by Ivy Asher
The Prodigy’s song, “Firestarter,” starts up in my head as I study him. This weird lava look works for him, but I can’t stop myself from gesturing to his hair and asking, “Pyromaniac?”
I endure about five seconds of sheer panic and a stop fucking talking moment while Jerif just stares at me. And stares. And stares some more. Out of the three of them, he’s probably the most intimidating.
Sweat beads on my brow. My eyes are too embarrassed to blink. I want to take the Swiss Army stick and smack myself over the head as I chuckle nervously like an idiot.
Slowly, the corner of his mouth turns up with amusement, and a relieved breath whooshes out of me. “Something like that,” he offers cryptically, and then proceeds to wag his black eyebrows.
That slightly douchey move does things to parts of me that it shouldn’t, and I suddenly get all fluttery low in my stomach. Who knew dudes who fancied an I am Magma look would do it for me? But I can’t deny he’s hot. Smooth, dark skin like cooled molten lava, and hair and eyes that seem to glow like they’re the embodiment of firelight. I wouldn’t mind him being inside me when he erupts.
“So, Delta,” Echo starts, pulling my heated attention back to him and his white hair and unusual tattoos. He has a glint in his stare that seems to consist of equal parts interest, suspicion, and jealousy. I bet he was a bad sharer as a kid. Probably an only child, and judging by the estate he seems to partially own, he’s milked a trust fund his whole life. “Would you mind accompanying us to the main house?” he states, his tone not really asking so much as telling.
The butterflies flitting around my stomach turn to rocks, and I’m suddenly certain I’m about to get fired. Fuck.
“I failed the test?” I ask them, cringing. “Can I have a redo, please? I promise, no attempted stabbings this time,” I tell them as I gesture to the walking stick. I lean it further away from me and them, just in case it goes all Bumblebee on me and transforms again. “You guys just caught me off guard. Iceman didn’t tell me the owners were down here.”
Crux runs his fingers through his long, balayage beachy blond locks and gives me a comforting smile. “You haven’t failed anything, Jeter. In fact, you caught us off guard. We didn’t realize we had an Inner Ringer. We never do, so that changes things. Plus, the whole going to hit a homerun thing you were doing with your scythe was impressive.”
“And her warrior cry. Don’t forget that,” Echo says with a smirk, and I flush with embarrassment.
“Right,” Crux agrees, his green eyes sparkling with humor. “We have something going on at the house right now, but we can quickly talk upstairs about how this is going to work since you’re more qualified than we were expecting.”
I’m immediately enticed. “More qualified as in...a possible promotion?” I ask, but then I realize how greedy that sounds, and I clear my throat. My momentary pause allows me to finally notice the alarm bells that are going off in my head, because what kind of bosses would offer a girl a promotion on her first day? The same kind who make them wear kinky leather outfits, and hand over stabby sticks that fuck Newton’s laws in the ass, Delta, my brain warns me.
I’m either about to learn first-hand about their sexual harassment policies or get fired. Dread pools in my stomach. I need this job, dammit. I really, really do.
Nerves skitter through my stomach. “Oh no, that’s okay,” I assure the surfer-dude, Crux, as I try and fail to maintain a nonchalant demeanor. “This is only my first day, after all. You guys just do...whatever it was you were doing in here, and I can go back to securing the graveyard.” I start to slowly back toward the door with a smile plastered on my face. “I really do like this cemetery, by the way. Very pretty. Lots of...headstones.” Really, Delta? I shoot them an awkward smile, even as I mentally shove my foot into my mouth. “It was nice meeting you guys. Enjoy your party, and I’m sure we’ll catch up some other time. Good day!”
Good fucking day? Who the hell talks like that? And it’s fucking nighttime!
I spin to hurry out the door, but in my haste, I smack into the doorframe. My face burns with humiliation as I stumble, and I hear one of them snicker behind me, but I don’t look back to see who. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night.
I ignore the taunting moon as I hurry outside and make my way to the path. I feel their eyes burning into my back, but I just toss them an awkward see ya later wave and quickly pull out my flashlight so I can start securing the shit out of this place like a good little security guard and hope that my recent rejection doesn’t put me on the kidnap, kill, or fire list. I do not want to be murdered and buried in this outfit, dammit, and I seriously want to keep this job.
When I get far enough away that I can’t see them anymore, I snap up the radio and turn the dial to channel five. “What the fuck, Iceman? You could’ve warned me!” I hiss into it. Then I quickly press the button again. “Over.”
There’s a static pause before he answers. “Ah, Maverick. Lovely to speak to you again so soon,” he says, and I can hear the sarcasm dripping like honey from his voice.
“Why didn’t you tell me the bosses were going to be here? A little heads up would’ve been nice. I thought you were pranking me!”
“Pranking you?” he drawls. “I don’t have time to prank Diluted.”
“I have no idea what that means!” I snap. “I almost scythed their asses, Iceman. I need to be informed if people are going to be in the cemetery and if they’re permitted to be there. I looked like an idiot.” Leather pants notwithstanding.
“Scythed them? Wait. Who did you see? Quīnque?” he asks, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “Even you should’ve been able to handle that.”
That fucking word again. “What the hell is a Kink-ay?” I ask in a huff. Is this a weird way of saying kinky? I shake my head before pressing the button again. “Listen, I saw the bosses, like I already told you, and they had weird names, Iceman. Weird. Names.”
“Says the girl who wanted to call me Goose.”
“It was merely a suggestion,” I staunchly defend.
“Who was it? No one should have been able to breach the gate tonight. We had it covered.”
“Their names were Echo, Jerif, and Crux.” I bite my lip in thought. “Shit, maybe they tricked me. They aren’t the bosses, are they? They totally made that up so I wouldn’t kick them out.” I slap a palm to my forehead. “Dammit, I think I got played. You’d better send some backup down here so we can chase them out of here. I left them in the mausoleum like a fucking rookie.”
There’s a long pause. So long, in fact, that I snap back on. “Iceman? You there?”
“Maverick, I need you to come to the main house.”
I frown at the radio warily. “Why?”
“Just come. Now...please.”
“Iceman?” I radio back, but all I get is static. “Shit.”
I blow out a breath, my eyes bouncing around the dark cemetery, the moonlight casting mocking shadows all around me. With nothing else to do, I drag myself up the path, making the very long trek back to the main house, as questions swirl in my head. I’m so confused about all of this, and it looks like the main house discussion is happening tonight whether I want to or not.
Well, if this all goes horribly wrong, at least they gave me a weapon.
Somehow, on day one, I’ve already fucked this up. I’m not even sure how much yet. It all went so wrong so fast. I sigh and try not to stomp my way back to the estate like some whiny kid being forced to do something they don’t want to. At least if Iceman fires me in person, I’ll be able to put a face to his sexy ass voice. Silver lining.
5
“Shit on a stick,” I grumble to myself as I approach the large, dimly lit mansion.
There are about a million doors and windows in this place, and I have no idea which one I’m supposed to knock on. I’ll probably get my ass handed to me by the butler again.
I debate for two seconds whether I should try for the back or the front of the house, but s
ince I’m failing to see anything that’s marked servants’ entrance, I decide the front is probably my best bet.
I pass the fountain, the gardens, and the patio, and find myself climbing back up the stairs to the front door. I knock, cringing at the booming echo that it creates on the other side of the door. I look at my hand like it’s betrayed me. I swear I didn’t even knock that hard, and now it sounds like I’m demanding entrance. I step back and try to adopt some kind of mien that will convince Grumpy Lurch that I’m not actually trying to break the door down. I go with a half smile and some innocent blinks.
The door slowly opens with an ominous creak that I swear didn’t happen before, and the butler looks down at me with a sigh. “Yes?”
“Hey there,” I say, giving the butler an awkward two-fingered wave. “Me again.”
His pronounced brow wrinkles with irritation. “Why are you here again?” he asks.
“I was told to come to the main house immediately,” I croak out and then try to clear my throat of the toad that seems to have recently parked itself there.
The longer he looks at me, the more I contemplate just hopping on my moped and booking it the fuck out of here right now, but I keep telling myself that everything is fine, that Grumpy Lurch here doesn’t freak me out. That the trio in the mausoleum weren’t serial killers, and that Iceman isn’t leading me to my demise—either by employment termination or actual death.
Honestly, the only reason I haven’t ditched this whole scene already is because I’m not ready to let go of the daydreams I’ve been swimming in of what it will be like to have some money.
Besides, I could totally be overreacting. I’ve been known to do that from time to time. They’re having a party here tonight and that makes disposing of a body or firing an employee super messy, right? Maybe they really do just want to give me a promotion or something because they think I’m overqualified, though I have no fucking clue why.
“You came to the front door after I informed you earlier to never use the front door again?” he asks, his dark eyes matching the under-eye circles he has going on.
I shift nervously on my feet. At least he hasn’t commented on my outfit. “Yeah, you know, in hindsight, the back door would’ve been a better choice, but slap my ass and call me a rebel,” I joke nervously. He just stares at me. I blow out a breath. “Okay, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t help that you have about fifty back doors. For people who seem to be big fans of labeling”—I point to the name tag still stuck to my tank top—“you think you’d have at least one of those doors labeled with something classy and simple like Peasants Enter Here.”
Grumpy Lurch doesn’t move a stony feature on his face. He towers over me, breathing heavily, and just continues to stare at me with bored disdain. “Go around to the back, Help. Don’t make me tell you again,” he snaps before slamming the door in my face again.
“Pretty sure you’re the help, too, asshole,” I mutter to the door.
It swings the fuck open, and his face is suddenly all up in mine. “What did you say?” he demands.
I blink up at him in shock. How the fuck did he hear me?
“Uhh...I said you’re very helpful, and I’ll just be going to a back door now that I’ll pick at random,” I offer with a tight smile.
With a grunt, he slams the door again, and I flip him off before pivoting on my heel and hurrying down the stone steps to head around the back. I find four door options that look like they might lead somewhere the help is supposed to go, but three of them are locked, and nobody answers when I knock. The fourth door is the winner, because it’s the only door that’s open, and I hurry inside, finding myself in...the kitchen?
At least, I think it’s a kitchen. Except, it looks like one from the medieval times. There’s an open fire oven thing that’s made of stone and masonry instead of stainless steel and tile. But I’m only momentarily distracted by the candlelight, stone, and what looks like an old as fuck icebox, because my eyes widen at the people inside.
They look like they’ve dressed up early for Halloween. Maybe this was the event that Iceman was talking about—a costume party. There’s a woman with some really pronounced horse teeth who’s stirring something in a black pot over an open flame. Someone else looks like an upright crocodile, and he’s crying over onions that he’s chopping. There’s also a man who has really realistic fake warts attached all over, including his face, and he’s busy kneading some dough. No cheap department store costumes here—they all look real enough to be movie prosthetics.
“Wow, they’re really into this,” I mumble.
Luckily, everyone is way too busy to notice me, and there’s so much steam and smoke in the room that I’m kind of obscured. I manage to slink my way out of the kitchen and through the open doorway on the opposite end where I slip out.
I find myself in a hallway, and it’s dim since the only light is coming from lanterns hanging on the wall. Maybe this mansion hasn’t been converted to electricity? It does look old, so maybe they’re renovating. If that’s the case, they really should start with that ancient looking kitchen.
I bypass some massive oil paintings hanging up along the stone walls, my leather squeaking as I go. The paintings aren’t just your run-of-the-mill dead people portraits or landscapes. Nope, they’re demons writhing around naked and having graphic sex with other horned demons. It’s hot—literally, because there are flames all around them.
So I’m stuck in a mansion where everyone is dressed up for Halloween a couple months early, surrounded by demonic Renaissance porn. This event has obviously spared no expense.
My steps slow as I curiously look at each painting that I pass, ignoring the fact that my body lights up with interest. I bet this costume party is why the three men in the mausoleum looked so different. They were probably half dressed-up. I bet Crux will end up in board shorts with a surfboard over his shoulder.
When I finally get past the paintings and make it to the end of the hallway, I get spilled out into some kind of antechamber. There are staircases leading up and down, and a few doors are scattered around the room. I’m about to eeny meeny miny mo this shit in order to choose a direction, but a woman wearing a long black dress with an apron comes walking up. She’s ethereally pale and bald, and she wears a uniform that has me thinking she’s a maid. It doesn’t look like a costume though.
“There you are!” she says, her voice lilting slightly with an accent. “Right this way, Miss Gates. He’s waiting for you.”
I’m assuming that the he is Iceman, so I follow behind her as she leads me up the staircase. Unlike the floor I was on, which is obviously meant for the staff, the next floor up is the definition of opulent, the design and aesthetic immediately changing. Okay...so maybe he’s not just a security supervisor eating chips in the break room.
The woman leads me up the stairs, past another antechamber, and then into a room with marble flooring, wallpaper that has texture and looks like it’s made with actual gold, and chandeliers thrown around like confetti. The chairs all look uncomfortable as fuck though, more for looks than comfort. I suddenly feel itchy just being in here. Maybe I’m allergic to rich. Wouldn’t that just fucking suck.
We’re in some kind of sitting room, and I look around with interest when a voice interrupts my perusal. “Persia, did you iron my shirt?” a massive muscled blueberry with horns asks as he stalks into the room from the other doorway.
His deep voice reaches out and slaps me across the face, and I’m momentarily stunned. Iceman?
He doesn’t notice me, since he’s too busy messing with his pants, and I thank fuck for that as my mouth literally drops open and I drink my fill of him.
I don’t know where he got his costume, but it is fucking working for him...and for my vagina, not gonna lie. He’s bare chested, and his skin has been painted cobalt blue, the color accentuating every dip and curve of his extensive muscular frame. Well, I get the Iceman nickname now.
His hair is a deep midnight blue, the wig almo
st as long as my purple tresses that reach just below my shoulders. But the pièce de résistance of his costume are the massive horns he’s sporting. They come out of the side of his head and curl forward and up. They almost look like a super badass crown, and all I can suddenly think about is how they’d probably be good leverage for me to hold onto while riding his face. Unfortunately, I doubt they’re sturdy enough. The horns are probably attached to a headband or something, but I revel in the fantasy of it anyway, because...yum.
He glances back at the bedroom behind him. “You think we should have her shown into the salon, or do you think maybe the formal living room would be more comfortable? No one should be down there. She might be hungry though, in which case the dining room would probably be the best—”
The blue beast of my wet dreams stops as Jerif—the dark-skinned, lava haired dude—walks in after him.
What the fuck? How did Lava-Jerif beat me to the estate?
The bald woman who guided me up here clears her throat. “Sirs, your guest has already arrived,” she says, getting their attention pointedly. She steps to the side to dramatically reveal yours truly. Both men whirl around, and I give an awkward wave hello.
“Maverick…uh…I mean, Miss Gates. Welcome,” Iceman stumbles to greet me, obviously surprised by my presence.
“Delta is fine. Or Maverick,” I tell him as I offer a friendly smile. Fuck, with that blue-chiseled body, he can call me whatever he wants and I’ll answer to it.
Iceman shares a look with Jerif before he looks back at me. “Would you like to have a seat? The others will join us shortly,” he offers as he turns and gestures toward a cluster of chairs. The formality in their countenance puts me at ease, but I try not to get my hopes up that I’m here because they’re actually impressed with me.
“Um...sure.”
Iceman touches the back of a sitting chair like some sort of gallant gentleman and gestures for me to have a seat. I give him a small smile as I walk over to take it. I find myself wondering what he looks like under all the blue makeup. Is he still hot, or is this a Johnny Depp, Captain Jack Sparrow thing, where he’s only hot when he looks like that character?
