Me and My Shadow - Katie MacAlister [65]
“You’re not coming, either,” I told the demon.
“Why not?” It opened its eyes really wide. “I’ll be good! Promise!”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word ‘good,’ ” I said acidly.
It stuck out its lower lip. “No, but I can pretend.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Just the three of us,” Cy said persuasively. She took my hesitation for another denial, and added a plaintive, “I really don’t want to have to be here by myself with that rat bastard.”
“Surely you can come up with some better insults for me than ‘rat bastard’?” Magoth asked, idly sorting through a stack of mail that sat on a small hall table. He held one up to the light. “You used to be quite inventive.”
“Not every conversation revolves around you,” Cyrene said, making indignant little noises. “I was referring to my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. One I really don’t want to be alone with.”
Magoth opened a letter and scanned the contents. I debated chastising him for that, but figured any truly important mail would have been given to Drake or Aisling already.
“The house is about ready to explode with people,” I told Cyrene, feeling guilty nonetheless. “You’re hardly alone.”
“You know what I mean. Please, Mayling.”
“Me love you long time. You take me. Please with dog hair on top,” Jim begged.
“Squalid little matters.” Magoth tossed the letter onto the table and looked over to where I stood, hesitating. “Where are we going?”
“We are going nowhere. I am going to see the police. I suppose if you two wish to come, you can, but, Jim, you have to be silent around mortals,” I told Jim as I opened the door and stepped out into a gloomy drizzle. “Cyrene, you will please remember that you are a guest of Drake, and not refer to his brother as a bastard.”
She harrumphed.
“Let me think. . . . There is a new cockfighting arena that I have been asked to open, but that is not until this evening,” Magoth said with a glance at his watch. “And my appointment to get a Brazilian wax is early afternoon. There is a collection of circus-freak memorabilia up for private auction that I wish to peruse—so many good memories there—but I can put that off, since the owner, a deliciously wicked poltergeist, wishes me to show her how to design a truly effective iron maiden. Yes, I will be able to accompany you now, wife, although if you wish to participate in sex afterward, we will have to hurry. I refuse to be rushed when it comes to pleasures of the flesh.”
I stared at Magoth. “You’re just one long, unending pain in the butt, aren’t you?”
A leer touched his lips. “I would be happy to do so, although I had no idea your taste ran to that.”
I closed my eyes for a second, battling both irritation and the dragon shard, which had been trying to force me into contact with Magoth. I had no idea why the shard was suddenly seeking power from whatever source it could find, but determination filled me. I would not yield to it. “I’m leaving now. And stop calling me wife.”
I marched down the stairs, not caring who followed and who stayed.
“I thought cockfights were illegal?” Cyrene’s voice drifted to my ears as I stopped at a corner for a traffic light.
“Mortals are so uptight about things like that,” Magoth answered her. I was aware he stopped directly behind me, since the air near my spine cooled a good ten degrees. “But since they have outlawed human battles to the death, one must take one’s pleasures where one can.”
“I take it back what I said about you when you couldn’t hear me,” Jim said softly, brushing my hand as it cast a glance backwards toward Magoth. “You’re not nearly as bad as a real demon lord.”
The ride to the Metropolitan Police station was long and filled with my warning all three members of my little troupe to behave themselves.
“No talking in front of anyone mortal,” I told Jim, one eye on the taxi driver. He had a small portable radio blaring out Middle Eastern music, so I doubted he’d hear.
Jim sighed and adopted a martyred look. “Just once I’d like to go somewhere without someone telling me to shut my yap.”
“That day will never come. And you . . .” I pushed