TWO

Azeroth

As I stretch, the scaly ridges on my elbows and knees and shoulders protrude a little more, threatening my silk pajamas. Standing, and swinging my legs out of bed, I wander to my large window overlooking the high rise cityscape of Heartstone. The sun is coming up over Westridge Park and the city—which never really sleeps anyway—is already buzzing with traffic.

I love this city.

I love the way it never shuts down. I love the noise and the smells and energy.

I love the way I can order anything my heart desires at any time day or night and have it delivered to my penthouse apartment in under thirty minutes.

This is living.

I'm debating whether I want bagels or bacon for breakfast, when a poof behind me and the smell of sulfur makes me spin.

In the middle of a green-black puff of smoke stands the last monster I want in my bedroom at any time of day, let alone before I've had coffee.

"What the fuck, Mordicus? You can't use the phone like civilized folks?"

Mordicus snorts through his flared nostrils. His charcoal gray lip curls into a sneer. "I can tell it's been too long, Azeroth. You're getting weak. Almost as pathetic as a human yourself these days."

"Good morning to you, too." I yawn and wander to my closet, pretending to ignore him. Mordicus is more powerful than I am. Not surprising, since I've done my very best to avoid the wheelings and dealings in the demon realm for the last five decades, preferring to make a big splash in the small pond of the human realm.

Power radiates from him like slime oozing from a pile of refuse. I still give him my back. Normally, this type of thing would irk him.

When I turn, he's smirking at me and I realize he's got a card up his sleeve. That makes my guts churn.

"What do you want, Mordicus? I've got a meeting before nine a.m. and two very important clients to see this afternoon." I select a tie, casually holding it up to a few shirts to see what takes my fancy this morning, all the time listening for any movement behind me.

"Like I care what human plans you have. I have a job for you."

My tail flicks in annoyance. "I think you'll find I don't owe you any—"

With a snap of his long bony fingers, Mordicus summons our old contract from beneath my neatly folded Calvin Klein underwear. It floats into his gnarly hand and he scrunches it into a ball. "Not under this contract you don't, but you do owe Ogrolith, and I bought the rights."

He pulls another document from his leather vest and my jaw drops open when he waves it at me with a flourish.

I snatch it, scanning the appendices at the bottom with a sinking feeling. "Can you even do that?"

Mordicus grins. "Would I be standing here if I hadn't checked all the fine print?"

I sigh. He's right of course. There it is in red blood: may be exchanged or transferred by agreement of the contractor but not the contractee .

Damn it!

It's been so long since I've seen Ogrolith I'd forgotten all about his favor. I thought I was high and dry, free from any supernatural shackles, binds and obligations.

Turns out I named my phoenix before it was hatched.

"What do you want?"

Mordicus holds the document out to me.

With another huge sigh, I place my palm over the signatures to acknowledge the transfer of the debt. There's a prick and a tiny sting. I hardly notice, though. My pride is stinging more. For a moment, the vellum glows with a sickly light.

I pull my hand away and suck my thumb, tasting metallic blood.

"Soul gem. Two sobs worth."

"Aw, for fuck's sake. Not that."

Mordicus smirks at me. Being summoned by a human is the worst. They strut and prance, and order you to do the most ridiculous things, lording it over you like a fucking peacock. Until the second that contract is done and you can claim the payment.

Mordicus folds the contract and tucks it away in whatever demonic pocket he has inside his vest. Wouldn't surprise me if he had one sliced into his ugly hide just for convenience.

"Can you at least tell me if you're expecting a summoning? Have you been grooming anyone?"

Mordicus snorts. "Have you forgotten so much? You don't get any warning. You don't get to choose. It's not like ordering a carry-on."

I roll my eyes and open my mouth to tell him it's carry out , asshole, but he vanishes in a puff of foul-tasting smoke, leaving me coughing.

God, I hate that guy.

The encounter spoils my whole morning. I'm sour and grouchy with my staff when I make it to the office. Not even an enticing gift hamper from some potential new clients perks me up.

I snap at my assistant when he brings me a coffee with no sugar in it, instead of my normal order. And I'm pretty sure I make Sandra from accounting cry when she reminds me it's nearly tax time.

I'm basically smoking at the ears by the time I slump into my seat at the head of the long mahogany table in the boardroom, ready for the briefing with my talent scouts. Ordinarily, I love Mondays. I love the raw energy I get from the new ideas shared around the table. The team are my most forward-thinking, inspirational staff, and they do a great job.

If potential energy was something you could bottle and sell, I'd already be selling it, or funding the guy who was.

"Got a great little start-up for you this week, boss." Tamsin gives me a bright smile as she enters and takes his seat.

I grunt.

"I think you're really going to like this one, Mr. Azeroth." Hadson seems to bounce into the room, high on life.

Only Elodie doesn't annoy me. My latest addition to the team slumps in with her head down and her laptop clutched to her chest. She tucks a strand of clumpy brown hair behind her ear, and doesn't make eye contact with any of us.

I sit up a little straighter, looking her over.

She doesn't normally look like this. Elodie is normally very well presented. She usually wears bright colors and low cut tops. I like the low cut tops.

Today, she has a large brown cardigan covering half her body and distinct bags under her eyes. Guess her day's going about as well as mine.

When the team is here, I clear my throat. "Let's get this started, shall we? Who'd like to go first?"

My eyes stray back to Elodie through the whole meeting. Normally, she'd be soaking it in, asking questions, and throwing ideas across the table. Today, she's silent.

Her hands are folded on the table in front of her and her eyes don't seem to take in anything from Tamsin or Hadson's presentations, despite how promising their finds are.

A little scowl works its way under my skin and emerges on my face. I don't pay her to sulk. What could possibly be so wrong in her little human life?

When it's her turn, she can't find the right slideshow for her presentation, and it takes her a few minutes to get her act together. She is halfway through explaining about the prototype for a new style of passenger aircraft, when I stop her. "Has this company got any prior experience in aviation? Any contacts?"

Her mouth flaps open. Her cheeks color. "I-I'm not sure, sir."

I roll my eyes. "Look into it for next week. Next!"

Elodie is still standing there. Her cheeks are now a deep brown color and her eyes look distinctly watery.

Of course, the rest of the team now stare at her, too.

"I'm sorry," she mouths. Her fingers jump to her lips as she scrambles back to her chair. Her head is down, but it's a small room. It doesn't take everyone long to realize she's crying.

Damn it, now I've made her cry.

The sight of her dark lashes stained darker with tears breaks something loose in me. I round on them and though I don't mean to, I snap, "Don't just sit here gaping at her. Give us the room!"

The others push to their feet and hastily abandon the room.

I'm slightly placated when she takes the handkerchief I hand her and raises it to her face.

She sniffs. "I'm really sorry. It's no excuse. Only, I'm having a really bad day."

I let out a huff of breath. "Tell me about it." I mean it as a statement of empathy.

Of course, she doesn't know that and being a demon, I'm not very good with empathy.

When her eyes snap up to mine, her mouth drops open in horror. "You're right." She fumbles with her laptop, trying to gather her things. "I'm sorry. It's just my boyfriend and I—anyway, I have some things going on in my personal life. But this is really unprofessional of me."

"No. I meant I am, too. It seems to be that kind of day."

She stills. She's still watching me like it might be some kind of trick and I'm about to bite her head off. I can't blame her, really.

"Take a walk. Get some fresh air. Take the rest of the day if you need it. But by the meeting next week, please make sure you're ready to be here."

She nods quickly. "Thank you. I will."

Once I've called the rest of the team back and apologized, we finish the meeting.

Through the afternoon, I can't help thinking about Elodie as I wade through paperwork. That's unusual. It's probably just the fact my innate senses are conditioned to pry for other people's problems in order to seize on the best angle for a deal.

What had she started to say? Something about her boyfriend.

I'm still thinking about it when I walk through the door of my apartment hours later.

A note scrawled in charcoal dust all over my formerly pristine white tiles stops my thoughts in their tracks.

God damn Mordicus and his fucking dramatics. Did he really need to rub it in and ruin my grout?

Be ready

Yeah, I'm ready. Ready to find a way to scramble your brains and pull them out through your nose like a mummy. Or feed your guts to carrion birds.

Pulling out my phone, I text my cleaner to schedule an extra cleaning this week. Then I pour myself a drink and throw myself onto the sofa, wondering how many hours of peace I'll get.