Chapter 5 Deal
Deal
Kit/Kat
I’m pretty proud of my little joke, and it seems like the big guy is too—which makes me inordinately happy.
Dottie is perched on my shoulder as I let Slash and the begrudgingly quiet prince lead me through another section of shudder-worthy demon gangs doing violent things in front of cheering audiences.
I’m not sure if it’s all kink or if it’s something else entirely, but I’m sure as fuck not going to ask.
All I want to do right now is find some damn pants for the shark shifter and get whatever intel the guys think is enough, so we can get out of here.
I thought Discordia was nerve-wracking, but this is on an entirely different planet.
“Are you okay, little demon?” Slash says as he continues to watch everything he can as we move.
The tension in his form isn’t from the fight, nor his nudity.
I’m quickly figuring out how little supernaturals care about public sexual encounters or being bare assed where others can see.
Historically speaking, that’s the icky Puritan stuff ingrained in Americans rather than solely because of my trauma.
But knowing something logically and reconciling years of conditioning are two completely opposite things.
I’m getting better at avoiding a trigger moment when it happens, but I’m still not quite at the point where I’m totally comfortable with it.
I did well with Slash’s ass, though, and I’d challenge anyone to see that rock hard muscled giant flash you without having palpitations.
Salem’s butt is fantastic, but holy fuck, the big guy is practically a mountain of marble.
Not losing my grip is an achievement, and being able to walk with his hand in mine afterward should earn me a medal.
“You’re thinking awfully hard down there, shrimp.” Jasper eyes me, his gaze intense as he waits for me to respond. “Is that a sign I should be concerned with?”
He actually noticed something past the point of his perfect nose? I’ll be damned.
I should definitely encourage that, but it’s hard for me not to give the prince hell now. It’s become part of our routine and it’s almost as comfortable as having my kinkajou here to calm me. “Those of us who use our brain before our dicks often have reflective expressions, Jasper.”
Slash snorts, not looking at his boss as he says, “You are doing well if your tongue is so sharp. That is good.”
Jasper glares at him, then turns it on me as he veers to the right.
I don’t know what he senses, but his pace quickens as he guides the group off the main path.
I can tell he wanted to shoot back a scathing response to my snark, but now he’s laser focused on whatever he’s hunting down.
I can’t decide if I should root for him to find his prey or if I should hope he doesn’t.
The Prince isn’t sharing what we’re doing as usual, and unlike the others, I don’t have blind trust in his intentions.
We finally stop in front of a group of tents made of bones and some kind of animal skins.
They look similar to nomadic structures on the surface, but their design is absolutely not human in style.
The skulls and sharpened bones are arranged to both construct a temporary dwelling and to intimidate anyone who approaches.
Dangerous vibes emanate from the biggest one, and I shrink back somewhat as the other guys gather behind us.
“Seriously, Jas?” Oriel groans as his eyes flitter from the smallest tent to the large one we’re standing closest to. “This is such a bad fucking plan.”
X frowns, giving me an uncertain expression before they nod. “I second that, man. Too much risk of being identified.”
Slash grunts, his eyes flashing with the demon I saw in the ring, as he studies the small encampment carefully. “Nothing out of the ordinary for what it is.”
My temper flares and I stomp my foot on Jasper’s toe. “Hey! Someone tell me what in the fresh hell this is and why we’re split on… whatever it is.”
“Aw, shit, KK,” Salem says as he rubs the back of his neck. “Our bad, dude.”
“Still not telling me what’s going on.” I pull my hand out of the shark’s grasp and cross my arms over my chest. Dottie moves closer, pressing her fur against my skin to help me stay in balance. “I want to be part of the decision, too.”
Anton bites his lip and I know that means he’s formulating his answer.
The peacock shifter is very precise with explanations, and I sense he wants to be clear about this shanty town.
“The Acolytes of Barbatos are a rare but powerful group of demons from every line who have sought various supernaturals who have the sight to breed with. Some are full-blooded and some are hybrids, but they are always present at large gatherings of our kind to visit—if you are.”
Blinking rapidly, I swallow as I process his words.
I don’t fully understand the lore—how could I—but I know Barbatos was once a duke of Hell.
He solved disagreements, but he also revealed hidden things and was said to have knowledge of the future and past. Demons in his legion breeding with…
seers… would explain that mythos, I guess.
But no matter how much sense that makes, this group of demons could be very dangerous for me.
If they find out my big secret and feel betrayed enough, they might leave me here and I wouldn’t survive on my own.
Salem’s eyes find mine as my pulse quickens, and the bear shakes his head slightly.
I think that’s his way of telling me I don’t need to worry, but he’s not the new guy hiding a very important piece of information from a paranoid prince.
I look at Xerxes next and they don’t seem as certain, but I could be misreading it.
I’m not as good at eyebrow discussion as them, and this really isn’t the place to test that skill.
“Why—why would we visit those demons?” I ask, hoping to distract the others from my escalating pulse. “Wouldn’t asking them stuff reveal things we don’t want known?”
Jasper grimaces, then sighs. “Perhaps. We will be required to provide payment for their services, but I know several things about these nomads from my father’s incessant ramblings.”
I wait, arching a brow as the Prince attempts to formulate his response. There can’t be a benefit to seeking their knowledge greater than the risk of being exposed here or to the court. And for me personally, it would definitely need to be extremely beneficial to take the chance with them.
“The Acolytes ask for high prices because they are unerringly accurate—though their words must be untangled and analyzed to understand. They will insist that we don the robes of truth as we seek their guidance, which will cover Slash’s ass until we get home.
If we can bargain for each one of us to sit with one of their elder diviners, the amount of knowledge we’ll eventually decipher will be enough to leave this mess afterward. ”
Okay, that’s pretty fucking tempting.
“Damn, J,” Oriel breathes as he looks around, then glances at me worriedly. “Talk about the pits or the Wastelands… We’re smack dab in the middle of shitty choices all day today, man.”
Zavida frowns and I know he’s running variables in his head.
His mind is calmed by logical processes and considering probabilities is likely a way he self-soothes.
Unfortunately, I have zero clue how the fuck he’s going to quantify this shit for his actuarial analysis.
“The longer we stay, the bigger chance we have of being identified and thus forced to face the idiot running this. We don’t know how emboldened he will be by this fiefdom and all the energy he’s feeding off of everyone within. ”
“Gross,” I grumble. I don’t like the idea of anyone ‘feeding’ off my shit, much less the cartoon villain I’ve built up in my head to represent Luca Gemini.
“However, striking a bargain with the Acolytes has lasting consequences and could also reveal us if we do not craft the words carefully,” Anton says thoughtfully.
“They do not align with any side or species because of their powers; they’re just crystal balls for hire.
It’s not likely they will share our details unless it comes up in one of their prophecies, and even then, the receiver will need a skilled interpreter to help understand their ramblings. ”
“You’re saying they won’t snitch, right?” Salem says as rakes his hand through his hair. “They’re like… uh, what do humans say, KK?”
“Switzerland,” I reply with a frown. “But, um, that’s not actually a good thing historically. I mean, they didn’t take a side, but they hid and profited off of Nazi stuff, which really isn’t neutral. They were profiteers more than anything—is that what these guys are?”
“Yes.” The big guy is eying the scary tents with a dark frown.
“They are often descended from the Greed and Sloth lines because they place personal gain and power over action and loyalty. It seems Salem’s comparison was apt, and it is why the royal forces, including my father, are averse to their use.
The General has had many deeply fracturing disagreements with the King about them over the long duration of his rule. ”
“That’s one vote ‘no’, then, I guess?” I ask as I look at the protective dude curiously.
He crosses his enormous arms over his chest, shaking his head. “I don’t know, little demon. Zavida is also correct about the statistics of being in this place for too long, and Anton has made a salient point about their ambiguity. This is a tough decision.”
For once, Jasper and Slash aren’t the confident, blunt guys I’ve gotten used to seeing.
It might only be this moment, but they’re clearly caught up in both what they’ve been taught and a desire to achieve our caliphate goals.
The other guys are being cautious about their advice—maybe because they, too, have concerns—and the longer we wait, the more eyes I feel on us from the Acolytes’ camp.
These demons are watching us, waiting to see if we’ll give in to the temptation of finding out things the universe doesn’t intend for us to know yet—for their price, of course.
“Fuck it,” I mutter as I scrounge up every bit of courage I have in my body.
Moving away from my caliphate, I approach the tent in the center.
It’s neither the biggest or smallest, but the energy seeping from it has been tickling my skin for the past few moments.
I don’t know if that means I should or shouldn’t be using this one, but at this point?
The choice has been made. “Yo, scary fortune tellers. Let’s parlay. ”
“Mammon’s never-ending buffet… Does he ever think before he does shit?” Jasper groans.
Ignoring him, I wait until an oddly pleasant looking robed demon exits the skull encrusted dwelling.
He’s short, rotund, and has a piggish nose with small, pointed horns.
I assume his non-threatening nature is a guise—living at Discordia has taught me that even the least intimidating demons can reveal scary as fuck transformations.
“Are you the acolyte I should speak to?”
The friar-like demon smiles, his mouth full of teeth as terrifying as Slash’s, and then nods. “I am, young one. Come with me to my perch so I might read you. Then the bargaining shall begin.”
“I’m coming with him—”
Salem’s words are cut off by the sharp rebuke.
“No. You will each walk your own paths, shining warriors. This one will negotiate with me and you will do the same with your prophet. Our order may only deal with individual demons and their desires—not entire groups. That is our way and has been since long before the Deceiver fell.”
My caliphate is looking at me in consternation and fear as the weird guy leads me into his tent, but I can’t worry about them right now.
I got myself into this mess and now I have to be strong, so it’s not in vain.
If I can’t handle a simple deal involving a Tarot reading—or whatever—I have much bigger problems on the horizon.
That might actually be what Evil Friar Tuck is getting ready to tell me.