“It won’t matter when you have Grace,” Michael said with confidence.
Ethelred smiled, baring sharp teeth. “You are correct.”
“So, what did she do to me and how do I break it?”
“She cast a Karma spell on you. Your Karma is immediate, however. Your bad acts register instantly, the sensation of whatever you do to another person replicated against you.”
“She has the power for something like that?”
“Oh, yes. Grace is powerful beyond her ken. She even managed to bleach Caspian’s hair with a banishing potion.”
“Big deal.” Michael snorted.
“It is indeed, little man. It is indeed. No mortal magick can touch a Crown Prince of Hell.”
Michael shrugged. “I told her she has ten days to get rid of the bastard or I’ll kill Nikoli.”
“That doesn’t seem to have stopped them from enjoying your hot tub.”
“What do you mean?” Michael asked as he pulled his pants on.
“He was right here shagging her two shades of blue the night of the opera. Had her in your hot tub. Made her scream his name really loud, too.” Ethelred looked gleeful as he relayed this information.
“I’m going to kill her.”
“I wouldn’t. Not while you’re under her Karma spell. Well, I suppose if you’re ready to begin serving your time in Hell as my bitch . . .”
Michael curled his fists and slammed them into the bed, growling through his clenched teeth. “Damn it. God. Damn. It.” He looked for a moment as if he would start chewing on the coverlet. “What do I do?”
A large, leather-bound tome appeared. It looked longer than The Odyssey and heavier than a block of cement.
“Ah, Michael, my lad, you know nothing is free.” Ethelred winked. “Sign on the dotted line and I will map out a plan.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
More Rabbits
It was a neon Sodom and Gomorrah, a modern-day pleasure palace, a carnal candy store. The lights were extremely bright, and as she stood next to the building Grace Stregaria felt as obvious as a swollen and red baboon butt during mating season. It had taken her a day and a tank of gas to even pull into the parking lot.
The remedy would be to go inside, but she wasn’t quite ready to do that. She was embarrassed, even though there were sunglasses perched on the end of her nose tinted like something you’d see on a highway patrolman and her hair was covered by an old scarf that was Hollywood couture. To be honest, she was right to be nervous. Her outfit only made her stand out more.
Grace prided herself on being a modern woman with modern ideas. She’d told herself that she was comfortable with her needs, that they were nothing to be ashamed of. But it was different logging in to a Web site, browsing whatever struck her fancy and examining it in as much detail as she liked, compared to actually asking a real person, to his or her face, if an item could make her scream in tongues and change her religion. It was a hoarse cry of a different color. And her packages always arrived in discreet brown wrappers with banal if neatly printed labels like Jane & Dick Distribution. Not bright red bags that screamed Plastic Cock.
Then, of course, there was the manner of item she was buying. Grace had broken several clit snugglers, dildos, and other toys designed to bring a woman to orgasm. The only thing that never broke was her Rabbit—well, until Caspian broke it. The Rabbit had gone until she couldn’t, and then some. There was never any choking to death for the poor creature, its batteries sputtering to a miserable end just before she got off. It was industrial strength, had a cable for a wall socket, and was a true power tool.
Yup, even if it was pretty—a glittery, unicorn purple—it was still what you would call a bad motherfucker. That was why she was so embarrassed. Guys seeing her carrying it out of here would think she gave velvet cave tours complete with men in lighted hats and trolleys where they could get out and take pictures. Guided spelunking expeditions. It wasn’t really the sort of reputation she wanted, even if she didn’t know these people, probably would never know them, and knew rationally that they didn’t give three buffalo cakes about what she did with her hoo-ha or what she shoved inside it. After all, if the thing didn’t sell, they wouldn’t carry it. Therefore, more than one hoo-ha in the world had to be partial to a plastic purple penis able to violate its owner in many different ways.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Correction: She tried to push the door open. And Grace was so nervous that her feet didn’t notice as the rest of her stopped moving. Her head made a distinct thunk as it hit the glass.
Damn security. Her face flamed a bright, candy apple red. Even if she was a modern girl with no hang-ups whatsoever, how the hell was she supposed to get into the establishment if the door was locked? Were they closed?
As she searched for a sign with listed hours, a voice informed her, “There’s a bell.”
Grace looked up through the window to see possibly the most beautiful woman she’d ever laid eyes on. Ringlets of long hair spilled down that could only be described as crimson. It was the deepest, most fiery red Grace had ever seen, more so even than her cheeks after walking into the locked door.
She tried to glance away, but the woman had an aura that was irresistible. Grace managed to drop her gaze to the redhead’s feet, but the woman’s vinyl fuck-me boots led up perfect legs to black patent-leather hot pants and a green angora sweater that covered a bosom bigger even than her own. Maybe. Her green eyes were bright and friendly, and her mouth curved into a smile with perfect white teeth.
She was probably a demon; Grace consoled herself with that fact. A person would have to sell their soul to get teeth that straight and white. All of the demons she’d met had lovely smiles, Caspian included, and he’d been born back when mortals still chewed on leaves to clean their teeth.
Grace realized that she hadn’t replied. “Oh.” It was all she could get out.
“Is this your first time here, honey?” the redhead asked.
Grace nodded.
“I’m Jill.” The woman reached over and pushed a button. A bell rang, and the distinct sound of a disengaging latch echoed outward. Jill pushed the door open.
“I’m Grace.”
“I know,” the redhead said with a smile.
She knew? Grace was rooted to the spot by a sense of overwhelming dread. How did this creature know who she was? “Creature” was the perfect description, too. She had to be a demon.
“Don’t be afraid, dearie. I’m your . . . demon godmother, so to speak.”
“You look familiar.”
“I should. Last time you saw me, I was wrapped in plastic and that douche bag Petru was stuffing me into a Dumpster.”
“You were dead.” Grace managed to keep her voice calm. Reanimated corpses were dangerous things, not something that she wanted any part of. Though, this Jill didn’t stink like rotten eggs and mildew. No, she smelled more like roses. Michael’s favorite scent.
“Sure was,” Jill agreed, dragging her over to a display.
“It begs the question . . .” Grace let the question hang.
Jill began shoving jelly cock after hard-molded phallus into Grace’s arms, something shaped like a butterfly, a bullet, a device with a remote control that looked like it needed a bomb squad, a clit clamp—something Grace was sure she wouldn’t be interested in—something else like a nipple vacuum, and finally a ball gag. Grace felt every eye in the shop train on her like snipers, but Jill was oblivious. The redhead eyed her critically and seemed not quite satisfied.
The once-dead beauty held up a traditional set of handcuffs and a pink fur-lined pair. “The question would be: fur, or no fur?”
“No fur. I mean, if you’re going to have the experience, you might as well go all out.”
Jill tossed the package on top of what Grace already held. “That-a-girl!”
“But I really can’t very well handcuff myself,” Grace pointed out.
The redhead snorted. “Of course, you can. You’re
a witch.”
Grace paused. She had to admit she was kind of disappointed that Caspian hadn’t miracled himself into the middle of the conversation and offered to do it for her. In fact, she’d kind of expected that. She had to remind herself that it was a good thing he hadn’t. She’d told him to go away, and he had. He wasn’t forcing his rights, the rights she’d given him by contract. She sighed aloud as Jill dragged her forcibly through the store.
“If you want him back, just say so. He’ll come.”
“I don’t.” She didn’t bother asking how Jill knew her reason for acting like a middle-schooler.
“Then why are you sighing, all morose and bereft? It certainly can’t be from the loss of Michael.” Jill rolled her eyes, then paused in front of another display. “Oh, sweet bleeding hell, that’s not it, is it? You’re not one of those who likes abusive shit bags?”
“Oh, no. No. Fuck him with a rusty potato peeler. I don’t care about him at all. The only thing that concerns me is my son.”
Jill smiled with diabolical intent. “I just might.”
“Might? What?”
“Oh, nothing.” The redhead tossed a whip onto Grace’s pile.
“Hold on,” Grace said.
“That’s for me, sweetie,” Jill promised.
“Oh. Uh, the rest is for me? I really think this is plenty. I just wanted a new Rabbit.”
“The plug-in one, right? God. Yum.”
Grace found herself liking the other woman, even though the jealousy bug had taken a big old bite out of her hindquarters. There was something real about her, honest and open. It seemed to say she took the world for what it was and it didn’t scare her; it just made her hungry for more. She was alive—more so than anyone else Grace had met—and this gave her a certain charisma. She decided to say, “So, you didn’t answer me. How did you come to be what you are?”
“Your grandma. She’s a class act, that one.”
“She’d dead,” Grace pointed out, as if this would be a startling surprise.
“So was I. Anything is possible. She brought me back to do the one thing that I need to do. She gave me demonhood. Michael is . . .” She trailed off.
“Michael is what?”
“Can’t tell you, honey. I’m sorry. But I figured I’d come help you since she can’t. You seem . . . kind of awkward. Plus, I like you.”
“I like you, too,” Grace replied, “but my arms are starting to hurt.”
Jill laughed. “Oh, sure. Let’s go pay. I have demon credit.” She flashed an odd-looking piece of plastic.
Grace grinned. “Actually, if you’ll let me get my purse, I have a credit card in Michael’s name.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” Jill dashed to a wall, and just as quickly the entire contents of the display were piled on the counter.
So much for being inconspicuous. This did indeed cause every eye in the store to focus on them. Two hot women with an end-of-the-world supply of sex toys? Yeah. They all thought that she and Jill were going to be elbow deep in each other before they got home.
Grace’s face flamed again, but she bit down on her lip to keep her mouth shut. If she tried to deny they were together, it would just be worse. Besides, why couldn’t a witch and her demonic godmother go rubber-dick shopping together?
“I think I have a box in the back. Let me go get it,” the cashier said, sauntering off with a happy hitch to his step, something not altogether at home on his bent form.
Jesus Harold with a riding crop! They needed a box?
Jill was standing there, a smug queen of debauchery and happy about it. She met every turned eye with a brazen shamelessness that Grace admired. She wanted the same for herself. She wished she felt just as devil-may-care.
Thinking about it, Grace made up her mind. These people could all think what they liked. So what if they knew she was going home to . . . she’d been about to say “jill-off,” but the terminology seemed unfairly personal somehow, considering her new friend’s name. Anyway, she could start a fire by rubbing her bean if she wanted and it was her business and hers alone. The haters were all cordially invited to shove a—
Jill interrupted her thoughts. “I have to go. I’ll pick up my loot from your place later, okay?”
“Why?” Grace asked. Then, “Oh, no. You’re not leaving me with this pile of perversions to lug home all on my own.”
“I’m outranked,” Jill whispered. “It seems that there are princely powers that have plans for your sweet self.” Then Jill hugged her, hard and fast, and scurried out the door.
Grace’s eyes ignored the commands of her brain and scanned the room for those “princely powers.” Scanned it hopefully, feeling a rush. She didn’t see any, however, so she in turn ignored her stomach, pretending those slam-dancing butterflies hadn’t turned to bricks. If it was Caspian, where exactly was he?
She turned back to the cashier, who was eyeing her lasciviously.
“Where did your friend go?” he asked, ringing up each item and stuffing it into the large cardboard box he’d brought from the back.
“She was late for an appointment.”
“I see.” The cashier held up the ball gag. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into this.”
A couple of customers were once again intrigued by what was going on at the register. Grace just blushed and looked at her feet, but a moment later she realized that the cashier shouldn’t know anything about what she was into. Which meant . . . this homely little troll was Caspian! The sneaky bastard. He wanted to play with and taunt her? He wanted to play up her embarrassment here? Oh, and he still had it coming for the murder most foul he’d committed earlier.
She smiled lasciviously at the little man. “Yeah, I’m a total freak. What can I say?” Later she would contemplate why that statement had rolled off her tongue like honey. The implication would haunt her. Was she indeed a freak?
He chortled a bit and inspected the next item. It was a cock corset. “Who’s this for?”
“Not sure. You maybe. If you play your cards right.” Grace smiled.
The cashier narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowed. “Really? That desperate for cock, are you?”
“Insatiable, really.” Another embarrassing truth, at the moment. But to hell with it. This was all Caspian’s fault. Let him deal with the consequences.
“Why do you need all this stuff? Don’t you have a boyfriend?”
“Nope,” she replied. “Had somebody I was fucking, but you know, he didn’t want anything deeper. Wouldn’t take me to dinner. Wouldn’t do anything. Doomed relationship, really.”
The little guy was still ringing up items and shoving them into the cardboard box. He’d apparently given up on trying to embarrass her. “You couldn’t just, you know, shag him because it’s fun?”
“It’s not fun anymore. See, there are things called feelings. They’re like roaches. Once you have them, you can’t get rid of them. So I’m just trying to keep the dishes clean and tidy and the food put away so they don’t see anything they think they want.”
“Ah.” The man eyed her, then spat a big wad of chaw into a spit cup. Grace almost threw up.
With a loud smack, she slapped her credit card down on the counter in front of her. “So. How much is it for this behemoth box of bang?”
“One thousand eight hundred forty-two dollars and ninety-seven cents.”
Grace shrugged and pushed the card forward.
“This says ‘Michael Grigorovich.’ ”
“It does, doesn’t it?” She didn’t sound the least bit surprised.
“I don’t think that’s you.”
“Nope, it’s not.”
“Do have another form of payment?”
“Don’t need one. Look again.” Grace used her magick to change the name on the card.
“Grace, if you think for one minute,” the man said, his form already changing, “that I’m going to let you go without a fight, surrender you to the delights of silicone sex, you have another think coming
.”
Grace laughed, but this time none of the shop’s other patrons turned to look. Instead, they melted away into a waterfall of fire. Unfortunately, so did her new Rabbit. What did the demon have against those poor little creatures?
“Grace, I can be anything you desire,” Caspian said. He wore his normal shape. “Anything. All you have to do is tell me your fantasies. I can make them happen. Every damn one.”
Suddenly they were on a ship and she was dressed like a wench, her bosoms heaving like great barrels of ale over her cincher. Caspian was dressed as a sea captain—no, not just a captain, but a pirate captain. He stood at the helm, breeches tighter than sin and Hessian boots up to his knees. A fine lawn shirt hung open, revealing the wide, tan expanse of his chest. A gold hoop adorned his ear and he even wore an eye patch. A slightly intimidating scar marred perfect features, which made him look even more delicious. In fact, he looked just how she’d envisioned the dashing pirate/ disinherited lord in the first romance novel she ever read.
Her resolve died a quiet, lonely death. The rest of her was too busy eye-humping the pirate about to plunder her booty.
“Like this, Grace. Is this what you want?”
Caspian yanked her to him with little care for tenderness, crushing his mouth to hers in blatant and absolute ownership. She melted into him, the familiar heat a delicious juxtaposition against the salty sea spray, the—
No, no. She mustn’t.
She drew away from him. “You can’t just kidnap me on your supposed pirate ship and treat me like a . . .”
She didn’t get to finish. Caspian was blond again, and they were surrounded by fog. Screams of terror tore through the darkness, and heady blazes sprang to life on the surrounding huts.
She looked down and saw she was wearing nothing but a wool shift, her hair now long and falling past her waist. She was freezing her tits off. About to tell him so, she suddenly zeroed in on the fur loincloth he wore. There were gold bands at his wrists and biceps, and he was resplendent in Viking glory. The sword hanging down his back wasn’t the only one vying for attention, either. She could see the outline of a different weapon lurching against that oh-so-small loincloth, and was tormented by visions of him pillaging her right there, of him carrying her off to his longboat and giving a thorough demonstration of his oar.
How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days Page 14