“If you ever cross my lands again, ever use my gate, I’ll kill you,” Feille vowed.
I shrugged. “Are you going to have someone lead me out, or should I just ride my horse around your abode until I figure out where the exit is?”
He motioned to an unlucky guard, who led the way. I nudged Diablo forward, darting constant looks around and holding the shotgun aloft. Another guard followed at a safe distance, and we made a somber procession through the eerily silent palace and the empty streets of the town. Feille may be an ass, but he’d secured his people in case I changed my mind and started randomly shooting. The gates opened and the forest lay before me.
“Southwest will take you to Dis, although you’ll need to go further south to avoid the tip of Cyelle before you turn westward,” one of the guards advised. “Unless you’re planning to head north to Eresh.”
“I’m going toward Dis,” I told him. From there I could head west toward the grasslands and Maugan Swamp, my old stomping grounds.
“May the Lady grant you her favor, Iblis,” he added, smiling slightly. I wondered if he was one of Tlia’s family or if he just admired my ballsy attack on his High Lord.
“You too,” I told him, and headed southwest.
Diablo picked up speed once we made it out of Wythyn and into Dis. I’d also discovered that he could teleport me along with him, kind of like Gregory did. Any jealousy I felt at the fact that my horse could manage an inter–realm gate when I couldn’t was squelched by the obvious usefulness of his talent. We made short work of the journey by teleporting through chunks. In mere hours we were thundering across the grasslands where I’d grown up. Cyelle lay to the north, just beyond a common land of woods, and wetlands dotted the northwest, eventually becoming the great Maugan Swamp. As a youth, I’d enjoyed snoozing in the swampy mud, hiding behind the rushes and cattails from siblings who loved to torment a little imp. I thought about stopping in to see my foster parents, Mere and Pere, or possibly the elderly dwarf, Oma, who had so often sheltered me from the attacks of the others, but I longed to get back, to see my friends, and Boomer. To hold Wyatt tight in my arms. To show that damned angel that I’d done it, that I was not the worthless cockroach he’d thought. So I turned north, into the swath of woods that served as a buffer between the demon lands and the forbidden Cyelle.
And there it stood: the angel gate that led to the Columbia Mall. A strange wave of nostalgia went through me. I’d used so many gates in my life, ones that led to places in Europe, Asia, South America. I’d started my long vacation, my forty years with the humans, through the gate in Seattle. But this gate, so close to where I’d grown up, I’d never traveled through this gate. I’d sent demon corpses through and activated it for a Low. Dar used it all the time, as did Leethu, but I’d never been through. Somehow this felt memorable, like it heralded a new stage in my life.
“Let’ go boy,” I told Diablo and he surged forward. I reached out and activated the gate as we plunged through.
32
We shot out of the other side of the gate in front of a children’s shoe store and rode into instant chaos. People screamed and ran, terrified to have a woman on a charging horse appear from nowhere. They knocked each other aside in their haste, spilling packages and sliding across the polished floor. Diablo, thrilled to their panic, tore full speed down the center of the mall, vaulting a fake hair kiosk and knocking assorted ponytails and extensions everywhere. He wasn’t so lucky with the cell phone kiosk, slamming into it and crushing electronics with determined hooves. I frantically held onto his mane with one hand, trying to remain seated, my other hand clutching the shotgun. I should have been more concerned with pulling myself upright, but Diablo’s mood was infectious. I pulled the trigger, exploding lights and decorative ceiling panels.
“Woohoo!” I fired off a few more shots as I managed to right myself. I looked around at the humans shrieking and hiding behind huge cement planters, and saw Gregory.
“I fucking rock,” I shouted at him.
“Yes, I see that.” He didn’t look particularly pissed at me, so I fired one more shot before holstering the shotgun and nudging Diablo over toward him. The horse danced sideways, wanting to continue his fun, but eventually complied.
“So, from your jubilant display, I’m to assume you finally took care of your problem back in Hel?” He rubbed Diablo on the nose, and the traitorous horse looked adoringly at him.
“Why yes. Yes I did.” I didn’t tell him that I now had a few other problems. I doubted the elves would be sending hit–men over to attack Wyatt and I, but the loss of their alliance would cause difficulties.
Gregory smiled. It was that unnerving, seductive smile that scared me as much as it turned me on. “So are you planning on riding your demon horse down I–70, or will you be begging me to give you a lift back to your house?”
Begging. His emphasis on the word sent all sorts of naughty thoughts into my head and a shiver down my spine. Though with an angel, begging might involve something far less pleasant than what I had in mind. Either way, there would be no begging from me today.
“None of the above,” I told him. “Watch this.”
I pulled Diablo back a few steps and informed Gregory that I would see him later. Ha. I wished I could see the look on that smug angel’s face when we teleported away. I didn’t need him anymore. I’d just use my horse to gate around from now on.
“Home, Diablo!” I waved my hand in a dramatic Lone Ranger gesture, and instantly found myself crashing to the floor on top of broken cell phones and fake hair. Fucking horse had left me behind.
“Very impressive, little cockroach.” Gregory watched me scramble to my feet without even bothering to offer a hand. “Is he coming back for you eventually? Or perhaps you’d like to call your human toy for a ride?”
I hadn’t exactly taken my cell phone to Hel with me. And I really didn’t want to call Wyatt to come pick me up.
“Um. Can you please give me a lift back to my house.”
He smiled again. “It’s a bit out of my way. Quite inconvenient for me, you know.”
“Please?” I begged.
The angel looked thoughtful. He even tapped his chin with his finger, giving my request careful consideration.
“Well, it would be nice to have another favor.”
What the fuck was he going to do with all these favors? I was going to need to start a spreadsheet to keep track of them all. Maybe send him a monthly statement, showing favors owed, favors used, how many remaining ones he had left. Why did he need all these favors? It’s not like I said “no” to him that often. Okay, maybe I said “no” a lot, but he usually convinced me to change my mind without the need to resort to favors.
“Fine. Another favor,” I conceded.
He motioned me over toward him, and I willingly went into his arms. With a disorienting jolt, we were in my living room. Before I could even open my mouth to thank him, a piercing wail hit my ears.
Leethu quickly slapped her hand over her mouth as she recognized Gregory and I. She was a scant foot from us, and I could hardly blame her for being alarmed. Dar was on the other side of the couch, frozen in fear.
“I told you never to make that noise again,” Gregory thundered. I wiggled an arm free of his tight grasp and punched his shoulder.
“Oh leave her alone. You appeared right in front of her. I would have screamed too.”
“No, you would have blown my head off,” he corrected. “Not screamed like some witless banshee.”
True, but still, he really should give Leethu a break. “It’s my house, and I say you can’t kill her.”
Leethu and Dar took the opportunity to dash upstairs where hopefully the angel would forget about their presence.
Gregory sighed dramatically. “Oh all right, little cockroach. I’ll spare her life this once.”
He was still holding me tight, and I wasn’t sure what to do with the one free arm. Should I let it dangle awkwardly at my side? If he were Wyatt, I would have put it on his ches
t, but I didn’t exactly want to encourage him. As it was, his spirit self was resting against mine in a comfortable intimacy, gently shifting in a caress. Damn, he felt good.
“Do you want to make coffee?” I asked stupidly, my arm extended at a ridiculous angle.
He rubbed along me, his power leak increasing and searing me with its heat. “No,” he said, and I suddenly wondered what he wanted to do instead of make coffee. Oh, please, please, please.
“You have a lot of do.” He released me. “I’ve submitted your protest on the four–five–nine report for that human in Virginia, but there is one due for the human in Mount Airy. Actually, I believe it’s overdue.”
Fuck! Oh holy crap. I did not want more “naked and restrained,” especially after all I’d just been through in Hel.
“An extension?” I asked hopefully.
He smiled. “Twenty–four hours.” And then he was gone.
That didn’t leave much time, but there never seemed to be enough time. Which was an odd feeling for a near immortal to have. I picked up my cell phone from the dining room table. Wyatt answered on the first ring.
“I’m home,” I told him.
Epilogue
I peered in the window, wracked with indecision. I should just leave the thing on their doorstep. Ring and run. But instead here I was, looking in at them—a man and a woman, in their late fifties. I was surprised they’d stayed together; so many couples get divorced after losing a child. Kirby’s parents had moved from his childhood home in Wisconsin to North Carolina. His father worked some kind of tech job in Research Triangle, and his mom had gone back to school after his disappearance and received a degree in early childhood education. She taught pre–school and specialized in working with the learning disabled. They never had any more children, but they both were very active in their church’s youth groups and Sunday school programs. Wyatt had found all this out for me. He had given this project his stamp of approval, encouraged me to give these poor people closure. But I wasn’t sure it was the right thing.
I popped my head up again and observed the couple, eating together, plates on their laps as they watched some show on TV. They’d moved on. Managed to get through the pain of never knowing what happened to their son, eventually mourning him as dead. And here I was, to rip all that healing away and rub that pain raw once more. I couldn’t reunite them with their son. They’d still never see him again. How could it possibly do any good to know he was alive, treated well but virtually enslaved in Hel? Wouldn’t they be better off thinking him dead?
I felt the marble hard in my hand, smoothed the note Kirby had written to his parents. I’d granted him a favor, gave him my vow. How could I keep my word and not make life worse for his parents? There was no good way to do this. Fuck, I wasn’t even sure they’d believe me. They might just think I was some wacko. This wasn’t a job for a demon, this was a job for an angel. They’d believe an angel.
But there was no angel here. Just me.
I tried to be quiet as I tiptoed out of their flowerbed and made my way to the front door. I knocked. The barking of a little dog and footsteps sounded from inside. A bald man answered the door. His eyes looked like Kirby’s.
“Hello, I’m Samantha Martin, the Iblis, Ha–satan. I have news to give you about your son, Kirby.”
About the Author
After majoring in English Literature with a concentration in Medieval and Folklore studies, Debra promptly sold out to the corporate world, occasionally dabbling in writing marketing copy and op/ed articles for a local city paper. By day, she designs compensation programs, after dark she stuffs her nose into obscure mythology, and feverishly writes her novels. A DEMON BOUND is her debut novel.
Debra lives on a farm in Maryland with Sweetie, three sons, and a Noah’s ark of four legged family members. Unlike her protagonist, she drives an old PT Cruiser, couldn’t carry a tune if you duct taped it to her back, and enjoys an occasional cosmopolitan (heavy on the vodka). On a good day, she jogs and horseback rides, hopefully managing to keep the horse between herself and the ground. Her only known super power is ‘Identify Roadkill’.
Connect with Debra Dunbar on Facebook, on Twitter @Debra_Dunbar , or at her website http://debradunbar.com
Also by Debra Dunbar
A DEMON BOUND (Imp Series, Book 1)
Samantha Martin is an imp. She throws her gum on the floor of five star restaurants, bounces inflatable holiday decorations down the highway at rush hour, and clip jaywalking pedestrians with her car. Sam also likes to kill people and keep their souls inside her for all eternity, but acting on that particular urge will get her killed by the angels, who are determined to rid the world of her kind.
Sam works hard to keep her human identity realistic: she owns slum rental properties, and she is trying to get her hot neighbor into the sack. When she kills a werewolf in an act of self–defense, his pack leaders blackmail her into helping track and kill a rogue angel. The very actions she must take to appease the werewolves put her at risk of being discovered and killed by angels.
SATAN’S SWORD (Imp Series, Book 2)
Samantha Martin is an imp, bound by an angel who allows her to live among the humans… as long as she follows his rules. It’s not easy for an imp to follow the rules, especially when Sam’s brother, Dar, finds himself in hot water. He needs her help to retrieve an artifact from the vampires, or the powerful demon he owes a favor to will enslave and torture him for centuries. It should be a simple courier job, but with demons nothing is simple. Sam reluctantly attempts to help her brother, trying not antagonize the vampires or the demon gunning for him, all while chafing to comply with the restrictions her angel has placed on her as a bound demon.
ELVEN BLOOD (Imp Series, Book 3)
Sam may be the Iblis, but she is also an imp with a price on her head. The powerful demon, Haagenti, won’t rest until she’s dragged back to Hel for “punishment”. Sam knows she can’t face Haagenti and win, so when an Elf Lord offers to eliminate the demon in return for her help, Sam jumps at the chance. It’s a simple job—find and retrieve a half–breed monster dead or alive. But finding this demon/elf hybrid isn’t proving easy and time is running out.
IMP (Imp Series, prequel novella)
Demon young are cruel, especially to little imps like Az. No matter where she hides, even deep in the swamplands, her siblings eventually find her and hurt her, ripping off her scales and slicing her wings. Many demons don’t live to adulthood. Only the strong survive. And the clever.
Survival isn’t looking probable for Az, with eldest brother, Paquit, determined to rip her to shreds at every opportunity. When her other brother, Dar, proposes a trip through the angelic gates into the land of the humans, she jumps at the chance. Finally, a fun adventure safe from Paquit’s cruelty and attacks. Or maybe not.
Table of Contents
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Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Debra Dunbar
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