when one particular client was a chef with exotic appetites. I’ve even forced down a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, all in the name of doing the job.
But never, in all of my existence, have I had to stomach milk.
I quaffed the brew, screwing my eyes shut and pretending there was lemon curdling the mixture, making it palatable. At least the blood and ivory offset the taste somewhat.
With the last gulp, I felt the liquid explode into raw magic, bursting through my body from the inside out. I screamed as heat seared over me, fusing my outer shell to my true demonic form. Pressure bubbled in my limbs as blood and bone and muscle transformed from parody to reality, from infernal to human. Sparks danced across my skin in a wild jitterbug, standing my body hair on end as I felt—really felt—every nerve ending tingle. From my scalp to my toes, and everywhere in between, my flesh sang with life, a song resonating with agony and ecstasy. My scream cut off as I gasped, breathed…
…and crashed to the floor, whimpering, wrapping my arms around my torso. Fuuuuuck. That hurt!
I couldn’t do anything but tremble as a million sensations hit me at once. Smell, more than anything—a stench of sweat and shit and milk and blood, all mixed into an organic perfume that assaulted my nostrils. Taste—the tangy, salty flavor of my perspiration and sharp sweetness of my blood as I bit through my bottom lip…and fuuuuuuck, the feeling of that bite—bless me, that stung!
A backbeat to my pain was the chill of cool air kissing my skin; the solidness of the wooden floor, and above it the thick bands of the area rug, bumpy and uncomfortable against my bare legs; the undertow of gravity pulling me down, anchoring me to the ground, giving weight to my hands, my breasts, my head….
Wetness seeped from my eyes. Raising a hand, I wiped away the fluid, assuming it was blood; with my luck, I’d probably sprung a leak. I stared, dumbstruck, at the water that glistened on my fingers. Tears. Actual tears.
Unholy Hell, the witch really did it. Her nasty potion turned me into a mortal.
On the couch, Caitlin let out a series of gasps, ending with a scream of triumphant pleasure. Outside the house, an earth-moving BAM! BAM! BAM!!! rattled my teeth and sent candlesticks flying from the windowsill as something massive connected with the warded front door.
Taking a shuddering breath—and marveling over not having to remember to breathe—I looked up. The door still held, but the wood appeared stressed, as if it could splinter with the slightest breeze. On the sofa, the witch sighed in contentment, and her head lolled to the side, her thick curls eclipsing her face. Lights out for Caitlin.
I quickly unfolded the towel. Lying on the blue terry-cloth, a thick silver chain winked at me. Clasped to it was a single, large green gem in the shape of an eye. Even in the soft lighting of Caitlin’s living room, the verdant color shone clearly, brightly. Not emerald, which would have been a deeper green; maybe peridot.
Biting my lip, then wincing from the fresh bout of pain that brought, I braced myself as I touched the chain.
Nothing. No burst of flame. No instant disintegration.
The door groaned, buckling as the being outside struck it again. Two of the metal locks snapped off, landing near my bare feet. Caitlin’s wards wouldn’t hold much longer.
Blowing out a nervous breath, I grazed the gemstone with the tip of my finger.
Still no reaction. Either the shield was defective, or I was completely human. From the way overwhelming terror was turning my new blood to ice, I decided to run with the “completely human” scenario.
Now or never.
I grasped the chain and dropped the necklace over my head. The green stone slipped between my breasts. Gooseflesh dotting my skin, I stood on shaky legs and turned to the door.
Showtime.
I opened the door, remembering at the last minute that I was stark naked. That didn’t bother me, but it probably would have upset Caitlin, so I stuck my head out, keeping my nude body behind the tortured door.
Between my breasts, the stone tingled.
On the front porch stood a creature easily the size of a small mountain, immaculately dressed in an Italian-cut black suit. Gold cufflinks by the wrists; gold clasp on the silk tie. Black wingtip leather shoes caught the dawn as they sparkled in the morning light. Wearing a human form, his salt-and-pepper hair was perfectly trimmed, and his face and body were full, the byproduct of luxurious foods. Eyes the color of liquid gold gleamed at me—no pupils, no whites, just gold. Everything about him screamed “money,” and I easily placed him as a demon of Covet.
I mentally slapped my forehead. Of course. A creature of Greed would be a perfect bounty hunter; everyone knew that nothing stood between a Coveter and its intended object. It made me briefly wonder what sort of price was on my head—as greedy as those demons were, the price had to be right. No one wanted something that wasn’t worth the effort.
Cold comfort. Or maybe that was the draft blowing on my nude body.
“Little witch,” the demon rumbled in a rich, cultured voice, “you have something I want.”
My stomach dropped into my toes, and I swallowed a lump the size of a pigeon. I barely choked down a nervous laugh as I forked the sign of the evil eye, trying to flick my wrist the way I’d seen countless mortals do in the past. Part of me relished the sensation of being horrorstruck; it was fascinating how my limbs wanted to freeze up and my heart nearly stopped beating out of fright. The rest of me told myself to get a fucking grip and deal with the very real threat looming over me right now.
Putting the right amount of respect (completely fabricated) and fear (completely legitimate) into my voice, I shouted, “Back, demon! You’re not welcome here!”
He sneered, looking down at me as if I’d come to dinner dressed in ripped jeans. “I don’t need your welcome, little witch. I need your guest.”
Widening my eyes in mock surprise, I repeated, “Guest?”
A smile crept across his broad face. “You know who I mean, little witch. I can smell the slut. I know she’s here. Her trail ends at your doorstep. Where is she? Where is Jezebel?”
Even the best lie isn’t as strong as the lamest truth. “She knocked on my door hours ago. She’s not here anymore.” So to speak.
He bent down so his head was level with mine. His golden eyes sparkled, and I found myself staring at their reflective surfaces, captivated by the way they shone. All of that gold…His eyes seemed to grow into brilliant suns, flashing yellow and white. I felt myself falling into a sea of cold, golden coins, being sucked under…
“Are you telling me the truth?”
My voice small, far away, I said, “Yes…”
On my chest, the gemstone flared. Gasping from the sudden heat, my concentration broke and I quickly pulled my gaze to the floor. Bless me, he’d almost charmed me! That bastard!
His voice heavy as bars of gold, he said, “I don’t believe you.”
Okay, time to channel Caitlin. How would she react if a demonic presence attempted to compel her?
Based
