Navigating the hallway wasn’t any easier, and when Dar reached the air duct, he realized he’d been a bit shortsighted in planning this whole caper. The air duct was eight feet up, next to the ceiling. Not an easy jump for a rat, even a demon rat, but an impossible jump for a demon rat holding a bottle.
Fuck. Dar glanced around, noting the three cameras pointed his way. Well, there was nothing else to be done. He could hardly sit here and wait to be caught, or roll the bottle down the elevator and through the lobby as a rat. With a flash, he transformed into his human form — his very naked human form — and tossed the bottle up into the air duct.
That didn’t sound good. The thing made a horrible racket, slamming its way down the metal passageway until it stopped at a turn. Dar winced, then jumped, hooking his hands on the lip of the open grate before changing back into his rat form. The HVAC system had been steep going up, and it was equally steep going down. Dar found himself sliding face-first at an alarming pace, grabbing at the bottle as he rocketed by. The weight of it jerked him around, smashing him into the side of the duct where a poorly placed screw tore a chunk of flesh from his side.
Fuck, that hurt. He was still on his belly, but now sliding backwards, his blood painting a stripe along the dusty edge of the metal duct. Dar gripped the neck of the bottle with his front paws as he scrambled to slow his descent with his back legs. Ass first, he had no idea where he was going or which turn he’d taken. All he knew was, he was heading down. Hopefully to the laundry room. Hopefully not to the furnace, although it shouldn’t be ignited on this warm day.
His rear hit something hard, smashing him between it and the bottle. He’d stopped but was at a backward angle with the weight of the bottle on top of him. He could throw it off and risk it hurtling downward into the furnace. Not a good choice. Heat wouldn’t damage the bottle, but he didn’t like the idea of singeing fur and risking third degree burns retrieving it. He could repair the resultant injuries, but suffering them wasn’t his idea of a good day.
Dar edged sideways and twisted his neck to look down. Fuck. It was nearly a straight drop — not one he’d like to go down with the weight of this damned bottle on top of him. That left only one other choice. He rolled, feeling his stomach rise into his throat as he rode the bottle like a rocket down the vertical descent. The sense of direction that never failed him? Well, it failed him this time. Dar had no idea where in the hotel he was. He knew nothing except he was bound to come to a stop eventually. It’s not the fall that kills, it’s when you stop falling. Neither would kill a demon, but it sure as fuck wouldn’t be pleasant.
It wasn’t. Dar saw the grate rush toward him. He hit with enough impact to rip it from the ceiling. That last eight feet to the cement floor seemed to take forever as he scrambled around on the bottle, trying to ensure it landed first and took the brunt of the impact. At least he didn’t have to worry about glass shards in his ass and belly.
The bottle hit, bouncing and flipping as it slammed Dar back-first onto the floor. He grunted, losing his grip on it. As he struggled to stop the room from spinning, he heard a piercing scream, an accompaniment to the noise of the bottle rolling away.
“Rat!”
The scream became a chorus of screams. Dar blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Huge glass circles lined up before him like portholes on a ship, only these were filled with linens spinning round and round. The laundry. He’d smelled this room coming in and realized he must be fairly close to his original route. There was a clear way out through the floor drains to the sewer, but he’d need to drag the bottle past a hoard of women shouting in some foreign language and swatting at him with towels. Fuck it. Dar bared his teeth, snarling at his attackers. The screaming reached a fevered pitch, but they backed up enough for him to grab the bottle and work his way across the floor.
It was an agonizingly long process. Every few feet he needed to turn around and again threaten the women who seemed determined to whip him to death with hotel linen. Finally he made it to the drain, nudging the cover aside before shoving the bottle down the hole and jumping in after it.
Going up through the sewer was more strenuous than his slide down the ventilation system, but the swim through fetid water was far less painful than his hard landing on the cement floor. Dar surfaced to get his bearings and catch a breath, spitting the foul taste from his mouth as he pushed the bobbing bottle along. The genie inside had suffered a rough ride, but it had to have been better than the ride Dar had been through on the outside of the bottle.
Finally Dar dragged himself out through the sewer access, hauling the bottle, which felt like it weighed a million pounds, behind him. Wyatt was waiting, looking nervously at his cell phone.
“About time you got here. For Pete’s sake, Dar, what took you so long? And you stink.”
It’s not like he could respond in his rat form — Dar’s telepathic abilities were restricted to beings of spirit — so the demon transformed into his human form.
“Yeah, well sewers usually stink. And I had a bit of trouble with the bottle. It wasn’t as easy to haul it out as a rat as I thought it would be.”
“I got that.” Wyatt turned his phone to face Dar and played a grainy video of his transformation into a human in the top-floor hallway of the hotel. Fuck, this was going to be a problem. Not that he hadn’t realized it after seeing the video cameras in the hallway, but it still smarted that all his efforts to mask the theft were for naught.
“I know, I know. It’s not like I had any choice. I couldn’t get the bottle up into the HVAC system as a rat. We’re hosed, but at least we’ve got the bottle. If Asta does her part, they’ll be no more wishes for Carter Phelps.”
“We’re not hosed.” Wyatt grinned and pushed a button on his cell phone, slipping the device into his pocket. “That feed is now wiped. Phelps will suspect a cyber-terrorist — one who has superior skills, one who blocked his security alerts and interfered with the hotel surveillance. We’re home free.”
Yeah, except for all those housekeepers and laundry maids who saw a rat scooting a bottle across the floor. That sort of thing wouldn’t go unreported, and Phelps might be savvy enough to connect the dots. Either way, with the theft targeted to the bottle, he’d realize it had to be one of the two individuals who’d been in his hotel the last few days — Asta or Dar. No proof, but that didn’t mean Phelps wouldn’t be a pain in the ass about it. Once again, Dar lamented that he couldn’t just kill the human and be done with it.
“Here.” Wyatt handed him a bag. “Put some clothes on before you get arrested.”
Dar pulled a White Sox t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants out. “Thanks, but I think I’ll go naked.”
“Go ahead. Phelps is going to be mighty interested that you got arrested for indecent exposure in a service alley beside his hotel. Especially since his room was just robbed.”
“Okay, okay,” Dar grumbled and held up the shirt. Baseball sucked. Again he wished he hadn’t blown up his nice suit.
“Please tell me you didn’t waltz through the hotel and steal the bottle while as naked as a jaybird.”
Asta had traced them into an alleyway as soon as she’d returned to the city. Why were they still here? The plan was for them to steal the bottle then meet her back at Dar’s hotel room, not stand around right next to the crime scene arguing. And not stand around naked either.
Dar shimmied, spreading his arms wide so Asta got the full frontal view. “Through the lobby, up thirty-six floors in the elevator and down past an entire room full of housekeeping staff.”
“He was in his rat form,” Wyatt told her. “And now he’s reluctant to put on the clothing I had the foresight to grab from the tourist shop next door.”
“No self-respecting demon would be caught dead wearing this shit. There’s a drycleaner just a block away. You could have stolen something nice from there; that way I don’t have to walk around looking like a homeless orphan with questionable taste in sports teams.”
“I�
�m not stealing clothing from a drycleaner. You’re lucky I spent my own money on this stuff. I should have just let you run around as a rat the rest of the day.”
“Stop bickering.” Asta felt ready to explode. They needed to get out of here before the police, or Phelps, showed up. “Dar, put on the clothes. And hand me the bottle.”
The demon raised his eyebrows. “Magic word? Are angels so devoid of polite behavior that they don’t know how to say please?”
That did it. She’d spent all morning a ball of anxiety over the meeting with the head of the Grigori before being turned down. And now she had to deal with two of the Three Stooges in a back alley. Politeness was pretty far down her priority list right now.
“Give me the bottle and put on some clothes.”
Dar dropped the clothes and tucked the bottle behind him. “No and no. You want it? Well, come and get it.”
The angel launched at him, intending to punch the demon in the gut and grab the bottle. Instead, Dar threw his arms around her waist and dropped to the ground. Now the bottle was digging into her back, and she was off balance, heading face-first toward the asphalt. Dar shifted, and they crashed on their sides, the demon taking the brunt of the impact on his shoulder.
“Give me . . . I want it. . . .” Asta gasped, the breath partially knocked out of her.
The demon moved the hand with the bottle between them and flipped himself on top of her. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words from the moment I met you. Darling Asta, I want it too. I really, really want it.”
The angel puffed, recognizing the sexual innuendo. It was even harder to speak with his weight on top of her, and that stupid bottle pressing against—. That isn’t the bottle. No, something else, similar in shape and equally hard was pressed against her lower region.
“Get. Off. Me.”
With great dexterity, the demon held her close and rolled. Now she was on top of him, his arms tight around her and the bottle pressed against the small of her back. Other things were still disturbingly pressed against her too. She struggled to sit up, and Dar relented, moving his hands downward to secure her thighs on either side of his hips.
“Angel on top. I like this position.”
This was even worse. Sitting on him, straddling his hips like this, put that part of his anatomy right where it was supposed to be.
“Should I leave and come back in ten minutes? Although, knowing Dar, ten seconds is probably the most he can last.”
Wyatt’s voice behind them was both exasperated and amused. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Asta lurched to the right and grabbed the bottle. Unfortunately, distracted didn’t mean inattentive. Dar kept a firm grip and yanked her forward, seizing the bottle with both hands. A brief tug of war ensued that caused the lower parts of their bodies to rub together with interesting friction.
He felt good against her — really, really good. Asta was beginning to think less about the bottle and more about the amazing sensations sending little sparks through her body. Her eyes met Dar’s, and she saw her desire mirrored there — and saw he knew how turned on she was.
“Guys? Any moment now Phelps is going to arrive, and the police with him. I suggest you save the porno for later and we all get out of here.”
How embarrassing.
“Fine. Keep the bottle.” Asta jumped off the demon and smoothed down her pants, trying desperately to return her breathing and heart rate back to normal. Glancing out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Dar, still sprawled on the ground propped up by his elbows. The bottle was firmly in one hand, and he was quite noticeably aroused.
“Dude.” Wyatt shook his head in disgust. “Drop the main mast, and get your clothes on, pronto. I can hear sirens.”
Dar struggled to his feet, making it clear that his raging erection was causing some ambulatory problems. This was ridiculous. They were going to get caught all because she couldn’t control her temper, and Dar couldn’t stop teasing her. Two stooges — she was just as bad. Three Stooges was more like it.
“Come here.” Without waiting, Asta grabbed Wyatt with one hand and dragged him forward so she could touch Dar with her other. In a flash, they left the alley and appeared in Dar’s hotel room. The demon immediately fell to the floor, slamming into an armchair on the way down and dropping the bottle. Wyatt retched and staggered toward the bathroom, banging into the walls along the way.
“What’s wrong with you two? I know demons and humans don’t teleport, but your reactions seem a bit extreme.”
“Damn it all, Asta. Give a demon some warning next time. The room is spinning like a fucking carnival ride.”
Oops. She heard Wyatt vomiting and grimaced. “Sorry guys. We do this pretty much as soon as we’re formed. I guess we’re just used to it.”
“Well, I’m not used to it.” Dar tried to stand and fell sideways into the end table. “Fuck. I might just puke too.”
Asta looked around and helpfully shoved a small garbage can toward the demon. “Here. I don’t know how long Wyatt is going to be in the bathroom.”
Leaving the men to their digestive distress, the angel dropped to her hands and knees and dug under the sofa. There. Nope, that was an empty Heineken. Sheesh, Dar was a total pig.
Ah, the bottle. It was so pretty, all purple and gray with gold swirls and trim. Flicking a finger at the side, she noted how solid it was. Magically unbreakable and stamped with the energy of the demon it had held for so long.
“How fast can you pop that sucker up to Aaru?” Dar had picked himself up off the floor and was rinsing his mouth out with the contents of the mini bar, spitting expensive booze into the trashcan.
“It doesn’t matter.” Asta looked away from him, focusing intently on the bottle. “They turned down my request.”
“So I give the thing to my sister, and she’ll toss it through the wild gate into the fourth circle of Aaru. The bottle dissolves, the demon panics and runs around heaven until the angels take him down. Problem solved.”
“You forget the part where I spend the next two thousand years in rehabilitation as punishment. It doesn’t matter who does it; I’ll end up with the blame.”
“So what do we do with that?” Dar brushed the bottle with his finger.
Asta pursed her lips, turning the bottle over. “Start looking for a mage. We need someone who can get the demon out of here so I can send him back home. That’s pretty much the only option left.”
“If we kill Phelps, we’d have more time to find a magic user. And we wouldn’t have to worry about him stealing the bottle back or making any more wishes in the interim.”
Dar’s voice was hopeful, like a child asking for a treat he knew would be refused. Asta frowned and shook her head. “Nope. We’re not killing Carter.”
“I still think you should ask that Gareth guy or one of his buddies to do it.” Wyatt was a bit more upright as he walked slowly back into the room. “There’s got to be some mage in Hel who would be willing to take a quick trip here.” He turned to Dar. “You can come and go through the gates; just bring one with you, and have him release the genie.”
“I’ve got a better idea.” Dar drained a mini of gin and tossed it onto the carpet. “I grab Carter Phelps and Asta transports us here to my hotel room. I duct tape him and torture him until he agrees to use his last wish on something like a really good pad Thai. Asta kills the demon, or sends it to Hel — I don’t really fucking care. Then we drown Phelps in Lake Michigan and make it look like a boating accident.”
Asta and Wyatt both stared at the demon.
“So how quickly can you get a mage here from Hel?” Asta asked. “I’ll look for one here, and whoever can get a mage first, wins.”
“Wins what?” Dar’s eyes glowed with interest.
“Nothing.” She plopped the bottle on the coffee table in exasperation, wincing as it landed more forcefully than she’d intended. “It was just an expression. I’m going with Wyatt’s idea. The great mage hunt is on.”
“Oh, com
e on! My idea is so much better than his.”
“No, it isn’t. Killing Phelps would cause you to lose your immunity.”
The demon considered that with what looked suspiciously like a pout. “Okay, so I don’t kill him at the end of it all. It’s still the best idea.”
Asta tried for her most intimidating stare, forcing her traitorous mouth to keep from smiling as Dar gave her a charming naughty-boy grin.
Finally the demon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, Gareth is out of the question. I’m sure he could do it, but our household is shockingly in debt to him right now. And given a certain political instability in Hel with the elves, high-level magic users are a little scarce.”
He was telling the truth. What was she going to do now? Aaru was out. There would be no cooperation from Phelps now that they’d stolen the bottle and violated any trust he might have. It would take her months of determined Internet searches weeding through dozens of fakes before she found an earthly mage able to release and banish the genie safely — if she managed to find one at all. And she was supposed to return home in a few days, leaving the bottle in the care of another enforcer who might not be as diligent about its safety.
“I’ll take it to Aaru.” Asta was proud her voice didn’t tremble one bit at her decision. She was going back in a few days anyway. And with all the sinning she’d done this week, maybe two thousand years of having the disobedience purged from her soul would be a good thing. No, it would be a horrible thing, but this was the only choice that didn’t have a high probability of innocent casualties associated with it.
“I thought you said they’d torture you.” Dar’s gaze was intent.
“Punish, not torture. It’s intended to return my vibration levels to the correct balance and remind me of the need for order and structure. I’ll be fine.”
Her voice wobbled. Wyatt made a little gasp noise from behind her. Dar’s mouth thinned into a line. Obviously they both knew she wouldn’t be fine at all.
Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 43
