Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
From the comfort of his mansion’s balcony, Damien Greystone clutched a bottle of forty-year-old scotch in one hand and a small, irate sex fairy in the other while he gazed out at the glittering LA skyline.
Why must life be so complicated? He took a swig from the bottle, attempting (and failing) to drown out the emotions twisting in his gut. It was one thing to love a woman, but it was another to fall for a dead one.
Sky… He sighed. I have to let her go. Not that the ghost sex hadn’t been enjoyable when they’d first hooked up, but dating a ghost came with a long list of complications.
Like Sky being dead, for starters. Then there was the fact that she could not manifest herself very easily, so Damien had to rely on supernatural creatures such as this pesky perverted sex fairy to communicate with Sky. Those facts, however, paled in comparison to their biggest challenge as a couple: Sky dumping him.
Me! Damien Greystone! Immortal tailor to the gods.
It had all started when one of the gods gifted Sky a new living body, a second chance at life. At first, Damien felt elated. He would finally be able to hear Sky speak with a real voice. He would be able to touch her skin and make love to her without any ghostly acrobatics.
His joy, however, quickly unraveled the moment Sky announced she was leaving to once again pursue her career as an investigative journalist.
Obviously, he’d taken it like a man, meaning he’d shoved his pain and anger down a deep dark hole in his heart, but it had not been easy to accept her decision. Especially not after all the twists and turns their relationship had taken.
For two hundred years, he’d been bespelled by Willa, an evil witch who’d made him believe he loved her. So the moment he found himself free of Willa’s sorcery, he began to realize how strong his connection to Sky was. With Sky’s new body and his freedom from Willa, Damien saw a bright future ahead.
Then she stomped on my heart the first chance she got and ran off.
Now Sky was dead again, demanding his help. How dare that heartbreaking vixen come crawling back just because she was murdered a second time. He would not allow it! She’d just end up leaving anyway.
Ghost me once, shame on you. Ghost me twice, shame on me.
“You let me go, Damien!” Pet, the sex fairy, yelled, her tiny voice coming out like a mousey shriek.
“Silence,” Damien growled and hit the bottle.
“Sky says being angry isn’t going to solve the problem.” Pet flapped her lavender wings, trying to break free from his fist. “She says she knows she hurt you, but you have to hear her out. You owe her that much.”
“ Me owe her ?” he growled. Sky alone had made the decision to go undercover and work for the governor because she wanted to expose his corrupt network of allies who were hunting down supernatural creatures to conduct experiments.
Actually, they’d moved well beyond the experimental phase. The company, SBP, short for Supernatural Body Parts, had been collecting stem cells from creatures like Pet and then using them to grow humanlike bodies. Only, these bodies could live much longer and possessed abilities. SBP, which had been linked to Governor Newbery, was selling these bodies to his wealthy friends who wished to be young forever.
Sky had been one of the first recipients of such a body—a long story—but it had been at great expense to Damien. Such a waste.
“You can’t ignore Sky forever. Now let me go!” Pet sank her tiny, razor-sharp teeth into his thumb.
“Sonofabitch!” He released her and shook his hand in the air. “That hurt.”
Pet fluttered in front of his face, her big blue eyes narrow. “Sky says you’re being a stubborn man-twat, and if you won’t step up to help her, then we’ll rescue her sister and nephew without your help.”
Oh, yes. That was the other part to the most recent chapter of Sky returning to ghosthood; SBP had caught on to Sky’s plot to expose them, and they’d killed her, but not before kidnapping Sky’s sister and nephew, Amelia and Miguel.
What did they want with the two? Damien didn’t know, but he had a much bigger question: How had SBP figured out Sky’s plan?
Answer: someone had tipped them off, and that meant there was a rat in Sky’s immediate circle. Until he knew who the rat was, it made no sense to attempt to free Amelia and Miguel. They’d be ambushed.
Of course, these were all points Damien had just spent the last hour conveying to Sky, but as usual, she didn’t want to listen, thus the bottle of whiskey in his hand. Next, he might take a long bubble bath or perhaps sharpen his shears. Both were very relaxing.
Damien turned to face Pet, knowing Sky was hovering nearby. He could smell her vanilla shampoo wafting in the air.
“Ladies,” he said, “I will only say this once more: there is a traitor among us. And until I know who it is, I cannot make any moves against SBP or the governor. Therefore, if you wish to rescue Sky’s sister and nephew, it will be without my help.” He took another swig of scotch. “And Sky, when you predictably find yourself in more trouble because you did not heed my warning, do not even think of calling me.”
He could not hear Sky bitching, but right now she was probably calling him every name in the book.
He did not care. He was a man. And men did what they wanted, when they wanted.
“I’m going to my sewing room,” he grumbled. “Enjoy your failed rescue.”
“Pussy!” Pet yelled, fluttering behind him.
“Nope. Manly man!” Handsome, well built, and six three, he often had to beat the ladies off with a stick. They especially loved his turquoise blue eyes and dark hair. “Pussy, my ass!” he grumbled under his breath. “I’m all man!” So what if he enjoyed making clothes? They were manly clothes!
He went downstairs and pulled a pattern for a nice tweed sportscoat. If anything could get him in a better mood, it was cutting into fabric.
Two hours later…
Wearing black silk pajama pants, Damien got into bed and closed his eyes, savoring the stillness in his opulent mansion overlooking Sunset. Recently rebuilt after a fire, it was a home he’d been given as payment during his fixer years by a very wealthy vampire for covering up some rather unsavory sexual escapades.
Not that Damien couldn’t afford such a palace on his own, but who in their right mind would turn down a house with a garage for his twenty cars? It was a true gem and had become his sanctuary.
With contentment beating in his heart, Damien felt his body drifting off into the serenity of slumber.
Buzzz…buzzz… His cell vibrated on the nightstand.
No. Do not look at it. Let them leave a message. He focused on his breathing, determined not to get involved with whatever clusterfuck was going down.
After a few moments, the buzzing stopped.
See. All better now. He rolled over and snuggled into his white down comforter and Egyptian cotton sheets.
Buzzz…buzzz…
“Godsdammit!” He rolled over and grabbed the cell. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?”
“Obviously, I cannot see what you are doing over the phone. Did you hit your head, tailor?” said a deep, familiar voice.
Oh hell. Damien cleared his throat. “Votan. Errr…hello. How may I be of assistance?” Votan was seven feet of pure warrior, and prior to his recent retirement after seventy thousand years of service, he had been the God of Death and War. Not the sort of being anyone sane wished to anger.
“My sister Cimil has broken out of prison again,” Votan said blandly, as if bored by it all.
Damien was right there with him. Cimil’s constant troublemaking had grown old.
“Did she leave another treasure map behind, depicting where to find her ‘lucky charm’?” Last time she escaped, Cimil had made a game of it and left a map leading to a room in Vegas papered in photos of her butthole. Apparently, the goddess had a tattoo on that location of her body, which read, yes, my lucky charm .
They eventually found Cimil and Minky, her invisible pet unicorn, at the poker tables, winning everyone’s money. Cimil was an excellent poker player since the goddess could bluff her way into and out of anything.
“She did not leave a map,” replied Votan, “which is what concerns me. This time, she disappeared into thin air and has not been seen for weeks.”
That was unusual. Cimil, who lived to break the rules, cause chaos, and party, generally enjoyed flaunting her fugitivity. It was so very her.
Most recently, she’d broken a major law by meddling in the affairs of mortals—a giant no-no after the fourteen gods had voted to retire. Only one deity, K’ak, had permission to continue working part-time, though he was limited to running the underworld and acting as a liaison to the gods’ human army.
Damien did not know what the status of the army was since their leadership—the gods—had stepped down, nor did he care, because the world was an infinitely better place without the insane deities.
Like wild toddlers with superpowers. And Cimil was their poster child.
“So what is it you wish me to do?” Damien asked, praying it wasn’t to help locate Cimil. He wanted nothing to do with the unhinged goddess.
Votan sighed with exasperation. “Tailor, as you are aware, I am no longer on active duty. Also, my wife would murder me if I started godding again, so I’m going to need you to track down Cimil.”
Son of a… Damien drew a long breath. “Fine. If you would be so kind as to tell me your theory?”
“Theory?”
“Where Cimil might’ve gone,” Damien explained.
“If I knew that, I would not be calling you, Greystone. But I can say this: Cimil is working with someone powerful because neither I nor my brethren can sense Cimil’s presence anywhere in the world. There is no sign of Minky either.”
“I need somewhere to begin the search. Otherwise, I cannot help,” Damien said. Yes, he was immortal and technically a demigod ever since the gods had elected to give him their light after he’d proven himself invaluable on more than one occasion; however, he had no powers. No ability to manipulate time, the weather, or humans—though he had been a very effective fixer at one time. He’d also been a supernatural weapons expert, soldier, and hunter (of people and beings). Now, he was simply an imbittered tailor who really, really, really wanted to be left the hell alone.
Just a man and his fabrics.
And Chinese takeout.
And lots of scotch. All the scotch.
“Begin by looking for news of abnormal events,” Votan suggested, “such as clowns falling from the sky or Big Foot sightings at Sizzler. Cimil loves to take advantage of their two-for-one steak nights. If that fails, try finding out if there’s a surge in Twinkie consumption anywhere.”
Cimil did love her Twinkies, almost as much as she loved torturing clowns. As the ex-Goddess of the Underworld—“ex” due to her forced retirement—she felt a special bond with all things evil.
“All right. I will get on it in the morning,” Damien said.
“No. You will start now. You have five days to find her.”
Damien’s temples began to throb. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Why five days?”
“I promised Emma we’d time travel to pre-eruption Pompeii for our anniversary. This should be resolved before my departure.”
Emma was Votan’s wife. “That is a relief. I thought you were going to say the world would implode, or something of that nature.”
“That, too,” Votan said.
Excellent, Damien thought dryly, rubbing his forehead.
Votan continued, “Cimil wishes for the gods to come out of retirement and rule over humans once more; however, since we’ve refused, she may be taking another route to get what she wants.”
“What other route?” And how could Cimil force thirteen deities to return to duty? They were gods. They didn’t do anything they didn’t want to.
Unlike me. Always being bamboozled.
“As you know, the supernatural communities were recently decimated when her unicorn fornicated with a hellhound—an unnatural mating that triggered a supernatural calamity. In either case, she’s made it no secret that she wishes to rebuild the supernatural populations.”
“Yes, I am aware,” Damien said. The blast from the two creatures getting it on had been so destructive that only a handful of creatures from each species survived, though no one knew how. In any case, the blast also triggered the gods’ retirement. With so few supernatural threats to humankind remaining, they figured it was a good time to take off the training wheels and let humans fend for themselves. Cimil had been opposed to the plan.
Votan went on, “We believe her ultimate goal is to build an army and attack humans, thereby forcing our hands. My brethren and I would have no choice but to intervene.”
No. No. No. The gods can’t come out of retirement. Things were finally starting to make sense in the world again. Rational decisions were making a comeback, people were regaining a sense of hope, and the masses were taking time to shop in person again. He’d never seen so much foot traffic. When the gods were around, the world lived in a constant state of pendulum-swinging and eggshell-walking as random chaos erupted.
I bet Cimil is behind those drones. She loved messing with humans’ heads, and the sparklier the better.
“I will do my best to find her,” Damien said. “But Votan, I must be candid; Cimil is always ten steps ahead. If her plan is to raise an army, it is best to assume she will succeed and to prepare now while there’s time.” Damien had retired from his life as a soldier long ago, but the principles of war were forever ingrained in his mind: Plan for success but prepare for failure.
“By law, my hands are tied,” Votan said. “The gods are to remain out of the picture for the time being.”
Great. So the fate of the world hinged upon Damien locating Cimil.
“What do I do once she’s been located?” Damien knew the goddess always had tricks up her sleeve and would not come quietly.
“Call my cell. I will deal with her.”
Well, at least Votan sounded confident, but Damien wasn’t so sure. Cimil had managed to outsmart them all for seventy thousand years.
Votan added, “And Greystone? Do not fail. I know you are harboring demons in your shop, and it would be a shame to see you end up in Cimil’s old cell.”
Ah yes. No conversation with a god was complete without the threat of death, pain, or imprisonment. It’s their favorite conversation topping .
In Damien’s defense, he did not want the demons around any more than the gods did. There was a good reason they’d outlawed the little fuckers. Very needy.
But Damien had been raised by a man to be a man, and loyalty was a trait instilled in him since birth. In this particular case, Bonbon was a love-sucking demon who had once saved Damien’s life, making him honor bound to harbor the creature.
Recently, Damien had tried to get rid of Bonbon by finding him a mate, but instead of moving on, Gorgonzolina had moved in, too. Now Damien had two demons squatting in his tailor shop. Add the fact that they’d both survived the blast, Damien hadn’t had the heart to forcibly remove them.
“I understand,” Damien said. “I will not fail.”
“Good. Because I have a bad, bad feeling about whatever Cimil’s up to this time, and my marriage depends on staying retired. Emma refuses to share me any longer, and who could blame her? I am magnificent.”
Errr… “I will find Cimil. You just be ready to keep her in prison this time,” Damien said.
“She is not going back to prison.”
“No?” Damien said.
“I am going to end her life.”
Damien swallowed hard. Was it even possible to kill a god? “How?”
“You let us divine beings worry about that.” Votan ended the call.
Damien set his cell back on his nightstand, a wave of dread rolling through him. Something told him that whatever was about to happen would not be good. The world was either going to war, or Cimil would die, and such a death couldn’t possibly come without repercussions.
If Damien had learned one thing during his centuries of existence, it was that taking a life came with a cost. And ending a life as powerful as Cimil’s would create enormous shockwaves.