My heart aches. I need to stop dicking around and get back to the Academy.
With one final look at myself in the mirror, I go down to meet Azazel. I find him at the pool table, locked in a game with Greenie who invaded my personal space earlier.
The fallen angel waves me over. “Lookin’ good,” he compliments.
The green-skinned demon gives me a leer.
Bastard. I flip him the finger.
Azazel laughs and hands me his pool stick thingy… “Play a game with me, have a few shots, and I’ll open a portal for you into the first circle.” There’s a pleading note in his voice that is completely innocent, almost kind.
“I’ve never played before.” I take the stick. I’ve seen this game played enough in movies that I know the rules. But knowing and playing are two entirely different things.
“You’ll do fine.” Azazel holds up two fingers in the satyr’s direction. Nearly a moment later, two jean clad pixies zoom towards us on their glimmering, star-dust bikes. Two glasses filled with shimmering liquid float into Azazel’s hands. He hands one over to me. “Bottom’s up.”
I take it in firm fingers, staring at the liquid. It’s the color of honey, but sparkly.
A drink or two, and then I’m just another step closer to going home. I can try to make my own portal but… I meet Azazel’s kind eyes. There’s a loneliness in his gaze. He’s done a lot for me, and this was our deal. Get to know him and his friends, then go home.
I smile down into my cup. “Bottom’s up.”
And I take a drink.
* * *
I suck at pool.
But I’m very good at darts… and shots… I’m apparently very good at those, too. Not to mention teaching overexcited demons how to dance the macarena and Chayanne’s ‘Torero’ with enthusiastic hip thrusts.
It’s an experience I’m not sure I wish to remember.
Anyway, darts. I’m good at them.
Better at them when I’ve had five shots back to back.
In the center of the target, a pixie is tied down by all fours, screeching as it's twirled round and round. I stand on its opposite side, holding a very sharp dart in my hand.
“Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!” The chant rises around me like a tantalizing command.
I squint, aim, and throw.
It hits right between the pixie's opened legs, a little under, missing his intimate parts by a mere fraction.
“Boo!” I’m jostled by demons, green arms, tentacle hands, and claw tipped fingers clasping me on the back.
Like we are friends. Like I belong in this intimate circle of fun and friendship. Of music and table dancing, of pool, and drink after fizzy drink. It feels like… like family.
That’s before a fight breaks out around me.
I’m shoved, and I feel a fist connect to my shoulder. The pain is jarring, almost sobering. Demons start shouting, fighting, throwing fists and claws that rake down skin. I dodge a meaty hand as it comes flying towards me, jumping into the air and flapping my wings to keep me upright.
Someone yanks on my leg and pulls me back down to the floor.
That fucking green skinned demon. He’s had it out for me ever since I walked through those fucking doors.
Bitch wants to catch these hands, that’s exactly what he’s gonna get.
He leers, his forked tongue flicking out in a suggestive, disgusting gesture.
