Fire Me Up
Page 40
Right there in the middle of the living room was a blanket folded into a dog bed, Jim's traveling foldable water bowl sitting next to it, along with the demon's extra drool bibs, its brush, spare leash, and the couple of copies of People that Jim insisted I buy to keep it from being bored.
I burst into tears.
Istvan looked at me like I was covered in boils. Pal emerged from a room and hurried over, his face twisted in concern. "Aisling, what is wrong? Are you in pain? Has someone harmed you? Drake is not here, but I can call him—"
"No, it's OK," I sniffled, pulling a few tissues from the box he offered. "It's just been kind of a long day."
He looked at a clock sitting on a nearby gateleg table. "It is just an hour past midday."
"I know." I blew my nose as discreetly as I could. "That's what worries me. What did Drake want, and why do you have Jim's things? Do you have mine as well?"
Pal nodded, gesturing toward the double doors that led to the master bedroom. "Drake said that now you had accepted him as wyvern, you would be living with us."
Istvan muttered something under his breath before throwing himself down in a nearby chair. I ignored him. I'd have to make my peace with him at some point, but I was too tired to struggle with him now,
"Drake was being presumptuous, but I'll take that up with him. At least now I don't have to battle the police on top of everything else." I started to turn toward the room, but he reached out a hand as if he was going to stop me, then snatched it back quickly. I gave him a curious look. "Did you want something?"
He glanced nervously at Istvan, who promptly grabbed a Hungarian magazine and started reading it. "It is just that you seem...sad."
"I am sad. Jim is in a vet clinic on the outskirts of town. It ate something poisonous and almost destroyed its body. I'm very worried."
"But even if it does need to take a new form, the demon will be the same," Pal said helpfully.
I nodded, then shook my head, then ran my fingers through my hair. My activities with Drake the night before hadn't left us time for much sleep, and with everything else going on, my brain was starting to feel a bit ragged around the edges. "I know, but it won't be Jim. I'm going to take a shower, then I have to leave for a bit. If you see Drake, tell him,.." I struggled to think of something that wasn't too snarky but would let Drake know I didn't appreciate him taking the high hand with me. "Tell him I'll talk to him about this tonight."
Istvan said something I didn't understand. I cocked a questioning eyebrow at Pal. Not only was he friendlier than Istvan, his English was as good as mine.
Pal looked uncomfortable and didn't meet my eyes. "He said that there would be much talking tonight."
Istvan snorted. I decided to ignore him, feeling a shower and possibly a quick nap would do more for me than figuring out a surly bodyguard.
My first appointment went off without any disasters striking me—Paolo didn't stop by to give me another warning, Drake didn't show up to go bossy on me, and Jim wasn't there to say inappropriate things at the very worst moment.
Despite all that, it was a complete failure.
"I will make a note of your phone number," Fiona the Scottish Guardian said, giving me a look that pretty much said she'd rather consort with a demon lord than ever give me a jingle. "As I said at the beginning of the interview, I have many applicants hoping to gain an apprenticeship with me, so the competition is naturally very intense."
"Understood. And thank you for considering me. It sounds like your program of training is very comprehensive." I drew a line through her name on my mental list of potential mentors. The only good thing that had come out of this interview was a nugget of information regarding the ritual examination that all would-be apprentices must pass in order to be formally accepted. I stood and shook hands with Fiona, waiting until she left before looking at the name on the back of a business card she'd handed me.
"Marvabelle O'Hallahan" was written in Fiona's neat script.
My heart sank. I was contemplating just how horrible this ritual could be with Marvabelle in charge (my imagination is way too good for my peace of mind) when a shadow moved over the card.
"Disaster follows your every footstep."
I looked up, the card crumpling in my hand as I glared at the back of the man who walked away from me. I shook my fist at him, "Yeah, and its name is Paolo! Leave me alone, will you?"
"Are you still beset with admirers?" a soft, English-accented voice asked.
I smiled at Nora and waved her to a chair. Fiona had opted to meet me on the shady side of the verandah, a favorite spot for all the conference attendees, if the number of tables filled to capacity was any sign to go by. "Hi, Nora. Are you looking for a place to sit? I have an appointment in a few minutes, but you're welcome to share my table."
She nudged a chair out with her foot, carefully balancing a tall glass of iced tea and a plate of fresh fruit. "Thank you. I missed lunch and didn't think I could go until dinner without eating. Where is Jim?"
I explained briefly what had happened at the park.
"I'm so sorry to hear that. Poor Jim. But if the vet is positive he got all the poison out, I am sure Jim's resilience will help the body recover quickly. You might be able to destroy a demon's physical form, but they are heartier than a mortal being."
My stomach growled loudly as she speared a piece of melon. "Sorry," I said, trying not to look like I was starving. "I had fallen asleep on Drake's bed—now, I guess, also my bed—after my shower, and I only barely made it to the appointment with Fiona without being late. There hadn't been any time to rustle up something for lunch."
"You're welcome to some," she offered, pushing her plate toward me.
'Thanks, but that's not necessary." I looked at my watch, chewed my lip in thought for a second, then turned around and looked at the doorway leading into the hotel. Zaccheo stood next to the wall, a pitcher of water clutched in his hands, his body tense and quivering slightly in anticipation as if he was waiting at the starting line of a race. I smiled at him and he shot over to me, almost knocking down an elderly couple in his haste.
"You want water?" he asked, holding the pitcher as if it was made of precious gems. "You want more water?"
I burst into tears.
Istvan looked at me like I was covered in boils. Pal emerged from a room and hurried over, his face twisted in concern. "Aisling, what is wrong? Are you in pain? Has someone harmed you? Drake is not here, but I can call him—"
"No, it's OK," I sniffled, pulling a few tissues from the box he offered. "It's just been kind of a long day."
He looked at a clock sitting on a nearby gateleg table. "It is just an hour past midday."
"I know." I blew my nose as discreetly as I could. "That's what worries me. What did Drake want, and why do you have Jim's things? Do you have mine as well?"
Pal nodded, gesturing toward the double doors that led to the master bedroom. "Drake said that now you had accepted him as wyvern, you would be living with us."
Istvan muttered something under his breath before throwing himself down in a nearby chair. I ignored him. I'd have to make my peace with him at some point, but I was too tired to struggle with him now,
"Drake was being presumptuous, but I'll take that up with him. At least now I don't have to battle the police on top of everything else." I started to turn toward the room, but he reached out a hand as if he was going to stop me, then snatched it back quickly. I gave him a curious look. "Did you want something?"
He glanced nervously at Istvan, who promptly grabbed a Hungarian magazine and started reading it. "It is just that you seem...sad."
"I am sad. Jim is in a vet clinic on the outskirts of town. It ate something poisonous and almost destroyed its body. I'm very worried."
"But even if it does need to take a new form, the demon will be the same," Pal said helpfully.
I nodded, then shook my head, then ran my fingers through my hair. My activities with Drake the night before hadn't left us time for much sleep, and with everything else going on, my brain was starting to feel a bit ragged around the edges. "I know, but it won't be Jim. I'm going to take a shower, then I have to leave for a bit. If you see Drake, tell him,.." I struggled to think of something that wasn't too snarky but would let Drake know I didn't appreciate him taking the high hand with me. "Tell him I'll talk to him about this tonight."
Istvan said something I didn't understand. I cocked a questioning eyebrow at Pal. Not only was he friendlier than Istvan, his English was as good as mine.
Pal looked uncomfortable and didn't meet my eyes. "He said that there would be much talking tonight."
Istvan snorted. I decided to ignore him, feeling a shower and possibly a quick nap would do more for me than figuring out a surly bodyguard.
My first appointment went off without any disasters striking me—Paolo didn't stop by to give me another warning, Drake didn't show up to go bossy on me, and Jim wasn't there to say inappropriate things at the very worst moment.
Despite all that, it was a complete failure.
"I will make a note of your phone number," Fiona the Scottish Guardian said, giving me a look that pretty much said she'd rather consort with a demon lord than ever give me a jingle. "As I said at the beginning of the interview, I have many applicants hoping to gain an apprenticeship with me, so the competition is naturally very intense."
"Understood. And thank you for considering me. It sounds like your program of training is very comprehensive." I drew a line through her name on my mental list of potential mentors. The only good thing that had come out of this interview was a nugget of information regarding the ritual examination that all would-be apprentices must pass in order to be formally accepted. I stood and shook hands with Fiona, waiting until she left before looking at the name on the back of a business card she'd handed me.
"Marvabelle O'Hallahan" was written in Fiona's neat script.
My heart sank. I was contemplating just how horrible this ritual could be with Marvabelle in charge (my imagination is way too good for my peace of mind) when a shadow moved over the card.
"Disaster follows your every footstep."
I looked up, the card crumpling in my hand as I glared at the back of the man who walked away from me. I shook my fist at him, "Yeah, and its name is Paolo! Leave me alone, will you?"
"Are you still beset with admirers?" a soft, English-accented voice asked.
I smiled at Nora and waved her to a chair. Fiona had opted to meet me on the shady side of the verandah, a favorite spot for all the conference attendees, if the number of tables filled to capacity was any sign to go by. "Hi, Nora. Are you looking for a place to sit? I have an appointment in a few minutes, but you're welcome to share my table."
She nudged a chair out with her foot, carefully balancing a tall glass of iced tea and a plate of fresh fruit. "Thank you. I missed lunch and didn't think I could go until dinner without eating. Where is Jim?"
I explained briefly what had happened at the park.
"I'm so sorry to hear that. Poor Jim. But if the vet is positive he got all the poison out, I am sure Jim's resilience will help the body recover quickly. You might be able to destroy a demon's physical form, but they are heartier than a mortal being."
My stomach growled loudly as she speared a piece of melon. "Sorry," I said, trying not to look like I was starving. "I had fallen asleep on Drake's bed—now, I guess, also my bed—after my shower, and I only barely made it to the appointment with Fiona without being late. There hadn't been any time to rustle up something for lunch."
"You're welcome to some," she offered, pushing her plate toward me.
'Thanks, but that's not necessary." I looked at my watch, chewed my lip in thought for a second, then turned around and looked at the doorway leading into the hotel. Zaccheo stood next to the wall, a pitcher of water clutched in his hands, his body tense and quivering slightly in anticipation as if he was waiting at the starting line of a race. I smiled at him and he shot over to me, almost knocking down an elderly couple in his haste.
"You want water?" he asked, holding the pitcher as if it was made of precious gems. "You want more water?"
