Date Me Baby One More Time Page 2

  Quincy leaned forward. “Face it, Derek. There’s no Goblet. There’s no Curse. There is simply bad luck among the LaValle men. I’ll write up a few equations and show that it’s mathematically possible for all twenty-nine men to have died without any supernatural intervention.”

  “Fine.” Derek stood up. “You do that.”

  “And then you’ll let this go?”

  “Sure.” He turned away before Quincy could see the lie in his eyes.

  Curse or not, Les was going to be the last LaValle man to die at age thirty-one.

  He was going to find that Guardian and do what he had to do. But his gut dropped at the thought of killing anyone in cold blood, even to save his brother.

  He hoped she tried to kill him first. Then he could behead her with a clean conscience. Murder in the first degree wasn’t exactly befitting of a pretzel mogul. And what was the point of dodging the Curse if he had to spend the rest of his life in prison dodging … well … yeah. Probably best not to think about that.

  First things first. Find the Guardian.

  Deal with the rest later.

  Two

  Two hundred years at the same job is at least one hundred and ninety too many. Especially when it sucks.

  Justine Bennett glared at the espresso machine sitting in the afternoon sunshine. “Enjoying yourself?”

  The espresso machine, as usual, said nothing. Two hundred years ago Mona had been a jewel-encrusted goblet. Today, she was an espresso machine, thanks to her chameleonic ability to change form. A kitchen appliance who expressed absolutely no appreciation for the fact Justine had been chained to this life for two hundred years, protecting it from would-be evildoers in search of eternal youth.

  “Pouting again?” An eleven-foot winged dragon wearing mascara and wine-colored lipstick wandered into the front room of their high-ceilinged loft. The dragon’s name was Theresa Nichols, although she hadn’t been in her human form in almost two hundred years, since she’d taken three sips from Mona. From rich, indolent siren to a four-footed horned monster with blue shiny scales. It was enough to make any girl cranky, and Theresa was no exception.

  “I’m not pouting,” Justine said. “I’m bored.”

  Theresa moved her horned tail aside and settled onto the navy microfiber couch. Leather was a total no-go. Scales and clawed feet were hell on natural materials. Worse than a herd of destructive cats on speed. Certain synthetics, on the other hand, were impervious to snags and tears. Simply fabulous for the living comfort of dragons. “Me too. What do you say we go barhopping tonight?”

  “Sure. You can freak out the entire city of New York, and I’ll pick up a cute guy who’ll drink from Mona and then I’ll have to behead him. Sounds like a blast.” Been there, done that. Lesson learned.

  “Hey! If anyone deserves to be pouting, it’s me. At least you have breasts and can get men to drool.” Theresa blew a puff of black smoke, the dragon equivalent of a dramatic sigh. A few sparks dropped on the flame-resistant throw rug. Theresa had burned down their first six houses. It gets difficult to hide a dragon and remain under the societal radar when your house keeps burning down. Thankfully, fire-retardant products became available just as the NYFD began to keep an eye on Justine.

  Not that it had been that bad. Some of the members of the fire department were quite sexy. Not that Justine was allowed to indulge. Sigh.

  And none of the men, burly as they might be, were quite a match for an eleven-foot dragon who would very possibly incinerate them in the heat of passion. This meant the two roomies were celibate together, until and unless Theresa could find a cure for her four-footed form. “You have any luck today?” she asked.

  Theresa shook her head. “The Internet is full of crap. With all those Web sites, you think at least one of them would have a legitimate spell for turning me back into human form.” She scowled, which entailed flaring her cavernous nostrils and scrunching her gold-flecked eyes until they were barely open. “When I finally figure it out, I’m personally going to go out there and kick the butt of every fraud on this planet who claims to practice magic.”

  “Yeah, my day is going equally well.”

  Theresa held out a claw. “Let me see.”

  Justine passed over her sketch pad. “I’m supposed to come up with a creature that came from Mars and looks very sweet but is actually a deadly assassin. Blues, greens, and silver. Male. Maybe a military background. Can pass as human if he wants to, but is clearly an alien when he’s in full kick-butt form.” Justine’s second job was as an animation designer for a major movie studio. They sent her specs and she created the creatures. First by hand, then she transferred the images to her computer and tightened up the 3-D image. It was one of the only jobs she could do and still stay at home with precious little Mona.

  Unfortunately, being Mona’s Guardian didn’t come with a paycheck. Protecting all that’s good in the world was supposed to be reward in itself. Yeah, who needs food and shelter?

  Justine did, and supplying enough food to keep an unemployed dragon happy wasn’t exactly cheap. At least their shelter was paying for itself, thanks to an excellent property manager named Graham Winthrop and centuries of Guardians who had made savvy real estate investments. Nothing like tenants to keep the income flowing in when they weren’t making use of one of their safehouses. Their current lair was the top floor of a posh condo building filled with rich residents who guarded their privacy zealously. Perfect. Boring, but perfect.

  “Draw me.” Theresa pulled her lips back in a dragon grin. “I’m bluish green and I kick ass. I could be your alien assassin.”

  “I already used you two years ago for the remake of Puff the Magic Dragon.” She glanced at the date on her watch. “That ad campaign was supposed to launch this week. Have you seen any of the commercials? We have to find a way to smuggle you in so you can see yourself on the big screen.”

  Theresa scowled. “You know I can’t go. I’m a dragon, remember? No public appearances for me.” She sighed with melodramatic self-pity. “Draw this new alien to look like me so I feel better. To give me a purpose in life. A reason to exist.”

  “I can’t. This alien has to look harmless. That’s not you.”

  Theresa tossed the sketch pad onto the wrought-iron coffee table (very fireproof) and flopped back on the couch. “I want to be adorable again. With pink cheeks and big boobs.” She blew a smoke ring and watched it float up to the smoke elimination fan in the ceiling.

  “I’d like to have sex. Or even a date. Dinner with a guy. Anything,” Justine countered. That damned Guardian Oath. I swear to protect Desdemona’s Temptation for all eternity until I die.

  It sounded simple enough. Until you got to the rest of it:

  1. I swear never to trust anyone or make friends or emotional connections with anyone. To trust is to let down my guard and endanger Desdemona’s Temptation.

  2. I swear never to become intimate with any man. Temptations are distractions. Distractions are dangerous.

  3. I swear I will never reveal any information about Desdemona’s Temptation to anyone other than my designated successor, who will be chosen with the prior approval of the Council.

  4. I swear to keep Desdemona’s Temptation within my physical presence at all times, unless an emergency dictates leaving her with my designated successor.

  5. I will kill to protect Desdemona’s Temptation and I will die to keep her safe. I am married to Desdemona’s Temptation for all eternity until my death.

  6. In all areas not specifically covered by the Oath, I swear to follow the rules as outlined in the most current edition of the Treatise on Guardianship.

  She hated that damned Treatise. It pretty much banned her from doing anything except eating and sleeping and cutting off people’s heads.

  And to think she didn’t like her job. Go figure. “I’m still ticked off at my mom for roping me into being her successor. What kind of a life is this to foist upon your only child?”

  Theresa rolled her eyes. “I’m so with you. Thanks to her, I have nightmares about the Council now. Hate them. They’re seriously the most rigid, unforgiving, ruthless bastards I’ve ever met. I almost wish you’d die so I could be Guardian. First thing I’d do is incinerate them and rescind the ban prohibiting Guardians from having sex. And we should both disown your mom. After all, she was the one who talked me into being your successor, which made me agree when you asked, which resulted in me drinking from that stupid Goblet, which turned me into a full-time dragon, which then ruined me for all time.”

  “I know. What a sucky year that was. My mom dies, I become Guardian, you get stuck as a dragon, and we both never have a life again.” Mutual bitch sessions were so cathartic.

  “Seriously, why can’t we disown her and kill off the Council? It could really be a lot of fun. I haven’t gotten to kill anyone in ages and—”

  A high-pitched ringing blasted through the condo and then the shimmery image of Iris Bennett, Justine’s dearly departed mom, rose up from the black tile floor (tile is very spark-proof and black hides soot and ash—oh-so practical). She was wearing an embroidered black jacket, a pair of matching slacks, and a gorgeous pair of heels. Her hair was slightly blonder than it had been the last time Justine had seen her, and her nails were freshly manicured. “Are you girls talking about me again? You know I can hear you, don’t you?” She gave the dragon a long look, and Theresa shrank back against the couch.

  Justine grinned. “Hi, Mom. You look great. Since when does purgatory have such good shopping?”

  Iris smoothed her outfit. “Actually, I’m here about the clothes, in a way. It’s a bit of a problem.” She floated across the floor and hovered in the middle of the coffee table. Literally, in the middle. Her legs disappeared into the wrought iron. It was then Justine noticed the stress lines around her mom’s eyes.

  “Mom? What’s wrong?”

  Iris moved to the edge and sat on … er, rather, in … the coffee table, folding her ankles elegantly. She hadn’t lost her old school manners. “It’s about hell.”

  Justine felt her heart tighten. “What about it? I thought you were firmly entrenched in purgatory.”

  “That’s not entirely true.” Iris sighed. “When I died, the Council told me that the mistake that got me killed was enough to send me straight to hell.”

  “Really?” For the two hundred years since her death, her mom had been visiting from the Afterlife, which was where all creatures with a soul went when they died. The bad ones went to hell, the good ones to heaven, and ones like her mom got stuck in purgatory while their future was sorted out. In all that time, her mom had never spilled any details about what had happened the night she died, other than to admit she’d made a mistake and was still paying for it. She said it was a burden her daughter didn’t need to carry. “Then, why have you been in purgatory? A clerical oversight?”

  Iris shook her head. “You.”

  “Me, what?”

  “You’re the reason I’m there.” She reached out and trailed her hand through Justine’s hair. “I get credit for being the mom of a great kid.”

  “Seriously?” Theresa asked. “You mean just because you got knocked up by some random guy, you avoid hell?”

  “Classy, Theresa,” Justine said. Iris had never told Justine who her dad was; she had many secrets.

  Theresa blew sparks at Justine. “You’re way too uptight.”

  “And you’re way too crass.” She turned her attention back to Iris. “So? Since I’m so great, why aren’t you in heaven?”

  Iris’s eyebrows knitted, and a tendon in her neck twitched. “Well, my fate has been in limbo while they wait for your true nature to emerge.”

  “My true nature? What does that mean?”

  “It means it hasn’t been determined whether you’re destined for heaven or hell.”

  “What?”

  Theresa let out a puff of black smoke. “Are you kidding? Justine’s about as pure and bland as tofu on a diet. She’s not hell-bound.”

  “Tofu’s a little harsh”—she scowled at her roommate—“but Theresa’s basically right. I’m so good that my life has been the ultimate in boredom since I was made Guardian.”

  “Amen to that. Our life couldn’t get more excruciatingly dull. No one to kill, no sex, not enough food to binge on …”

  “Enough, Theresa,” Iris said. “Justine needs to face a Qualifying Incident, and then they’ll know whether her dark side’s going to prevail. If she suppresses it, then both of us will be destined for heaven.” She patted through Justine’s knee. “Don’t be upset because I didn’t tell you all this earlier. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.”

  Well, that was nice and everything, but … “Why are you telling me now? What’s changed?”

  Iris pursed her lips. “I had a chat with Melvin.”

  “Melvin?” Justine raised an eyebrow at Theresa to see if she’d heard of Melvin. The annoyed snort of smoke indicated that Theresa was as clueless as Justine was.

  “He’s the new boss in my neighborhood.” Iris rolled her eyes. “That’s what he calls them now: neighborhoods. Thinks it makes us sound more secular.”

  “Is he hot?” Theresa asked.

  Justine shoved a fire-resistant pillow in the dragon’s mouth and gave her a quelling glare before turning to her mom. “What did Melvin say?”

  The pillow shot past Justine’s head, a trail of ash in its path.

  Iris didn’t even blink at the stuffed projectile. “He has much higher clearance with heaven than his predecessor and got the inside scoop. Apparently, Satan has spent the last two hundred years trying to get access to me.”

  Justine shivered at the mention of the leader of the Underworld. “Why? Why would Satan want you?”

  “What kind of access does Satan want? Wooing, dating, shagging, that kind of thing?” Theresa asked, then let out a low whistle when Iris nodded.

  Oh. Justine was starting to feel sick. “Satan wants to … have sex with you?”

  “He also wants me to be the queen of his domain.”

  “What?”

  Iris nodded. “After submitting seventy-eight unsuccessful petitions, he finally picked the right Afterlife official to bribe. As of now, they are officially considering his petition to have me expedited to hell.”

  “Don’t even tell me they’re going to let him?” She glanced at Theresa, and the dragon’s golden eyes were wide and unblinking as she listened to Iris, her nostrils flaring in agitation.

  “Well, at this point, it’s basically a political decision,” Iris said. “It’s always good to keep Satan happy. Plus, there are a few Afterlife officials who would love to have a reason to send me to hell. Not quite over my little incident. And since your true self hasn’t emerged, well, nothing is really stopping them.”

  True self, where are you? “So how long until they decide?”

  “Melvin was lobbying for two hundred years, but Satan got them down to two weeks.”

  “Two weeks? Are you serious?” Her face began to tighten in that “I might freak out really soon” mode, alleviated only when Theresa gave her a reassuring tail flick. Surely, a dragon and a Guardian could handle this situation, right? Urk.

  “Apparently, he has excellent bribing skills,” Iris said. “He even got them to permit him to come into purgatory to try to win me over while the petition is pending. If he can convince me to go with him of my own free will, then the petition won’t even matter.” She gestured to her outfit. “The clothes are part of his attempt to win me over.”

  “He’s a rat bastard,” Theresa announced. “Justine and I will go to hell, assassinate him, and call it a day.”

  Iris raised an amused brow. “I appreciate the sentiment, Theresa, but if you and Justine murder the leader of hell, that might send me to hell anyway. Remember the Qualifying Incident?”

  “We’ll find another way to save you,” Justine said. “I’ll find a Qualifying Incident and prove to them you deserve better than to spend eternity as Satan’s harem girl.”

  “How are you going to find one? It’s too iffy. Our best option is to take him out,” Theresa said between puffs of smoke and snarkles of fire. “Please? Can we kill him?”

  Iris kneeled in front of Justine and rested her hands in the middle of Justine’s thighs. “Listen to me, baby. I made the choices that put me in this position. If that’s my fate, then that’s my fate.” She paused to take a deep breath. Then another one. She lifted her chin, nodded firmly, and managed a too-bright smile. “Things could be worse.”

  “Worse than being Satan’s concubine for all of eternity?” Justine cleared her throat to get the panicked squeal out of it. “What’s worse than that?”

  Theresa tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s true he’s the best lover in the Afterlife? Because if it’s true, and he’ll buy you nice clothes, well, it’s something to consider. I bet he’d let you kill anyone you wanted.”

  “I’ve heard he’s very good in bed,” Iris agreed, then she looked at Justine. “‘Worse’ would be spending eternity in one of Satan’s torture chambers. If I have to go to hell, going as his one and only is the way to do it.”

  “Well, that’s true, but—”

  “But you don’t have that option, sweetie. If you fail the Qualifying Incident, you’ll end up in hell, and it won’t be as Satan’s honey. You could have a really bad time.”

  “A bad time …” Understatement of the millennia, anyone? If you went to hell as one of the commoners, you didn’t get designer clothes and unlimited orgasms. You got tortured, disemboweled, and other such lovely things. “Why are you warning me now? Why not two hundred years ago?”

  “Melvin’s greasing some palms to try to get some of the officials to manufacture a Qualifying Incident for you before Satan’s petition goes through. If I can get to heaven before a decision is made, we’re all set.”

  The tension in her shoulders eased. “Okay, so that’s good, right?”

  “Only if you make the right choice,” Theresa said. “If you don’t, your mom’s screwed. Literally. And you’ll be damned for all eternity. That’s some serious pressure riding on you, girlfriend.”