But what would Willamina say if she were still alive? Maybe: “Damien, you can’t give in to him. You know how this ends.” She would tell him not to give up hope, that someday Damien would separate himself from the beast inside.
But he was tired of trying to convince himself that Jekyll could rid himself of Hyde. Damien wanted to be free of the struggle, which meant coming to terms with the facts. He could not change who and what he was. Nor could he go on like this.
Fuck, I need to sew. Maybe some red potholders. Or a shiny black cummerbund. Simple acts calmed his mind and the dark beast. But there was no time.
He parked in the basement of the office building and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, preparing to explain to fourteen angry deities why he had nothing to show.
Let’s hope this goes less horribly than I imagine.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Damien stepped out of the elevator and was greeted by a dark empty office with gray carpet. No gods. No people. Nothing except two very dusty desks in the middle of the wide-open floor.
Where is everyone? Perhaps he was early? Or late? Did he have the wrong address?
Damien pulled his phone from his pants pocket and checked the message from Cimil. This was the place and the correct time.
He was about to text her when he noticed a bright pink envelope with his name written in black crayon, sitting on top of one of the desks.
Damien picked it up and read the note.
D-Dog,
Sorry we couldn’t be here to meet you, but I must care for Roberto, who broke his leg, back, and five ribs during family checkers night. Our evil spawn can be challenging. And, unfortunately, the other gods have all retired, except K’ak, who is occupied with a minor uprising of evil Mayan priests.
The gods have retired? Can they do that?
Yes, we can do that. I will pop in and check on you in a few weeks. So, my saucy suit-man, looks like you are on your own for a tad. Remember, the entire immortal world is counting on you to bring them back.
Sincerely,
Cimil
P.S. I assume you found Gorgonzolina, a mate for your little friend. You’re welcome. Keep a close eye on them both. They are your responsibility. If they misbehave, even a little, they will be banished back to their realm. And you know what that means.
Cimil had drawn a little skull and crossbones at the bottom of the note.
Damien hung his head and growled. This was not part of his plan. Finding a mate for Bonbon was a way to get rid of him. Now he was responsible for two love-sucking demons?
And how had Cimil known he’d find Gorgonzolina?
Cimil claimed she was now the Goddess of Death and War, but clearly she still had visionary gifts like before.
Gods help us all if he was right. Bringing death, waging war, and the ability to see the past and future? Seemed like a tremendous amount of power for one being. Did the other gods know about this?
Of course, the gods were suspiciously absent, and he didn’t buy this retirement story. If true, the world was about to spin out of control.
On the other hand, the gods were completely insane, so maybe it was a good thing?
In any case, while the gods not showing up today might have bought him more time, it also meant he’d lost the opportunity to talk his way out of this wild-goose chase.
Asking him to solve the immortal exodus was like asking someone to bring back humans after a nuclear explosion. Some things just couldn’t be undone. Dead was dead. Gone was gone.
Are we done here now? We have killing to do, tailor. And do not lie and tell me you’re not as anxious as I am; I heard your thoughts when you unleashed me.
“I was angry and in shock. Who wouldn’t be?”
We both know what comes next, tailor. Why fight it?
Damien’s phone rang. It was Boris, the Russian mobster he’d hired to look after Sky’s nephew and sister.
“Greystone here.”
“Hello, friend. I call with news,” Boris said with his thick accent. “I catch man trying to burn down woman’s house.”
“What?”
“Dah. He come with firebomb—very ugly style. Like KGB used. Car battery, gasoline can—”
“What did you do with the man?”
“I keel him good.”
“No, not good. I needed to question him.” For example, it would be nice to know who hired him. Newbery or someone else?
“When man points gun at Boris, Boris points gun back and shoots. The end. Now I let you know woman and kid are on plane.”
“What are you talking about?” Damien asked.
“I hear woman say to kid she get text from sister, telling her to come to house-safe.”
“You mean a safe house?”
“Dah. To place on Sunset Ridge. In LA.”
Sonofa… That was his house! Was Sky behind this? Maybe she’d enlisted Pet’s help. But why would they do this? Having Sky’s family stay with him was not an option. Especially now that his beast was back.
“A fucking text message from Sky?” he muttered in disbelief. “I guess that means the body hasn’t been found yet.”
“Repeat, please.”
“Never mind.” Better not to share too much with Boris. His world was all about leverage and blackmail.
“So I see you Monday in Miami, yes?” Boris asked.
“Miami?”
“For fitting?”
“Right. The wedding outfits. Yes, I’ll be there.” Miami was the last place Damien wanted to go, but a deal was a deal. Especially when it came to the Russian mafia.
“Good, bring date for big dinner sister’s place. I text you address.”
Date? “I’m only coming to measure the wedding party and…” Boris had already hung up.
Damien exhaled slowly. He was losing his mind. The gods wanted him to find the cure to immortal death. His dark beast wanted him to go on a killing spree. MF wanted to turn his family’s legacy into a dress empire. Boris wanted to socialize. Sky wanted him to host her sister and nephew. Pet and two demons wanted to live with him indefinitely. All he fucking wanted was to be left alone!
The drive home with the top down gave Damien another much-needed cooling-down period along with some clarity. The key to staying sane was prioritizing the issues. First there was the immortal exodus issue. Second, punishing and stopping anyone involved with the traffickers. Third, dealing with his beast. And finally, getting these intruders out of his life. This last one would be dealt with tonight.
“Hello?” Damien entered his home, noting the scent of fresh warm bread in the air. Who the hell was baking?
He stepped into his once-pristine kitchen now covered in flour, batter, and other goop running down the walls, which Pet was licking while Gorgonzolina watched.
“What are you doing?” he asked Pet.
“Baking you I’m-sorry biscuits.”
He had no idea what was in them, but eating anything prepared by a sex fairy was never a wise idea. Also, he did not need an apology. He simply wanted her gone.
“You clean up this mess immediately,” he ordered. “I want my kitchen just like you found it.”
“You mean sad, lonely, and no sense of sexiness?” she asked innocently.
“It is called the minimalist look.”
“You win. It is minimally sexy. Though, you do have a nice variety of festive potholders.”