I pulled the walkie off my hip. “One down on our end. We’ll meet you there. Rainbow Bright, over.”
Calan lips thinned, which was the closest he came to an eye roll.
I shrugged. “What? You don’t like our codenames?”
“I’d prefer if mine wasn’t Terminator,” he grumbled as we started toward the center of the store.
It was the ongoing joke between Travis and I since Calan had played the “come with me if you want to live” card when we first met him. Considering he was the only one who could fight off the soul eater chasing us, we lived to see another day.
“Would Superman be better?” I asked. Though as I eyed his hard body protected in the motorcycle turtle jacket, lined with mesh, he looked more like dark Superman. My mouth watered, and I wondered how long it would between now and when I could claw his armor off and climb that body and do bad, bad things to him. Something about our jobs got me all hot and bothered. I’d never been an adrenaline junkie, but after the last few years of intense end-of-the-world battles, I’d learned to appreciate the fight.
Something crunched behind us. Calan and I whipped around, blades up. Instead of an Ururu, Krystan stood there in all her pregnant glory. My best friend had always been rail-thin and had serious model potential. Pregnant, she looked like someone had attached a bowling ball to a matchstick. A snack bag of Cheetos sat on the makeshift shelf that was her stomach. She popped an orange dusted chip into her mouth, crunching loudly again.
“What are you doing in here?” I asked. “Travis is going to kill you if he finds out you left the van.”
Krystan shrugged. “It was too hot and the A/C isn’t strong enough in that old thing.” For a woman officially nine months pregnant, she still managed to look like she was down to party. Black makeup lined her dark eyes. The mesh shirt and dark blue maternity jeans were surprisingly stylish. Her bright red sneakers matched the shade of her lipstick, which contrasted against her otherwise goth rock look.
"It isn’t safe for you here,” Calan said, scanning the store. For seven-foot behemoths, the Ururus sure could play a damn good game of hide and seek.
Krystan crumpled up the Cheeto bag and tossed it on the floor before pulling her nail-riddled bat off the holster on her back. “Don’t sass your boss, young man. Or did you forget whose payroll you’re on?”
I stuck my tongue out at her. Since Calan and I returned from the Stygian, we needed money. Krystan and Travis hired us on to work for their demon slaying business, Whack A Ghoul. Strange as it sounded, having a job and a paycheck gave me a sense of security, even if we were essentially glorified exterminators.
Krystan and Travis tried to hide the fact they were thrilled we were on the payroll because between Calan’s powers and my own unique skill set, Whack A Ghoul had gone from a two star business to four point five stars on Yelp with over two hundred reviews.
“I like your knife, is it new?” Krystan asked, rubbing her stomach.
“Thanks, it’s a present from my future mother in law,” I said, holding up my curvy blade.
Krystan cocked her head to the side. “I feel like it needs a pop of color.”
The blacked out, powder-coated 1095 steel blade weapon was completely devoid of color. “Yeah, it could totally use a splash of hot pink,” I agreed.
“Ooh, do you think we could wrap the handle in fuchsia ribbon?” Krystan asked.
I quirked my lips to the side. “Probably not, Regina made a big deal about the slip-resistant Kraton handle on this model.” To prove a point, I spun the machete a couple times easily catching the hilt in firm grip each time.
Krystan frowned. “Maybe a good can of spray paint would work then.”
Calan broke in, frowning for a different reason. “Ladies, may I remind you we still have frost monsters roaming the store.”
We looked at him.
“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “I see your chatting by the water fountain is more important.”
Krystan raised an eyebrow. “It’s water cooler, but nice try.”
He ignored her correction. “Emma, I’ll leave it to you to protect your friend while I assist Travis.”
Calan stopped to kiss me, sending tingles shooting down my body and back up again. Sniffing books was pleasurable, but they had nothing on that mouth. Krystan and I both watched him walk away.
“Are you staring at my fiancé's ass?” I asked, not bothering to hide my own leer.
“Yep,” she said, popping the p.
“That’s fair,” I said. After he disappeared, I turned to my best friend with a quick glance at her baby bump. “How are you feeling?”
She rolled her eyes and attempted to push her dark hair back behind her ear. She had been growing out her Betty Page bangs and the awkward phase where they would fall in her eyes was driving her nuts. “Like hell. I feel like a blimp. And the bean must be part kangaroo based on the accurate shots it takes at my bladder.” She’d affectionately named her unborn baby ‘bean.’ She went on. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days, I suddenly pissed myself from one of those kicks. And I thought Travis was annoying.”
