Chapter Three #2
She bit back an agonized hiss. Another. The pain was still excruciatingly real.
Nevertheless, she made time to get in a few prayers that his back would stay turned as she stealth-sprinted the rest of the way to his front door.
She also thanked herself for never slacking on the free lessons with Chris and Lee, the ex-Special Ops guys she’d recruited a couple of years ago for the tactical team, who’d more than earned their nicknames as the “silk specters”.
Every tip and trick they’d taught her, mercilessly embedded in her brain, flowed down and into her muscle memory—
Until she made it all the way out onto his porch.
Then his yard.
Then across it, only slipping half an envious glance at his flawless gold and green roses, before hurrying out onto the road that led—
Where?
Blending with the scattered but festive crowd seemed the best way to learn that answer, though it wasn’t like she could saunter up and ask any of the individuals who comprised it.
If she’d wondered whether she’d actually touched down in the Underworld before, this collection of demons, dragons, vampires, and wraiths doused every drop of the doubt within thirty seconds of her dazed perusal.
A few of them seemed to notice her gawks but didn’t blink a lash or twitch a horn in return.
They merely primped their sparkling accessories and trendy outfits as if her own “adornments” weren’t twenty tracks of blood across mission gear that was ready for an incinerator.
Apparently, they were on missions of their own, toward a destination where their finery might become part of a bigger collection. A much larger crowd.
Aha. Exactly what she needed, perhaps even where she’d find someone who had a line on how to contact Nao Ito. Every minute she delayed reconnecting with the man was another chance for the criminal to toy with Genny’s fate.
So, she fell into line at the edge of the casual procession.
Though the rest of the throng paid her little mind, she still dove her gaze to the road and pulled the collar of her tactical jacket over as much of her face as possible.
Despite her new sight limits, she ordered her senses to stay alert.
Behind her, there were still no sounds of the rock-god-angel giving chase.
Not far ahead, the road’s shiny ebony bricks took on reflective glow from brighter light sources.
She didn’t dare look at the way up to clarify exactly what was going on.
It was comforting enough to be shielded by a growing crowd in a more public setting.
As soon as a trendy dance beat subtly throbbed in the air, she smirked with a matching mood of surprise.
So, the devil did let his denizens have some fun every once in a . . .
“Shit.”
The word was more of a spit than an exclamation, but she didn’t have time to be sorry.
Mortification had a way of choking it out of her like that—along with everything except her pounding pulse in her throat and the clanging disbelief in her ears.
They dueled for domination in her senses as she looked ahead and reread the ornate neon sign ahead.
Underworld Café
And then, at street level below it, a glowing handwritten addition:
The wait is over!
The Underworld Café is grateful for your patience.
Wednesday Night Speed Dating,
in partnership with The DeLux Café,
has been delayed but not canceled!
Starting soon: 10 minutes
As Wen swore again, barely managing to keep it beneath her breath, the bottom line of the sign changed.
Only nine minutes now. The night’s festivities—the speed dating shenanigans undoubtedly delayed because of what she and her team had done earlier to DeLux’s atrium—weren’t about to let a little chaos ruin the night’s plans.
Why even consider saying die, with Hell as an event partner?
Air returned to her lungs in a stabbing rush. Despite the ill-timed proof of life, she took enough of another breath to surround new, bewildered words.
“Could this rodeo get any weirder?”
Before she could lilt her voice into a full question mark, someone clutched the crook of her elbow.
The woman was stunning, with long curls Wen could never pull off, and eyes the color of the ocean just after sunset: an oddly perfect metaphor despite their current locale.
The reverent comparison held fast, even as she flashed a smile that showed off pronounced canines that looked ready for a willing mortal neck.
But as Wen attempted to flinch back by a step, the beauty grabbed her tighter and emitted a throaty laugh.
“Hey. Don’t be nervous. This is supposed to be fun, right? My name is Eve,” she went on, not missing a beat. “Yes, that Eve; thanks for asking.”
“I . . . ermmm . . . didn’t—”
“And on behalf of Aphrodite and me, thanks for coming back after all the commotion.”
“Right.” The word was a gummy, uncomfortable extension, no matter how hard she fought for glib and trite. “About that . . . ”
“All in the past. We’re not going there. Just think about the fun ahead. And meeting the love of your life!”
“Oh. No. I’m sorry, I can’t . . . I don’t . . . ”
“Believe it’ll happen? Even with a Supe?” Eve flashed a mischievous wink. “You want to know how many times I’ve heard a Normie say that, sweetie? And how many times I’ve gotten a thank-you note along with their wedding invitation?”
Wen would’ve laughed if everything still didn’t hurt so much, especially when she noticed the vampire’s nostrils flaring from scenting her unhealed wounds. “I’m just going to get—”
“To table eight. Of course.” The female indicated toward a card that appeared by itself in Wen’s hand. “That’s a great location. Out of the way a little bit, with a lovely view of the atrium.”
“Of course it is.” The dim light, hiding the mortified color across her face, was suddenly her best friend.
“I’ll send over a complimentary drink,” the vampiress offered. “You look like a red wine girl. It’s good for blood health, you know.”
“Right. But that’s not necessary. I’m not going to . . . ”
What?
Every intention in her head and word on her tongue dissolved like cheap breath mints, as soon as a new female walked into the club.
Like the captivating yin to Eve’s yang, the tall, majestic, and horrifically familiar woman waved tapered fingers in greeting to Eve while threading her way through the crowd.
“Oh, look. There’s Aphrodite. What perfect timing. Let me introduce you two,” Eve said. “We run this event together. I guarantee you’ll feel like old friends at once.”
But the only relevant at once sensation was the urge to surrender everything in her stomach straight up her throat. With a wide swing to the left and a deep, violent kneel, Wen managed to keep the bile where it belonged—for now.
“I—uh—think we’ve already met,” she rasped out.
As in a few hours ago, in that damn atrium, just before she’d shot a vial of falmouth into the goddess’s brother.
“Shit.”
Goddess?
Ohhh, no. She’d meant woman, hadn’t she?
Except that she hadn’t.
Goddess. Here and now, it made so much more sense than anything else.
Certainly more than explaining away everything else that had happened since.
The tornado of fire that had doubled as a metaphysical transporter tube.
The divinely stunning male who taken her here in it, after he’d whipped that fiery portal into existence like just microwaving chicken nuggets for their ride.
Definitely not how the guy had landed a glowing gold arrow in her chest but then corrected the damage with his liquid-stitch-without-the-insurance-bill fingers.
And now, she had to make sense of this. Of finding herself at a speed dating event with “competition” that included females even more bizarre than Eve, with horns and wings and scales and claws . . .
Leading her to plunk herself down at the table to which Eve had indicated, struggling for more moisture in her throat as a dry, awful query sprang from it.
“You had to go and ask, didn’t you, Wen?”
Because yes, the rodeo could get weirder.
And just had.