Me and My Shadow (11 page)

“It's probably more they don't know what to think than they don't care,” I said.

“That or they're just too horrified at the sight of a penis curse to take more than a quick peek.” Savian glanced around the faux-medieval basement bar of the hotel at which we had taken rooms. At this hour of the day, it was empty of customers, a few morsels of gray light bullying their way in through thick, waved glass panes strapped with militant precision in what was no doubt supposed to be a design reminiscent of the court of Elizabeth I of England.

“Are you impugning my cock?” Magoth asked, his hands on his hips.

Savian looked startled for a moment. “I am not doing anything to your dick, let alone impugning it, although . . .” His gaze dropped to the member in question. “If the curse fits, wear it.”

Magoth's eyes narrowed as he gestured proudly to his genitals. “This is a magnificent specimen of its kind! It is beyond magnificent—it is the epitome of cockhood. It can do things yours can only dream of! It is, in fact, a god amongst penises!”

“Oh, it wasn't
that
good,” Cyrene snorted, rolling her eyes at Jim.

Jim clearly had many comments to make about that, but bound to silence, it could only raise its eyebrows and give Magoth's penis a long, considering look.

“Magoth, please, keep your voice down,” I said.

“He,” Magoth spat, pointing at Savian, “disparaged this most resplendent of cocks. I demand that you as my consort defend its honor. Change back into dragon form and roast him alive.” He paused, a thought having occurred to him. “And then you can wrap your tail around me and—”

“No one is disparaging anything, least of all your genitals,” I said quickly before he dwelled on the strange ways he got his jollies. “Calm down and take a seat before someone notices you.”

He snorted, casting unimpressed glances around him. “I have to piss. I assume you will not let me hear the end of it if I do it here. I will take my commanding and august cock to the bathroom, where it will no longer offend your plebeian souls.”

I exchanged a look with Cyrene as he marched off to the men's room.

“He really does love his penis,” she said as if that explained things. “And don't get me wrong, it was fine and all, but magnificent? A god among penises? No. Maybe a duke, or a minor prince. But not a god.”

“I really find it difficult to believe we're sitting here discussing Magoth's genitalia,” I said, rubbing the smooth, cool wooden surface of the table. “It's just a bit surreal.”

“Not nearly as surreal as this whole place is,” Savian said from where he was examining pictures of boats on the walls. He nodded toward one. “Henley Regatta 1923. Not quite what you'd expect in Latvia.”

I had to admit that the hotel wasn't at all what I expected. The question of why an obscure Latvian hotel in the small town of Livs would try so hard to re-create a half-timber English country house complete with wattle and daub was answered by a red-faced, balding man who bounded into the bar from a back room.

“ ' Ello, 'ello, I didn't realize we had customers so early. We don't do lunches here in the pub, just so you know. Those are done in the tearoom upstairs. All handmade pastries up there, nothing store-bought. My wife does the baking—she has a fair hand with pastries, too. You'll not be finding a better scone west of the Thames.”

“We're not hungry, thanks,” I said, leaning back so he could slap a paper coaster in front of me. “Drinks are fine.”

“Right, then. You do look a sight. Been out hiking, have you? We get lots of Americans coming here for the hiking, now that the Russians aren't in charge anymore. Sisters, are you? You've the look of each other, that you do. Oh, but where are my brains today? I'm Ted Havelbury, ye olde host,” he said with a chuckle. “Now, I know what you're thinking, I do indeed. You're thinking that old Ted is a bit out of his natural setting, and you wouldn't be far wrong there, but my wife's mum was from the old country, and when she died and left us this inn, we thought, why not? The children were grown and had families of their own, so off the missus and I went with nothing but a wish and a prayer, as they say. But now, you'll be wanting a few drinkies, won't . . . er . . .”

Ted, who had been chatting merrily to Cyrene and me, nodded to Savian as he slid into the chair next to mine. Before he could finish his sentence, Magoth, in full snit, emerged from the bathroom, shoved aside Jim, and stomped over to stand in front of Savian. He glared down at the thief taker, who shot me a martyred look before heaving a sigh as he relinquished the seat.

“Er . . . ,” Ted said again.

“Our friend had a little accident with a stream,” I said, shaking out a paper napkin and placing it over Magoth's lap. “His clothes were too soaked to wear.”

“Is that so?” Ted said slowly, his expression almost enough to make me laugh. “I don't suppose he'd like to get dressed before he has a drink?”

“Tell the slave that I wish a bottle of 1996 Bollinger, chilled to forty-five point nine degrees, with one glass,” Magoth said in his most demanding voice.

“Slave?” Ted asked.

I leaned forward toward him, speaking in a low, confident voice I'd found worked well with mortals. “You'll have to excuse our friend. He's foreign.”

Ted eyed the naked, dirty, arrogant Magoth with doubt. “He is?”

“South American,” I said, mentally apologizing to everyone on that continent.

“Oh. Latin,” Ted said, nodding. “That explains it. Impetuous people. Excellent dancers, but impetuous.”

“I'd like a gin and tonic, my twin would like a bottle of lemon Perrier, if you have it, and Savian would like . . . ?”

“Brandy.”

“Hmm, 1996 Bollinger's. I'll have to check the storeroom for that. I think we have some left over from the New Year's celebration. . . .” Ted took our orders with only one backwards look at Magoth before hurrying to the back room.

“You'd better pray no one else comes in here while you're having your champagne,” I told him. “Because as soon as you're done, you're putting some clothes on. Jim, stop wiping your nose on my hand. You can have some of Cy's Perrier, since she gets drunk if she drinks a whole bottle.”

“I do not get drunk! I never get drunk!” Cyrene said, outraged at the slur against her character.

“May eighteenth, 1921. Long Island, New York,” Magoth said, arching an eyebrow at her. “My house. Specifically, the garden. You, me, and three hundred of my closest friends.”

Cyrene flushed and looked away. “That wasn't drunk. That was enthralled.”

“It was an orgy,” corrected Magoth. He thought for a moment, a smile erasing his pout. “A lovely, lovely orgy. Which resulted in the creation of the ever-adorable May, if I am not mistaken, and I never am about such things. Do you remember, sweet one? Do you remember being called into existence, and the exact moment when your life began, and your eyes first landed upon me?”

“Yes, I remember. I screamed.”

“Music to my ears,” he sighed dreamily. “I don't suppose—”

“No,” I said hastily, and would have continued, but the sound of footsteps clattering down the bare wooden staircase to the basement arrested me.

A man paused at the bottom of the stairs, glancing quickly about the room, clearly about to turn around and go back upstairs. He caught sight of us, however, blinked twice, then turned and bellowed up the stairs, “Found her!”

“That doesn't sound good,” I murmured as I watched a second man join the first. The pair of them walked toward us with unmistakable purpose—and scent.

“Demons,” Cyrene said, wrinkling her nose as the smell of demon smoke hit us.

“Wrath, by the looks of them,” Savian said, squinting at them.

Wrath demons, as anyone who's ever been to Abaddon knew, were not the sort of beings you welcomed into your company. They were like mini demon lords, with substantial powers, and minions of their own.

“What do they want?” Cy asked.

“No doubt that cur Bael has realized what a mistake he made in expulsing me, and is summoning me back to restore upon me the rightful estates and titles which your twin's carelessness so callously cost me,” Magoth said, watching the two men approach with an anticipatory glint in his eye.

“May didn't do anything to get you kicked out of Abaddon,” Cyrene said, much to my astonishment. Normally oblivious to slurs made against me, now and again she surprised me by jumping to my defense. “That was your own doing, and you know it.”

“His Most Heinous and Imperious Majesty, the premiere prince Bael, has
not
sent us to deal with a has-been like you, Magoth,” the nearest demon said, a sneer curling its lips. It stopped a few feet away from me and jerked its head in what I realized was acknowledgment of me.

“You will address me as Lord Magoth, you sniveling little scum,” Magoth snapped, his words so chilling and filled with menace that Jim immediately backed up a few feet. I rubbed my arm nearest Magoth. Emotional outbursts caused him to leech the warmth from his environment, leaving me with the sensation of having brushed up against an iceberg. “And you will speak only when I give you permission to do so.”

My eyebrows went up at his imperious tone. I'd heard him use it before, but only on his own minions, never another demon lord's followers, and certainly not the first-in-commands of the head honcho of all Abaddon.

The demons gave Magoth a scathing look and turned to me. “The Lord Bael desires your presence, dragon.”

I bit back the retort that I wasn't, in fact, a dragon. “What?” Magoth shrieked, leaping to his feet. “He wants to see my consort? About what?”

The demon nearest him raised its eyebrows as it studied Magoth's penis tattoo. The other one ignored the irate demon lord, its cold, flat eyes fixed on me.

“Why would Bael want to see me?” I asked it, since it obviously wasn't going to answer Magoth.

“I will ask the questions around here, slave,” Magoth snarled, marching over to stand in between the wrath demon and me. He got right in the demon's face, shouting, “Answer me, you watery scum on the underbelly of a toad.”

“I do not seek to question my lord's commands,” the demon said, treating Magoth as if he were invisible. “I simply carry them out. He has commanded your presence, and we have been through three countries to find you. You hide your trail well, dragon. You will come with us now.”

“Argh!” Magoth screamed, his hands waving wildly. “I will not be treated this way!”

I considered the two wrath demons, wondering how long Gabriel and Kostya would be getting the shard. “And if I choose not to?”

The penis-watching demon shrugged. “You will come with us. The Lord Bael commands.”

“The Lord Bael commands, the Lord Bael commands,” Magoth parroted in a snide voice. “Well, the Lord Magoth commands, too!”

“The difference being, of course, that you're no longer a reigning prince,” Savian said.

Magoth spun around and sent him a look of pure poison. Savian flinched.

I had a feeling that if I didn't give in to Bael's demands, there would be trouble for everyone.

“All right,” I said slowly as I got to my feet. I slid Cyrene a meaningful look. “Please tell Gabriel what's happened, and where I am. I will try to return as quickly as possible.”

Cyrene's face looked pinched as she glanced between the demons and a now nearly hysterical Magoth, who was ranting about the good old days. “Are you sure you're going to be all right?” she asked in a whisper.

“I should be. Even Bael thinks twice about tangling with a wyvern's mate,” I said with a lot more confidence than I felt. “Jim, you may come with me, although I want you to mind your tongue in Bael's presence.”

Released from the command to be silent, Jim staggered a little with the strain of holding in its comments. It cocked an eyebrow at the wrath demons. “Hiyas. Long time no see, Sori. How they hangin', Tachan? Been forever since I've seen you guys. You still got a thing for rams?”

The penis watcher shot Jim an outraged look that nearly set the demon's coat smoking.

The sound of a man's singing grew louder as the bar-keep evidently found Magoth's champagne.

“You guys stay here. I'll take care of whatever Bael wants and be back as quickly as I can. Don't forget to tell Gabriel I went willingly,” I said hurriedly, one eye watching the storeroom door. “He doesn't need to come rescue me.”

“That you know,” Savian said, just adding that little extra dollop of worry that I needed to make my misery complete.

The demon named Sori grabbed my arm in preparation for yanking me through the fabric of being to Bael's presence, but before it could do more than slash an opening, Magoth screamed a battle cry and threw himself on me. Jim leaped up at the same time, intent on intercepting the attack, but was too late. Magoth hit me, sending me careening into Sori as it was pulling me through the opening, with the end result that all four of us went down in a tangle of arms, legs, and furry black tail.

“I assure you that such a dramatic entrance is not necessary,” a cool, almost bored voice said as I tried to pull my limbs from the pile of others. Jim clunked its head on mine, making me see stars for a second.

I sat up, rubbing it, glaring at Jim for a second before Magoth used my head as a support to lever himself to his feet. “Well! You might have had your servants show a little more respect,” he said, making a great show of brushing his naked self off. He made a brief bow to Bael. “Lord Bael.”