2. Bluffing
CHAPTER 2
BLUFFING
BILLIE
S hould I have screamed? I feel like I should’ve screamed. Most people probably would have. If I wasn’t already at the end of my rope after a long, crappy day, sure, I could pretend to be an actress like Sierra and do ‘damsel-in-distress’... and who am I kidding? I’ve always been more like Megara in Hercules when I find myself in any kind of trouble.
I’m a damsel.
I’m in distress.
I can handle this.
By ‘handle this’, I mean backing up a few steps so that I can take the monster in properly. At least then I can get a better idea if I should be shitting my metaphorical pants, grabbing a knife from the butcher block to protect me, Sierra, and Three (sorry, Jared), or admitting that I’ve finally lost it.
Another glimpse at the towering figure and I think: why not all of them?
Up until a year or so ago, I would’ve said that there isn’t anything that scares me. I’ve worked too hard and accomplished too much to let something like fear stop me. Then I watched as Patrick Ridgefield aimed a gun at Sierra and I realized that losing her… that being completely on my own… is the one thing that gets my palms sweaty and my heart rate kicking up.
Now? I can add coming face-to-face with this to my list.
I can’t really make out too many details in the gloom of the kitchen. The tiny light over the range that never goes out is all I have, but it’s enough to give me an outline. A shape. An idea of what the hell I’m looking at.
Honestly? ‘Hell’ might be right.
The monster is at least seven feet tall if I use the positioning of his glowing green eyes as a gauge for his height. His skin is a dark color, maybe brown, maybe red, and the sculpted muscles on his bare chest—coupled with his imposing size—makes it obvious that, whatever he is, he is a guy. A male monster.
His lower half disappears into the shadows, hiding anything below mid-torso. Does he have a forked tail? Cloven hooves? Between the reddish—I’m pretty sure the shade of his skin is closer to rust than anything else—skin and black horns arcing over his head, my brain provides the word ‘devil’.
Or maybe ‘demon’?
He’s a big ass demon. Twice as wide as me, more than a foot-and-a-half taller, he looms on the opposite side of the kitchen table, watching me with those unblinking green eyes.
He opens his mouth. To say something? To roar? Could be, but I get a glimpse of thick fangs, a black mouth, and a claw-tipped hand heading my way as he reaches out—and I don’t scream.
But I do put on my ‘manager’ voice.
Forget the fact that I’m in my bare feet and a slinky red dress the barely covers me from butt to boob. My hands perch on my hips as I give my head a royal shake, my curls bouncing into my face as I tilt my nose up at him.
“I don’t know who you think you are or what you’re doing in Whiskey Rose’s private apartment, but this is unacceptable.” Freeing one hand, treating this giant monster as though he’s as much a nuisance as Three running under my step, looking to scrounge up an extra treat, I shoo at him. “Go. Turn around and wherever you came form, you better go back there.”
Now, did I honestly think that was going to work? No. I’m just buying time, trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. There’s no doubt in my mind that if demons are real and someone somehow found a way to summon one here, it’s because they’re looking for Sierra.
Over my dead body.
Would reaching for my phone be worth it? I have hundreds of contacts in there—everything from entertainment lawyers to PR specialists and the top security firms that money can buy—but what are the odds that I can pull up someone with the experience I need for… what? An exorcism?
If only I had Father Anthony’s number stored in my phone…
I’m going to need something. If my insane hunch is right and I’m dealing with a demon, there’s got to be some kind of guide to sending him back where he came from. Shooing him away like he’s a stray cat obviously didn’t work. He’s still watching me without saying a word—and who’s to say that he has any idea what I am or what I’m saying?
Screw it. Like I said, there isn’t anything I can’t accomplish with a little grit and my phone. I don’t want to get too close to this guy, but with my phone still in my tote, it’s worth inching closer to the bag and grabbing it.
Believe me, I’ll feel a lot more in control if I have my phone?—
“Uxor mi,” rumbles the demon in a notably deep voice. “Aver.”
I freeze. What did he say?
He repeats the first three syllables, then follows it with quite a few more. I give up paying close attention after it becomes clear that I have no clue what he’s saying. That’s odd, too. One of the things that had me signing up for Thr33peat in the first place was the chance to see the world, to learn new cultures and customs… and languages.
I’m not saying I’m fluent in many. Proficient in a couple, yes, and it’s enough to know that nothing he is saying to me is registering at all.
He is speaking, though. There’s an almost dominant tone to his words. Like he’s trying to explain something or tell me something and that he expects me to understand.
To understand and, from the imperious expression on his face, obey .
Fat chance, demon boy.
Okay. I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for this. I broke the heel on my shoe, discovered the guy I was sleeping with would pretend I was my best friend when he was banging me, and now there is a demon in my kitchen who thinks he can clack his claws together, gesture in front of him, and I’ll listen? Because that’s what he’s doing now. As if realizing he couldn’t understand my English gibberish so I’m probably not fluent in ‘demon’, he’s using universal gestures: snapping his fingers and pointing.
Sure. With fangs like those, does he want me to grab some salt from the counter to season myself up before he takes a bite?
Is that what demons do? Do they eat girls? If he’s hankering for a virgin, he’s out of luck here. With Sierra probably dozing off with Jared in the other room, and me wishing I’d never let Trevor touch me, there aren’t any bashful, blushing virgins in this apartment.
Okay. I’ve lost it. That’s a fair assessment to everything that’s happened to me tonight. I’m thirty-three. I’ve been in show biz for twenty years, give or take. I’ve never done drugs. Barely drink alcohol. I was always discreet with my lovers. Never had a meltdown. Never needed a psychiatrist of my own.
I think I’m due a bit of a breakdown.
My knees buckle, something I’ll privately curse about later. I’d already planned to make another move for my bag, desperate for my phone. Part of me is thinking about looking up symptoms of a stress-induced breakdown. Another part of me is wondering what I’d need to type into the search bar to get instructions on banishing a demon without being put on some kind of a watch list. A tinier part is curious enough to engage my translator app and see if ‘demon that suddenly appeared in my apartment for no logical reason’ is a setting.
The internet is vast. I’m amazed on a daily basis by the knowledge at my fingertips in such a tiny device. Who knows? Is this is really happening, I doubt I’m the first person in history it’s happened to .
And if it’s not happening…
My knees buckle, and I start to pitch forward. That’s when I discover just how fast a demon is. For a creature his size, he should lumber. He doesn’t. He flies toward me, faster than I can even see him move, and suddenly he’s there. One catcher mitt-sized hand grabs me by the upper arm, hoisting me back to my feet before I fall flat on my face.
And without letting go, he says that same word from before. “Uxor.”
He looks down at me expectantly. As though I should thank him for man-handling… demon- handling me, or if his touch on my arm is supposed to do something. All it does is make me realize that demons run at a way hotter temperature than humans do, and while he’s not burning my arm, he needs to let go.
Now.
“Let go of me,” I tell him, jerking my arm out of his hold.
He doesn’t.
This close, I can make out a couple of rows of ridges over his nose and on his brow. They seem to crease as his face sets, cheeks hollowing as the big demon tightens his jaw and his grip.
His green eyes glow even brighter, and on his arms, unfamiliar golden runes appear over his black skin.
What the?—
His hand is still on my arm. I feel it, though I don’t see it as, suddenly, the red-skinned demon disappears into an oversized mass of black shadows. It’s like a silhouette of where he was with only the green eyes and golden runes to prove he’s still there somewhere.
And that’s when he tugs on my arm.
I struggle, but I don’t scream. This time I don’t because the last thing I want to do is wake up Sierra and Three in time for them to see me being abducted by this demon. I don’t want the monster to make them another target, either, though if Jared got caught in the crosshairs… well, that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?
No. I’m not just Sierra’s manager. I’m her best friend, and her older sister figure. Though I’m sure she has to be the target, I’ll do what I’ve always done: I’ll take care of this insanity, one way or another.
Hey… it can’t be any worse than the time Tandy and Sierra almost got the three of us banned from Amsterdam after that Thr33peat show, can it?
So I don’t scream, though I do struggle, and as he yanks me forward, pulling me with him into a patch of impossibly black darkness in the corner of my kitchen, my biggest regret is that I never got the chance to grab my phone before I’m swallowed up by it.
Beneath the facade of Billie the manager, Billie herself can be very reactive. An example? The moment the world stops spinning, my eyes don’t seem blacked-out anymore, and my feet sink into something that’s both pillowy and kind of sandy, I start slapping at the big, meaty forearm that is holding me pressed against a hard chest.
Clearly surprised by my display of violence, the demon releases me.
I spin on my heel and smack his arm again.
“How dare you? You don’t just grab a person and?—”
It takes a second for my brain to catch up to my eyes, and for my mouth to register what I’m seeing. Just for fun, my nose decides to come on-line and, as I suck in a shocked breath, I gasp and choke as the stink of a thousand rotten eggs singe my poor nostrils.
“Oh my God! What is that?”
Faced with such an awful odor, all media training flies out the window. I’ve spent years learning to think first, speak second, but when all I can think is how much it stinks all of a sudden, I can’t help it. My hand flies to my face, shielding my nose and my mouth, but the damage is done.
It’s hot, too. Really hot. Like I’ve walked out of the air-conditioned lobby of the Dorado and into a muggy August afternoon even though it’s still November. This is a dry heat that surrounds me, and to add insult to injury, I can just feel my curls wilting.
I take a step. The ground is uneven. I bobble, jerking away from the demon before he can grab my arm again. Once I have my footing, I glare down at the dirt.
Only it’s not dirt. It’s ash .
Why does it look like I’m standing in the middle of the world’s biggest ashtray?
My head jerks up. And then up some more.
Shoving my curls out of my face, I goggle up at the sky.
Even if I wanted to be delusional and pretend that it was possible for the demon to pull me out of my kitchen and to the outside, I’m slapped in the face with a little bit of reality when I see that there are two moons high over my head: one that is full and cast with a reddish tinge, and another that is about halfway full and is gold .
I’ve heard of there being such a thing as a blue moon, but a red one? A gold one?
Two moons?
Okay. Okay. So this demon… he definitely stole me. He said something in his demon language, he grabbed my arm, and he brought me here for reasons I can’t tell. And while normally my inquisitive side would be all for the adventure, all for learning about this strange not-Earth world he’s brought me to, this demon got me on the wrong day.
I glare over at him, wordlessly warning him to keep his distance, then tromp around in the ash. That patch of darkness dragged me here. It must’ve swallowed the demon up first and that’s why I thought he went black; he’s back to being the red-skinned, giant demon with the glowing green eyes, though the golden runes are gone now. But if that patch was some kind of pathway between this weirdo demon world and my apartment, if I find it again, I should be able to go home.
Makes sense to me. Too bad that it’s not that easy. I mean, the entire terrain around me seems flat and mixed with shades of red, black, and grey, with shadows every-freaking-where… but nothing like that patch that was in my kitchen.
Is it gone? How do I get it back?
Can I?—
There’s that prickle on the back of my neck again.
I whip my head around.
He didn’t move. I’m almost positive he didn’t move an inch. That only annoys me more because it’s like I could just sense him right there behind me.
Our eyes lock, and this time he does lean in my direction.
“No,” I snap. I wag my pointer finger at him. Even if he doesn’t understand ‘no’, he should understand that. “No!”
The demon growls softly, a rumble that begins deep in his chest.
I quirk my eyebrow at him. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?” I ask. So he can’t understand me… I feel better for filling the stifling quiet with my voice. “I was in a girl group in my teens with Tandy Lewis. Please. If she didn’t scare me into a convent, you don’t have a prayer.”
And, okay. I’m kind of bluffing a little. My mind’s running a mile a minute, trying to figure out where I am, why I’m here, and how I’m going to fix this situation when I don’t have my goddamn phone . But bluffing usually works, and until I can guarantee that a little Billie snack isn’t off the table, I’ll use whatever advantage I have to keep him over there.
Especially since, now that there are two moons giving me a little more illumination than my shadowed kitchen, I’m beginning to second-guess my initial impression.
If this big monster looks hungry, I don’t think it’s because he wants to eat me. At least, not for dinner.
It’s in the way his eyes are watching me. The way his nostrils flare. The way he tilts his head just so, his long black hair falling down his back while his horns are angled in a way that might be attractive to a female of his kind. His bare chest is heaving slightly, his big hands balled into fists as though that’s the one way he can remember to keep them to himself, and his lips… they’re thinned, a flash of fang revealed as he turns his growl into a soft sigh.
So he’s exasperated with me. I spend all of my time with Sierra; I’m used to that. But there’s more to it.
He’s a demon. Obviously. He’s still a guy—and whether he thinks I look as weird to him as he looks monstrous and demonic to me, I don’t think he cares one bit.
And, suddenly, I’m not so sure I can handle this… handle him… after all.