He inhaled slowly and exhaled even slower. “Demons. I’m calling in favors from Demons.”
“Okay,” I said. He’d followed the directions, but he’d clearly omitted info. Candy and Charlie’s reactions were alarming. “Care to be more specific?”
“Not really,” he admitted. “However, I’ll add that they’re the kind of Demon you wouldn’t want to meet up with in a dark alley… or anywhere.”
I nodded slowly. “Figured that. If they already owe you, why would you owe them for calling in favors?”
“That’s how them cocksuckers work,” Candy Vargo chimed in. “Don’t make a lick of sense to me, but Demons are their own kind of special stupid.”
“They won’t turn on us?” I pressed.
“No,” Gideon replied. “Never.”
That was enough for me. Almost. “I’ll agree to this if you’ll agree to something,” I said.
The Grim Reaper didn’t like that. His eyes went red, and his expression showed his displeasure. “Depends.”
“Just say yes,” I shot back.
He shook his head. “You want me to agree to something before I know what it is?”
“Yep.”
Gideon ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Hereallywanted to say no. I wasn’t going to let him.
“Let me put it this way,” I said. “I love you. I love Alana Catherine. In fact, I love everyone in this room.”
“Even me?” Shitty Ritchie asked cautiously.
“Umm… yes, even you,” I replied.
“DAISY LOVES ME!” he cheered before doing so many spastic jazz squares he got his tiny feet tangled and flopped to the floor like an itty-bitty sack of potatoes. Candy Vargo picked him up by his hair and tossed him onto the couch. His grin was so wide, it made me smile. If his teeth weren’t so dang sharp, it would have been cute. It wasn’t even remotely cute, but it was sweet.
“Back to my point,” I continued. “If you’re willing to put some skin in the game, I’m willing as well.”
Gideon tried to interrupt.
I put up a hand to stop him. “We’re a team. I would do anything—and I mean anything—to protect my daughter and the same goes for you. If you’ll owe favors to these Demons, then I’ll share that burden.”
“Ohhhhhhh, shit,” Candy Vargo choked out. “Well, butter my butt and call me Nancy. This ain’t gonna end well.”
“I’ll bite, Nancy Vargo,” Shitty Ritchie yelled, hopping off the couch. “I’ll just get some butter from the kitchen and slather it on your bahookey! Be right back.”
He took off like a little tornado. Candy stood there looking confused. “What the fuck did he just call me?”
“Bless his little pea-pickin’ heart,” Gram said with a chuckle. “Shitty Ritchie called you Nancy Vargo! He’s a literal guy. You told him to call you Nancy and that you wanted your butt buttered. My guess is he’s comin’ back with a whole stick from the fridge and a knife.”
“I’m gonna punt that turd into tomorrow,” Candy muttered.
Heather rolled her eyes. “Dude, at least he’s not trying to give you his sperm to put into your cavity. Being called Nancy Vargo and getting some butter on your ass is far preferable.”
Candy laughed. “True that, jackass. But if the miniature shit stain even touches my butt, he loses his hands.”
“Fair enough,” I said then directed my gaze to the man I loved. “I will owe the favors as well. Period.”
“No, Daisy,” he said in a tight voice. He paced the floor for a good minute then headed to the front door. “Pardon me.” He walked out of the house and set off an explosion that rocked the foundation. He then walked back in as if nothing had just happened. No one commented. It was clear that the Grim Reaper was holding onto his composure by a thread.
And it was clear I wasn’t helping the matter.
