POG
Jee and Melitta weren’t watching derby, which amazed me. How could they not be watching this? They were giggling over Melitta’s phone.
“Hey,” I yelled across Beth. “Don’t we have, like, an assault team to fight off pretty soon here?”
Jee roared. Melitta handed me the phone. Amanda leaned to look over my left shoulder and Beth looked over my right.
It was a video. I tapped Play.
In a small, dim room lit by one naked bulb and shot with a fish-eye lens, a number of large creatures wearing bulky white garments blundered into each other and the walls. Occasionally someone yelped.
“Bumped into the heater,” Amanda said.
It was the demon trap! The same teeny room Ish and I had arrived in when we escaped the Regional Office through the Twinkie portal. I tried to count the assault force, but it was a really teeny room, and they were crammed together like anchovies in a tin and unable to see for shizzle, I was guessing, because they all wore hazmat suits with those plexi faceplates.
“Wait for it—wait for it—” Amanda said. “Ah!”
Somebody tore the hood off his hazmat suit. Shouting and shoving became universal. Tiny shafts of brighter light speared up between the bodies from the hellhole at their feet, but that stopped when the room got too crowded.
More demons took their hoods off.
Several were beating on the wooden walls and the door.
Someone made a One—two—three! noise and we heard strained whines and frustrated grunts.
One—two—three! Wood went crack!
One—two—three! Colored light burst in from two directions, and the camera tilted, and the demons pushed the walls apart.
“Okay, tap number two,” Amanda said.
I squinted, trying to make sense of the melee of giant white bodies roaring and shoving off to the left of the camera eye.
Beth tapped the screen.
This camera was placed in the ceiling somewhere out over the basketball deck. Wow, Amanda really planned this. I was impressed. The colored spotlights shone down on demons in hazmat suits wrestling with coils of packing wrap, falling over each other, and making an ungodly noise. Some fell over and didn’t get up. They just lay there and giggled. No wonder, considering how much THC-heavy smoke billowed around them.
On the floor, where the doorway-to-hell emblem had lain, was a brilliantly-lit hole, and a stairway going down, and more demons shoving to get up past their struggling brethren.
I tried to count them. Six, seven, ten, fourteen demons? Hard to tell, with them flopping and milling around and getting in each others’ way.
The final demon to come up the stairs was a familiar shape. He didn’t take off his hazmat hood, but I remembered him vividly from last time. That would be Buugh himself.
Demons were already trying to touch the food on Amanda’s phantom catering tables.
Buugh roared something I couldn’t catch.
One or two guys looked over their shoulders guiltily at him.
Three more, however, took off their hazmat hoods.
The phantom catering tables faded.
“Nuts,” Amanda said. “The smoke probably got too diffuse.”
“Yeah, but—” Beth said. “Look.”
I counted four demons gobbling the tainted junk food on the real table. Four more lay on the deck, giggling, and when Buugh gestured and roared at them, they got up and staggered over to the junk food with their friends.
Buugh roared some more. He finally managed to get—I counted—six? seven? about half the group into a line. He pointed at the brightly-lit hole into hell and said a word, and the hole disappeared. Then he pulled something out of his pocket—the room was too dark and the camera too cheap to let us see what. After consulting whatever he had in his hand, he led his remaining commandos toward the back door, out of range of the camera.
The demons he had left behind kept stuffing their faces. Two were trying to figure out how to get beer out of the keg.
As I passed the phone to Beth, I heard them set up a tinny cheer. Woohoo, guys. Yup, that’s how a keg works.
“Back door?” I said, looking up at Amanda.
“We took the van out the back. He’s probably got a sniffer of some kind. They’ll track us to the restaurant, then over here.”
“Is this camera capturing real time or is it a recording?” Beth asked now.
Good question, Beth. Turned out, we should have been asking that one ten minutes ago.
ISH
Ish saw them come in by the pizza stand, seven of them, and Buugh himself in the lead. They wore human bodies and clothes, but he couldn’t mistake Anger commandos. He phoned Pog, whom he could see sitting in their row of suicide seats hunched over a phone with Beth and Amanda.
“Talk to Amanda first. She’s the sergeant on this mission,” Pog said. Ish saw her hand her phone to Amanda.
“I see them,” Amanda said, looking the length of the derby track at the demons. “Call Reg and tell him to stand by. I’ll yell when it’s time for him to shoot rose-petal confetti.”
“You know,” Ish said, “if the refs catch you shooting confetti on this track, they’re liable to throw you out. I bet the skaters won’t like it.”
“Hm. You think it’d make the track slippery?” she said.
“Have him come around the side,” Ish suggested. “Get the range right, and it won’t shoot that far. Just over the ends of the bleachers.”
“You tell him. I’ve gotta send my girls out,” Amanda said, and hung up. Ish saw her hand the phone back to Pog.
He made the call to Reg and saw the kid move into position, looking grim and poised. Ish had to laugh. Must be like finding himself in his favorite video game. But it wouldn’t be funny if Buugh got hold of his girls. It had taken Ish a week to pry Pog out of there, and she was the toughest of the bunch.
Buugh was looking at a device in his hand, then up.
Derby fans were everywhere. They milled around the pizza and beer vendors. They yelled in conversation. They yelled at the derby track. They bumped into Buugh and spilled beer on him.
Suddenly Ish noticed Beth, standing way behind Buugh, dwarfed by the demon commandos all around her. She touched one of the demon commandos on the elbow. He looked down at her. With a mechanical smile, she handed him a beer and turned away and went back to the beer counter.
The demon raised the beer to his nose and sniffed.
Buugh raised his hand, and all the demon commandos looked up, except the one with the beer. Buugh pointed across the derby track. Ah, he’d spotted Pog. He turned and gathered glances of his team, saw the demon with the beer, and opened his mouth, but it was too late: his demon had tasted the beer.
Buugh reached back and clouted him.
The demon’s beer fell, spilling onto his buddies, and his face lifted, a picture of tragedy.
Buugh bellowed harshly.
The demon bowed his head and, as his team followed Buugh, he shuffled after them.
Beth touched him on the elbow again. She handed him another beer and slipped away.
The demon looked after his team, craned his neck at Buugh, looked at his beer, shrugged, and drank. Then, very slowly, his legs folded up, and he sat down on the floor in front of the pizza vendor, to the strongly-voiced annoyance of derby fans.
Ish smiled grimly. One down, seven to go.
When he looked at the far suicide seats, two demons were approaching Pog and Amanda from one end of the row, and two from the other end. The girls retreated up the bleachers. Their pursuers clambered after them.
Ish laid the barrel of his paintball gun over his forearm and sighted down it, aiming for the back of the nearest commando’s head.
POG
We climbed up the middle of the short bleacher unit with care, since the derby fans were packed tightly. Buugh’s demon commandos followed, climbing up at each end. Somewhere underneath us, if things were going according to plan, Jee and Melitta were already in positi
on. I felt a warm hand on my ankle, and reached out to stop Amanda from climbing any higher. We stood back-to-back and watched the commandos work their way toward us.
Down in the out-of-bounds zone, somebody dressed up like a blue-and-yellow sperm was cavorting around, rousing fans to cheer for their team.
“Doesn’t anybody up here have any fucking nachos?” I muttered to Amanda.
“Guy to your left and down one row,” she muttered back.
“Whew. For a minute there—for want of a nail—” I pulled my denim shirt open a little farther, dialed my boobs up, leaned over, and touched the nacho-eating derby fan on his shoulder, sending him a little taste of succubus mojo.
He looked up at me, his mouth half open, chewing nachos.
“That looks so good,” I cooed. “May I have a bite?” I took the paper tray out of his hand. They were ordinary arena nachos, made with cheap tortilla chips, canned cheese food product, and sliced, pickled jalapeño peppers. Amanda loaded up a chip with cheese and a pepper slice. I did the same and handed the tray back to my benefactor. “Thanks, hon,” I said, jolting him again with my free hand.
Back to back, we confronted our pursuers.
The first demon to reach me put his hand on my arm and opened his mouth. I stuffed the nacho slice in—sent a jolt of succubus juice into his hand—and boom, down he went into the lap of a large male derby fan with multiple tattoos and a goofy hat.
The second commando, however, got both hands on me.
The first commando demon was juddering in the derby fan’s lap. My teammate below the bleachers must have got him by the ankle. Shock waves rippled over his body as she pumped succubus mojo into him.
Our whole end of the audience got to its feet all at once and started yelling. Something good must be happening down there.
Up in the bleachers, I was getting handcuffed to an Anger commando, and I was sending mojo into the guy, and he was leering at me, which meant he definitely enjoyed it, but it didn’t disable him. Dammit.
Behind me I heard Amanda give her special yodel, the signal to Reg to set off his confetti cannon of dried rose petals.
Nothing happened. The audience was making too much noise. The announcer was yelling, “And Rapture Snatch takes lead jammer in a power jam! What an upset in the final jam of the bout! Dum-Dum Round makes a pass to block her but skids out of bounds!”
I tried shrinking my hands down so I could slip out of the cuff, but of course they were demon handcuffs, so that didn’t work. I wished I wasn’t handcuffed to an oversize, leering demon commando. I wished Reg would get his act together and set off that confetti cannon.
Then there was a lull in the noise. I heard Amanda’s yodel again, and a high, soft puff sound. A moment later, dried rose petals showered over our section of bleachers.
My demon captor glanced up at the rose petals fluttering down.
“You have between forty seconds and six weeks before the infection gets you,” I yelled.
The demon put up a hand and picked a rose petal out of his demon hair. “Urrr?”
“That’s it! It’s the scary stuff! You’re gonna go poof any minute now!” I yelled. Cripes, I couldn’t hear myself over this racket. I yanked against the handcuff attaching my wrist to his.
A heavy hand fell on my shoulder from behind.
I looked around. One of Amanda’s demons stood there. He was glaring at my demon. No sign of Amanda. Now what?
“Urrr!” my demon said.
An end-of-bout horn blasted. The announcer made triumphant yelping noises that might have been words.
I remembered that I had a trick that would work on demons. I reached up and touched the other demon’s hand on my shoulder, sending the biggest blast of succubus juice into him that I could muster.
The whole crowd was on its feet now, and fans were flowing down out of the bleachers onto the track, forming a line around the edge and holding out their hands. The winning skaters rolled past them, slapping each fan’s hand in turn.
Amanda’s demon let go of my shoulder, whew, but he was glaring now at the one I was handcuffed to, and my demon glared back, equally ferocious. I wondered if he’d felt that blast as well. I wondered what I had in my pockets that could cut this handcuff off me, because in about two seconds—yup—
The demons lunged for one another’s throats, dragging me along with them.
The three of us tumbled onto the bleachers. I was getting hella bruised. I ended up under one guy, jammed down in the aluminum foot-trough with his smelly bulk above me and my shoulder nearly yanked out of its socket while he tried to get at the other guy’s eyeballs.
The sound desk was playing ridiculously loud music by Queen.
Something warm was happening to my other shoulder. If only I wasn’t attached to this moron, I could slip down under the bleachers. I felt weird—even kind of horny. Seriously, Pog? Then I realized what it must mean.
One of my teamies was underneath the bleachers, sending jolt after jolt of succubus juice into me, through me, into the clown-commando lying on top of me.
“Urrr—”
I felt that growl through my body, rather than heard it, because his shoulder was mashing my face and ear.
He got a whole lot heavier.
Fuck. The other demon was lying on top of the guy lying on top of me.
And they were grinding on each other.
With an effort, I turned my face down so my mouth wasn’t full of demon shoulder. “Help?” I squeaked.
ISH
Ish saw Pog go down under two wrestling demons. His heart stuttered. His phone buzzed at the same time. He couldn’t get a good bead on any demon, because the crowd was seething, mixing with the derby girls, the referees, and the volunteers tearing up the track. He answered his phone.
“Where are you?” It was Amanda. “Reg got busted for setting off the confetti cannon. Pog is handcuffed to a demon who just came out of the closet. Melitta and Jee are somewhere under the bleachers.”
“Where’s Beth?”
“Beth’s with me. We’ve cornered Buugh. Get down here.”
Ish leaned over his gallery rail, scanning the crowd frantically. “Where are you?”
“Right under you. First row of seats.”
Ish spotted them: Beth posing like Betty Boop, grinning, undulating, brandishing her boobs at Buugh as if they could kill him on contact, and Amanda on her other side, putting her phone in her pocket, as laconic and calm as Beth was flagrant. Between them Buugh stood glaring, his tusks gleaming, nostrils flaring, fists bunched at his sides, as if undecided which to attack first, and also—hm—also distracted by something out on the derby track.
Ish gave one baffled look at the mass of humanity milling around on the track and then bolted for the stairs.
By the time he arrived on the derby track, most of his team had showed up. Pog had a handcuff on one wrist, but, thankfully, no demon attached to the other end. They surrounded Buughdybogh. Ish had an icky feeling that it would take more than a beer or a shot of concentrated lust to immobilize the Double Duke of Hell.
But Buugh wasn’t paying them any mind. His jaw drooped. He gaped into the crowd on the track at fans, skaters, and referees, as if seeing a ghost.
Ish couldn’t tell who Buugh was looking at. But he saw one person he recognized. She sauntered toward him with the confidence of a goddess.
Ish croaked, “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t everybody a derby fan?” Delilah raised her perfect eyebrows. She wore a snug-fitting derby jersey over red leather pants, and she looked like a gazelle at a cattle run.
“Hi!” Cricket said happily to Delilah.
“What are you doing here?” Beth said.
Jee and Melitta hustled up with Reg, looking disheveled, between them.
“Wait,” Amanda said. “Is that—?”
“You,” Pog said levelly. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Delilah smiled a smile of pure triumph. “Later, darlings.” She
looked back over her shoulder.
And then Ish saw what Buugh had been gaping at.
One of the referees was signing a fan’s program. He caught Delilah’s eye, smiled back at her, and rolled over to where Team Succubus and Duke Buughdybogh stood like plastic action figures on a birthday cake. Ish recognized him from the photos hanging all over the Regional Office: The Regional Office CEO, the original rebel, the first fallen angel, the son of morning.
Buugh swallowed. “What are you doing here?”
The RO CEO rolled right up to Buugh, through the circle of staring succubi, and shook him warmly by the hand. “Hey. Good to see you.” He swiveled restlessly on his skates, as if still full of adrenaline from the bout. From the back, his black-and-white striped shirt read His Satanic Majesty Refquests. “I hear you’re doing amazing things in the Office.”
“Sir,” Buugh said. He swallowed. “Sir. You never answer my memos.”
Ish sidled behind Pog and peeked over her shoulder.
“I don’t do that stuff any more,” the RO CEO said. “I’ve decided I’m more of a field guy.” He glanced at Delilah and smiled a smile that spoke of luxury hotel suites and strawberries dipped in champagne.
Holy shit, Ish thought. She’s got him by the tail. So to speak.
“Sir,” Buugh said again. He was pale pink with emotion. He said more sharply, “I’ve been running the place without you.”
“And doing it extraordinarily well, too. I don’t know how to thank you!” The most famously devilish smile of all flashed at Buugh.
Buugh stammered and yammered.
The RO CEO, alias His Satanic Majesty Refquests, snapped his fingers. “I remember what I meant to do. Here.” He tugged a ring off his hand. “You take this. You deserve it. Your dedication should be rewarded.”
Ish thought, When they promote you, watch out.
Buugh made gobbling noises.
The RO CEO looked directly at Ish and winked. “Love your work.” Then he picked up Buugh’s hand and slid the ring onto his finger. “I crown you, uh, that is, I hereby promote you to Regional Office Chief Executive Officer.” He chuckled. “Now you can sit around waiting for the Home Office to call a meeting.”
Coed Demon Sluts: Omnibus: Coed Demon Sluts: books 1-5 Page 101