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Mike Donnelly was roused from his sleep by a warning chime.
He lay stretched on the lumpy hotel bed and yawned. There was a weak snort, then
a warning cough before a flurry of sneezes rocked the room. Mike grimaced. He
checked the time. After six.
A glance at the window showed the sun was gone, and the city
held few streetlights that still worked.
The chime sounded again.
“What?”
The TV slid from the wall to show the paper-thin screen. A
TriV hologram eased out. It was the tiny devil that farted green fire, this time
dressed as a djinn, a genie.
“Oh lord and master,” the hologram intoned. It dropped to
its knees about five feet from the floor and hands raised and bowed low.
Mike tucked his hands behind his head. The hologram stared at
Mike, and a blood red tongue came out to slap around a wet mouth.
“Gracious cruel master, I have a message for you from the
great mistress of a thousand whips!”
One brow cocked up on Mike’s face.
The demon whirled in a tornado of swirling colors.
It stopped and a small image of a smiling Cindy drifted over
Mike to stand spraddle-legged over the man.
“Hello, Miky darling,” she said, her voice a husky purr.
“Has my Miky been behaving himself?”
Mike scowled. “I have a choice? Lady, since you ran me off
I haven’t so much as played hand games. Much longer and I swear I’m looking
up that pet judge and offer myself to his torture chamber just to get some
relief.”
The smile became a growling chuckle, and Cindy slid back into
the screen.
Her image blurred, and the demon waved bye-bye. It turned and
bent over. A holo of green gas streaked over Mike and exploded. A pillow slammed
through the light show and the demon yelped. The TriV screen shot back into the
wall with Cindy’s laughter growing in volume until it roared through the room.
“Demonic bitch,” Mike said, dragging a pillow over his
thighs. He closed his eyes and shuddered at the ache of need.
Creel snorted and choked before settling into a ragged snore.
The second pillow slammed over his face, and the skinny man screamed.
Harrison’s limousine held the three of them, with the shon:gili
staring at the floor on one side and Tommy on the other, scowling out the tinted
windows at the night. Between them and very still sat Harrison, his tongue
pressed against a still-bleeding lip. The knuckles of Tommy’s hand bore the
marks of the judge’s teeth.
Harrison glanced at the shon:gili.
His voice a soft, pleading whisper, Harrison said, “Please, wonderful master?
Let me have Car–“
Not bothering to look at the man, the shon:gili rumbled a soft warning growl that made Harrison sit
straighter and very still. Inside the shon:gili’s
mind, Carl leaned a hand on a lump of tissue and waited.
A motorcycle roared around them, then a car. Carl
straightened. The shon:gili raised his
head, looking through the rear window at more of them. Three more motorcycles
shot by, leaning into the curve and were gone.
Trouble, bro, Carl
told the shon:gili.
The shon:gili heard
a hiss and looked through the divider.
Henri was adjusting something on the dash. On the hood, a
trapdoor opened and a small machinegun slid up. Harrison frowned, and one hand
crept down inside of his thigh.
“Raiders?”
“Possible, sir.” Henri was calm, his voice soft. “I
doubt they’d try again so soon.”
“Put up the shielding.” Harrison was shivering, his eyes
staring out the rear window, then jerking around to stare through the divider at
the dark road ahead.
The limousine shuddered. Black plastisteel plates moved over
the windows, and the shon:gili snarled.
Electric sparks seethed around Carl, and the demon stared at
him. It looked up through the shon:gili’s
eyes. The shon:gili glanced at
Harrison.
Giving Sue a very chaste kiss, Benny scowled at the growls
coming from Ama. Sue giggled, and her teeth scored lines of fire on his tongue as
it snapped back in Benny’s mouth.
“G’night, lover,” she whispered.
“’Night.” Benny slipped back, out of the bedroom. With
one last smile for Sue, and a black scowl at that mean old woman, he went to the
kitchen. Ama had the tiny room scrubbed and a few sets of clothing hanging from
nails in the wall. He checked them. The jeans were damp yet, but the T-shirt was
dry. He slid into them. The socks were rags, but scrubbed and clean and warm
from the stove.
Stamping his feet into a pair of worn boots, he opened the
door, peering out at floor level. Benny slid out the door and closed it softly.
There was a whisper of sound, and he ducked.
Squinting hard, he saw a man in black pressed
against the wall.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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