5. CHAPTER
CHAPTER
FIVE
Mr. Heiss was dead.
So absolutely, positively, fucking dead.
Indy had managed to calm down enough to finish what had been started and restarted in the bath, but it hadn’t been satisfying in the slightest. It was worse than an orc going soft while sobbing in the middle of sex or a werewolf getting his knot stuck and wanting to talk about nothing but chess.
The lingering ache was annoying, and he made up his mind to jerk off over every inch of this awful place. He was still pent up, pissed off, and he took extra time to leave the bathroom absolutely trashed and flooded when he got out.
Fuck it.
He wasn’t the damn maid.
He dried off with every single towel he saw, left them in a heap on the floor, and marched out in the robe to figure out where he was.
The bathroom led to a giant bedroom with a mammoth bed, a bulky dresser, and a butch vanity.
Everything was the same black-and-gold motif as the bathroom and the office he had previously seen, so he suspected they were all part of the same space.
Whether or not said space was a physical home or some other weird house like the one he’d been in before was up for debate.
Indy hated it.
Ugh.
He left the bedroom to find a hallway with four doors. One was locked and would not open. The next was the office, and it was empty. The one after that revealed a library that was startlingly different from the other rooms he had seen so far.
The shelves and floor were wood, perhaps pine, though the floor had been stained a warm shade of gray and the shelves were bright red.
There was a round chair upholstered in hideous orange velvet with an equally unattractive brown-and-blue floral print blanket slung over it.
A turquoise writing desk was pushed into the far corner, with more books stacked on the floor around it.
The area rug beneath the chair was shag, and it, along with the thick curtains, were the most visually assaulting shade of lime green Indy had ever seen.
This room didn’t belong in this house.
Hell, it didn’t even belong in this decade.
The last door led to a parlor, and this space had the same macho black-and-gold motif Indy was already now quite familiar with.
King was sitting on a black marble coffee table, and he sort of matched the decor given his golden crown. His eyes were dark but then flickered to life at Indy’s approach. “Oh! Hello again.”
“Oh! Hey!” Indy waved, suddenly realizing he hadn’t asked Mr. Heiss once about King.
Oops.
Indy forced a smile. “So, uh, good to see you made it back in one piece.”
“Technically, I’m two pieces,” King said proudly. “Crown and skull.”
“Right, so…” Indy sat on the black leather couch and cringed from how it squeaked. “Have you seen Gammy anywhere?”
“Old lady? Big purple hair? Member of the oxygen deprived?”
“Yeah.”
“No.”
Indy sighed, kicking his feet up on the table next to King. “Mr. Heiss took my stuff, including the earrings she had possessed. Now I don’t know where she is.”
“What about the pickle man?”
“Dill?” Indy scoffed and glared down at his ring, poking it aggressively. “Good question! Would love to know where that mossy asshole is right about now.”
Dill was suddenly there, tucked into the corner by the door. He offered a little smile and waved.
“You! What the fuck? There you are!” Indy scowled. “Where the fuck have you been?”
Dill pointed at himself, blinking.
“Yes, you! The mossy asshole! Where were you?” Indy threw his hands up. “I could have used your help, like, half a dozen times!”
Dill made a mournful sound and hung his head.
“Nope. No way, girly pop. You don’t get to pout when I almost died at least twice.”
“You told him to take a break, didn’t you?” King whispered loudly. “Or did you forget about that?”
“No, I—” Indy stopped.
Fuck.
He totally had.
“Okay. Right. I did.” Indy sighed in annoyance and held back a growl. “Sorry for yelling or whatever. But look, I need to know how to call you, okay? Because all of that sucked. It fucking sucked. And not in the fun way that makes you want a cigarette and a snack after, ’kay?”
Dill whined.
“Sorry, big guy, but c’mon.” Indy gestured encouragingly. “Tell me. How do I summon you?”
Dill perked up and then raised his left hand.
Indy mirrored him. “Okay?”
Dill kissed his ring finger and smiled.
“I kiss the ring?” Indy scoffed. “That’s it? That’s what I do?”
Dill nodded enthusiastically.
“How… sweet.”
Dill then pointed at an unlit candle on the table.
“What?”
Dill pointed again and flicked his fingers like he’d struck a match and was going to light the candle. He held out his hands and drew a curvy figure in the air. He wiggled his fingers wildly, as if he was miming an explosion or a fire.
“Okay, I am really bad at charades, but all of that makes me not want to light that, babe.”
Dill whined.
Indy frowned, but he opened the drawer of the coffee table.
There was no obvious way to escape this place and no sign of his belongings, including the earrings Gammy was currently attached to.
He still had every intention of getting out of here, but he wasn’t leaving without her.
That was his Gammy, for fuck’s sake—plus, he would need her help healing himself, what with the whole not having a deal and possibly dropping dead at any second.
So, sure, he’d help the giant pickle leshy monster light this candle.
“Do demons even keep lighters?” Indy muttered as he found nothing but dust in the drawer. “Do they need them? Or do they just fwoosh everything?”
“Lots of fwooshing,” King said, “but I’m fairly certain there’s a box of matches in the library.”
“All right. I’ll go get those then, since you’re just going to sit there,” Indy teased.
“Makin’ fun of the handicapped, are yeh?” King huffed back. “Even if I had legs, I wouldn’t get you matches. Or a pony. Or anything else. Not fuckin’ ever!”
“And here I was wanting a pony to ride!” Indy declared as he strolled back into the hallway.
“No pony for you!”
“Fine!”
Indy didn’t want one anyway.
The only thing he wanted to ride was Mr. Hei—
No.
Fuck him.
But not in the sweaty, orgasmic sense.
Something bad. With hot sauce or whatever.
Indy entered the library and went toward the writing desk since there didn’t seem to be anywhere else where matches or a lighter might be kept. He opened it up and found a collection of incense, a matchbook, and a small round tin.
He grabbed the matches, but he eyed the tin.
He was nosey, so why not take a peek?
There was no telling what sort of oddity he might find inside. He was in the home of a demon mob boss after all. It might be a black magic amulet, a mummified finger, or maybe even a full mummified person, but clearly one who had been shrunk first so they’d fit inside their tiny metal prison.
Inside the tin was a small white feather.
Huh.
Indy picked it up to give it a look, but it appeared to be a perfectly normal feather.
He’d heard Mr. Heiss had an angel working for him, but Indy wasn’t sure if that was true. Even if it was, it didn’t explain why Mr. Heiss would have a feather tucked away like this unless it was some sort of trophy.
Whatever.
Indy returned the feather, closed the desk, and headed back to the parlor.
“—and that’s when they made me their leader,” King was declaring. “From that day forward, I ruled over all the coffee crusts, the dust crumpets, the golf clubs, and oh! Yeah, the cursed musical sheets that almost banjaxed every monster in town.”
Dill was sitting on the edge of the coffee table by the candle, listening to King with wide eyes.
Indy shook the matches. “Hey, coffee crust. Found them.”
“Ah!” King gasped. “Your eyes…”
Indy braced himself for any of the usual comments. “Yes?”
“They work. Fair play.”
Indy scoffed. “Wow. Anyway.” He sat on the couch and opened the matchbook. “So, Dill. Is something horrible going to happen when I do this?”
Dill shook his head.
“What is going to happen?”
Dill clasped his hands over his heart and smiled. He looked so earnest and hopeful, and it was oddly endearing on an otherwise terrifying face.
“Okay, adorable. Great. Can’t wait.” Indy struck the match, sighing haggardly as he lit the candle. He stared at the flame. “And… now what?”
Dill purred, his eyes glistening.
The flame flickered.
And then it grew.
A shape emerged—a tiny woman with long hair, turning all around in active search of something.
Dill extended his hand toward the tiny woman.
She immediately stepped away from the candle, bringing all the fire with her, and twirled around Dill’s palm. It was hard to read the face of someone literally made of fire, but she seemed happy to see Dill.
Dill brought up his other hand to make a larger space for her to dance, and his purring reached a rumble comparable to a lawnmower.
“Who is that?” Indy asked softly.
“Who is what?” King whined. “I can’t see a fuckin’ thing.”
Indy picked King up from the table so he could set him in his lap. “There. Happy?”
“Not sure I’m ready for us to take this step in our relationship.” King gasped. “Ah, would yeh look! A wee little fire person.”
“Yup.”
“Her dancing is telling such a beautiful story.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“And what story is that?”
“That… she can dance.”
Indy had no idea why he expected anything else. He watched the fire woman and Dill’s adoring expression, and he smiled as he asked, “That your little girlfriend?”
Dill beamed.
The woman curled up as if to sleep, but her flames remained bright.
Dill cradled her close, and it was then Indy realized Dill’s hands were black because they were burned. He’d smelled burning wood before, and now he was certain it had to be related to this connection to the fire woman.