Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

“Never say never.” He tilts his head, fanning the dreadlocks. “It’s the Legion of Darkness’ marching song.”

I shiver as I straighten my clothes. It probably is. Which is more than I want to know. And I don’t know how much temptation I can stand. Wen-Long better call soon.

“Who dresses you, witchy-poo?” the demon asks.

“What?” Knocked off balance by the non-sequitur, I frown at him.

“Today’s ensemble? Looks like you picked it up at Goodwill. You can’t go out in that.”

I shake my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No?” The demon’s voice drops, becoming so deep it could be echoing up from underground. “Someone thought you were.”

The demon reaches around me and picks up the multi-colored ball from the edge of my desk. He pinches it between two fingers, gives it a shake, and the ball stretches into a long shadow. A silhouette that fills out slowly. Legs, arms, head. Nice solid chest. A shock of black hair that falls over one eye.

I put my hands over my mouth. “Peter.”

“Yeah,” the demon says. “Pee-ter.”

The outline finishes filling out and Peter stands limply next to the demon. His head lolls forward, eyes closed. He could be asleep. But I know he’s not. I can feel it. Peter’s not home.

I swallow hard against the bile that squirts into my throat. “What have you done to him?”

The demon scratches his dreadlocks. “Well, lemme think. When he showed up on your doorstep with his overnight bag in hand, we had a little talk, man-to-demon. Established that his heart is pure and his intentions honest. Then I tied him to your bed, fucked him unconscious, and stuffed his soul into the sugar jar. Wrapped up his body, and brought him down here to see what the fuck you thought you were doing.”

He snarls the last few words and I back a step away.

“Let him go. He has nothing to do with this.” I feel a tear spill, wipe it away angrily. “He’s a null.”

The demon drapes his arm around Peter’s shoulders. “You think?”

Seeing him touch Peter makes more hot tears flow. “Please. Please! Let him go. He has nothing to do with this.”

The demon scratches his chin. “You know, witchy-poo, you sound so sincere. Like you’d give anything for poor Pee-ter here.” His leer stretches into that shark’s grin. “What would you give to have Peter walk away from this and not remember anything? Me fucking him this afternoon brought back all those memories you and the dead bitch suppressed. You should have heard him howlin’.”

I curl into myself, clutching my stomach. What have I done?

“He kept going on about a werewolf. You haven’t been showing the nice null the darker side of reality, have you?”

The scream I’ve been suppressing for so long finally tears out of me. “Stop it!”

“No!” the demon snarls. “Give me what I want and boyfriend here walks away clean. Keep fucking with me and it’s Pee-ter’s screams you’ll be hearin’ through the wall tonight. An’ it won’t be because he’s comin’, either. This is one boy who does not like catchin’ when I pitch.”

I reach desperately, pulling the kama to me from where it’s circling my guest chair. The demon’s too far away to slap it out of my hand this time. I raise it in a shaking fist.

The demon watches me raise the blade, eyes glowing brighter than the CITGO sign.

“You wanna play rough, witchy-poo? Let’s play rough.” The shark’s grin stretches so wide it could swallow the universe. He shoves Peter aside carelessly.

The demon reaches back and pulls his tee off over his head. Tosses it over Peter’s crumpled form. Steam billows up from his dark gold skin. His dreadlocks fan and flare in a breeze so hot it could be blowing up from Hell itself. A pair of black horns unfurl from his forehead, growing impossibly, until they arc in deadly, graceful curves high over his head. The sharp tips scrape the ceiling tiles. He stretches out one arm and a huge wooden staff stretches from his clawed fist to the floor. Above his hand, a gleaming blade appears, curving back over his shoulder into a scythe longer than my body. He stretches, flexing all that massive musculature, turning his head slightly so the fading daylight gleams on the curves of his horns.

“Mine’s bigger ‘n yours,” he sneers.

I fall to my knees. Terrified and in awe. He’s beautiful. And terrible. He could kill me with a flick of that scythe. With a thought. I have no chance against him. I let my knife sag to the floor. “Not my soul,” I whisper.

“You bargaining with me?” He leans on the scythe’s staff.

I nod, bowing my head.

“Not your soul, huh? What else you got to offer?”

Sex. That’s what he wants. I refused him sex and this is both revenge and leverage. “What you wanted before,” I choke, staring at the floor.

“Yeah? You rethinking your answer in light of recent events, witchy poo? All right. You give me what I want. When, how and where I want. No holding back, now.” His deep voice lightens; he sounds almost playful. But I know he’s not. In a second, he could turn on me again. It’s like baiting a shark. With my own bleeding soul.

I nod.

“Mmm.” He scratches his chin thoughtfully on the scythe’s blade. “Not a bad bargain. Sex on my terms for boyfriend’s freedom. But if you want boyfriend not to have any memory of what happened, that’s extra.”

“I’ll do my own memory charm, thank you,” I say bitterly. “That’s one thing I’m good at.”

The demon chuckles, low and dark and evil. “Too bad you’re not as good at banishing demons.” He stretches, muscles rolling. Showing off.

I curl over myself and grip the carpet like a lifeline.

“Oh, c’mon, witchy-poo. Stop actin’ like the world’s endin’. I’da thought listening-in last night woulda convinced you that sex with me ain’t so bad. You might even enjoy it.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. “Are we done?” I whisper.

“For now.”

I risk uncurling and