nothing like that happened, dude! I swear. It was just the Jell-o wrestling and the mud wrestling and the wet T-shirt contest.”
“Good.” Prometheus caught his hand like he would shake it, but instead gripped it hard, staring straight into Tyson’s eyes. “And if you’re lying to me and even one girl was touched by one of your frat brothers without her consent, you won’t be able to get it up for a year. And if two girls were harmed, you’ll have a raging case of herpes for the next six months to remind you that this was a bad idea.” He smiled as he flexed his magic, shoving the curse home inside Tyson’s manly parts. He dropped Tyson’s hand and the kid put his hands protectively over his junk—for all the good it would do him now.
Prometheus turned to Rodriguez. “What’s the punishment for summoning without a license?”
“No one said anything about a license!” Tyson yelped.
Rodriguez was silent for a long minute before admitting, “There’s no license. And there’s no punishment. Just don’t do it again, dipshit.”
Prometheus arched his brow. “Don’t do it again? Really? I can do better than that.”
Tyson, who’d looked ready to faint in relief, blanched again. “Please,” he blubbered. “Please, I’m sorry. I swear. I won’t do it again. Like ever.”
“I believe you, Tyson. Now. But memory fades and without concrete consequences for our actions, it’s easy to forget why we shouldn’t do things.”
“I won’t forget, man. Never.”
“Good. But to help you remember…” Prometheus caught Tyson by the back of the neck and stared into his eyes again. “For every summoning you perform, you’ll lose a tooth. Starting with the ones in front. And every time you tell someone else how to perform a summoning, your fingernails will fall off and your skin will break out.” When the curse had set, Prometheus released him and stepped back with an easy smile.
“My teeth?”
“You aren’t vain about your pretty-boy smile, are you, Tyson?”
The kid slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.
“Hey, just don’t summon anything else and you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Prometheus glanced over at Rodriguez. “We about done here?”
Rodriguez was studying him, visibly puzzled. “I’d say so.”
“Good. I’m starved.” Nothing worked up the appetite like a good curse.
Rodriguez jerked his head at Tyson. “I’d leave now, kid, before he can think of anything else to punish you for.”
Tyson yelped and took off at a run toward the frat quad. They watched him go, Rodriguez frowning, Prometheus grinning. He could get used to this white hat crap. Justice was fun.
“I thought you were supposed to be following my instructions,” Rodriguez commented mildly.
“I didn’t see you jumping in to take over. Figured you approved.”
“Did you really curse him? Or just scare him by making him think you did?”
“Oh, I cursed the hell out of him. He better pray none of those girls were taken advantage of.”
Rodriguez nodded, still looking after Tyson. “That isn’t how we do things at Karmic.”
“Maybe sometimes it should be. If you could’ve, you’d have cursed me when you found out I summoned the demon that went after Bubbles the Wonder Secretary, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s a job. We don’t do revenge.” He said that, but his locked jaw and death glare said Hell, yes.
“Revenge, justice. Who can tell the difference?”
"You gonna take revenge on whoever taught the little prick how to summon sex nymphs?”
If she doesn’t kill me first. But Rodriguez didn’t need to know exactly how deep the shit Prometheus found himself in was. He flashed a smile and looked the exorcist straight in the eyes. “Why would I do that?”
Rodriguez frowned, studying him. Prometheus must be losing his touch—either that or Rodriguez was almost as good a lie detector as Ronna.
A trio of co-eds slowed as they walked past, batting their eyes at Rodriguez. He glowered, letting the question of revenge drop. “Let’s get out of here.”
Prometheus waved him back to where they’d parked. “You’re the boss.” For now. Tonight Rodriguez would report back on what an upright citizen Prometheus ha
d been and tomorrow he could begin Project Karma, buttering up the boss lady herself.
Chapter Eleven
Getting Sparky
Water rushed into her nose and mouth, burning, pressing in her lungs. The touch that held her under seared across her nerve endings in a constant loop of agony. The world around her started to dim, blurring and fading at the edges. She fought—fought to breathe, fought to live, but all she got for her struggles was more water, more pain, that white hot burn, the pressure—
Karma convulsed, her neck aching with the force of the spasm as she jerked out of the vision. She hadn’t even been asleep that time.
“Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” She reached for the phone, dialing the numbers she knew by heart, but Ciara didn’t answer. The Fed didn’t answer. Even his goddamn superiors had stopped taking her calls.
She was freaking out. There was no other way to describe her current level of panic. And she was discovering that freaking out was not, in fact, something she was good at. She sucked at it. If she was going to totally lose her cool, she should at least do it with poise and grace. But poise and grace were beyond her.
She couldn’t get in touch with Ciara. She needed to find her finder—which would have been an amusing dilemma if she weren’t still having the dreams. They were coming faster and harder now. More often. And because she couldn’t keep her mind clear and calm, they were hitting her when she was awake too, sneaking into her conscious mind and yanking her into that dark place with the water and the pain. God, so much pain.
It was Wednesday afternoon. And if her internal alarm system was right, she had about twenty-five minutes before her finder, her friend, died. And where was she? Trapped in the Groundhog Day from hell, but instead of reliving a day over and over again, she was reliving a death. One she was apparently powerless to stop.
The intercom on her desk bleeped cheerfully, cutting into her panic. “Brittany?” Maybe it was Ciara calling. Or the Feds returning her call. Though why they wouldn’t call her direct line she didn’t know, but it had to be one of them, didn’t it?
