Demons Are a Girl’s Best Friend

by Linda Wisdom

  “How bad is it?” Not that he needed to hear the report. He’d already seen the disaster that had been his club. Months of work destroyed in seconds. But his second-in-command wasn’t happy unless he could put it into a report for Declan to survey.

  The imp that stood in front of him was about as ugly as you could get and scary enough to cause a lifetime worth of nightmares. Luckily Snips was as organized as a brownie, didn’t tolerate bullshit, and was as loyal as you could get, considering imps were better known for pulling pranks than holding actual jobs.

  But Snips had good reason to remain solidly by Declan’s side. The demon was known for protecting those who were devoted to him. Declan was aware that Snips hadn’t had a very happy existence before he took over the club. Now the imp didn’t have to worry about being beaten, or worse, if he said one wrong word.

  “That whole room will need fire blasting to get the Bloater shit off the walls, floor, bar, and the furniture. And that’s not to mention the smell it left behind. That witch did a number on the place, Declan, and we’re left to clean it up. We should send the Guard the bill.” Snips frowned as he gazed with mismatched eyes at the ever-present PDA he was holding in his eggplant-colored claws.

  “We can’t totally blame her, Snips. To be technical, the mess came from the Bloater when he was destroyed.” Declan recalled the ease with which Maggie O’Malley had caught the creature. A smooth efficient job—even if the oily mixture had ended up everywhere and he had been forced to close the club hours too early. Declan had heard stories of what happened when a Bloater was executed. Too bad those stories didn’t tell all, or he would have barred it from the club.

  “She just did her job, even though I wish she’d lured him outside to the parking lot before executing him.” He leaned back in the buttery-soft, black leather chair, one hand still cupped around the glass. Steam curled upward in tiny coils as the once icy vodka now bubbled.

  “The Hellion Guard prides itself on not going into a situation unless necessary. The questions I have are, what did the Bloater do to cause their attention to be directed on him, and why were they here to confront him? Is there a reason why we didn’t receive any courtesy foreknowledge that this incident was going down?” He speared his assistant with a cold gaze. “Our intelligence claims to be as good as the Guard’s. What happened?”

  The imp didn’t back down. “We have never bothered with the Bloaters. They are the lowest of the low and not worthy of our attention. While we are not happy when they come here, they do spend a great deal of coin.”

  “For something not worthy of our attention, it was still spending that coin in my club and in some way should have been protected from the Guard interference—or at least escorted outside where the damage could have been better contained.”

  The scent of sulfur intensified in the room, and Snips instinctively stepped back as his boss’s eyes glowed dark orange. Declan picked up a cigar and snipped the end. Not bothering with a lighter, he put it between his lips and puffed once. The end glowed cherry red, and rich aromatic smoke coiled upward.

  The imp kept his slit-shaped eyes on his boss even as he struggled not to retreat any further. “No one sensed any reason to bar it from the club. Bloaters are known to battle more among themselves than with others. They have been in the club before and never caused a problem. Ratchet said anyone with coin that didn’t make trouble could enter.” Unspoken was what happened to anyone who did cause trouble in the club. They were never heard of again.

  A dark-red candle that sat on the corner of Declan’s polished ebony desk suddenly shot up in a white-hot flame that upped the temperature in the room a good fifty degrees. The flame soon settled into a gentle illumination, but the powerful heat remained.

  “Then I am certain you will find out why the Bloater had the Hellion Guard on its ass. And you will tell me before nightfall.” Declan stared at Snips as he set the cigar in an onyx ashtray. “I’m sure the club will be put back to rights as soon as possible, under your direction.”

  “I will need to bring through more workers to have the work done quickly,” Snips warned.

  “Do it, but make sure they are trustworthy and that they understand it’s only a temporary visit to this plane and that they will be returned as soon as the work is finished. No boons will be granted. This is purely a work-for-hire position, and they aren’t allowed to leave the club under any circumstances. They are to be watched at all times.”

  The imp nodded and rapidly punched a few keys on his PDA. “The report is on your computer.” He bobbed his head again and left the office.

  Left alone, Declan stared at the candle, willing the flame to extinguish. As a barometer of his temper, the candle was infallible and an excellent way for him to work on not burning anything down.

  He may have been only half a fire demon, but there was enough heat in him to level a large city in seconds. It only took a good sneeze at the age of four for him to burn down two houses. After that, his nannies were required to learn powerful fire-extinguishing spells and ordered to keep tight control over him.

  He’d wanted a purpose to his existence. The chance six months ago to own this club was the beginning, even if it came with stipulations such as overseeing the portal. He was responsible for seeing that traffic was logged in and out and that certain demons didn’t stay long in this realm. Some were to be barred altogether, but Declan knew better. If you had the right bribe, you could easily come through the magickal doorway. For demons, it was about what you had and were willing to trade.

  But the excitement had started to wane right after he renovated the club to look as dark and dangerous as he felt and had named it as befitted his nature. He’d worked hard to erase all signs of Ratchet’s influence in the building, so that it would feel all his. The underground club had been here for years, each new owner changing it to his personal specifications.

  But there was always a price for that windfall, and if owners didn’t follow the rules, they would find themselves dead. Declan’s predecessors were well and truly gone. He didn’t intend to follow their paths. He would do whatever it took to remain here, run his club, and create a new existence for himself. By agreeing to the terms of his new life, he could do that and more.

  But lately, Declan felt the need to have something in his life other than the club. His existence had been lonely for so long, and now he felt the need for a mate. What caught his eye was a sassy witch who made him smile.

  The question was if the interest was returned.

  ***

  “How you can eat all that in the middle of the night and not get sick is just… wrong.” Sybil eyed what looked like a mile-high sundae that Maggie was consuming.

  Scoops of peppermint ice cream were covered with marshmallow cream and dusted with tinted coconut, providing a colorful display. To make it last as long as possible, Maggie used a long-handled iced tea spoon.

  Sybil returned to her one scoop of butter pecan ice cream topped with a spoonful of warm caramel sauce.

  “Don’t forget to clean up the mess before you leave,” Tantris, the gnome that ran the kitchens, warned them. “And no taking it into the games room, either. When any of you do that, you forget to return the dishes.”

  “Spoilsport,” Maggie muttered, spooning up her frozen treat.

  “I have more to do than clean up after you. Do you think a 1,000-pound boar can roast itself? Who’s going to make sure the marinade is properly applied if I’m not out there to oversee the work?” He walked away with the rolling gait of a longtime sailor.

  “Tyrant.” The word held affection and not insult. After all, the teams wouldn’t survive without Tantris ruling the kitchens that fed so many people and creatures at all hours of the day or night.

  “One day you’ll push him too far, and he’ll cut you off,” Sybil warned. “He comes up with more ice cream flavors than Baskin-Robbins could ever think of.”

  Maggie sighed. “True, although there have been a few that I’d never want to
try. Remember when he had all those leftover oysters?” She shuddered. “That was totally disgusting.”

  The elf waited until Maggie had another spoonful of ice cream and coconut before speaking again.

  “Tell me about this Declan, Maggie.”

  The ice cream immediately slid down the wrong way, and Maggie began choking. Sybil didn’t have a chance to hop out of her seat to save her before a passing giant thumped Maggie on the back so hard she shot out of her chair.

  “Thanks Otos… I think,” Maggie choked, accepting his hand as he pulled her to her feet.

  “Take smaller bites,” he advised in a deep, reverberating voice before he walked away, each footstep sounding like the beginning rumbles of an earthquake.

  “So he’s that hot.” Sybil’s lips parted in a wide smile. “I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t spend so much time in the compound. How I wish I were on your team. I’d love to see him in person.” She spooned up more ice cream.

  “No biggie. He’s a fire demon. Not someone I’d care to hang out with. He hosts Bloaters at his club, for Fates’ sake. I’m positive ‘sarcasm’ is his middle name.”

  “And here I thought that was your middle name,” the comely elf murmured. Her wings wafted more lavender and vanilla.

  “Mal wants me to find out what Declan’s doing here,” Maggie said.

  Sybil raised an elegant eyebrow at Maggie’s disgruntled tone. “But he said that Kittan can’t do research for you, so that means you have to do all the grunt work.”

  “Mal’s punishing me.” Maggie waved her spoon in the air and then quickly lapped the coconut off the bottom of the utensil.

  “Again?” Sybil giggled and then quickly backed off. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Besides, why such a long face? If Mal told me I had to investigate a sexy male, I would be all over him.”

  “Okay, Syb, that word choice doesn’t work. The image of you all over Mal is pretty gross.”

  Sybil ignored that remark. “We all know that demons are very private. They may mingle with others, but that’s very limited. They are usually vigilant about who they hang with. I can imagine the only reason Declan is around so many of our kind is because of the club.”

  Maggie’s mind clicked away like a computer. “I can’t see Mal having any interest in Declan. It’s got to be about the club.”

  “The club, as in the portal, since we know all their clubs have portals.” Since Sybil had already finished her ice cream, she now dared to steal some of Maggie’s. The witch was so occupied with her thoughts that she didn’t think to object. “Demons coming in and out. Creating mischief.”

  “Creating turmoil and bloodshed is more like it. Hey!” She playfully swatted Sybil’s spoon away from her dish. “Go get your own.”

  “I’ve already had mine, and now I’m saving you from a million calories. So when are we visiting Damnation Alley so I can see this demonic hottie for myself?”

  Maggie stared at her friend, whose usual attire was lilac or soft cream in spider web silk. The short, angled hemline showed off slender legs and feet encased in ballet-style slippers. “Uh, Syb, even if you do a great job being truly scary when you’re in interrogator mode, you still look more Tinker Bell than Xena.”

  “We’re talking going clubbing and dancing, Maggie, not taking down any big bads,” Sybil argued, then pleaded, “I wanna go dancing. I wanna meet some sexy males.”

  “Mal would draw and quarter me if I took you to Damnation Alley and something happened to you.”

  Sybil’s ethereal features shifted to a rarely seen stubborn expression. One that Maggie knew meant the elf wouldn’t back down. “I’ll be perfectly safe if I’m with you.”

  Maggie swallowed her sigh. “The dress code at Damnation Alley tends to be black with a lot of chains, fangs, and claws.”

  “I have a gorgeous dark-purple dress, and I can appear as forbidding as you when you’re doing the one-hot-mama look.” Sybil sat back in her chair and stared at her friend. “What else is bothering you? There’s something else on your mind, isn’t there?”

  Maggie made a face. “Arius filed a grievance against me. It seems he didn’t like his last training session in the gym. One tiny cut the healer took care of in seconds. You’d think I’d cut off a limb.”

  ”I think he has a crush on you.”

  “Sure. You always file a grievance when you have a crush on someone. He just wants to make my life miserable, and he’s doing a good job of it.”

  “I’d call it a good way for Arius to get your attention, even if he went about it the wrong way. Come on, Maggie. You have to admit he’s cute. He makes me think of a cuddly, awkward puppy you want to pick up and hug.”

  “The last thing I need in my life is a puppy. Still, as long as he doesn’t hump my leg or pee on my shoes, I won’t have to kill him. You’d think he’d know better than to file a grievance against me. It’s just going to make it harder for him when he takes my classes. For Fates’ sake, if Arius had done that to Zouk, he’d have been turned into something you could scrape off the highway.”

  As Maggie stared at the slowly melting remains of her mega-sundae, she realized that her eyes had very much outweighed her stomach. A buzz was rolling around in her head, and she was positive one more bite would send her reeling into a sugar coma.

  “The club probably won’t be open for a few weeks,” she mused. “That Bloater made a pretty huge mess when it exploded. I wouldn’t want to be on that cleanup crew.” She took one look at Sybil’s face and sighed. “Fine. You and I will check out Damnation Alley when the place is open for business again.”

  Sybil’s squeal bounced around the room. “This will be so much fun. We haven’t gone out together in ages.”

  “Oh, yeah, it’s going to be a blast,” Maggie muttered, picking up her dishes. “Want to play Grim Reaper Blaster?” She grinned in anticipation of one of her favorite video games.

  “I want to choose the game,” Sybil groused. “You always win at that one.”

  “Who’s in angst here?” She batted her eyes.

  “Fine, but after one game, we play one of my choices.” Sybil stood up.

  Maggie thought about it. “Deal.”

  An hour later she entered her quarters, first noticing that her wastebasket was empty, the bed covers were pulled back, and fresh towels were set out in the bathroom. Even the mess in the shower had been cleaned up, and the tile sparkled.

  But her biggest surprise was seeing her once Bloater-spattered top and skirt now immaculate and neatly draped over a chair. A small note covered with neat calligraphy topped the clothing.

  Do not ever leave a horrific mess like this again.

  There was no doubt the note was more than a warning. It was a promise that if she did, she’d end up without domestic service for centuries.

  Maggie stopped at her dresser and gazed at the tiny painted portrait of a small girl’s smiling face. I love you, Margit.

  “I love you, too, Aleta,” she whispered, thinking of the sister she couldn’t save so many years ago and her vow that no one else would lose a loved one if she could help it.

  She didn’t bother undressing but merely fell on the bed, and, thanks to the beginnings of a sugar coma, she had no trouble falling asleep immediately.

  ***

  Something was very wrong here.

  “My dreams usually involve old boyfriends who suddenly sprout fangs and fur,” Maggie said from her seated position on a brick-colored couch that was as comfy as it looked. Scented candles were scattered around the room, the soft fragrance of spice permeating the air. She looked over the back of the furniture when she heard a door open and close and a familiar male figure walked in.

  “What are you doing here?” they asked at the same time.

  “You’re in my dream,” Maggie told him, still not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. She cast a quick glance downward. Oh good. No sexy lingerie, leather bras, or corsets along with thigh-high boots. She was dressed simply in her favorite
gray jeans and sage cotton T-shirt. Her feet were bare, and she caught a glimpse of her ankle bracelet.

  “No, you’re in my dream, Margit,” Declan stated, deliberately using her birth name. She wondered where he gained her real name, when there was no way of learning his. He walked around the couch and dropped into a navy easy chair. Like Maggie, he wore jeans and T-shirt, but in unrelieved black, while his dark hair stuck up in unruly disarray, as if he’d just climbed out of bed.

  “I don’t like surprises.” Feeling the need for protection, she cupped her hand, waiting for the reassuring warmth of witchflame in her palm. Except nothing happened. She scowled at her empty fingers.

  Declan smiled. “Funny thing about that. You seem to forget I own fire. If I don’t wish it in my presence, it won’t make itself known.”

  Maggie looked around. “So what all do you do in here?” She leaned forward and picked up the television remote. “So what does a half-demon watch in the dream realm?”

  “You can have flatter abs in just two minutes a day!” A perky brunette with a bleached, toothy smile announced.

  Maggie clicked the channel button.

  “This floor cleaner is a miracle worker!”

  “This cookware set will be the last one you’ll ever use!”

  “How many foreign languages do you want to learn in a matter of days?”

  “Oookay.” Maggie switched off the TV. “You’ve got Hi-Def infomercials. That is so sad.”

  “Tell me about it. No sports channels, no movie channels, just nonstop raves for diet aids, kitchen tools, cleaning products, and exercise equipment. Maybe this is a nightmare.” He stood up and held out his hand. “What do you say we blow this joint?”

  Maggie felt the heat of his fingers as she allowed him to pull her to her feet. “We can do that?”

  “Sure we can. It’s our dream.” He laced his fingers through hers and snapped his fingers.

  If he hadn’t been holding her hand, she knew she would have fallen. There was a dizzying sensation as the world spun around like a tornado.