“No, it doesn’t count,” Kostya said as we left. “You are not a black dragon, Cyrene. I appreciate your help and support—”
“Oh! I like that! You string me along and now you dump me just when things are going good? Well, I have a few things to say about that, Mr. Dragon!”
Luckily, we moved out of earshot of Cyrene’s harangue. It took a good five minutes before we were out of the range of the scent of gold and I was able to catch my mental breath and take charge of myself again.
Savian and Jim followed along after a few minutes.
“Sorry. Don’t mean to intrude,” Savian apologized as Gabriel stood gently stroking my back while I pushed the dragon form back into a more familiar one. “But your twin is a little . . . er . . .”
“Bitchy,” Jim said, snorting when the last of the silver scales disappeared into beige-ish skin.
“Vehement,” Savian corrected with a smile at me.
“ ‘Vehement’ doesn’t threaten to drown someone in their lair. ‘Bitchy’ is all over that,” Jim pointed out.
“Agathos daimon,” I swore softly to myself, glancing at Gabriel. “If she’s threatening him with water, she’s really pissed. I suppose I should go back and intervene.”
“You’ll shift again,” he pointed out. “I’ll go.”
“I don’t think she’ll listen to you,” I said as he started back the way we had come.
“Does she ever listen to anyone?” Jim quipped.
“Quiet, beast,” I told it, about to go after Gabriel when Cyrene appeared, hauling a befuddled-looking Magoth after her.
“That’s it!” she yelled as she caught sight of us. Her free hand gestured wildly. “I’ve had it! I’ve totally had it with that . . . that . . .”
“Dragon?” I offered as she pulled up to a stop in front of me. She let go of the hold she had on Magoth, who collapsed to the ground with a particularly fatuous leer toward me.
He was still naked, although no longer aroused, and had managed to lose the small shrub on his foot, but he wore a coronet apparently made up of an ancient, unused bird’s nest, dirty spider silk, and a small clump of leaves sprouting from the region of his left ear.
“There you are, sweet May. Was it as good for you as it was for me?” Magoth asked.
“Better,” I said, letting myself smile just a little.
Gabriel gave me a look that let me know he didn’t appreciate it. I immediately rearranged my expression into one of serenity. “Cy, please tell me you didn’t flood Kostya’s lair.”
“No, I didn’t, but not because he didn’t deserve it,” she said, snapping off each word. “I wouldn’t waste precious water on that . . . beast! Do you know what he said to me?”
“Yes,” I said, taking her arm and cutting off the rant I knew she so desperately wanted to make. “I think it would be better if we were to go back to town. Gabriel?”
He hesitated a moment, casting a glance toward the trees that screened the entrance to Kostya’s newfound lair. “You go. I’ll follow with Kostya.”
I nodded and gave Cyrene a nudge. “Come on, twin of mine. Let’s go back to town and get a drink. You look as if you could use one, and I certainly wouldn’t mind a belt or two, myself. Gabriel will make sure your boyfriend is all right.”
“He’s not my boyfriend anymore. We’re through. Do you hear me? Through! I’m done with him! Although I would like a drink. Do you think they have lemon Perrier? You know how I love that.”
“I also know how drunk you get off it,” I said, leading the way. I gave the lair a wide berth as I headed us back in the direction of the town. “Only a water elemental could find carbonated water literally intoxicating. But if you’re a cheap date, at least you’re an easily pleased one.”
“You gonna leave your boss here?” Jim asked.
I released Cyrene’s arm, turning to frown at where Magoth lolled on the ground. He stroked a hand sensuously down his filthy, leaf-bespecked chest.
“Much as I am tempted to do just that, I suppose the mortal world is safer with someone keeping an eye on him.”
Magoth smiled. “You can deny it all you want, my sweet one—I have seen the truth in your dragon eyes. You want me. You need me. You crave that which only I can give you.”
He was, I noted with dismay, showing signs of arousal again. I searched my mind desperately for something to distract him, not trusting the dragon shard to behave itself when he was at his randiest.
“Get your clothes on, and I’ll treat you to a bottle of Bollinger’s,” I told him.
Magoth loved Bollies, but even that wasn’t enough to drag his mind off his cursed penis. He got to his feet slowly, completely oblivious to the fact that he more resembled a muddy swamp monster than a seductive former silent-movie heartthrob. “Not even going to try to dispute the facts? Wise woman.”
“I’m not going to argue the obvious with you, no,” I said calmly, and gestured toward the direction we were headed. “Come along with us, or don’t, but make up your mind. I’m not going to stand out here all afternoon and be eaten by mosquitoes.”
“I would be happy to eat—” Magoth started to say.
“I think we can all imagine a suitably inappropriate and borderline sexually harassing comment, thank you,” I interrupted.
He leered, but checked himself almost immediately, an angry look flashing in his eyes. “May the fires of Abaddon roast that bastard Bael,” he spat out, his hands making aborted gestures of frustration. “I can’t even en-thrall you as is my due! He will pay for this, just as everyone will pay for the dishonors done to me!”
“You have nothing to complain about,” Cyrene told him as he marched over to where we were waiting. “You haven’t had your love and trust abused by the most hateful man ever!”
Magoth slid her a narrow-eyed look that, were we in Abaddon, probably would have rendered her as close to dead as an elemental being could be. She didn’t notice, however, being fully immersed in righteous indignation.
“Your clothes?” I said as Magoth stormed past me, Cyrene hurrying after him as she continued to vent her spleen about Kostya.
“And then do you know what he said? He said he didn’t have time for me anymore, that bringing together the sept would take all of his attention, and he wouldn’t be able to deal with me, as well. Deal! Yes! He actually said the word ‘deal’ just as if I was a problem to be . . . well, dealt with. Can you believe that? I’ll feed his testicles to a shark—see if I don’t!”
He ignored Cyrene, pausing just long enough to give me a haughty look. “I am Magoth, sixth principle spirit of Abaddon—”
“Former principle spirit of Abaddon,” Jim said.
Magoth ignored the demon, too.
“—lord of thirty legions—”
“Now in the charge of Bael, or whoever he’s found to replace you,” Jim interrupted.
Cyrene whapped Magoth on his bare chest. “I am so not a problem person. I’m a naiad! We are the most pleasant of all the elemental beings! There’s nothing about me with which he needs to deal, except my vengeance, which shall be as deep as the ocean and as dark as the . . . er . . . the ocean. In the bottom parts, that is, where it really is very dark.”
“Marquis of the order of dominations!” Magoth bellowed, no doubt in order to be heard over the chorus of Jim and Cyrene, but the smidgen of power he still possessed gave his words an unexpected volume. His voice echoed for a few seconds, the harsh sound of birds screeching their objection to the noise slowly dying out.
We all looked at Magoth.
“I have no need of such things as clothes,” he said, dismissing such mortal concerns with great dignity, turning on his heel to stalk back toward town.
“You wanna be the one to tell him he’s got a big ole slug stuck to one of his butt cheeks?” Jim asked.
Magoth’s shoulder twitched at the demon’s question, but he didn’t stop. He just kept walking.
Chapter Five
“You could think the arrival of a nak
ed, dirty, ex-demon lord would merit at least a few raised eyebrows,” Savian said as I collapsed into a chair. “But no one seems to care.”
“It’s probably more they don’t know what to think than they don’t care,” I said.
“That or they’re just too horrified at the sight of a penis curse to take more than a quick peek.” Savian glanced around the faux-medieval basement bar of the hotel at which we had taken rooms. At this hour of the day, it was empty of customers, a few morsels of gray light bullying their way in through thick, waved glass panes strapped with militant precision in what was no doubt supposed to be a design reminiscent of the court of Elizabeth I of England.
“Are you impugning my cock?” Magoth asked, his hands on his hips.
Savian looked startled for a moment. “I am not doing anything to your dick, let alone impugning it, although . . .” His gaze dropped to the member in question. “If the curse fits, wear it.”
Magoth’s eyes narrowed as he gestured proudly to his genitals. “This is a magnificent specimen of its kind! It is beyond magnificent—it is the epitome of cockhood. It can do things yours can only dream of! It is, in fact, a god amongst penises!”
“Oh, it wasn’t that good,” Cyrene snorted, rolling her eyes at Jim.
Jim clearly had many comments to make about that, but bound to silence, it could only raise its eyebrows and give Magoth’s penis a long, considering look.
“Magoth, please, keep your voice down,” I said.
“He,” Magoth spat, pointing at Savian, “disparaged this most resplendent of cocks. I demand that you as my consort defend its honor. Change back into dragon form and roast him alive.” He paused, a thought having occurred to him. “And then you can wrap your tail around me and—”
“No one is disparaging anything, least of all your genitals,” I said quickly before he dwelled on the strange ways he got his jollies. “Calm down and take a seat before someone notices you.”
He snorted, casting unimpressed glances around him. “I have to piss. I assume you will not let me hear the end of it if I do it here. I will take my commanding and august cock to the bathroom, where it will no longer offend your plebeian souls.”
I exchanged a look with Cyrene as he marched off to the men’s room.
“He really does love his penis,” she said as if that explained things. “And don’t get me wrong, it was fine and all, but magnificent? A god among penises? No. Maybe a duke, or a minor prince. But not a god.”
“I really find it difficult to believe we’re sitting here discussing Magoth’s genitalia,” I said, rubbing the smooth, cool wooden surface of the table. “It’s just a bit surreal.”
“Not nearly as surreal as this whole place is,” Savian said from where he was examining pictures of boats on the walls. He nodded toward one. “Henley Regatta 1923. Not quite what you’d expect in Latvia.”
I had to admit that the hotel wasn’t at all what I expected. The question of why an obscure Latvian hotel in the small town of Livs would try so hard to re-create a half-timber English country house complete with wattle and daub was answered by a red-faced, balding man who bounded into the bar from a back room.
“ ’ Ello, ’ello, I didn’t realize we had customers so early. We don’t do lunches here in the pub, just so you know. Those are done in the tearoom upstairs. All handmade pastries up there, nothing store-bought. My wife does the baking—she has a fair hand with pastries, too. You’ll not be finding a better scone west of the Thames.”
“We’re not hungry, thanks,” I said, leaning back so he could slap a paper coaster in front of me. “Drinks are fine.”
“Right, then. You do look a sight. Been out hiking, have you? We get lots of Americans coming here for the hiking, now that the Russians aren’t in charge anymore. Sisters, are you? You’ve the look of each other, that you do. Oh, but where are my brains today? I’m Ted Havelbury, ye olde host,” he said with a chuckle. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, I do indeed. You’re thinking that old Ted is a bit out of his natural setting, and you wouldn’t be far wrong there, but my wife’s mum was from the old country, and when she died and left us this inn, we thought, why not? The children were grown and had families of their own, so off the missus and I went with nothing but a wish and a prayer, as they say. But now, you’ll be wanting a few drinkies, won’t . . . er . . .”
Ted, who had been chatting merrily to Cyrene and me, nodded to Savian as he slid into the chair next to mine. Before he could finish his sentence, Magoth, in full snit, emerged from the bathroom, shoved aside Jim, and stomped over to stand in front of Savian. He glared down at the thief taker, who shot me a martyred look before heaving a sigh as he relinquished the seat.
“Er . . . ,” Ted said again.
“Our friend had a little accident with a stream,” I said, shaking out a paper napkin and placing it over Magoth’s lap. “His clothes were too soaked to wear.”
“Is that so?” Ted said slowly, his expression almost enough to make me laugh. “I don’t suppose he’d like to get dressed before he has a drink?”
“Tell the slave that I wish a bottle of 1996 Bollinger, chilled to forty-five point nine degrees, with one glass,” Magoth said in his most demanding voice.
“Slave?” Ted asked.
I leaned forward toward him, speaking in a low, confident voice I’d found worked well with mortals. “You’ll have to excuse our friend. He’s foreign.”
Ted eyed the naked, dirty, arrogant Magoth with doubt. “He is?”
“South American,” I said, mentally apologizing to everyone on that continent.
“Oh. Latin,” Ted said, nodding. “That explains it. Impetuous people. Excellent dancers, but impetuous.”
“I’d like a gin and tonic, my twin would like a bottle of lemon Perrier, if you have it, and Savian would like . . . ?”
“Brandy.”
“Hmm, 1996 Bollinger’s. I’ll have to check the storeroom for that. I think we have some left over from the New Year’s celebration. . . .” Ted took our orders with only one backwards look at Magoth before hurrying to the back room.
“You’d better pray no one else comes in here while you’re having your champagne,” I told him. “Because as soon as you’re done, you’re putting some clothes on. Jim, stop wiping your nose on my hand. You can have some of Cy’s Perrier, since she gets drunk if she drinks a whole bottle.”
“I do not get drunk! I never get drunk!” Cyrene said, outraged at the slur against her character.
“May eighteenth, 1921. Long Island, New York,” Magoth said, arching an eyebrow at her. “My house. Specifically, the garden. You, me, and three hundred of my closest friends.”
Cyrene flushed and looked away. “That wasn’t drunk. That was enthralled.”
“It was an orgy,” corrected Magoth. He thought for a moment, a smile erasing his pout. “A lovely, lovely orgy. Which resulted in the creation of the ever-adorable May, if I am not mistaken, and I never am about such things. Do you remember, sweet one? Do you remember being called into existence, and the exact moment when your life began, and your eyes first landed upon me?”
“Yes, I remember. I screamed.”
“Music to my ears,” he sighed dreamily. “I don’t suppose—”
“No,” I said hastily, and would have continued, but the sound of footsteps clattering down the bare wooden staircase to the basement arrested me.
A man paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing quickly about the room, clearly about to turn around and go back upstairs. He caught sight of us, however, blinked twice, then turned and bellowed up the stairs, “Found her!”
“That doesn’t sound good,” I murmured as I watched a second man join the first. The pair of them walked toward us with unmistakable purpose—and scent.
“Demons,” Cyrene said, wrinkling her nose as the smell of demon smoke hit us.
“Wrath, by the looks of them,” Savian said, squinting at them.
Wrath demons, as anyone who’s ever been to Aba
ddon knew, were not the sort of beings you welcomed into your company. They were like mini demon lords, with substantial powers, and minions of their own.
“What do they want?” Cy asked.
“No doubt that cur Bael has realized what a mistake he made in expulsing me, and is summoning me back to restore upon me the rightful estates and titles which your twin’s carelessness so callously cost me,” Magoth said, watching the two men approach with an anticipatory glint in his eye.
“May didn’t do anything to get you kicked out of Abaddon,” Cyrene said, much to my astonishment. Normally oblivious to slurs made against me, now and again she surprised me by jumping to my defense. “That was your own doing, and you know it.”
“His Most Heinous and Imperious Majesty, the premiere prince Bael, has not sent us to deal with a has-been like you, Magoth,” the nearest demon said, a sneer curling its lips. It stopped a few feet away from me and jerked its head in what I realized was acknowledgment of me.
“You will address me as Lord Magoth, you sniveling little scum,” Magoth snapped, his words so chilling and filled with menace that Jim immediately backed up a few feet. I rubbed my arm nearest Magoth. Emotional outbursts caused him to leech the warmth from his environment, leaving me with the sensation of having brushed up against an iceberg. “And you will speak only when I give you permission to do so.”
My eyebrows went up at his imperious tone. I’d heard him use it before, but only on his own minions, never another demon lord’s followers, and certainly not the first-in-commands of the head honcho of all Abaddon.
The demons gave Magoth a scathing look and turned to me. “The Lord Bael desires your presence, dragon.”
I bit back the retort that I wasn’t, in fact, a dragon. “What?” Magoth shrieked, leaping to his feet. “He wants to see my consort? About what?”
The demon nearest him raised its eyebrows as it studied Magoth’s penis tattoo. The other one ignored the irate demon lord, its cold, flat eyes fixed on me.
“Why would Bael want to see me?” I asked it, since it obviously wasn’t going to answer Magoth.
Me and My Shadow Page 8