9. CHAPTER #2
“And I’m good too, right?” Indy beamed. “I’m really good.”
“Passable.”
“Asshole.”
“Meat sack.”
“I love all your pet names for me. So sexy.”
As they danced, the bedroom shifted. The walls pushed back and took the furniture with them, creating a larger floor space so that Indy and Mr. Heiss didn’t risk bumping into anything.
It was surreal and strangely magical—okay, yes, most monsters were magical in some sort of way, but this was the magical heart fluttering with a stomach full of butterflies variety.
Indy felt both ridiculous and elated. He was still wearing these stupid pajamas, he probably looked awful, but dancing with Mr. Heiss was actually pretty fun.
It would be too easy to blame the booze, but he was having a great time.
Mr. Heiss was a talented dancer, strong and surprisingly graceful for someone of his size, and it was too easy to get swept away.
Or, like, forget about the whole cutting his hand off thing.
Or how he called Indy names.
Ugh.
Great, now the room was spinning.
Right.
Still drunk.
Indy shifted forward, dropping his head on Mr. Heiss’s chest. He closed his eyes and let his arms curl around Mr. Heiss’s neck as he mumbled, “Sorry. Gettin’ all dizzy.”
“Are you all right?” Mr. Heiss placed his hands on Indy’s waist, drawing him in. He brought the dance to a stop, but he didn’t let go. He sighed. “If you’re going to puke—”
“I’ll aim right for your face,” Indy muttered.
“Thank you.”
“You’re so very welcome.”
Mr. Heiss nosed at Indy’s hair, drawing in a trembling breath that rumbled like a growl. “You really are… something.”
“Blood bag, meat sack, dumb whore…”
“Never called you a whore.”
“No? Well, it was implied.” Indy glared up at Mr. Heiss, but he was too easily distracted by Mr. Heiss’s lips. “Hey, are we gonna make out? Because, you know, even though you’re still the king of assholes, I’d be down to—”
“Not tonight.” Mr. Heiss chuckled, sweeping Indy up into his arms. “Your little mortal flesh vessel needs rest.”
“That’s a super creepy way to just say I need to sleep and sober up.”
Mr. Heiss carried Indy to the bed. “You need to sleep and sober up. Better?”
Indy groaned as he stretched out across the sheets, blearily glaring up at Mr. Heiss. “You know, it’s barely been a day and I still don’t know if I wanna fuck you, fight you, or just hate you forever.”
“I’ve been known to have a strong effect on mortals.” Mr. Heiss stepped back. “Sleep now.”
“Ugh. Whatever.” Indy rolled over to grab at the pillows.
Mr. Heiss lingered. “If you need to throw up, the—”
“Oh my God.” Indy groaned. “I know where the bathroom is! Jesus Christ.”
“Good night.”
“Nighty night, asshole.”
“Sleep well, meat sack.”
And sleep well, Indy did.
He woke up sprawled diagonally across the large bed, having twisted the blankets, top sheet, and fitted sheet right off the mattress and all around himself like a burrito. He let himself become more functional before trying to untangle any of it, yawning and stretching lazily.
He had one foot completely outside the nest he’d made, and he snorted out a laugh when he saw the plush Sonic of that slipper staring up at him.
God, he really needed to get his own clothes.
Especially if this situation was going to take a while—how long would it be? A week? Months? Mr. Heiss had nothing but time to wait around for Indy to die.
But last night…
Maybe the pizza didn’t mean anything, though Mr. Heiss should have logically let Indy starve, but the dancing? The waltz and the laughter and everything else?
What the fuck?
Indy was not in any frame of mind to process it.
He was dying, needed a way out soon, and Mr. Heiss still wanted him dead to take the ring and gain magical leshy powers. While it was massively complicated with a high potential for failure, Indy remained determined to fake enough confidence to survive and bullshit his way to freedom.
But the moments when Mr. Heiss acted like he gave a shit…
Those were the most complicated.
No amount of confidence could help how his heart fluttered in the wake of his memories.
You really are something.
Ugh.
Asshole.
Indy sat up, rubbing his eyes and kicking off the slippers. His head hurt, but he’d had much worse hangovers than this. He flexed his bare toes against the floor, yawning. “Whose dick do I have to suck to get coffee around here?”
Mr. Heiss appeared before him, holding out a to-go cup of coffee. His suit was black and red today, a deep shade similar to the color of blood. “Here. No fellatio required.”
“Hey!” Indy yelped and reeled back against the bed. “Come on! Warn a bitch! Fuck!” He tipped forward, wide awake now, but he still snatched the coffee away. “God, you’re such a dick.”
Mr. Heiss smirked. “Is that an upgrade from asshole?”
“I dunno. I like both in my mouth.”
“Charming.”
“Very.” Indy sipped the coffee. “Good morning. Hi. Hello. So, what fun adventures can we expect today? Tying me to some train tracks? Dangling me over a lake infested with alligators?”
“I have a business meeting and you will be accompanying me. We will be leaving shortly.”
“That’s it? Why not just leave me here?”
Mr. Heiss scowled. “Because the last time I thought I’d left you somewhere safe, you managed to escape and get two of my employees gravely injured. So, yes, you will be coming with me.”
“Isn’t that, like, the goal? Coming together?”
Mr. Heiss pinched the bridge of his nose. “How are you this insufferable so early in the morning?”
“Hormones.”
“Get dressed.”
“Can I please have access to my own damn clothes?” Indy wiggled his fingers. “My manicure also needs a refresher, so.”
“Do you really think I’m going to give you more weapons to use against me?”
“Big bad demon scared of my pinkie nail?”
Mr. Heiss grunted and snapped his fingers.
“Well? What? Still wearing Sonic and standing right here in front of you.”
Mr. Heiss cleared his throat.
Indy looked around to find a door beside the dresser that hadn’t been there before. He got up, still slurping his coffee as he opened it to find his very own closet there.
Well, part of it.
“This isn’t everything—” Indy protested.
Mr. Heiss growled. “Get dressed.”
“I will absolutely tell Gammy you’re being mean.”
“Get. Dressed. Now.”
“God, you’re grumpy.” Indy pawed through his clothing. “Do you need some coffee? More donuts? Maybe you do need some fellatio—”
Mr. Heiss snarled impatiently, grabbed Indy’s arm, and the room vanished.
Indy should have seen that coming.
When he was able to focus on his surroundings again, he stood in the parking lot of a giant strip mall.
There was a nail salon, a veterinarian’s office, a Mexican restaurant, and a barber shop flanking a Chuck E.
Cheese. Indy recognized the area as being outside of the Somerstown city limits and a fair distance from downtown.
The Sonic pajamas were gone at least, but they had been replaced by a pair of plain blue jeans, an oversized black-and-purple ombre turtleneck sweater, and his purple combat boots.
Indy was certain he didn’t have a drop of makeup on, and a quick investigation of his pockets revealed nothing but two pennies and a matchbook.
Indy checked his nails and was pleasantly surprised to find that they’d been redone. It was a fresh set of black pointed tips with purple acrylic bows to match his sweater.
Okay, fine.
Cute.
He still had Dill’s ring on, of course, but he would have also liked some mascara or at least a damn coverup stick.
It was a good thing it was so early in the morning.
The parking lot was deserted except for Mr. Heiss’s limo, so there was really no one else around to see how horrible Indy looked right now.
Other than Mr. Heiss.
Who still had a death grip on Indy’s arm.
Indy made a face, gesturing at his extremely modest outfit with his coffee. “What? Couldn’t find coveralls for me?”
“Shut up.” Mr. Heiss stared off to the side, his head turned as if listening to something.
The parking lot went poof, and now they were behind the strip mall, next to a bunch of dumpsters, old pallets, and the gutted shell of an old arcade game beside a door that presumably led into the Chuck E.
Cheese. Leaning against the arcade game was Azazel in his human form, smoking a clove cigarette.
He wasn’t alone, but it wasn’t Tanze or Underwood he was with.
Oh no.
It was Luke.
A changeling.
As a mortal man pushing somewhere around fifty, he was gorgeous. White, tan, shaved head, perpetual salt-and-pepper five-o’clock shadow, intense facial features, and eerily bright lime green eyes. He could have been in some Vogue spread selling fancy designer clothes, but that was the issue.
At one time, he probably was.
At least, whoever the original owner of his face had been.
Changelings were supernatural beings who hailed from the eternally fucked-up land of Faerie.
The myths around their creation and function varied, but one characteristic remained the same—their ability to assume the form of any creature they desired.
There were limitations—again, the details of which weren’t always clear or consistent—but Indy had always heard they had to consume whatever they wanted to turn into.
As in, if they wanted to be Brad Pitt, they would need to eat Brad Pitt.
Yummy.
Not.
Luke worked for the twins, so it was curious he was here.
Maybe he was out on loan or something.
“So.” Indy paused only to slurp more coffee. “Is this a business thing? Need more tickets to get that Motley Crue mirror or it’s gonna fucking kill you?”
“Business,” Mr. Heiss replied shortly, giving Indy’s arm a squeeze before letting go. “Stay back and stay quiet.”
“That’s it? There’s nothing—”
“Shut. Up.”
Indy lifted the coffee as if to throw it at Mr. Heiss but decided he wouldn’t dare waste such a caffeinated treasure.