Theresa tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Do you think it's really true he's the best lover in the Afterlife? Because if it's true, and he'll buy you nice clothes, well, it's something to consider. I bet he'd let you kill anyone you wanted."
"I've heard he's very good in bed," Iris agreed, then she looked at Justine. "'Worse' would be spending eternity in one of Satan's torture chambers. If I have to go to hell, going as his one and only is the way to do it."
"God, Mom, that's not exactly a reassuring sentiment!" Justine felt like her head was about to explode. How could they really be having this conversation? "Why don't we aim for you not going to hell at all? Isn't that the better plan?"
"It would be best, of course, but we don't always get what we want." Iris patted Justine's knee. "The real problem is that you don't have a good option like I do, sweetie. If you fail the Qualifying Incident, you'll end up in hell, and it won't be as Satan's honey. You'd have a really bad time."
"A bad time? A bad time?" Understatement of the millennia, anyone? If you went to hell as one of the commoners, you didn't get designer clothes and unlimited orgasms. You got tortured and disemboweled while still alive, and other such lovely things. "Why are you telling me this now?"
"I want you to be prepared. Melvin's trying to get the purgatory officials to manufacture a Qualifying Incident for you before Satan's petition goes through. If I can get to heaven before a decision is made, we're all set."
The tension in her shoulders eased. "Okay, so that's good, right?"
"Only if you make the right choice," Theresa said. "If you don't, your mom's screwed. Literally. And you'll be damned for all eternity. That's some serious pressure riding on you, girlfriend."
She glared at Theresa. "Thank you for that editorial."
Theresa puckered her lips and blew her a kiss. "Anytime, sweetie. You know I'll be by your side."
Iris cleared her throat, drawing their attention back to her. "If Melvin succeeds in creating a Qualifying Incident, you could face one soon, but if Satan finds out what's going on, he might try to persuade you to choose the dark path so he gets me."
Whoa. "Satan might interfere? In my life? "
"Maybe. I don't know. I mean, for all I know, Melvin won't be able to convince them to create a Qualifying Incident for you anyway. Or maybe Satan wouldn't find out. But on the chance these things happen, I wanted to give you a heads up. I couldn't live with myself if you ended up having your hands cut off and then being forced to drink acid for eternity just because you weren't prepared. Be aware of the pressure to make the wrong choice. Don't give in to your dark side."
Justine blinked. "I would never give in."
Iris smiled. "That's my girl. Keep telling yourself that." She looked at Theresa. "You need to help her, Theresa. It won't be easy, I know it."
"I'm all over it. If Satan interferes, I'll fry his ass while Justine does what she needs to do. It'll work out just fine."
Iris frowned. "You have issues with violence, Theresa. You do realize that, don't you?"
The dragon blinked. "Of course, I do. It's a dragon thing."
The loud ringing sounded again, signaling that Iris's portal to purgatory was opening again for the return trip. Iris began to fade. "I have to go. I'll come back when I can." And then she was gone.
For a long moment, neither roommate moved or spoke.
What was there to say? Nothing, and everything. Justine didn't even know where to start.
Finally, Theresa whistled softly. "Damn, girlfriend. How does it feel to know that it's completely up to you as to whether your mom ends up Satan's sex toy for eternity?"
She glared at her roommate. "It's not a joke."
"Sorry. I know." Theresa shifted restlessly, grimacing. "It's the stress. I'm a little strung out about this. Your mom is kind of a badass. I know she'd be okay with the world's greatest lover as a forever partner, but you are so not tough enough for an eternity in hell. But if Iris won't let us take Satan out, I have no idea how else to help you on this one."
Unfortunately, neither did Justine.
Chapter Five
It was nine in the morning the day after Les's demise, and Derek hadn't moved from his desk in fourteen hours, except to load up on caffeine. He'd been researching all night, trying to find the clue that he'd missed.
The clock was ticking.
Less than seven days now.
Death was coming.
He had to find the Guardian now.
He paused to take a long swig of his espresso macchiato, rubbing his eyes blearily as he stared at the journal full of images he'd looked at a thousand times, sketched by his ancestor, Carl LaValle.
If Carl's journal was right, both the dragon and the Guardian were immortal, and therefore would still be alive, which meant that they were out there, somewhere, findable. But where?
The immortality thing was yet another reason why Derek's family had dismissed the journal's contents. Dragons, immortality, and curses? Only a lunatic would believe that crap.
Except Derek knew he wasn't a lunatic. He was sure of it…most days. But every now and then, he doubted himself. If the Guardian and the dragon truly existed, how could he search his whole life and never find them?
But he wasn't giving up. He had no doubt that death was coming for him and Quin, so he'd fight until that damned cotton ball or toothbrush took him out.
With a sigh, he finished his espresso, then opened the journal to study yet another sketch of the Guardian. Even drawn in black and white on the yellowing antique paper, Derek could still tell she was beautiful.
No, beautiful didn't do justice to her. Beautiful was too simple. She was arresting. The way she was standing with her hip cocked and a sword dangling casually from her right hand, she looked ready to fight. At the same time, her hair was long and thick, utterly feminine as stray tendrils curled around her neck. Despite the time period, she was wearing pants and high boots, and her chin was lifted. He felt like she was staring right at him, daring him to come for her.
Yet, despite her fierceness, there was also something temptingly vulnerable about her. Maybe it was her petite stature. Maybe it was the way her lips pressed together, as if she were suppressing emotions she didn't want to share. Maybe it was simply the slant of her nose, or the shape of her eyes.
He studied her eyes more closely, almost wishing he could see them in person. What color were they? A muted shade of moss green? A vibrant bold blue? Or the deep richness of an earthy brown? And her lips—
He stopped.
Shit. He was fantasizing about her again. There was no space for that, not now that it was becoming increasingly likely that he was going to have to kill her as soon as he found her.
He had done everything possible to avoid coming to this moment, this final path that would result in him having to behead her, but all other options had failed.
Finding her and killing her was the only option left…if he could find her.
He doubted he'd ever find her, specifically. A woman could disappear easily. But a dragon? Much more difficult to remain unnoticed.
Carl had included a few renderings of a dragon he claimed was the best friend of the Guardian. It was the sketches of the dragon that had convinced Derek's family that Carl's journal contained nothing but the rantings of a lunatic. Everyone knew dragons didn't exist, right? Yeah, true, the fountain of youth was also a thing of myths and folklore, but some people in his family would have loved to switch from plastic surgery to magical water, so they were almost willing to accept its existence as a possibility. Dragons? Not so much.
Derek was certain the dragon was the key to finding the Guardian. How well could a dragon hide? Someone had to have seen it over the years.
He opened the magnifying glass app on his phone and leaned over the journal to study the dragon, pausing over each scale so he could inspect it carefully. Nothing new, nothing that he hadn't seen before—
He froze, staring at the tattoo on the dragon's neck.
&nb
sp; He'd seen that tattoo recently. Son of a bitch. But where?
Quickly, he set down the journal and grabbed his computer. His hands trembling with adrenaline, he typed a description of the tattoo into the search bar. All the usual sites popped up, and he skimmed them quickly, finding nothing he hadn't already seen a thousand times. He tried three other descriptions, but again, nothing new came up.
Dammit. Where had he seen it? He couldn’t remember. He always searched for pictures of the Guardian and the dragon every few months or so, hoping that maybe a picture of one of them would appear. He hadn't searched in a few months because he'd been working other leads, but had that been a mistake? What had come up? What had he been reading lately? Where had he seen that tattoo?
Scowling, he sat back, drumming his fingers on his desk, trying to think.
Finally, he just typed "dragon" into the search bar.
The search results filled with recent links that led to articles and images for the new Puff the Magic Dragon movie. His gut tightened at the thumbnail image of a blueish-green winged dragon.
He hadn't seen that dragon before.
Silently, he clicked the link, and a full-size image popped up.
He sucked in his breath, reeling in shock. It looked like the dragon from Carl's journal.
Impossible. Right?
He pulled the journal over and set it beside his screen, going over the two dragons inch by inch. Same earrings. Same thumb ring on her left claw. He enlarged the screen image and looked closer, and his breath caught. There it was. The tattoo on the underside of the dragon's neck. It was the same design as the tattoo on the dragon in the journal, an unusual symbol he'd never been able to match to anything. Until now.
He sat back, stunned.
A match couldn't be a coincidence. According to the Journal, the dragon rarely went out in public. Who else would know what the dragon looked like? The journal hadn't left his family's possession since it was written. So, it had to be someone who had seen the dragon, who knew it well enough to get every detail right. He was laying bets that whoever had designed that dragon was either the Guardian, the dragon, or a descendent of one of them.
Which meant he'd found them.
He grabbed his phone and called the movie studio.
Twenty minutes later, he was an investor in a new film and had the name and address of the designer who had created the dragon. For money, people would do anything, including violate the privacy of their independent contractor animation designer who was living in New York.
New York City! She was less than twenty minutes away! It was time. After a lifetime of hunting, he had his first lead…with seven days to go!
Justine Bennett.
It was the perfect name for her. He didn't know why, but it fit the image he had of her in his mind. Smart. Sexy. Tough.
Damn. He was going to meet her. His gut told him that Justine was the Guardian, the woman in the journal. The one he was going to have to kill—
Shit. He didn't want to think about that. Maybe a friendly chat could solve the issue, and no beheading would need to occur.
He had to go chat with the Guardian. Holy shit! He grabbed his keys and shoved back from his desk, his heart racing. He sprinted over to the door and reached for it—
It flew open and Becca blocked his path, standing with her hands on her hips. "Stop!"
He stopped, because what else do you do when a badass in a crimson suit blocks your path? "What?"
Her short black hair was sticking out at all angles, her blue eyes narrowed. "Where are you going?"
"Out. I think I found that woman I've been searching for." He had told Becca he was researching an ancient goblet and a historical myth, but she had no idea how it related to his personal life. He'd been tempted to clue her in so she could assist him, but he hadn't succumbed yet. She didn't exactly seem like the type to believe in curses and dragons. She was much too literal and business-minded.
She folded her arms and spread her feet, taking up even more of the doorway. "No way. The McDonald's team will be here in ten minutes. You're not leaving."
"You rescheduled?" Damn, she was good.
"They accepted the death of your cousin as a legitimate excuse." She raised an eyebrow. "I assume you didn't kill him on purpose just to have a reason not to come back to the office?"
An edge in her tone caught his attention. "You think I killed him?"
She tilted her head. "I doubt it, but if it would mean you'd get more time to do research, it wouldn't surprise me."
Was he really that bad? Nah, she was giving him a hard time. He wasn't that obsessed. Murdering his own kin to avoid a business meeting was definitely outside the scope of his pursuits. Maybe not far outside it, but definitely outside. "Can you handle the meeting? I really need to go."
"No. I'm not letting you out of your office until the meeting is over." Becca shifted to block the doorway even more effectively. "After the meeting, I will be happy to drive you to meet this woman and anyone else you want to visit."
He knew the look on her face. There was no way he was getting past her.
And she was right. This meeting was important. The Guardian had been around for two hundred years. What did another couple hours matter? He wasn't scheduled to die until next week, so he had time. Plus, if he lived, he wanted the company he'd founded in honor of his dad to continue to thrive. He looked at his watch. "I can give you an hour."
"It'll take longer than that. Dunkin' Donuts is next."
He swore under his breath. "I can't wait that long—" He stopped when he saw her lips tighten. It was slight, so slight that it was barely noticeable, but he knew Becca so well that he noticed it.
He knew what it meant. It meant that right now, this moment, was not simply about the job.
This company mattered to her on a personal level. He got the sense she came from a tough background, and she had nothing else in her life except her career, and she'd given everything to this company. He'd already named her as the head of Vic's if he died, and he owed it to her to make sure she had something to manage.
He swore under his breath, but nodded. He could make this work. "Give me five minutes to call Quincy, and then I'll be ready."
"I'm guarding the door."
He grinned. "I don't pay you enough, do I?"
She flashed him a genuine smile. "I'd do this job for free. I love it."
"You love bossing me around."
She shrugged. "Call me a control freak. I like being in charge of lots of money and powerful men, and I like having the title of CEO." Anger flashed in her eyes. "You let me call the shots. I'd give anything for this kind of power in all areas of my life."
He frowned at the simmering rage on her face. "Everything okay with you, Becks?" he asked softly. He didn't know much about Becca's personal life. She'd made it clear it was off limits, and he'd never been able to get a single detail about it from her, but for her to show this much emotion meant that something was weighing on her.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "You have eight minutes left. Better make the call to your brother." She spun away and snarled at one of the regional directors when he tried to joke with her. "Eight minutes, LaValle. Be ready."
"I'm on it." He shut the door and retreated into his office.
Becca was right. He'd been neglecting Vic's pretzels.
He jotted a note to himself to go over his will one more time. If he died, Becca had to stay on as the head of Vic's or the business would go down, and his entire extended family would starve without the income from Vic's to support them. They were a ruthless bunch of haters, and they'd try to wrest control from her. He had to make sure she was entrenched. He sensed that she needed Vic's as much as the company needed her.
Then he dialed Quin's office number. His brother answered on the eighth ring. "Quin here."
Renewed excitement thrummed through Derek. "I might have found her. At the very least, I've definitely got a strong link to her."
"Her? Her who?"
>
"The Guardian."
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
"Did you hear me? I found the Guardian, Quin. I found her. She lives in New York City. Can you believe it?"
Quincy finally replied, skepticism heavy in his voice. "What makes you so certain you found her?"
Derek gave Quin the recap on the dragon sighting. When he was finished, Quincy sighed. "You didn't find the Guardian. You found the designer of an animated dragon."
"It's the same dragon. Trust me, I've been searching pictures of dragons for years. This is the first match I've found."
"Derek—"
"I need you to do me a favor."
Quin gave the long-suffering grunt of brotherly irritation. "What now?"
"Go visit this woman. I have meetings all morning that I need to attend. Just go see her. Feel her out. I don't want to wait until tonight on this. What if the production company calls her and tells her they gave out her name? I think it would benefit us to catch her by surprise."
"You want me to visit some random woman and ask her if she's a Guardian of the Goblet of Eternal Youth and has a best friend who's a dragon?"
"No, I'll do that. You just meet her and run some math equations on her. See if they compute." Quin might not believe in the Curse, but he was very perceptive. If there was something off about Justine Bennett, Quincy would know.
"Fine. I'll stop by after my next class. Name and address, please."
"Fantastic! Thanks!" Derek rattled them off, his adrenaline pumping again. "Call me the minute you've talked to her. I'll take the call even if I'm in a meeting."
"Fine." Quin hung up on him just as Becca stuck her head back in the room.
"Got a couple minutes to go over strategy before the meeting?" she asked. She'd ditched her anger and was back to her usual efficient professionalism, which was good for the meeting, but he didn't buy it. Something was wrong with his number two, and as soon as he lived past next week, he was going to focus on her and find out what it was.
But for now? It was business first, break the Curse next. "Let's do it." He pulled the McDonald's file in front of him.
Darkness Awakened Page 39
