Fire Me Up
Page 1
Chapter 1
"You'd think that Hungary would see the light as far as secondhand smoke is concerned, wouldn't you? I probably lost at least thirty percent of my lung capacity on the trip from the airport."
I didn't even glance at the massive hairy black form at my side as we disembarked from the train on a cloud of cigarette smoke. Instead, I said through my teeth, "Language!"
Two big brown eyes opened wide with surprise.
"Stop it," I hissed, glancing quickly around us to see if anyone had overheard. We were elbow to elbow with what appeared to be half the population of Hungary, all intent on going to the same place at the same time as us. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying attention to a huge black dog and its unexceptional owner. I took a firm grip on Jim's leather leash, wrapping it around the wrist on my left hand as I used my right to tug on the big suitcase on wheels that kept clipping my heels.
"Oh, right, I forgot. Ixnay on the alkingtay. Bowwow. Arf. Bark bark. Hummina hummina hummina."
I glared at the demon in Newfoundland dog form that stood beside me as we struggled through the huge crowds at Budapest's main train station. We moved slowly forward with the rest of the lemmings, part of the shuffle, stop, shuffle, stop pattern of movement that characterized a large number of people trying to pass through a narrow opening.
Jim's eyebrows rose at my look. "What?"
"You are talking," I answered, more or less grinding the words. "Dogs don't talk, so just shut... ?!"
"Well!" Jim sniffed in an injured manner as we shuffle-stopped our way forward a few more feet. I knew from the experience of having lived with Jim for the past month that my furry little demon would have an expression of profound martyrdom on its face, an expression not at all common to most Newfles but one that Jim had perfected during our relatively short time together. "That wasn't a direct order, was it? Because you didn't say, 'Dammit, Jim, I said shut the farking haitch up!' which, of course, is what you normally say when you want me to shut up. And I know that's a command, because you only say 'forking haitch' when you're really PO'd. So I thought I'd better check whether or not that last 'shut up was a direct order or just a hopeful desire on your part."
I stood in the center of the Keleti train station surrounded by hundreds of people—nice, normal people, people who never once thought about things like demons, and demon lords, and Guardians, and all of the strange beings that populated the L'au-dela, the Otherworld— and I wondered for the hundredth time whether if I tried really hard I could send Jim back to the fiery depths of Hell.
"No," it answered my unasked question before I could do so much as level another squinty-eyed glare at it. "You tried three times to send me back. The last time cost me a toe. My favorite one, too. How you can make a toe disappear right off my foot is beyond me, but the point is that I'm not going to risk another unbalanced paw just so you can play Junior Guardian. I'm staying put until you get yourself a mentor and figure out that whole sending-me-back thing."
"Will you stop answering questions before I ask them, stop telling me what to do, and above all, stop talking?"
As crowded as the platforms were, the air filled with fumes from the fast-food restaurants that lined the main section of the station, not to mention the ripe odor of a couple of hundred people who'd been crushed into a busy train on a hot August day, as well as the noise those very same hot, sweaty people made as they tried to escape the station—despite all that, my words managed to penetrate the miasma of sound and echo with a strange piercing quality off the tiled walls.
Several heads swiveled to look back at us. I smiled somewhat grimly at all of them. A hurt look filled Jim's brown eyes as it sniffed, with studied indifference, the butts of the man and woman in front of us.
We shuffled forward another few feet.
"So, that was an order?"
I sighed, my shoulders slumping in defeat. I was hot, tired, jet-lagged from the flight from Portland to Amsterdam to Budapest, and to be honest, Jim's presence—although annoying in many ways—was more than a little reassuring considering just who else was occupying the same continent on which I now found myself.
The memory of glittering green eyes filled with smoky desire rose with no difficulty to dance before me but was squelched with a much greater effort. "No, it's not an order," I said softly. "At least not until we're through this crowd. I doubt if anyone can even see you, let alone notice that your mouth is moving."
"I told you to get me that ventriloquist tape I saw on TV."
The mass of humanity rippled forward, then halted again. I stood on my tiptoes and peered around the big sun hat of the woman in front of me and caught sight of what was holding us up. At the far end of the platform, where the passage narrowed to one open exit to the taxi ranks and passenger pickup areas, several men in security uniforms had stopped the crowd as a couple of VIPs were escorted off the train.
"What is it?" Jim asked. "Dead body? Someone throw himself in front of the train? Are there splattered body parts everywhere? Did you remember to bring your digital camera?"
"You are a sick, sick demon. There are no body parts, splattered or otherwise. It's just"—I craned my neck— "just a woman and a couple of guys in really expensive-looking designer clothes. They're probably movie stars or politicians or something," The crowd shimmered as a second exit was opened up, the mass of travelers undergoing mitosis as one part of the crowd headed for the new exit. Sweat trickled down my back, dampening the tendrils of hair that had escaped my ponytail until they clung to my neck. T was starting to get light-headed from the heat, the pressure of so many bodies, and the lack of sleep during the twelve hours it had taken to get from Portland to Budapest. I had to get out of there.
"Come on. I think I see a break." I pushed Jim toward the slight opening next to a couple of kids decked out in Goth gear who were sucking the tongues out of each other's head, jerking the suitcase behind me, apologizing under my breath as I jostled elbows, backs, and sides and squished forward. "Why I thought coming here was such a good idea is beyond me."
"Makes sense to me," Jim answered a bit distractedly as it smelled people, luggage, and the litter on the ground with the same unbiased interest. The crowd thinned dramatically as people scattered once they made it past the bottleneck of the exit. "You need training. Budapest is where it's happening. Hey, when are we going to eat?"
"You'd think that Hungary would see the light as far as secondhand smoke is concerned, wouldn't you? I probably lost at least thirty percent of my lung capacity on the trip from the airport."
I didn't even glance at the massive hairy black form at my side as we disembarked from the train on a cloud of cigarette smoke. Instead, I said through my teeth, "Language!"
Two big brown eyes opened wide with surprise.
"Stop it," I hissed, glancing quickly around us to see if anyone had overheard. We were elbow to elbow with what appeared to be half the population of Hungary, all intent on going to the same place at the same time as us. Luckily, no one seemed to be paying attention to a huge black dog and its unexceptional owner. I took a firm grip on Jim's leather leash, wrapping it around the wrist on my left hand as I used my right to tug on the big suitcase on wheels that kept clipping my heels.
"Oh, right, I forgot. Ixnay on the alkingtay. Bowwow. Arf. Bark bark. Hummina hummina hummina."
I glared at the demon in Newfoundland dog form that stood beside me as we struggled through the huge crowds at Budapest's main train station. We moved slowly forward with the rest of the lemmings, part of the shuffle, stop, shuffle, stop pattern of movement that characterized a large number of people trying to pass through a narrow opening.
Jim's eyebrows rose at my look. "What?"
"You are talking," I answered, more or less grinding the words. "Dogs don't talk, so just shut... ?!"
"Well!" Jim sniffed in an injured manner as we shuffle-stopped our way forward a few more feet. I knew from the experience of having lived with Jim for the past month that my furry little demon would have an expression of profound martyrdom on its face, an expression not at all common to most Newfles but one that Jim had perfected during our relatively short time together. "That wasn't a direct order, was it? Because you didn't say, 'Dammit, Jim, I said shut the farking haitch up!' which, of course, is what you normally say when you want me to shut up. And I know that's a command, because you only say 'forking haitch' when you're really PO'd. So I thought I'd better check whether or not that last 'shut up was a direct order or just a hopeful desire on your part."
I stood in the center of the Keleti train station surrounded by hundreds of people—nice, normal people, people who never once thought about things like demons, and demon lords, and Guardians, and all of the strange beings that populated the L'au-dela, the Otherworld— and I wondered for the hundredth time whether if I tried really hard I could send Jim back to the fiery depths of Hell.
"No," it answered my unasked question before I could do so much as level another squinty-eyed glare at it. "You tried three times to send me back. The last time cost me a toe. My favorite one, too. How you can make a toe disappear right off my foot is beyond me, but the point is that I'm not going to risk another unbalanced paw just so you can play Junior Guardian. I'm staying put until you get yourself a mentor and figure out that whole sending-me-back thing."
"Will you stop answering questions before I ask them, stop telling me what to do, and above all, stop talking?"
As crowded as the platforms were, the air filled with fumes from the fast-food restaurants that lined the main section of the station, not to mention the ripe odor of a couple of hundred people who'd been crushed into a busy train on a hot August day, as well as the noise those very same hot, sweaty people made as they tried to escape the station—despite all that, my words managed to penetrate the miasma of sound and echo with a strange piercing quality off the tiled walls.
Several heads swiveled to look back at us. I smiled somewhat grimly at all of them. A hurt look filled Jim's brown eyes as it sniffed, with studied indifference, the butts of the man and woman in front of us.
We shuffled forward another few feet.
"So, that was an order?"
I sighed, my shoulders slumping in defeat. I was hot, tired, jet-lagged from the flight from Portland to Amsterdam to Budapest, and to be honest, Jim's presence—although annoying in many ways—was more than a little reassuring considering just who else was occupying the same continent on which I now found myself.
The memory of glittering green eyes filled with smoky desire rose with no difficulty to dance before me but was squelched with a much greater effort. "No, it's not an order," I said softly. "At least not until we're through this crowd. I doubt if anyone can even see you, let alone notice that your mouth is moving."
"I told you to get me that ventriloquist tape I saw on TV."
The mass of humanity rippled forward, then halted again. I stood on my tiptoes and peered around the big sun hat of the woman in front of me and caught sight of what was holding us up. At the far end of the platform, where the passage narrowed to one open exit to the taxi ranks and passenger pickup areas, several men in security uniforms had stopped the crowd as a couple of VIPs were escorted off the train.
"What is it?" Jim asked. "Dead body? Someone throw himself in front of the train? Are there splattered body parts everywhere? Did you remember to bring your digital camera?"
"You are a sick, sick demon. There are no body parts, splattered or otherwise. It's just"—I craned my neck— "just a woman and a couple of guys in really expensive-looking designer clothes. They're probably movie stars or politicians or something," The crowd shimmered as a second exit was opened up, the mass of travelers undergoing mitosis as one part of the crowd headed for the new exit. Sweat trickled down my back, dampening the tendrils of hair that had escaped my ponytail until they clung to my neck. T was starting to get light-headed from the heat, the pressure of so many bodies, and the lack of sleep during the twelve hours it had taken to get from Portland to Budapest. I had to get out of there.
"Come on. I think I see a break." I pushed Jim toward the slight opening next to a couple of kids decked out in Goth gear who were sucking the tongues out of each other's head, jerking the suitcase behind me, apologizing under my breath as I jostled elbows, backs, and sides and squished forward. "Why I thought coming here was such a good idea is beyond me."
"Makes sense to me," Jim answered a bit distractedly as it smelled people, luggage, and the litter on the ground with the same unbiased interest. The crowd thinned dramatically as people scattered once they made it past the bottleneck of the exit. "You need training. Budapest is where it's happening. Hey, when are we going to eat?"
