This Glamorous Evil(9)

By: Michele Hauf

“I need to try this again,” he said. “Next time I’ll have clothes for you, and I’ll be in the right mental state. Promise.”

It would never work. Not without the proper training. But a second session of almost real sex with Mr. Tall, Dark and Determined? How could I resist?

“This is important to you,” I decided.

“It’s the only way I’ll be able to conjure Navicrux.”

I knew that demon’s name. He was a bad-ass. I shouldn’t ask. I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t care why witches brought demons to this realm, because the day I started to care, I could no longer do my job effectively. And I didn’t want to answer to karma for my participation in evil.

“You’ve set a precedent for my wages,” I said, patting the pocket with the envelope. “I couldn’t do it again for anything less.”

“You won’t have to because I’ll double your pay if you return tomorrow night. Do we have a deal?”

I wanted the word deal actually to sound more like date. But I would never touch that dream. It wasn’t meant to be. But neither was this witch’s concentration when we got together under the pretext of ‘summoning.’

It was a middle ground I could tread.

“Sure,” I said, and forced a smile. “Deal.”


I didn’t live far from T.J.’s place. Thoroughly Jones. I liked his full name. He’d been as thorough as a man with a raging cockstand could be.

I smiled at the doorman of my building and patted the jeans pocket. “I’m here to stay.”

“That is good to hear, Mademoiselle Star,” he said in his delicious Jamaican accent. “Perhaps you can now afford some new attire?”

“You don’t like the baggy look?”

“It does not accentuate your beauty, no.”

I let that one go, because he was polite and always truthful. If ever I came home in the middle of the night looking like I’d partied hard, he let me know how pitiful I looked. Thing was, it wasn’t usually partying, but rather demon-conducting, that left me less than pretty and slightly out of sorts.

This kitty didn’t party. Much as I’d like to, the job did take its toll.

The apartment was old but cozy, packed ceiling-high in some places with objects I admired. Some, I didn’t recognize, like the odd art nouveau faery in the corner holding the green glass ivy. I assumed it had been obtained during one of my previous lives. I didn’t remember my past lives, which is why I had my address, name and bank account tattooed on my ankle. I’d learned that precaution from fellow familiar Aby, who currently lived in the States with a sexy demon hunter. She’d given up the profession after marrying him, and couldn’t be happier.

Love was possible for my breed. Just not easy.

I plopped onto the violet plush beanbag in the middle of the living room, sinking in and curling my legs to my body.

He wanted me to return tonight to try again.

I wanted to return. But not for business.

Don’t be stupid, Star, he’s not looking for a girlfriend.

I wished he was.

Something about Thoroughly Jones had gotten under my skin, and recalling his hands touching me, exploring, intent on my pleasure, made me purr.

It had been different from working with my assistant, Chris, and not because the situation itself had been unprecedented. I’d wanted to look into the witch’s eyes as I’d come, to see deep into him. To be touched only by him and not by his dark magic.

I wanted to believe he’d been having the same thoughts about me—that he’d wanted to delve deeper, to really know me.

How to find out if he had the slightest interest in me? Dare I dream this man could become more than business, possibly my first real lover?

Perhaps a little seduction would loosen his staunch determination to stick to business?

I shifted on the beanbag to stare out the window. The sun glittered on the tin roof across the street. With a sigh, I realized I had no idea how seduction worked. I’d never been the one in control, the one to take the initiative, the one who asked for what she wanted.

How to do that?

I might have to break my number-one rule to make the witch change his mind about conjuring demons and want instead to make love to a familiar.

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