Wanted: Undead or Alive

No Cider Tonight

The demon stunk like rotten eggs and death. His hot tongue rasped against my jawline, scratchy as a kitten's. Pain exploded through my body as if my skin yearned to peel itself off rather than be subjected to that again.

Nick's voice reached my ears, seemingly from a thousand miles away. "Let her go, Gol'gol, and I'll let you survive this meeting."

"You have no authority over me, mutt." Gol'gol didn't hiss like Sathanas. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it was any one of the mean-spirited cowboy wannabees that frequented a certain type of country bar. They were the kind of men who carried serrated hunting knives and fantasized about using them; who kept company with women often sporting unexplained bruises; who drank too much and then blamed their abhorrent behavior on the alcohol, as if they'd had no choice in the matter.

High rank and low rank. Sathanas was a high-level demon. His trail of destruction made headline news. Gol'gol was a punk-ass bastard from the police report section of the small-town newspaper.

I lifted my arm and pressed the crucifix on my wrist to the side of his face. His scream made me wretch, but he let go with one arm. I twisted hard in that direction and leaped out of the trap. Then I barfed in the grass, which made me feel distinctly less badass. 

Does Benji throw up every time she meets a demon?

If she did, I suspected it was in some weirdly awesome fashion.

After I'd spent a few minutes on my hands and knees, retching and spitting, I pulled myself together and wiped my face with the napkin Nick had written on. I planted one foot on the ground and hauled myself upward. 

The demon crossed its black arms over its chest, and it stood glaring at Nick. In shape, the thing resembled a tall, broad-shouldered man, but it seemed to be made of smoke, thickly coalesced into a solid form. Yellow eyes with black vertical slits shone in its reptilian face. 

Nick didn't speak but stared back with a look of supreme unconcern, hands in his pockets, leaning on the front bumper of the Lexus. His eyes looked extra bright in the night. 

I wondered what it would be like to make love in a field, under an open sky.

The demon taunted him. "You called me here just to get an eyeful? I've heard about you, mutt. I've heard you haven't always been so righteous, that even the organization is scared of you. Maybe you're looking to party with my crowd for the night? We could start with the girl. Just think of the fun the two of us could have with a ripe little peach like her."

Seggsytime thoughts died. I reminded myself I was there to do a job, took a steadying breath, and edged closer to the trap. "If I wanted to make a deal, who would I talk to?"

The demon's smoky maw widened into a grin that revealed triple rows of wicked-sharp teeth. "Hello, pretty. Tell me your name." Its forked tongue darted out. "You taste good, little peach. Want me to eat you? You haven't been eaten until you've been eaten by a demon."

Gross. If I threw up again, I was going to do it on him. "Can you make deals?" 

"I can make all your dreams come true, beautiful. Tell Gol'gol what you want and I'll make sure you forget everything that came before me."

Yup. Definitely a punk-ass bastard from the backwoods bar. "I'm sure that you could do all that, if my dreams were of the cheep lite beer variety. Assume I'm a craft beer kind of girl. Who would I call? I want to talk to the top of the food chain. Who's the most powerful demon making deals in this neighborhood?"

"Come on, baby. Give old Gol'gol a try. First one's free." It grabbed the nasty, slick, black mess between its legs and shook it in my direction.

I gritted my teeth against a second round of spewing.