How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  She didn’t know how she was going to get rid of Nadja, but she knew that no matter what the woman said, this would be a never-ending cycle of awfulness, another form of slavery to which Katerina flat-out refused to subject herself and her children. Her kids had known a hard enough life without this evil hag. So as soon as she was convinced Petru wouldn’t do anything stupid and overly protective, she was going to ask him how to summon the Baba Yaga. If anyone could take care of the piece of garbage formerly known as Nadja Grigorovich, it would be she.

  Of course, Katerina had sworn not to talk about Nadja, so she had to hope that Petru could understand everything she told him and would do what she needed without getting himself killed. She knew many people thought he was slow, but she disagreed. Just because he was a simple man didn’t mean he was stupid. He just processed things differently.

  She smiled at the giant troll who had stepped through her door. Katerina had never known a troll until this one had become a client. He had a taste for cruelty. After his first visit, Katerina had never wanted to see him again. But then she’d realized other girls weren’t as fortunate as she was; she had magick to protect herself. So he kept coming back and she kept seeing him. Magickal clients paid more, too.

  “I hadn’t expected you to call. Especially not with a freebie,” the magickal creature said.

  “I hadn’t expected to,” she admitted. “I was taken by surprise with the intensity of my need.”

  He growled and charged forward, but he did not catch her. Instead the troll found himself facedown on the living room floor with magickal ribbons binding his hands. While these looked like frills for a girl’s hair, they were unbreakable.

  “A new game? I don’t think I like it.”

  Katerina shrugged. “I don’t think I care.” She grabbed her purse and keys and let Nadja in.

  She was just about to leave to find Petru, when Nadja blocked her way and put a hand on her arm. “I meant what I said, Katerina.”

  “I got you a magickal being just as you demanded, Nadja. A powerful one. I didn’t have to get you a troll. I have fey, gnomes, brownies, and ghosts on my client list. They come from all over the Midwest to see me. I could have called any of them, but I called this one to show good faith.” Katerina jerked free of her grasp. “Hell, Nadja, I could have even poisoned him with the vial of angel’s blood I have in the top cabinet. I didn’t, though.”

  The only reason she hadn’t was that she wasn’t sure such poison would work. If it didn’t, she’d be even worse off than before. Rather than killing Nadja, it could give her even more power.

  Nadja smiled coldly. “Just see that you keep your teeth bared against those who would stop us from our goal, Katerina. It’s too bad I didn’t get to know you sooner. We could have wreaked havoc on Ivan, and none of these strong-arm techniques would have been necessary.”

  Katerina nodded, vowing there would be a Ben & Jerry’s in Hell before she ever willingly did anything for Nadja Grigorovich.

  She left the apartment to find Petru. Thankfully, he was home.

  “Miss Katerina!” the big mobster exclaimed, but he didn’t open the door.

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not clean.” Petru looked at his feet.

  “It’s very important that I talk to you, Petru. Something has happened.”

  Reluctantly, he opened the door. He hadn’t been kidding. His apartment was filthy. There were dishes piled high in the sink, girlie mags spread out across the coffee table, rings from beer bottles on the tables, and the smell . . . it was a mixture of week-old pizza, dirty socks, and beer.

  “We’ll worry about that later. Where’s Sasha?” But as the words escaped her mouth she realized what had happened. Sasha was the reason Nadja was walking free again.

  Petru twisted his hands together. “I haven’t seen him for days. Not since the night before I came over to ask you to share your meal. I’m worried. He’s never been gone this long without letting me know where he is.”

  “I . . . I think he’s dead, Petru,” Katerina confessed.

  “Don’t say that, Katerina,” Petru admonished. “You’ll make it happen.”

  “No, honey. I’m sorry, but I just realized the truth myself. I think he’s dead. Someone . . . someone he loves is in my apartment.”

  “The lady he was going to save? She’s here? I have to talk to her!”

  Katerina put a hand on his chest to stop him, and surprisingly it did. “No, you can’t do that. I’m not sure how to say this. I’m not sure what I can say. If I say the wrong thing, it could be very bad for me.”

  “Did a witch put a spell on you?” Petru asked earnestly.

  “Yes, Petru. So I need you to trust me and do as I ask, even if you don’t understand why.”

  This would be a problem for most men, to trust so completely without an explanation. It would be a problem for most women, too. She knew that she was asking a lot.

  “I trust you, Miss Katerina,” Petru said without hesitation.

  “Thank you, Petru.” She exhaled deeply, as if she’d just dropped a heavy burden.

  “Can you tell me which witch?”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t the Baba Yaga, was it? I thought she’d forgiven me and Sasha both.”

  Katerina leaped at the opportunity. “No, it wasn’t her, but we’re going to need to summon her. She’s the only one who can take care of this witch.”

  “Grace Stregaria can’t do it? She is very powerful. And she—”

  “No,” Katerina interrupted. “We need the Baba Yaga.”

  “Say her name and ask her to protect you.”

  “Just say her name and ask for protection? That’s it? No chalices of lamb’s blood, no crying babies, no weird plants gathered in the waning light of an October moon?” Katerina asked.

  “Nope. We’re all born with one chance to receive her help. All we have to do is ask.”

  “What about all of those stories that we heard as children?”

  “To make you do what you’re told, of course. In the heart of all those fairy tales there’s both a lesson and a universal fear. The Baba Yaga is traditionally an old woman, and men are frightened of old women because they can no longer be dominated through sex.” Petru shrugged.

  “Petru.” Katerina kissed his cheek. “I think that you’re much smarter than anyone gives you credit for.”

  “You’re the only one.” He swatted her lightly on the rump.

  “So, this isn’t going to work like I’d planned. This is both harder and easier at the same time. I need to be in immediate danger before I ask her to protect me. I thought I could just conjure her and she’d take that horrible hag away, that we could then bounce merrily along the happily-ever-after trail. Nothing is ever that easy, is it?”

  “No,” Petru agreed. “But that doesn’t mean we stop hoping.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. And it doesn’t mean we stop searching for happiness.” Petru picked her up with one hand and threw her over his shoulder like a beloved sack of flour. Hauling her into the bedroom, he said, “We’ll start in here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jack and Jill Went Up a Hill, and Michael Came Tumbling Down

  It was day three of his seclusion, and not one soul had entered the bar. Not Sasha, not Petru, not Ethelred, and certainly not Grace. She apparently wasn’t taking his threat very seriously. But why would she? She was off cavorting with her demon lover.

  Speaking of demon lovers, he hadn’t seen Jill again, and he wanted to know exactly why not. He’d called for Ethelred, called for him until his voice went hoarse, but still no response. He was running out of options. If he had to, he’d summon the Devil to get this done. Of course, he wasn’t sure what he had left to offer as payment. And did it make sense to keep moving up the food chain?

  Strangely enough, it hadn’t occurred to him to leave. This was where he did business, where
he was the most comfortable. He was accustomed to people coming to him. If it had occurred to him to leave, he would have found exit impossible. Jill had used her powers to seal the bar off from the rest of the world. There would be no one in or out until she declared it so. But Michael hadn’t spent enough time with himself. Not yet.

  It was alone and in a melancholy mood that Michael now sat, jacking off in the middle of his bar, daring Fate to send someone strolling in to catch him with his cock in hand. The direction of his thoughts scared him a bit. He’d always pondered dark things, fantasized about hurting people when he was pleasuring himself, so that didn’t bother him. In fact, he’d jacked off on a recent prostitute after he killed her. Nothing as foul as touching the body, no, but her death had excited him so much that he’d wanted to come. But now he was jacking off while imagining that he was the strangled whore.

  He took a cable and tied it around his neck, tightening it just a little to add to the fantasy. Then he pulled too hard and awoke three hours later with his dick still in hand and hard as a rock. No one had been in or out of the bar. So, he continued his activity but couldn’t get off.

  Suddenly, the jukebox blazed to life, and Elvis was singing a song he’d never recorded—“I Touch Myself ” by the Divinyls. The bar was full; he was surrounded by people. Jill was working the counter and smiling, and there were two “made” guys sitting at Michael’s very table. Both paused with their drinks halfway to their lips, staring at him. His cock was out and he was fisting it furiously. There in front of everyone.

  “What the fuck are you looking at?” he demanded, and found he could not stop.

  “Not sure, Grigorovich. I’m really not.” The man nearest put down his drink. “I don’t think you know either.” A couple of other patrons stopped what they were doing to watch Michael as well.

  “I could kill you for your insolence,” he growled.

  “Yeah, if you could stop beating your dick. Maybe.” The guy started to guffaw.

  Michael was about to come. For that reason he figured fuck it, he’d already gone this far, he might as well finish the job. But his pistol suddenly wilted like a three-week-old cucumber forgotten in the back of the refrigerator. It made him gasp like a girl being rudely felt up at her first dance.

  He kept smacking the shit out of himself, but it wasn’t for pleasure. He was going to will the thing into submission. There was no way he’d ever live it down if he couldn’t get it back up, and he intended to make a mess all over the guy smirking in the seat next to him. There didn’t seem to be any other way out of this predicament.

  Jill slid next to him into the booth. “I think you better go, boys. I’ll handle this.” The bar was suddenly empty again.

  Michael blinked. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just trying to help. Do you want me to stop?” The demonic redhead bit her bottom lip and looked innocently up at him, taking his wilted cucumber in hand.

  “No, no,” he said. “Keep going.”

  “You like that, don’t you?” she murmured. “I know everything you want.”

  He moaned, his flesh springing back to life. He was almost ready to come. But Jill pinched the base of his penis to keep him from finding release. “Yeah, I know everything you want, and you’re not going to get it. You’ll never come again. Not without my say-so. And I’m never going to—”

  Michael sat up in bed, screaming. He flipped the covers back to check his cock and found it lying sedately against his thigh. He wasn’t in his bar, and Jill was nowhere nearby.

  A sudden fear found him, so he thought of Grace naked. Nothing. His cock didn’t even twitch. He thought of strangling Grace. Still nothing. Michael thought of Jill and her knee-high stripper boots, and those tight leather pants hugging her ass, but still the beast would not awaken. It couldn’t be stirred.

  Just what exactly had he done to deserve this, he wondered. He was a good businessman, he provided incomes for many people who otherwise wouldn’t have one, and he was earning a place for himself in the afterlife. Sure he killed a hooker or two, or sometimes his associates, but they were bad people. So, why was he being tormented?

  Oh. Maybe things were finally moving into place because Grace had come to her senses. He was being tested by Hell. Michael could deal with that, as it was a temporary situation. It was just a scenario brought up to see what he would do if they cursed him with random impotence. They were seeing if he’d make a good demon, maybe. Ethelred had told him that something like this could happen when he’d cured his demon crabs, after another contract, of course.

  He peeked back down at the sleeping snake between his thighs. It was still there, at least. This punishment or testing could have been much worse. Much worse, indeed. He breathed in, breathed out.

  Now that he thought about it, the dream had been fairly similar to real life. The bar had indeed been quiet for the past three nights. But it wasn’t like Jill was really out to get him, and in the dream she’d been a malicious presence bent on his destruction. She’d seemed pretty hot for him the other night, and he wasn’t sure what could change in two days. Then again, women were mercurial creatures.

  So, he hadn’t seen Ethelred for three days. That had to be a coincidence, right? He’d summon him to see what was up. Maybe they could hang out, take in a boxing match and have some beers, shoot the proverbial shit. The two of them would be peers when everything was said and done, so it made sense that they should hang out and get to know each other better. Right? Right.

  Mind made up, Michael settled down into his overstuffed, king-size bed and prepared to go back to sleep. But as he rolled over, something ice cold touched his skin. Ice cold and clammy, like a fish.

  He didn’t want to look. Michael had that same feeling he’d had when he looked down and found those demon crabs munching on his nads. But he couldn’t just lie there like a prepubescent girl who believed staying very still would keep the monsters from getting her; Michael Grigorovich was one of those monsters, and he knew firsthand that they didn’t go away. They just took their time getting ready to pounce.

  He opened his eyes slowly and found himself face-to-face with the body of the dead hooker that had made him so hard in his dream. Well, he wasn’t hard now, and his mouth was open with no sound coming out.

  The corpse was smiling, her red hair plastered to her forehead with what appeared to be sweat. “That was great, lover. Care to go again?” it said. It looked like it was smiling where its lips had rotted away.

  Then it was Jill, naked and whole and herself. Though, now she looked more familiar. There was something about her he should recognize, that he should recall, but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

  Something was wrong, here. Nothing seemed real. He was lost in a black fugue of pain and confusion. But the worst was the humiliation. His biggest and only fear. It gave him a sick hope.

  If this was Hell testing him, he was determined to be worthy of the challenge.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Crime and Punishment

  Seraphim found herself on the receiving end of a very .sharp slap on the rump, and Hades’ fingers felt like they had stingers when he wanted.

  “I have to punish you,” he said as if he actually regretted it.

  “For what?”

  “You know exactly for what. For harassing our granddaughter. Leave Grace and her man alone.”

  “He’s not a man, he’s a demon. I know the kind of pain she’s opening herself up for. It’s not worth it.” Seraphim wasn’t about to bullied on this. Just because she’d fallen back into bed with a demon was no reason for her granddaughter to make the same choice.

  “Didn’t he get her to realize that Nikoli wasn’t real?”

  “It broke her heart!” Seraphim said.

  Hades stared at her. “Better her heart than her life.”

  Seraphim shrugged. “I still don’t like it. Especially after I specifically told her not to go and
consort with him anymore.” She felt like sticking her tongue out at him. It worked for Grace.

  “It’s not your life, Sera. It’s hers. Grace has embraced her demon heritage to be with Caspian. And he loves her. He’s even grown a heart for her. He’s given up his demonhood, his magick, his immortality—”

  “What?” Seraphim almost screeched. “How is he going to keep her safe if he’s just a man?”

  “First you didn’t want her to love a demon and now you don’t want her to love a man. Which is it, Seraphim? No matter how much you’d like to, you can’t relive your own choices through your granddaughter.”

  “I’m not trying to relive my choices,” Seraphim said huffily. “I wouldn’t change any of them.”

  “Even your deal with me?” Hades asked.

  “Even that,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t have had Aurora without you, and I am thankful for every second of her life that I got to share. I guess we did that right.”

  “We certainly did.” Hades sighed. “Look, Sera, I know I don’t have the best track record. Persephone dropped me like a bad habit almost right after we were married, but I’d like to think I’ve changed in a couple of centuries. I really do love you, and I’m asking you to marry me. Again.”

  “Right now?” Seraphim asked.

  “That’s not the response I’m looking for, Seraphim Stregaria. I don’t want to have to remind you of your promise, but I will if I have to.”

  “Isn’t that what cost you Persephone? Twisting a contract to make her stay against her will?”

  “No, it was her unnaturally attached mother, Demeter. She just wouldn’t let go. All that six-months-out-of-the-year crap was too much for Persephone to handle. Wanna talk about a meddlesome mother-in-law? She doesn’t get her way once and the whole damn world is covered in snow. Talk about a tantrum.”