There are moments in everyone’s life where they have to ask themselves, “What did I do wrong to get here?”
I have those moments a lot, and I’m a big-enough person to admit that what’s gone wrong is usually my fault. I take risks, and they often pan out well, but the times they don’t, things go very sideways.
So it was I found myself in a back alley a mile from Universal Studios, sitting next to a demon, who had tried to kill me twenty-four hours earlier, waiting for the world to end.
Harold, to his credit, had been willing to wear Lily’s collar, which made me wonder what was up with him. What kind of demon just let himself be hampered like that? I’d never agree to wear a collar that rendered me helpless.
He was also gigantic and had claws that could gut a pig, so even without demonic powers he still didn’t have much to fear from the human world.
“Are you sure this is the place?” I asked for the dozenth time.
Harold hefted a big sigh. “Yes.”
“How can you tell?”
“How can I tell where the gates of Hell are? How can you tell where your front door is?”
“When you ask it like that, it sounds stupid.”
“Stupid questions deserve to be called stupid.”
Man alive, demons were the worst. I’d spent years working with stuck-up vampires and run-wild werewolves, and the pull-your-hair-out fae, but I was making an executive call. Demons sucked more than any of them.
Self-righteous, body-snatching pricks.
“Shouldn’t this be a bigger deal? If tonight’s the big night, wouldn’t this be the Coachella of demon events?”
“Coachella is the Coachella of demon events. It even has Hell in the name, come on.”
I take it all back. I loved this guy.
Of all the things I had missed thanks to my nocturnal vampire lifestyle—brunch, tanning, stores that closed by six—one of the things I did not miss was music festivals.
Desmond had taken me to one in my first year of being a human, and I hated everything about it. The music was barely audible, the guests were barely dressed, and there were tents where you could have someone spray gold paint on your face for about two hundred dollars.
It was awful, and I loathed every minute.
Much like sitting around a back lot waiting for a bunch of demons or vampires to maybe, possibly, show up.
I picked up my plastic bag of Fuzzy Peach candy and chewed thoughtfully on one of the candies, looking at the blank space in front of us.
“To answer your question,” he said. “The rest of us don’t need to be here for this part. When it opens, we know. When it opens, everything begins. To be here would be to be in the way, and no one wants to be the one responsible for messing things up. The ones who arrive will be those making the sacrifice. Once the gate is open, there will be plenty to see.”
“Oh.” I offered him a Fuzzy Peach, and he took it. We silently munched on our sour candies, waiting.
“Has this ever worked before?” I asked.
“A couple times. Unfortunately the openings are tenuous because of the weakness of those opening them, and those who part the gates are often unprepared for what happens. They fail to keep things
open for long enough, so you get some pandemonium, but it rarely does any lasting damage.”
“So more like Heck on Earth instead of Hell on Earth.”
“You are a very frustrating woman.”
I grinned at him. “You’re going to fit in great with this team.”
“That would be nice,” he said almost wistfully.