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He gave a little snort. “You’re boring me now.”

“On the first date? That’s not a good sign.”

“Go away.”

He wandered away from me, back towards the edge of the building, where he could better scout which particular hardbody he wanted to live inside until he used it all up. The pickings were good.

I trailed after him, annoyed that he wasn’t snarling at me or making more threats. It was kind of difficult to show off what a big, tough, demon-hunting badass I was when the guy wouldn’t even stick around to chat with me.

This, by the way, was not how my hunts usually went.

Typically my night went something like: running after a monster (me), catching the monster (me), rescuing scared human (me), trading witty barbs (mostly me), fighting (both), “I’m not afraid of you” (them), dying (them). It was a whole thing. I’d worked hard to perfect the art, and this shithead wasn’t following the script.

I wasn’t going to pull the whole Do you know who I am? card, because in a town like Hollywood that was seriously overplayed, but the demon prick could at least pretend I was a little scary.

“Hello, we’re in the middle of a fight?” I reminded him.

“I won.”

“Clearly not, I’m still here with a sword.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“Okay, but I need to kill you, so could you, I don’t know, growl at me or something? Give me a reason to stab you?”

He stared at me as if I was the dumbest person he’d ever met.

I was worried he might not be wrong.

“You are amusing, little one.”

“Yeah, that’s on my resume right underneath bo staff skills.”

“I don’t understand that joke.”

“I should probably update my pop culture references. I guess Napoleon Dynamite isn’t cool anymore.”

“What do you think of that one?” He pointed over the edge, and giving him a wide berth, I peered down to see what he was looking at.

“Her?” I indicated a pretty brunette at the bar.

“No, the one beside her.”

“Oh, him.” I shrugged. “If you want to be the most reviled asshole on YouTube, go for it, but I would stick to the girl if I were you.”

“What is YouTube?”

“I’m positive they have YouTube in Hell.”

“Bah.”

It was becoming more and more clear by the minute that this guy, whatever his name was, wasn’t your typical demon. Honestly, if he didn’t have the appearance of something that would give Hieronymus Bosch nightmares, I might even feel a little sorry for him. He seemed very lost.

“You know, I don’t need to kill you.”

He glanced up from the human vessel buffet below us, where everyone had apparently already forgotten about me falling from the sky and had resumed partying like it had never happened. “Let us pretend you could kill me, and let us pretend I am interested. What are you suggesting?”

What was I suggesting? This was bonkers. My job was to kill demons, not negotiate with them. Yet for some reason as this conversation continued, I wasn’t really in the mood to kill this weirdo.


Tags: Sierra Dean Secret McQueen Paranormal