Wicked Bartender PG-13 Version

by KuroKoneko Kamen

  ***

  The following morning, Joan’s alarm clock went off and she whacked it right off her nightstand, sending the poor thing flying across the room. She put her hand over her eyes to block out the sunlight that was trickling through her bedroom curtains. It was seven o’clock and Joan needed to be at Dullahan’s by eight. She showered and brushed her teeth in record time. After that she picked out a pair of brown leather pants, a pair of cowboy boots, and a cow print belt. Alan had given her a new tank top yesterday but Joan hadn’t seen it yet. She opened the plastic bag and pulled out the tank top. She gasped.

  The tank top was black and had the drawing of a headless horsewoman riding a black horse with glowing red eyes on it. The horse had been outlined in white so that it stood out against the black material. The dullahan was wearing a low-cut, emerald green, velvet gown and a lot of her pale skin was visible. There were freckles on her chest. Her right hand was holding the reins and her left hand was holding her severed head.

  The head’s eyes were closed so Joan was unable to see the woman’s eye color, but she had beautiful strawberry blonde almost pink hair, and freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. The pub’s name: Dullahan’s Irish Pub was on the t-shirt in swirly white letters this time. Joan loved the new t-shirt and couldn’t wait to tell Alan so. She wondered whom Alan had hired to design the new logo.

  Joan put the tank top on and gazed at her appearance in her full-length mirror. She looked fun and stylish. Or at least she thought so. Joan spent a little more time on her appearance than usual, styling her short bob of brown hair so that it framed her face just right, and deciding to put a pink lip-gloss on her lips.

  Michael noticed Joan’s pensive expression as she spread the pink lip-gloss across her lower lip. “What are you doing?” The Archangel asked and his tone was almost accusatory.

  Joan flinched guiltily and looked over at Michael. “Huh?”

  “You look like you’re getting dolled up for someone. Is one of your new coworkers a handsome man?” Michael asked and tried to appear nonchalant.

  Joan frowned at her guardian. “What? That’s crazy. I can assure you there’s no handsome young man.” Because he’s a demon. “And besides, even if there were it would be none of your business Michael! My private life is my own!”

  Michael’s golden-brown eyes flashed with anger and hurt, “I’ve already been pretty accommodating with your schedule. We only hunt the lesser demons at night when we should be doing it full time. This city is in danger and it’s your responsibility to save it.”

  Joan spun around to glare at Michael. “I didn’t choose this! You chose me! I just wanted to live a normal life! I just want to be a normal girl my age with a job, a car, an apartment, bills and a boyfriend!”

  “But you’re not a normal girl. You’re the reincarnation of Jeanne d’Arc!” Michael reminded sharply.

  “That was my past self…that’s not me.” Joan waved her hand through the air. “I’m Joan Simone now.” She placed her hand on her chest. “I’m not some perfect little warrior for God.”

  “You’re wrong, Joan. Your soul is the same. And don’t forget your past self was far from perfect. You fell in love with a demon, remember? That’s why God was forced to forsake you in the end. But with this new life he’s giving you a second chance to redeem yourself, Joan. In this life you won’t make the same mistake.”

  Dante’s handsome visage flashed through her mind. Ha. I may make the same mistake after all. God, I’m so messed up. What the hell does Michael think he knows about me? “How the hell can you be so sure?” She snapped.

  Michael gave Joan a poignant look. “Because I believe in you, Joan.”

  Joan stared into her guardian angel’s eyes and sighed. She felt like a total witch. Michael was just looking out for her, right? It made her feel guilty. The stress was really getting to her lately. Joan rubbed her temples and gave Michael an apologetic look. “Look…I’m sorry, Michael. I’ve been really stressed out lately and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

  “You are forgiven.” Michael said and nodded his head.

  Joan was surprised that Michael had forgiven her so easily and gave her guardian angel a grateful look. “Thanks.” Joan stalked out of her bedroom and made her way into her kitchen. She began to fill a plastic bag with canned food. Usually at least once a week she’d stop by Central Park and give the canned food to the homeless people there.

  Especially during the fall and winter seasons, which were the hardest on the homeless people. Joan grabbed her jacket and keys before leaving her apartment without looking back. She made her way to her parked Volvo and got inside. She began to drive to Central Park. She parked once she arrived and got out of the car. It was freezing out. During the winter hundreds of homeless people usually died on the streets of New York City.

  Joan began her walk through Central Park and headed to the area where most of the homeless people had set up homes made out of cardboard and tents. But once she reached the area she realized that the homes were no longer there. Joan dropped her bag of canned food on the ground and her jaw dropped. “What the? Where did everyone go?” There was a sinking feeling in Joan’s stomach at the sight. Had the government relocated them? They hadn’t been killed, right? The government wouldn’t do something like that, right? No way. I’m overreacting. I’m sure they’re alright. There had been several homeless kids and adolescents too that Joan was worried about in particular.

  Joan had a soft spot for the homeless due to her experience with being kicked out of her own house once. During high school, Joan had started an all-female gang. They didn’t do much, just cut class, play pranks on their fellow students and on the teachers, and challenge other gangs to fights before kicking their butts.

  But when Joan discovered her sister Cathy dead in her apartment from an overdose of cocaine, she’d tracked the gang responsible for selling her sister the drug down. After that Joan proceeded to beat the crap out of everyone at the hideout. Unfortunately, a drug bust happened at the exact same time. Joan was arrested and charged with assault and battery. She’d put several of the drug dealers into the hospital and she’d put the gang’s leader into a coma. Joan had also freaked out when the cops arrived and had resisted arrest.

  Joan had been a teenager at the time and she hadn’t realized just how stupid that had been. She’d been tossed into a cell at the station and waited for her parents to pay her bail. But they never did. She’d been forced to sit in that cell for five days, locked up, helpless and alone - an awful feeling. Until finally a detective was assigned to Joan’s case and she was let go.

  Joan’s family had been so disappointed in her that they’d kicked her out of the house and she’d ended up on the streets. She would never forget the feeling of being kicked out of her own home, of feeling so alone, so helpless with no place to go and no money. It was the worst feeling in the world.

  Those few days she’d been alone on the streets - cold and hungry - were days Joan would never forget. Detective Diana Dekker was in charge of Joan’s case and had tracked the young woman down, only to find her living on the streets. Diana took Joan into her own home temporarily, and helped Joan to get back on her feet.

  It was Diana who had suggested to Joan that she channel her pent-up aggression into sports - mainly tennis. This is how Joan ended up becoming a professional tennis player, participated in various tournaments, the Olympics, and had even managed to earn herself a Golden Grand Slam.

  “Where did they all go? Was it a demon?” Joan wished she’d brought her cross with her so that she could transform into Jeanne d’Arc. In that form she would have been able to see if there was any residual demonic energy that had been left behind by a demon attack. She could see most lesser demons and ghosts without her cross, but she couldn’t really do anything about them without the supernatural power that her cross gave her.

  Joan had no choice but to pick up the bag of canned food and return to her car. I
n a somber daze, Joan drove to Dullahan’s. She entered the pub and the tiny, golden bell above the front door jingled. She put her jacket on a hook by the door, brought the bag of canned food over to a booth, and set it down on the table. She didn’t know why she’d brought the bag of canned food with her.

  That’s when the scent of breakfast hit her nose reminding her that she’d left her apartment that morning without having anything for breakfast. The scent of scrambled eggs, French toast, and sautéing vegetables slammed into her nose, making her mouth water.

  “Joan, good morning!” Came Alan’s upbeat voice.

  Joan turned to see Alan seated at one of the booths with a placemat, fork and knife in front of him. “Oh, good morning, Boss.” Joan greeted as she approached Alan.

  “Take a seat, Joan.” Alan waved a hand towards the seat in front of him. “Dante brought the chef and his wife, who’s a good housekeeper, in this morning. The chef is cooking me breakfast right now in order to show me his skills. You can help taste test too.”

  Joan took a seat in the booth directly across from Alan. “Dante did?” She looked over at the bar but Dante wasn’t there. “Where is he?”

  “Oh, I think he’s in the kitchen with his friends,” Alan said offhandedly.

  “Friends?” Joan raised an eyebrow at Alan. A demon doesn’t have friends.

  At that moment the door to the kitchen opened and a plump, middle-aged woman emerged. She was carrying a tray with a pitcher of orange juice and two glasses on it. “Alan I brought you some fresh-squeezed orange juice for you to try. I hope you like it.” The woman said as she set a glass down in front of Alan and began to pour the juice into it. Joan took a closer look at the woman. She had salt and pepper hair that was tied into a tight bun, and was wearing a pretty, dark purple dress. Over the dress she was wearing a frilly white apron. The woman looked oddly familiar.

  “Thanks Hilda.” Alan offered the woman a warm smile.

  Hilda? Joan blinked at the woman and her eyes widened dramatically when she suddenly recognized her. Hilda! No way.

  “Would you like some juice, dear?” Hilda asked Joan kindly.

  “Oh…” Joan looked up and met Hilda’s eyes.

  Hilda looked at Joan, blinked, and then her own eyes widened in response. “Eh? Joan?”

  “Hilda, right?” Joan asked tentatively.

  Hilda nodded, looking nervous suddenly. Alan looked back and forth between Joan and Hilda with a curious look on his face. “You two know each other?”

  “Er, well, we’ve met…” Joan began hesitantly.

  “In the park.” Hilda quickly put in.

  Joan nodded. “Yea, we’ve met in Central Park when I was walking my dog Michael.” Safe.

  Hilda smiled as she remembered Joan’s beautiful golden retriever. “How is your dog? Still enormous?”

  Joan laughed. “Yea. How’s…Fred?”

  “Oh! He’s…here actually.” Hilda clutched her hands in front of her out of nervousness.

  “Here?”

  “Didn’t I mention to you how Fred used to own his own restaurant?” Hilda asked.

  Joan furrowed her brow as she tried to remember some of the conversations that she’d had with Hilda back at Central Park. That’s when she did indeed remember Hilda having mentioned something like that. “Right…must have slipped my mind. Wow. Well, I hope Alan likes his food. Good luck, Hilda.” Joan crossed her fingers under the table. I hope Fred gets the job. That would be great for them.

  “Thanks, hun. I’ll get you a placemat and some silverware. I want you to try my hubby’s cooking too.” Hilda said before she walked off.

  “Okay.” Joan’s mind was spinning. It was strange for a waitress to be waited on. What the hell was going on? Hilda and Fred were homeless…right? But here they were…pretending to be friends with Dante. What. The. Hell.

  Hilda returned minutes later with a placemat and silverware, which she set down in front of Joan. Joan chewed on her lower lip. She had questions for Hilda but she decided that it would be more prudent to speak to Hilda when Alan wasn’t around.

  After that Hilda returned to the kitchen and a few minutes later she returned with a tray and two plates heaped high with different kinds of food: scrambled eggs, French toast, and an array of sliced fresh fruit. Hilda set the plates down in front of Alan and Joan and smiled. “Bon appetit! Enjoy.”

  “Thanks, Hilda.” Joan couldn’t help but think that it was ironic to receive food from someone she used to give food to.

  “Thank you, Hilda.” Alan echoed before picking up his fork and knife. He gave the food before him an admiring look. “This looks great! Ivan only ever cooked sausage for breakfast! Let’s dig in, Joan.”

  “Right.” Joan readily agreed.

  Alan and Joan began to sample the different kinds of food that were available on their plates one after the other. “Mmm.” Joan moaned as she ate a bite of the French toast. “Delicious.”

  Alan sampled some of the scrambled eggs and vegetables, and made a similar sound of pleasure. “Yea, this is really good. And the presentation was very professional.”

  “Yea, it was.” Joan agreed, maybe Hilda really had been telling the truth when she said her husband used to own his own restaurant. But then he’d been sent over seas to Afghanistan and he’d lost his arm. After that he’d been unable to cook and had lost his restaurant. Apparently, Fred must have learned how to cook one-handed. That just showed that when one has the will - there is always a way.

  Joan and Alan finished their breakfast, and afterwards Fred and Dante exited from the kitchen. Fred was wearing a very professional chef outfit consisting of a floor-length, white jacket, and was even wearing one of those tall chef hats with the fluffy top. Fred looked clean, smooth-shaven, well dressed and very professional. His left hand was still missing and ended in a hook. Joan was surprised that Alan made no comment about it, but just accepted it. She liked that about Alan. He was the opposite of judgmental, and accepted people for who they were and not what they looked like.

  Dante was dressed in his bartending uniform minus the jacket Joan still had to give back to him. He looked as slick and presentable as always. Joan’s heart began to beat a little faster at the sight of the handsome demon and she shook her head to try and clear it of such thoughts. As Fred and Dante approached the booth, the demon caught Joan’s eye. “Good morning, Joan.”

  “Er, morning.” Joan said awkwardly, hoping that the demon hadn’t caught her staring at him.

  Hilda looked back and forth between Dante and Joan, and smiled knowingly.

  “So Mr. Dullahan what did you think of my Continental Breakfast?” Fred asked with his hands behind his back, back straight, and an expectant, eager look on his face.

  “Well…” Alan paused dramatically before smiling widely at Fred. “It was delicious! You’re hired!”

  Fred’s jaw dropped. “Huh…just like that? Don’t you need to see my resume first?”

  Alan waved his hand through the air dismissively, “If you want but…I was looking for a good chef and I believe I’ve found him. Whoever gets this job will get it based on talent - nothing else. And if I understand correctly your wife likes to clean?”

  Hilda stepped forward and nodded. “That’s right. I can clean the bathrooms, sweep, mop, polish the tables and silverware, and clean the windows. That way Joan can concentrate on taking orders and helping the customers. If you don’t mind my saying.”

  Alan nodded. “We are a bit understaffed at the moment. I think that would be a good idea. Consider yourself hired as well, Hilda. I’ll work on a uniform for you tonight.”

  Hilda gave Alan a curious look. “You will?”

  Alan reddened. “Uh, yea, I actually enjoy making clothes.” He shyly admitted. “All of the t-shirts and tank tops I have for sale here…have been made by me.”

  “You mean you made this new tank top?” Joan asked as she tugged on the bottom of her tank top. “Did you draw th
e new logo of the headless horsewoman too?”

  Alan nodded.

  “That’s amazing, Alan. You’re a very good artist. I love the new logo.” Joan complimented.

  Alan let out a breath of relief. “Oh no…it’s nothing really.”

  Joan reached across the table and whacked Alan on the shoulder. “So modest! She looks so…alive. Despite the fact that she’s headless, of course.” Alan rubbed his now aching shoulder as Joan continued. “You’re really talented. Why didn’t you say something before?”

  A dark cloud settled over Alan’s features. “Because…my brother George always told me that liking to make clothes was wrong for a boy. That it would make me gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, but I do like girls despite my interest in girlie hobbies like sewing and cooking.”

  Joan frowned. “Stereotypes. Pfft. Liking to make clothes doesn’t make you any less of a man, Alan. It just makes you talented. I don’t understand why people have such a hard time just accepting people the way they are. Everyone has his or her positive attributes and talents. Everyone is different. It’s better to be an individual than a sheep anyways, following the status quo. The world would be boring if everyone were the same. You’re amazing just the way you are, Boss. So don’t change!” Joan insisted, and her green eyes were shinning with certainty.

  Alan was bright red at this point. “Er, uh, thank you, Joan.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem. Anyways, now we have a new chef, a housekeeper, a waitress and a bartender. We’ll probably need to get at least one more waitress though.”

  “Maybe I could convince my friend Kim to work here part-time or something,” Joan suggested.

  Alan’s eyes bulged. “K-K-Kim? You mean your amazingly hot model friend!”

  Joan raised an eyebrow at Alan’s outburst. “Yes. Kim. My amazingly hot model friend.” She repeated dryly.

  “Did I just say that out loud?” Alan paled and put his face in his hand out of embarrassment.

  “Yep.” A cat’s paw smile formed on Joan’s lips. “So you have a crush on my friend Kim? Aw, that’s so cute. I should talk to her for you…”

  “No!” Alan grabbed onto Joan’s arms and gave her a beseeching look. “Then she probably wouldn’t want to work here.”

  Joan frowned and ruffled Alan’s head. “Why not? You really should have more confidence in yourself, Alan. You’re a good-looking guy.”

  “Uh…thanks Joan.” He only wished it were that easy. Before he got into fashion Alan had been a total nerd. He’d walked around with oily hair, thick glasses, and stained t-shirts. He’d sit in front of the computer for hours and play MMORPGs (Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games). After that he got into sewing and designing clothes, and had changed his entire look.

  Though he looked more handsome now, he was still a nerd on the inside. Also, anytime he told girls about his hobby of making clothes they automatically assumed he was gay and put him in the friend zone. He wondered what Kim would think about his girlie hobby and sighed. “Ahem. Dante…what about you? Do you think we need to hire another bartender?”

  Dante raised a perfect black eyebrow at Alan. “Indeed, I do not. I should be able to handle things on my own, Boss. You just leave it to me.”

  Alan gave Dante a skeptical look. “It can get pretty busy every once in a while but…I guess I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now. You’ll have to prove yourself to me, Dante.” The pub owner said in a teasing tone.

  A twinkle formed in Dante’s golden eyes and he bowed. “I accept that challenge, Boss.”

  In this manner another day at Dullahan’s Irish Pub had begun. But now the pub had the talented chef, Fred, to do the cooking, and his wife, Hilda, who helped with the cleaning, so the day went much more smoothly.

  Fred made some potato skins, set them on a tray, and asked Joan if she’d mind handing out a few samples outside during lunch. Joan didn’t mind, and so grabbed her jacket before going outside. She began to pass out potato skins and they must have been really good because Dullahan’s became packed for lunch.

  Dante even seemed to have his hands full at the bar with almost every seat at the long bar filled. His patrons had asked him to make one strong drink that would get them wasted. He decided to make several Adios Mama’s Boys. This drink packed a real punch and he figured that was what these patrons were looking for. Dante had five highball glasses filled with ice set out before him on the bar. He picked up a bottle of Absolut vodka and flipped the bottle into the air, caught the bottle by its neck and poured a half an ounce of vodka into each glass.

  Dante grabbed a bottle of white rum next, flipped the bottle into the air, caught it by the bottle’s neck and holding the bottle upside down poured a half an ounce of rum into each glass. After that Dante grabbed the bottle of tequila and the bottle of gin at the same time, flipped the bottles into the air simultaneously, caught them by their necks, and poured half an ounce of each liquor into each of the glasses.

  Dante added two ounces of sweet and sour mix to each glass before lastly grabbing the bottle of Blue Curacao liqueur. He flipped the bottle high into the air, causing those watching to ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ before he caught the bottle by its neck, held it upside down, and added half an ounce to all of the glasses. He topped the drinks with 7-up and stirred gently. The drinks ended up turning out a neat electric blue color. Even though Dante was having to make multiple drinks at once it didn’t seem to faze him one bit and everyone in the pub became mesmerized by Dante’s flair bartending techniques.

  Showoff. Joan thought as she watched Dante flipping and catching the bottles of liquor to then pour the liquor into the glasses one by one. Already Dante didn’t even need to measure the amounts of liquor, but knew when he’d reached a half an ounce, or an ounce within the glasses. Dante’s performance reminded Joan of Tom Cruise’s flip to pour bottle trick that had made him rather famous in the movie Cocktail. The patrons had begun to cheer Dante on. “Whoo!” “Woo woo woo!” “Go Dante!”

  Alan had been helping Fred out in the kitchen, when he walked out to see Dante skillfully making ten drinks at once, and his jaw dropped. Joan giggled at her boss’ reaction. Alan had no idea he’d hired a demon bartender. Of course Dante was skilled and fast. Super fast. Joan wondered if it was a little suspicious just how good Dante was, but shrugged it off. Watching Dante mix tropical cocktails was much too fun to watch to tell him to ‘slow down’. Joan didn’t even realize she was staring until a voice cut into her thoughts.

  “He’s very handsome isn’t he?” Hilda piped up, while standing next to Joan.

  Joan jumped and turned to face Hilda with a pink tinge to her cheeks. “What? No way.”

  Hilda raised an eyebrow at Joan’s evasive response. Joan decided to wisely change the subject and lowered her voice. “Hilda…how do you and Fred know Dante anyways?”

  Hilda smiled ruefully. “He’s our landlord now. In fact, Dante saved everyone that was living at the park. He owns an apartment building and he’s letting us all stay there for a dollar a month. He lives there too actually.”

  “What?” Joan asked, feeling dizzy. She just couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Dante owned an apartment building and had decided to rent rooms to homeless people? That just didn’t make any sense. Dante helping homeless people? But…why? Joan wondered frantically. He’s not planning on using them as human sacrifices for something is he? Crap, I don’t trust him at all.

  “You have to come and visit us sometime, sweetie,” Hilda said to Joan in a friendly manner as she quickly scribbled the address of the building and the number of the apartment Hilda and Fred were now living in on a napkin and gave it to Joan. “I don’t know what we all would have done this winter but…Dante saved us.”

  Joan took the napkin and looked down at the address. “Yea…I will.” Perhaps sooner than you think. She put the napkin into her pocket. Joan needed to investigate just what Dante was up to.

  The workday went by quick
ly until midnight rolled around and Alan said they could all go home. Joan left the pub and made her way over to her Volvo. She got inside and waited for ten minutes. She wanted to give Dante a good head start so that he would arrive at the apartment building first and hopefully wouldn’t notice that Joan had followed him.

  After ten minutes had passed, Joan started the engine and drove off down the street heading for Dante’s apartment building. The building was in a bad part of town in South Bronx. Joan parked her Volvo a block away and got out of the car. A cold wind hit her and she clutched her jacket more tightly around herself as she approached the building. The building was oddly familiar for some reason.

  That’s when she recognized it. This was the building that was supposedly ‘haunted’ but someone must have exorcised the evil spirits before she’d gotten here. No way…Dante did this? He exorcised the evil spirits, purchased this building, and is letting homeless people live here? Why? Her mind was spinning.

  Joan picked the front door lock and let herself inside. She rode the elevator to the top floor. The elevator door opened and she stepped outside into the hallway. Joan couldn’t feel any negative energy as she walked down the hall. The place looked ‘normal’ enough so far.

  Joan reached Hilda and Fred’s apartment number 701. It was half past twelve at night. Suddenly, Joan wondered what the hell she was even doing there. What had she expected to find? Magic circles written in blood on the floor or walls? Sacrificial altars? Human heads on pikes? Piles of bones? This wasn’t Hell.

  Joan knew that realistically all she could do was continue to keep a close eye on Dante, and if anything happened to the people living here - there would be hell to pay. At that moment Joan’s cell phone rang. “Crap.” Joan quickly fished out her smart phone and swiped the screen to answer the call. She put her phone up to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hello Joan,” Came a familiar, rough voice.

  Joan’s eyes widened and there was this sinking feeling in her stomach. “Franky! What the hell do you want? And how did you even get this number?”

  “Alan gave it to me.”

  “Alan?”

  “He’s right here with me, actually.”

  “What? Put him on the phone.” Joan demanded, as her hand began to tremble. She had a bad feeling about this.

  “Sure thing, babe.” Franky agreed.

  “Hello? Joan?” Came Alan’s tremulous voice.

  “Alan?”

  “Don’t do anything they tell you to do, Joan! Stay away!” Alan warned before the phone was probably taken away from him since Joan could no longer hear his voice.

  “Alan? Alan!” Joan exclaimed frantically. “Crap.”

  Franky’s dark chuckle came over the line next. “Now you know I have him.”

  “What the hell do you want Franky?” Joan snarled.

  “What I want is all the money that’s in the safe at Dullahan’s in exchange for Alan’s life. The combination to the safe is 3546. Meet me at the abandoned multi-story building near Bruckner Boulevard and East 137th Street in one hour. Don’t be late, and come alone or else Alan pays the price.”

  “What? You can’t be serious, Franky. You let Alan go or else I-!” Joan threatened.

  Click. Franky had hung up on Joan. “He actually hung up on me!” Joan ground her teeth together. “That jerk. How dare he? Crap, there’s no way I’m going to give that jerk Alan’s money!” She quickly dialed another telephone number.

  “Dekker.” Came a female voice over the phone.

  “Hello, Detective Dekker, it’s Joan. I need your help.”

  ***

  Joan parked her Volvo a block away from the meeting spot. The address was for an apartment building that looked completely abandoned. It was kind of creepy with its broken windows that were just empty, black holes. The paint and plaster on the exterior of the building was peeling away. Poor Alan was somewhere inside of that creepy building. Joan realized. He was probably scared to death. Alan hated scary stuff and actually cried during horror films. Joan saw Alan like a kind of younger brother, and he brought out her usually nonexistent maternal instincts.

  There was just something about the adorable young man that just made her want to protect him. Joan got out of her car and put her purse strap over her head. Inside her purse she had mace and her favorite weapon of choice - her billy club. During high school when she’d been the leader of an all-female gang that had challenged other high school gangs to street fights - she’d won many ‘battles’ with the help of her trusty billy club. She’d wanted to prove to all the guys out there that women shouldn’t be underestimated.

  Joan grabbed a backpack that she would tell Franky contained the money he’d asked for, but that really was just stuffed with some old gym clothes Joan had in the car. Joan’s plan was simple. She was going to go in there, find Alan, beat the crap out of Franky, and get Alan the hell out of there. Joan approached the building. The front door was broken and she kicked it the rest of the way open. Her phone rang.

  “Apartment number 202.” Franky said to her before he hung up on her again.

  Joan frowned down at her dead phone. She took the stairs up to the second floor since the elevator was out of order. Joan made her way cautiously down the hall and stopped in front of apartment number 202.

  The door looked old and weak. Joan decided to just kick it in with her good leg. Bam. The door swung open and Joan made her way inside. There in the center of the room was Alan. He was tied to a chair, and had duct tape over his mouth. His face was covered in bruises. Joan’s blood began to boil at the sad sight. How dare Franky beat up kind, sweet Alan. Oh, he’s gonna pay.

  Alan’s head had been hanging dejectedly against his chest but he looked up when he heard the door get kicked open. Alan’s eyes widened like saucers when he saw Joan enter the apartment. “Mmph!” The young man immediately began to struggle against his bonds and the message in his eyes was clear: ‘get the hell out of here!’

  “Joan.” Came a familiar baritone voice.

  Joan spun and saw Franky coming out of the bathroom and zipping up his fly in a crude manner. The sound of a toilet flushing could be heard. “You really did come alone. You’re pretty brave.” Franky complimented as his eyes fell upon the backpack Joan was carrying. “And you’re smart too. I see you’ve brought the money.”

  Joan nodded. “That’s right. Now, let Alan go and I’ll give you the money.”

  Franky reached his hand out towards Joan. “Give me the money first.”

  “No.” Joan shook her head and took a step back. “Release Alan first and then I’ll give you the money.” She insisted firmly.

  Franky popped his jaw in irritation. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Joan. I’m the one making the rules around here. And I’m getting effing impatient.” Franky snarled as he reached behind him and grabbed a semi-automatic, which he’d had stuck between the back of his pants and his lower back. He pointed the gun at Joan. “The money. Now.”

  “A gun.” Joan was floored by this development and gave Franky a startled look. Oh crap! I totally underestimated this jerk!

  “I ain’t getting any younger over here, Joan.” Franky took the safety off and put his finger on the trigger.

  “Everybody freeze!” Came a commanding female voice from the doorway.

  “What the hell?” Franky turned to see that an African-American woman was standing in the doorway with her gun pointed at Franky. His eyes raked over her curvy figure, and took in her white tank top, black blazer, tight jeans, and black knee boots that she was wearing. Detective Diana Dekker’s long, black hair was currently pulled back into a smart ponytail. Franky’s eyes lingered on the badge that was visible and attached to her belt. “A cop? Crap.” Franky mused aloud and his eyes narrowed at Joan dangerously. “I thought I told you to come alone, witch!”

  “I don’t take orders from jerks like you.” Joan shot back.

  “Drop your weapon!” Detective
Diana said to Franky, “You’re under arrest!”

  Franky threw his head back and laughed. “I’m under arrest? I don’t think so. Jenny!”

  The bedroom door burst open and Jenny emerged with a gun in her hand.

  “Jenny!” Joan exclaimed in surprise. After what had happened at Dullahan’s she hadn’t expected the couple to still be together.

  “Hi Joan.” Jenny greeted with a smile on her heavily made up face. “Who’s the cop? Your parole officer? Ha. It was dumb to bring her here. Now we’re going to have to get rid of her too.” Her red-painted lips curled into a cruel smile.

  “Don’t you dare.” Joan warned. However-

  Bang! A shot split through the apartment. Diana cried out as she was hit in the shoulder and fell back to the floor where she remained unmoving.

  “Mmph!” Alan struggled against his bonds again, a frantic look on his face. He’d just seen someone get shot for his sake and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Everything was going to hell in a hand basket. Jenny had just shot Diana - Joan’s trump card and now she didn’t know what to do. “Diana! No!” Joan cried out in despair. “Crap! You witch!”

  Jenny raised an eyebrow at Joan. “Witch? I bet what you really wanted to say was ‘bxxxx’. Still pretending you’re a Saint and can’t swear, Joan? No one’s buying it.”

  “Hurry up and toss me the bag of money, Joan.” Franky was at his wits’ end. “Or do you want the next bullet to be put in Alan’s brain?”

  “Mmph!” Alan renewed his struggles in his chair causing the chair to rock back and forth.

  “Be still!” Franky snarled as he punched Alan hard across the face and knocked him out cold.

  Joan watched as Alan’s head slumped against his chest and angry fires blazed in Joan’s green eyes. “You jerk!” Dang it. If only I had my cross with me I could have transformed into Jeanne d’Arc and taken these jerks out in five seconds flat! What am I going to do? I’m in way over my head here. What was I thinking that I could handle this on my own? Without my powers? And because of me Diana is…! Bile rose up in Joan’s throat. No, she refused to believe that Diana was dead.

  “Why do I keep getting ignored, darn it!” Franky roared as he began to pull down on the trigger. “You know what? I don’t effing care anymore! I’m going to kill you and then Alan, and get the hell out of here already! Goodbye Joan.”

  “No, wait-!” Joan put her hands up in a surrendering gesture and tried to look harmless. But it was already too late.

  Bang! Joan shut her eyes.

  That’s when Joan felt strong arms wrapping around her and spinning her around. What the? Joan looked up and her eyes widened when she saw Dante. He’d wrapped his arms around her and put his back to Franky to shield her from the attack. He’d taken a bullet for her. Unreal.

  Horns had sprouted out of his head and a fierce, red aura was flaring around Dante. “Close your eyes.” Dante rumbled in his deep voice.

  Too late. I already know you’re an evil demon. Joan wanted to say, but kept her mouth shut and nodded instead.

  ***

  One hour earlier…

  Dante heard Joan outside of his apartment door and heard her take a phone call. With his keen hearing he’d been able to hear what Franky had been saying over the phone. And he heard Alan’s terrified voice too. After that Dante had eavesdropped on Joan’s conversation with a female police detective named Detective Diana Dekker.

  He listened to Joan’s retarded plan and decided he had no choice but to follow her. The demon was glad that he did because Joan was about to get herself shot. Dante didn’t really know what he’d been expecting from Joan exactly. But for some reason he’d felt that she’d be able to handle things on her own. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. Had he expected her to transform into his Jeanne? He was going crazy. Being haunted by a ghost.

  Joan was not Jeanne d’Arc!

  Joan Simone was just a weak human girl, who needed his protection. But as the bullet pierced the flesh of his back - he couldn’t help but wonder why the hell he was protecting a human female in the first place. Dante had a human body now. He could easily die from getting shot but he found that he didn’t really care as long as Joan was safe. Mine.

  “Crap! It’s Dante!” Franky shouted and shot Dante again out of fear.

  Punk! That freakin hurt. Dante used his superhuman speed and strength to pick Joan up and set her down outside in the hallway. “Stay here.” Before he reentered the apartment in the blink of an eye. He saw Alan’s unconscious form in the chair and his blood boiled. Master! Dante blinked at his strange thought. What the hell? Why had Dante called Alan his Master? Alan wasn’t King Solomon. But perhaps, if Dante started to be honest about it, the young pub owner reminded him of his friend from long ago.

  Dante decided to set aside such strange thoughts for the time being and concentrated on the task at hand. He knew that Alan would want Dante to settle things in a ‘nonviolent’ manner. Was ‘not killing’ them nonviolent enough? He wondered. “I know the Boss would want me to settle this in a nonviolent manner.” Dante began conversationally.

  Franky smiled evilly. “That so?”

  “I wonder if not killing you constitutes as ‘nonviolent’.” Dante drawled before in an instant he was standing in front of Franky and grabbing his wrist. The demon clenched his powerful fingers and bent Franky’s wrist back until a sickening crack was heard.

  Franky howled in pain and the semi-automatic fell from his limp fingers.

  “Franky! You jerk!” Jenny screeched and shot Dante in his shoulder.

  Dante’s shoulder jerked back from the impact, and he sighed. He was getting really tired of being shot. He moved towards Jenny and was in front of her in a flash. He knocked the gun out of her hand.

  Jenny gasped and gave Dante a fearful look before she threw her hands up in a surrendering gesture. “I-I give up! P-Please don’t hurt me.”

  Dante brought his fist forward and aimed for Jenny’s solar plexus.

  “Oof!” Jenny gasped as she crumpled over and fell unconscious.

  Dante caught Jenny in his arms as she fell forward, and gently set her down on the floor. She may have been a skank but she was a woman. Even when Dante was the Great Duke of Hell, commander of thirty-six legions, he had his own personal creed: No women. No kids. Everyone else however…had better run.

  Lucifer hadn’t been too happy about Dante’s creed, but he’d let Dante get away with it because they were friends.

  “Jenny! I’m going to effing kill you, Dante!” Franky roared as he whipped out a knife and charged Dante with it from behind. Franky stabbed the knife forward aiming at Dante’s back. When Franky blinked once Dante was no longer there. “What the hell?” Franky exclaimed as his knife swiped through thin air. That’s when Dante was next to him and disarming him of the knife. “What are you?” Franky questioned as he spun to face Dante. “A vampire?”

  Dante raised an eyebrow at Franky. “Please don’t compare me to a useless hunk of soulless flesh. That insults me.” The demon said before executing a roundhouse kick and sending his boot flying into the side of Franky’s face with a crunch. “Adios Mama’s Boy!” Franky was sent flying across the room and landed on the floor unconscious with a fractured jaw.

  Now that Alan was unconscious and Joan was no longer afraid, Dante’s demonic power began to wane. His horns faded and his aura began to dissipate.

  “Dante!” Came a gruff voice.

  Dante spun and came face to face with Ivan. Blazes! How had he not sensed the human’s vile presence?

  Ivan whipped out a gun, pointed it at Dante, and aimed for his head. “Die!” The German growled out as he pulled the trigger.

  Bloody hell. Dante dodged and felt the bullet hit his arm. He rushed forward and took two more shots in his chest. Hot blood was seeping out of the wounds and down his chest. But that didn’t stop him from disarming Ivan, sending his fist flying into the side of Ivan’s face, and anoth
er swift punch to Ivan’s beer gut.

  This is what happens when you leave scum like him alive. They just keep coming back for more! Darn it! Dante picked Ivan up by his neck and carried him over to the window. I should just toss this vermin outside like the piece of trash that he is.

  “Dante!” Came Joan’s voice, cutting through his haze of bloodlust, “No!”

  And Dante found himself hesitating. Blazes. He looked down and saw a puddle of his own blood gathering at his feet. This was so not good. He tossed Ivan across the room. The chef hit the wall and was knocked unconscious.

  Dante’s vision was hazy and black spots were forming in front of his eyes. Dante sunk to his knees, as the strength seemed to leave his body. Stupid, weak, human body. Was this it? He died protecting a bunch of lowly humans? Dante started to laugh. Ah, the irony.

  “Dante!” Joan called out from his side. She sounded concerned and that surprised him. They hadn’t really known each other for very long after all. But he’d sensed this ‘connection’ between them. It felt like he’d known her forever.

  He turned to stare into her gorgeous green eyes. Dante reached up his hand and stroked Joan’s cheek. “I’m sorry…goodbye, my Jeanne.” Dante murmured before he fell over unconscious.

  “Dante!” Joan cried out and rolled Dante over onto his back. “Crap!” She opened his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt so she could see how bad his injuries were. She sucked in a breath. Dante had been shot multiple times. Some of the wounds had started to heal themselves and the bullets had been pushed out of his body at least, but-

  The wounds were no longer healing for some reason. He must have used all of his demonic power, Joan realized. He’s still bleeding. He’s lost a lot of blood…at this rate Dante really will die. The Great Demon Duke of Hell Dantalion will die of blood loss. Unreal. He protected Alan and I. I can’t let him die. I have to help him. But how?

  Joan began to think. She knew that she couldn’t take Dante back to her apartment because Michael was there. The Archangel would want to kill Dante as soon as he set eyes on him. If Joan had her cross she would have been able to transform and could have tried to heal him with her magic.

  “Hey,” Came a voice.

  Joan spun to see Detective Dekker walking towards Joan and gripping her bleeding shoulder.

  “Diana! You’re okay!” Relief flooded through Joan. Detective Dekker meant a lot to her. Dekker had been the only one there for her to pull her out of the darkness she’d fallen into. She’d always remember Dekker as a bright light in that dark part of her life.

  “Bullet got me in the shoulder but it passed through,” Dekker looked down at Dante and her eyes bulged at the sight of all the bullet holes in his chest. “Crap! What happened to him?”

  “He saved us. And now…I’m going to save him.” Joan whipped out her phone and made a call. “Hello, 911 Emergency Services? I need an ambulance immediately. We’re in the abandoned apartment building near Bruckner Boulevard and East 137th Street.” Joan quickly explained to the 911 operator. Only once she was sure an ambulance was on its way did she end the call.

  Joan looked down at Dante’s bleeding torso and frowned. She took her tank top off and pressed it against Dante’s chest to staunch the bleeding. This was the second tank top of hers that’d gotten ruined in the last two days. She let out a sigh. The tank top was immediately soaked with blood but Joan wouldn’t stop pressing on his wounds until the ambulance arrived.

  Joan hovered over Dante’s body and couldn’t help staring down at his face. His eyes were closed and she noticed that he had really long, dark lashes. His skin was paler than usual. Her eyes traveled down to his chest. He was nicely muscled with broad shoulders. He had a warrior’s physique. His six-pack abs were impressive. Even like this…dying in a pool of his own blood, Joan found this demon man to be incredibly handsome.

  She swallowed thickly and turned her gaze away. Butterflies had begun to flutter like mad in her stomach and warmth had pooled in her lower abdomen. Dante made her feel things she’d never felt before. Or maybe she’d felt them five hundred and eighty-four years ago. She knew she should stay away from this demon, but she seemed to be inexorably drawn to him. Again and again, lifetime after lifetime…when would it ever end? And did she really want it to?

  To be continued in…Drink 7: Lover’s Kiss

  Dante: “Good evening, lowly human, so you wish to make an Adios Mama’s Boy? Pour 1/2 an ounce of vodka, 1/2 an ounce of rum, 1/2 an ounce of tequila, 1/2 an ounce of gin, 1/2 an ounce of Blue Curacao liqueur, 2 ounces of sweet and sour, and 2 ounces of 7-Up into a chilled glass filled with ice cubes. Stir gently and enjoy. I can’t believe that I’ve fallen unconscious from blood loss. How pathetic. To think I risked my life for a human female…it’s absurd. But there’s just something about Joan. Don’t forget that the legal drinking age is 21 and drink responsibly.”