Naughty Karma: Karmic Consultants, Book 7 Page 6

  He jolted, sloshing the coffee onto the lids, startled more by her honesty than the blatant distrust. “Smart man. Who’s Luis?”

  She bounced on her chair like a five-year-old with a secret. “My boyfriend.” Her eyes flicked to the door to Karma’s office then back to his face. “How long have you been in love with Karma?”

  If he’d been drinking, he would have sprayed the lobby with coffee. As it was, he jerked like she’d Tased him and the four brimming cups of liquid gold macchiato tumbled toward the floor in a hot caramel tidal wave. Prometheus caught them before the first drop of liquid could touch the carpet, reversing the flow and wrangling the coffee back into cups that were suddenly neatly vertical again.

  “Whoops.”

  Bubbles the Receptionist gaped at him, mouth open, eyes saucer-wide. “You… Oh my. You just…gosh.”

  Only a woman like Sunshine here could make the word gosh work for her. Prometheus set the coffee beside the artfully splayed magazines on the table and gave a shrug. “Figured you didn’t want the rug to stain.”

  That seemed to snap her out of her shock. She blinked, beamed and bounced. “Yep. I don’t have the first idea how to get a coffee stain out of a rug, but I’m getting really good at laundry!”

  There was something very wrong with Karma’s receptionist. No one should be that excited about laundry. One of Prometheus’s favorite magical perks was that he hadn’t had to do a load of colors in twenty years. “Uh-huh,” he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging tone, not an I’m-mentally-fitting-you-for-a-strait-jacket one.

  Before Brittany could wax rhapsodic on the joys of laundry, the door to Karma’s office opened. Prometheus came to attention in his chair, but the figure exiting the office and sealing it after himself could not have been more opposite from the elegant, contained proprietress of Karmic Consultants.

  He was Latino, slightly above average height—which meant Prometheus towered over him—and thick, black tribal tattoos marked his arms from his wrists to where they disappeared into the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. He might as well have tattooed “Badass” on his forehead.

  Sprinkles the Wonder Secretary sprang out of her chair. “Luis!”

  Ah, the infamous boyfriend. Not a pairing he would have predicted. The gang banger and the cheerleader. It was like an after school special gone wrong. Prometheus came to his feet as well, as Luis stalked to the brunette’s side.

  The boyfriend raked him with a distinctly unfriendly gaze. “So you’re the asshole.”

  “Luis,” Brittany scolded.

  Prometheus grinned. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been called. “That’s me. And you are?”

  “I’m the poor bastard who’s stuck with you. Rodriguez. Exorcist.” He instinctively shoved his hand out to shake Prometheus’s, then seemed to think better of it and used the hand to urge Sunshine behind him. “Karma wants you to shadow me.”

  Prometheus’s grin dropped from his face. Shit.

  He’d been counting on his ability to worm his way into Karma’s good graces, but it looked like her graces weren’t even going to be present to be penetrated. Bad enough he had to play at being a white hat. There was no way he was going to trail along behind an exorcist, watching without doing a damn thing as the fool bungled his way through Demons 101. He should be teaching a master course on demons to Karma’s staff, not playing at being some tattooed punk’s sidekick.

  “I don’t shadow.”

  “Nullifying our agreement already?”

  Prometheus whipped around at the sultry sound of Karma’s phone-sex-operator voice. He hadn’t even heard the door to her office open again, but there she stood, framed by the doorway. Composed, controlled. Queen of all she surveyed.

  Damn if that didn’t make him want to muss her up. But he was being a good boy. If it killed him.

  “Of course not.” Prometheus smiled his most earnest smile—which, admittedly, wasn’t very earnest. “I simply thought you would want to take advantage of the full range of my significant abilities.”

  The exorcist snorted. Karma didn’t even blink.

  “I don’t trust you,” she said flatly. “I trust Rodriguez. You will do as he says, when he says it, and if he has a positive report I will consider allowing you more leeway. You’re on probation, Prometheus. Don’t push it.” She gave him an icy smile. “Besides, Rodriguez and Brittany are two of my employees you’ve wronged. You want to show me how reformed you are? Start by making amends with them.”

  Prometheus eyed the pair. Brittany didn’t look like she needed amends—if she even had the brainpower necessary to understand what amends were. She beamed at him encouragingly. Rodriguez, on the other hand, looked like he would cheerfully cut open Prometheus’s mid-section to jump rope with his intestines. Prometheus returned his gaze to Karma’s. “I’d rather make amends with you,” he said, giving amends the dirtiest, most suggestive inflection and taking a step toward her, crowding into her space until jasmine and ginger teased his nostrils.

  She didn’t even give him a twitch of reaction, but her energy flared and he thought he saw the slightest hint of color touch her high cheekbones. Damn, he loved her feigned indifference, that near-constant resistance to the attraction that crackled between them whenever he got too close. Karma wasn’t the type to fall easily into his arms, but the push and pull of simmering heat and cool disdain were aphrodisiacs in their own way.

  She dismissed him with a slow, disdainful lift of one eyebrow, looking past him to the Starbucks on the table. “I don’t drink coffee.”

  With that, she disappeared back into her office, the door snicking shut behind her. Prometheus stared at the wood panel for a long moment, tempted to use a bit of telekinesis to throw it open, to see if she was hovering on the other side, as intently aware of him as he was of her.

  “Come on, cabron,” the exorcist grumbled. “I don’t have all day.”

  Prometheus didn’t have the time to waste staring at doors either, but something told him this doorway was worth laying siege to. He wondered if Karma realized her defenses were already under attack.

  “Hey. Pendejo,” the exorcist snapped.

  Prometheus pulled his attention away from the door. “I’m coming.” Like a good boy.

  Karma leaned back against the solid wood of the door, trying to reclaim her center.

  She should have resisted the temptation to see how Prometheus would react to learning Rodriguez was going to be his keeper. Temptation had never done her any favors. Always better to walk in the opposite direction—quickly and calmly, like an evacuation drill.

  She pressed her hands to her face, feeling the heat pouring off her cheeks. Why did that man unsettle her so? It wasn’t attraction, necessarily. It was more a vulnerability—like he had found a crack in her façade and she couldn’t maintain her perfect autonomy around him. He made her feel human—when that was the last thing she wanted.

  Why him of all people?

  She didn’t like it and she couldn’t afford it. A woman couldn’t juggle all the balls Karma had to keep in the air to run Karmic Consultants smoothly if she was moony-eyed over a tall warlock with unnaturally white hair.

  Ciara needed her. Her clients needed her. Karma couldn’t afford distraction.

  But still she listened to the voices in the outer office until she heard the street door slam behind Rodriguez and Prometheus. Only then did she push away from the door and cross to her desk, her heart rate returning to a normal speed as the distance between herself and the warlock stretched farther.

  Keeping temptation at arm’s length was good. A few counties away would be even better. For her own selfish sake, Karma hoped those demons had nested far out in the country, taking Prometheus miles and miles away from the refuge of her office.

  Chapter Ten

  Demons and Bumpers and Sprinkles, Oh My!

  On Tuesday morning, Prometheus flipped over his new Gone Demon Hunting sign and locked the front door on his shop before turning to face
Rodriguez and the piece of crap car besmirching his parking lot. Apparently, their days of rolling through the country side-by-side on their motorcycles were over—and even if it meant he didn’t get to drive, Prometheus was relieved to see that. Yesterday had been boring as hell.

  Or rather, more boring than hell. Hell had to be more exciting than trailing along after Rodriguez.

  The exorcist had led the way upstate to a small town being afflicted by what appeared to be a rash of demon-related pranks. After chatting with the locals and repeatedly telling Prometheus to “shut the fuck up and stay out of the way,” Rodriguez had begun tracking the energy signatures of the demons involved—which would have been impressive—Prometheus had only ever heard of a handful of exorcists who had that particular ability, if not for the fact that Prometheus himself had a much more kickass ability. His spidey-sense could pinpoint every demon in a hundred-mile radius—including the enclave of seven Rodriquez was tracking. Tracking without a prayer of success, since Prometheus could sense that the nest’s summoners had already released the demons back to the demonic plane because they couldn’t provide the energy to sustain seven corporeal demons. Though there was some very suspicious activity nearby…

  Of course, Rodriguez hadn’t been interested in anything Prometheus had to say on the subject of demon hunting, so they hadn’t located a single demon.

  Boring. And pointless.

  He hadn’t even been able to talk Rodriguez over to his side because roaring along on bikes without linked helmet-mikes made talking impossible and Rodriguez had told him to shut up every time they stopped to investigate a new trace of demonic energy. Prometheus had been a good boy—doing what Rodriguez said, when he said it, precisely as Karma had commanded—and he got jack shit out of it.

  Today he’d woken up feeling distinctly less Boy Scoutish.

  Maybe it was time Karma learned that breaking the rules could get the job done. Prometheus had decided to start that lesson today. With Rodriguez.

  Prometheus crossed the parking lot, eyeing the ancient Honda. “I figured you more for a sports car kind of guy,” he told the exorcist leaning against the trunk. “That might be the ugliest car I’ve ever seen.”

  “I’m more of a minivan guy, actually,” Rodriguez mouthed off. “This is my sister’s car.” He pointed to a microscopic scratch in the back bumper. “And this is where a car possessed by a demon you summoned rear-ended it.”

  Ah. Apparently they’d come to the reparations portion of the program. That tiny scratch was the result of the demon-induced car crash Karma’d been so peeved about? Prometheus waved a hand toward the bumper—an unnecessary gesture, but he’d always felt showmanship added a certain flair to magic use. The scratch vanished. “Better?”

  Rodriguez glared at the pristine bumper. “No.”

  “You’re right.” Prometheus waved his hand again in a slightly more elaborate gesture and the drab, faded tan paint job was instantly replaced by a rich, gleaming dark blue.

  Rodriguez’s frown intensified.

  “No? You prefer green? Or perhaps black?” One glistening paint job replaced the next in a cycle of rich colors before Prometheus settled on a nice deep red, throwing in a pair of fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror.

  Rodriguez growled. “You can’t just wave a hand and make everything better by magic. You’re still the dickhead who almost got Brittany killed by sending a demon to possess her car.”

  “Ah, so this is about Bubbles the Wonder Secretary.”

  Rodriguez shot him an I-know-exactly-where-I’m-going-to-hide-your-body look. “Just get in the goddamn car.”

  Prometheus smiled. The joys of male bonding. He slid the passenger seat back as far as it would go and folded himself into the car, relieved that at least he didn’t brain himself on the doorframe. His height could be a distinct disadvantage. One of the many reasons he preferred his VTX1800. The bike was a big sumbitch and never made him feel cramped. Rodriguez’s Harley was a little fella by comparison, but Prometheus had swallowed all the tempting mine’s bigger comments he could have made yesterday. Good behavior really did suck all the fun out of life.

  Rodriguez buckled himself into the driver’s seat and cranked the key. The engine coughed before it caught and Prometheus sent a flicker of magic through the fuel-injection system to clean it up.

  “Am I going to get to play today?” he asked. “Or are we going to run around all day chasing our own asses?”

  “Chasing demons. Is your ass demonic?”

  “What if we didn’t have to chase them? I can tell you exactly where they’re hiding.”

  “Let me guess. You know where they are because you summoned them.”

  “No.” Though he did have a good idea who had. “I know where they are because I have demon radar.” At Rodriguez’s skeptical look, Prometheus added, “Trust me.”

  “No.”

  “Fine, don’t trust me. Regardless of how I know where they are, I know. And if you let me tell you where to go, we find them faster, banish them faster, and that’s less time you have to spend with me. Sound good?”

  “Sounds fucking fantastic. Provided this isn’t a trap.”

  “If I harm you in any way, Karma spends the rest of my rather short life making me wish I was already dead. Doesn’t sound like a good strategy for me.”

  “Fine. Where are they?”

  Prometheus didn’t feel any great surge of victory—he’d known all along he would win, but it was pleasant to be proved right. “Get on Route 7 headed north. I’ll tell you which exit when we get closer.”

  “If this is a wild goose chase…”

  “You’ll jump rope with my intestines. I get it.”

  Rodriguez shot him a startled look. “I’ll probably just tell Karma. I’m not really into doing the Rocky thing with intestines. Sounds messy.”

  Prometheus smiled. “You have no idea.”

  The exorcist shifted, subtly tilting his body away from Prometheus.

  Prometheus sprawled back in his seat. “So, you and Sprinkles, huh?”

  Rodriguez frowned. “Sprinkles?”

  “You know. Bubbles, Skittles, Buttons, Candy, Sugarplum, Sunshine. The receptionist.”

  “Brittany?” Rodriguez glared at him—uncomfortable bowel-jump-rope comments apparently forgotten. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Brittany, all right, cabron? You’re the reason she was stalked by a fucking demon for almost a month, so whatever the hell you wanna say, you just keep it to yourself.”

  Prometheus contorted his face into a mask of contrition—or what he imagined contrition might look like. “I’m here to make amends.”

  “Because Karma fucking forced you to. If you’re so intent on making amends, how come you haven’t said you’re sorry yet, huh?”

  If that was all he wanted, that was easy enough. He didn’t believe in apologies, but words were even easier to throw around than magic paint jobs. “I’m sorry.” When Rodriguez glared, he repeated the words, trying for sincerity. “I’m very sorry. Truly. Deeply. Devoutly sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, tell it to Brittany. She’s the one you should be apologizing to.”

  “Right. Of course. Shall we swing by the office right now? Take care of that?”

  Rodriguez didn’t change lanes, continuing northbound with an irritable glower. “You’re an ass. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  “I believe that was one of the names Karma shouted at me, but most people are too afraid of me to dare insult me.”

  “Karma shouted at you? Like actually raised her voice?”

  “Oh yeah.” Prometheus smiled at the memory. “That woman is a helluva sight when she’s in a temper.” When she wasn’t in a temper too.

  Rodriguez was silent for a long moment, then he flicked Prometheus an appraising glance. “So, where’s this demon GPS of yours telling you to go?”

  Prometheus bared his teeth in a feral grin, more than ready to show off his exorcising muscle. “Head to the campus we were near yesterday. I’
ll tell you when to turn.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, save his periodic navigational instructions, Rodriguez stewing over whatever the hell tattooed exorcists with crappy attitudes thought about while Prometheus’s thoughts honed back in on Karma. She did fury well, with her eyes flashing fire, an enraged goddess, power pulsing out of every pore. Damn, did he ever want to get her back there. Touch that rage, breath it in. Pull all her passion and fire into his body and hold it inside him, filling up all the hollow spaces left by a deal he’d made almost two decades ago. She filled his thoughts, expanding to touch every cell in his body as the miles ticked by beneath the car. Heading north toward his redemption. Such as it was.

  “Dude, it’s the fuzz! Hide the weed!”

  Prometheus snorted a laugh and even Rodriguez the Hardass’s lips twitched. Sutherland College’s motto was Making the Future Bright, but if the odor coming from the cracked windows of Phi Gamma Gamma was any indication, it should have been Making the Future High. It was probably a less than promising sign for that future that the residents of Phi-G couldn’t tell the difference between Prometheus and Rodriguez—with his tats on every visible skin surface—and cops. And a worse sign that their reaction to a sting, such as it was, was to shout, “Hide the weed!” next to an open window.

  After many thuds, a few feminine squeals and the sound of something crashing, the front door of the frat swung inward to reveal a walking PSA. Don’t do drugs, kids, or this could happen to you.

  The kid looked like he hadn’t showered in a few days. He was wearing a pizza-stained T-shirt and jeans with his feet bare on the grimy floorboards. And he was sweating like he was facing the devil himself on soul-collection day.

  But the really interesting part—in the fuck-me Chinese prophecy sense of the word—was the energy pulsing behind the not quite closed sliding doors of what looked to be the common room. This was the address where Prometheus had expected to find the shitstorm, but that was not the kind of demonic energy he’d expected to feel—those weren’t corporeal mischief demons they’d been summoning. Something was off. The boys of Phi-G had been very naughty indeed.