by Lexi George
The curved head bent closer to her ear. “Even for one of your kind, you are singularly annoying, Addy Corwin. I look forward to your death with pleasure.” He jerked upright in sudden alarm. “The Dalvahni approaches. Despair, for tomorrow you die.”
He flung her away and strode off. She stumbled back into a pair of strong arms.
“Thanks,” she murmured, regaining her balance.
She looked up at her rescuer, and her knees buckled. It was Brand, decked out in formal wear. The last time she saw him before they left the house he was still wearing jeans. Tweedy must have dropped the tux off while she was getting ready, God bless him. The evening clothes clung to Brand’s muscular frame like a lover’s caress, black tailcoat, matching trousers, white shirt and tie—the whole nine yards. Hot damn, he was gorgeous. He made her mouth water. He was a great big Dalvahni all-day sucker, and she was dying to see exactly how many licks it took to get to the center of his Tootsie Roll Pop.
The music ended, but she hardly noticed. She stood on the dance floor staring at him, her mouth open.
He frowned down at her, six feet plus of glorious male. “It is fortunate your friend left when he did, Adara, else I would have done him an injury. I do not enjoy seeing you in the arms of another man, even Pootie.”
Brand was jealous of Pootie. Only Pootie wasn’t Pootie anymore, but a soul-sucking, flesh-eating fiend that wanted to kill her.
It all came crashing down on her. Her blind panic when she realized her enemy lay hidden behind the frozen features of the grinning mask, the sick terror that filled her when the demon whispered in her ear. She heard again that chilling, raspy voice promising death and worse. The whole thing was downright spooky. Spooky, hell; she was scared out of her wits.
Heedless of her surroundings, she launched herself into Brand’s arms. “I wasn’t dancing with another man.” She buried her face against his hard chest. His spicy, masculine scent filled her senses, calming her and making her horny as all get-out at the same time. “It was the demon. The demon has Pootie.”
With a low curse, he swept her out of the ballroom, through the French doors, and onto the veranda. He reached behind him and drew his sword. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight but did not burst into flame. Apparently satisfied they were in a demon-free zone, he sheathed Uriel.
“What did he say to you?” He gave her a little shake. “The djegrali. I saw him whisper something to you. What did he say?”
“He said I’m going to die tomorrow.” Tears filled her eyes. Angrily, she blinked them away. Badass Addy may have taken a powder, but that didn’t mean little Addy Corwin had to be a total wus. “Cheerful, huh?”
He jerked her into his arms, crushing her against his broad chest. “I should not have let you come here tonight. It is too dangerous. If anything happened to you . . .” His arms tightened around her, the expression on his handsome face fierce. “Adara, I—”
She heard a faint cry over the noise of the river and put her finger to his lips. “Shh. Did you hear that?”
“Adara, I am trying to tell you—”
“Help.”
“There, you heard it that time, didn’t you?” She slipped out of his embrace and went to the railing, peering out into the darkness. “I think somebody fell in the river.”
The old Addy had terrible night vision, but the new and improved Addy could pick fly shit out of pepper. Below them, clinging to the branches of a fallen tree in the river, was Pootie Jones. The river was deep at this point, and the current pulled at his legs. The Grand Goober had lost his peanut head. He looked small, wet, and bedraggled.
“Oh, my goodness, it’s Pootie!” She leaned over the railing. “Hang on, Pootie. We’ll get help.”
Brand yanked her back. “By the sword, are you trying to kill yourself?”
“Oh, pooh. The bank’s not that steep. What are we going to do about Pootie?”
Brand frowned. “Why must we do anything about Pootie? Cannot the foolish human extricate himself from the river?”
“He can’t swim,” Addy said. “We took swimming lessons together at the club when we were kids. Pootie flunked.”
“Is this not the same human that threatened to kill you but a moment ago?”
“That wasn’t Pootie. That was the demon. Pootie wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“Help,” Pootie yelped again.
“He doesn’t sound possessed. He sounds like plain old Pootie.” She gazed anxiously up at Brand. “Maybe the demon has gone.”
Brand shrugged out of his jacket. “Very well.”
“What are you doing?”
“I am going to remove the Pootie human from the river. Is that not what you desire?”
“Y-yes. No. I changed my mind.” She twisted her hands together. “What if the demon is playing a trick? Maybe we should get somebody else, like the fire department.”
She whirled around to rush back inside.
Brand stopped her. “I do not think that is the case. I think the demon, having delivered its message and knowing that Pootie cannot swim, left Pootie in the river to drown. It is their way to dispose of their victims once they have no further use for them. I will collect him for you.”
He motioned with one hand.
“No, wait, Brand. I’m worried—” She stopped. A glowing circle of light surrounded her. “What are you doing?”
“I have placed a spell around you to protect you from the djegrali in my absence. Do not leave the circle.”
“But Brand—”
Pfft, he disappeared. Addy tiptoed to the edge of the circle and peeked over the railing. Brand materialized on the partially submerged tree trunk at a point downstream from Pootie. His white shirt gleamed phosphorescent in the dark. Brand, the glow-in-the-dark Dalvahni warrior. Better than a light stick.
“Who are you?” Pootie demanded shrilly.
“Is it Pootie?” Addy yelled over the sound of the water.
“Yes,” Brand said.
“How can you be sure?”
“He does not stink, and his eyes are not purple.”
Wha? Purple eyes? Later, he would explain that remark, but at the moment she was remembering the rancid odor that had emanated from Demon Pootie on the dance floor.
“Burnt popcorn,” she shouted triumphantly. “The demons smell like burnt popcorn!”
“I am not familiar with this popcorn.” Brand paused. She could almost hear him thinking. Probably checking his internal Dalvahni guidebook, something she imagined as a sort of GPS and encyclopedia all rolled into one. “Ah, yes,” he said at last. “Corn is a cereal grain, also known as maize. This ‘popcorn’ you speak of is popular with humans. I do not understand the appeal of a food that reeks of demon.”
“It only smells like that when it’s burned,” Addy said. “I noticed it when I was dancing with—”
Pootie interrupted them. “Hey, people. I’m freezing my butt off here.”
Pootie sounded petulant. The Devil River was fed by a series of underwater springs, and the water was cold.
Brand said something to him in a low voice. Pootie shook his head and clung tighter to the tree branch. Brand clenched his jaw. She heard his deep voice rumble again and saw Pootie shake his head a second time. In the darkness, Brand’s eyes glowed like green coals. The big guy was getting cranky. Not a good thing. She’d better think of something quick before Brand exhausted his limited store of patience.
She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Pootie.”
Pootie looked up, his face the color of bleached bone in the moonlight.
“Tell Brand the joke about the string that walks into a bar.”
“Addy, I don’t thi—”
“Do it, Pootie.”
Teeth chattering, Pootie mumbled something to Brand. Nothing.
“Okay, he didn’t get that one. My bad,” she said. “Try the one about the penguin, the hippo, and the one-legged nun.”
“Addy, I’m trying to keep from drowning. I don’t think—�
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“Just tell him the damn joke, Pootie.”
Addy heard Pootie mutter something else to Brand. Brand grinned. Even at a distance, Addy was sucker-punched by that smile. It had the same effect on Pootie. His face went slack, and he let go of the branch. Brand caught him as he swept past. Pfft, they vanished. A second later, Brand reappeared on the terrace with Pootie slung over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Brand looked as elegant as before. Pootie looked like a drowned rat.
“Oh, my goodness, he’s soaked.” Addy rushed forward and slammed onto an unseen barrier. She banged her fist against the invisible wall. “Okay, joke’s over. Let me out of here.”
Brand dumped Pootie on the veranda. “I should have locked you up the first night. It would have saved me no end of trouble.”
She felt like a bug in a jar. “Ha ha, very funny. Let me out, Brand. I mean it. I’m claustrophobic.”
“Relax, little one. The spell is temporary. You are Dalvahni now. I could not really keep you imprisoned for any length of time, much as I might like to for your own good.”
As he spoke, the glowing circle faded.
Addy bent over Pootie. “You all right, Poo—uh—Bruce?”
Pootie sat up with a groan. “What happened? I feel awful.”
“Brand pulled you out of the river.”
“Thanks, mister,” Pootie said. He removed his wet shoes and socks. “I owe you one.”
“Think nothing of it.”
“How’d you get in the river in the first place?” Addy asked.
Pootie gave Brand a nervous glance. “Don’t know. I remember feeling small and sort of squished. And there was this voice in my head.” He shuddered. “A horrible, evil scratchy voice that gave me a headache. When I woke up, I was in the river.” He shoved a hank of wet hair out of his face. “My peanut head! What happened to my peanut head?”
Poor Pootie. Being Grand Goober was the highlight of his existence, and so far, he pretty much sucked at it. It was swim lessons at the club all over again.
“I guess it went in the river,” Addy said.
Pootie groaned. “The mayor’s gonna kill me. That costume came all the way from Chicago, Illinois. It was custom made, one of a kind. Cost the City fifteen hundred dollars. Some Grand Goober I turned out to be. How am I going to pay for this?”
Addy patted him on the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something. Right, Brand?”
Brand gave a noncommittal grunt and helped Pootie to his feet.
The three of them stood on the dark terrace, looking through the long windows into the brightly lit ballroom. The orchestra music drifted through the doors. The dance floor was crowded with women in brightly hued gowns and their penguinesque partners. A tall man whirled past with a curvaceous redhead in his arms. The redhead had a look of abject misery on her face.
Small wonder it took Addy a moment to recognize her. The goddess in the green gown was Evie. She’d turned herself into a creature so glorious Addy hardly knew her. And that was wrong on so many levels.
Hadn’t she told Evie a thousand times she was gorgeous? But did Evie listen? N-o-o-o.
And now the caterpillar had turned into a butterfly without warning. Without telling her best friend.
No doubt about it. She and girlfriend needed to talk.
Chapter Thirty-one
Addy didn’t stay miffed with Evie for long. She was too happy for her. She couldn’t wait to get her alone and talk about it, though. Addy suspected Blondy was behind Evie’s transformation, which put her in the giant hemorrhoid’s debt. Again.
The knowledge did not dull her happiness for her friend.
“That’s Evie dancing with Trey Peterson. Doesn’t she look fabulous?” Addy spied Meredith standing to one side and stifled a giggle. “Check out Meredith. She looks like she swallowed a bucket of worms.”
Brand nodded. “If by ‘check out’ you mean assess another person based upon their physical appearance, you should ‘check out’ Ansgar as well. He also appears to have ingested a large quantity of invertebrates.”
Poor Blondy looked miserable, like a dog that had lost a juicy bone. His gaze followed Evie as she glided around the ballroom in Trey’s arms. If looks could kill, Trey would be buzzard food.
They left the terrace and went back inside. The mayor hurried over to them.
“Bruce, what in the world happened to you?” he asked. “Where’s the Goober head? We’ve got the silent auction coming up, and you’re supposed to preside.”
Bruce hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mayor. The Goober head’s gone. I fell in the river and lost it.”
Mayor Tunstall’s mouth dropped open. “Lost it? Lost it. This is a disaster. How could you—”
“I will pay to replace the mask,” Brand said, cutting off the mayor’s tirade. “In addition, my brother and I will match the amount you raise in the auction on the condition that the donation is made in Pootie’s name.”
Pootie’s eyes widened. “That’s awfully gen—”
“Hush up, Pootie, and let the man talk,” the mayor said. He flashed Brand a wide smile. “And you are . . .”
“I am Dalvahni.”
The mayor rolled his eyes at Addy. “Italian shoe magnate,” she mouthed behind Brand’s back. She rubbed the tips of her fingers together to indicate that he was loaded.
Mayor Tunstall’s black eyes gleamed with avarice. “Will that be cash or check, Mr. Dalvahni?”
“If you refer to the physical form of what passes for currency here, then it will be cash.”
“Generous of you, Mr. Dalvahni. Very generous. I’ll let my secretary know. That’s Florence over there in the pink gown carrying the rhinestone possum purse. Made that purse herself. Has a whole line of animal purses she calls ‘Roadkill Chic.’ You interested in handbags, Mr. Dalvahni? No? Thought you might on account of you being in the shoe business. Well, if you change your mind, she’ll have a booth at the festival tomorrow. You can stop by my office before the parade and make your donation. This is most generous of you, I must say! But it’s a good cause, a very good cause, I can promise you that.” He gave Pootie a dismissive glance. “Bruce, you’re dripping all over the floor. Go home.”
The mayor waddled off, looking very pleased.
Brand watched him leave. “A singularly odd creature. Where do you suppose he got the notion that I am a cobbler by trade?”
“No idea,” Addy lied.
Pootie wrung Brand’s hand. “Thanks a million. You saved my butt again. I don’t know what to say, Brand.” He sneezed loudly.
“Pootie, you’d better get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death,” Addy said.
Pootie tugged on the sleeves of his ruined jacket. “You’re probably right. You still riding with me in the parade tomorrow, Addy?”
“Sure thing.”
“And you, too, of course . . . uh . . . Brand.”
“I would be pleased to accompany you. In fact, I insist upon it.”
Pootie sneezed again.
Addy gave him a little shove toward the door. “Go home, Bruce. Brand will see me home.”
Pootie waved good-bye and sloshed out the door.
Addy smiled at Brand. “That was a nice thing you did. Real nice.”
Brand shrugged. “Money is of little consequence to the Dalvahni. What we need, we are given.”
“Are you saying you’re rich?”
“Yes, I suppose in human terms I am rich.”
“Wow, health, wealth, and immortality. Sucks to be you, doesn’t it?”
“This is sarcasm, is it not?”
“Yep.”
“Looking at it objectively, I can see how a human would envy the Dalvahni lot, but since I’ve met you I’ve come to understand that—”
“Adara Jean, where’s your brother?” Bitsy glided up to them on the chief’s arm, looking very elegant in a silk charmeuse gown with an ivory bodice and a cappuccino skirt. “And what have you done with Pootie? Aren’t you supposed to be hi
s date?”
“I haven’t seen Shep, Mama, and Pootie left. He was coming down with a cold.”
“Humph,” Bitsy said, which in mama-speak meant Somehow I know this is all your fault, young lady, and I will get to the bottom of this later. Mama would find a way to blame her for sun spots and global warming, too. Bitsy turned her attention to Brand. “You look very handsome tonight, Mr. Dalvahni.”
Brand bowed. “And you are a vision, Mrs. Corwin.”
“Yes, Mama, you look beautiful,” Addy said.
Chief Davis squeezed Bitsy’s hand. “Pretty as a picture, ain’t she?”
Bitsy batted her eyes at the chief. “Oh, Car-lee.” Fiddle dee dee, Mama was doing the Southern belle thing again. She inspected Addy, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. “That’s a lovely dress, dear, but why are you still wearing that wig?”
“It’s not a wig, Mama. I keep telling you.”
“Humph,” Bitsy said again.
In the space of a few minutes, she’d ticked off two supernatural malefic beings, first the demon and now Mama. Was she good, or what?
Muddy joined them with Mr. Collier. Mr. C. looked very dapper in his evening clothes, and Muddy was the picture of elegance in a black gown that exposed one shoulder and had a slightly ruched waistline accentuated with a rhinestone clip. Diamonds twinkled in her ears and on the bracelet on her left wrist.
“Wuz up,” Muddy said.
Good grief. Mama was channeling Scarlett O’Hara, and her great-aunt was Muddy from the hood. Her family was so odd.
“This is a nice party, isn’t it?” Mr. Collier said. “Been to the Goober Ball before, of course, but I’ve always been too pounded to remember much about it. I’m going to try not to throw up on anybody this year.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Muddy said.
Bitsy fanned herself. “It is warm in here with all these people. Muddy, why don’t you and Amasa join me and Carl for a glass of punch? Seeing as how Pootie’s not feeling well, Mr. Dalvahni can ask Addy to dance.”
That was Mama, always on the lookout for a husband for Addy and about as subtle as a sledgehammer.
“An excellent idea,” Brand said. “I have not danced with Adara this evening.”