Only this time, it didn’t transform like before. Almost like it had some kind of magical veil over it, and its glimmer had failed for a split second.
“HELLO!” I shouted, and was just about to bang again when suddenly the door opened, making me tense at the grating sound. This was before the sight that followed caused me to shiver.
“What the fuck do you want?!” a gruff voice asked, one that matched the hard gaze directed our way, making me look down to see that Bo had flattened himself against the wall so he couldn’t be seen. I would have rolled my eyes again, but I didn’t want to give Mr. Rude and Unwelcoming anymore reasons to refuse me entry. Besides, he looked like he ate barbells forbreakfast and sounded like he washed it down with a rusty nail smoothie.
He was huge and, no doubt, the ideal candidate for a doorman, with his towering frame and hard-ass face. One that was tattooed with thick jagged red lines running through both eyes and down his cheeks and neck. The design was a mirror image of each side of his face with a long, thick, white scar running dead center.
It went from the top of his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, and down his chin, as if someone had tried to split his face in two with one hit of a machete.
Light blue eyes were a startling contrast to the red on his face and the darkness of his outfit, one that looked more tactical in nature rather than just plain civilian clothes. Making me wonder if this guy was once in the military. Whatever his past was, it was written clearly in ink rather than words. The sweeping, geometric tattoos across his skin carried a style that echoed Pacific Island traditions, but I wasn’t able to place exactly where.
His thick, black, wavy hair was tied back from his face, and a matching thick black eyebrow raised when looking down at me.
“Oh, hey, I am just here in hopes to…”
“No!” he said the one word before slamming the door in my face, making me feel the air whoosh across my skin.
“Wow, rude much,” I muttered, ignoring Bo when he grinned and dusted himself off before stepping past me, saying,
“Oh well, guess we aren’t welcome.”
I grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him back, telling him firmly,
“Oh no, you don’t. We are getting inside, come Hell or high water.”
“Oh, it will be Hell alright,”he muttered, making me ignore him in favor of banging my fist back on the door. One thatopened with only enough space to allow the guy to tell me rudely,
“Fuck off!” Then it was slammed back in my face for a second time.
“Right, well, we tried, we failed, and we now be off,” Bo said in an annoyingly satisfied tone.
However, I ignored him again. Instead, I lost my damn mind and my damn temper when I suddenly pounded on the door, and this time, I took no shit.
“OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!” I bellowed, fighting rudeness with rudeness, and sure enough, the door opened again. Only this time, he looked slightly more amused by my antics.
“You have some balls, little mortal, I will give you that,” he replied, making me snap,
“No, what I have is a fucking Goblin tied to me and only the start of this day from Hell… like literally… and if one of you dickheads in there doesn’t do something about the demons this mortal can suddenly summon with a wave of her hands, then fine! But gotta say, your rudeness is making my hands all sorts of twitchy out here, so go right ahead and tell me to fuck off again, muscle muffin!”
At this his eyes widened in surprise, and again I ignored Bo when he started chewing on his nails, pausing to look down at them as he said,
“It was bordering on impressive until yer called him muscle muffin.”
“What did you say, girl?” the man said, now clearly taking me seriously.
“Geez, what is it with you lot and calling me a girl?” I commented in annoyance.
“You a boy?” he asked, making me frown.
“Obviously not, but I have a name.”
“Well, name of the girl I don’t give a shit enough about to ask… what the fuck do you think anyone in here can do about your pickle?” I couldn’t help but snort a laugh.
“Yer know, I think yer have something in common, as that sounded good until he called yer shit luck a fucking pickle,” Bo commented, something this guy didn’t seem to hear or notice, making me wonder if his own kind could see him.
As this guy was unlikely to be human if he was referring to me as a ‘mortal’. But on this occasion, I had to say, I agreed with him. What type of demon called that type of shit a pickle?
“I don’t know, but maybe the name Wyedari Oblivion is one you care enough about to know.”
