Not Your Average Hot Guy Read online

  Don’t worry. I’d still be the most handsome devil you’ve ever met.

  “Are you all right?” Mag asks her. “We really don’t have to do this, you know.” They lower their voice. “There’s no reason to trust him.”

  “There’s every reason not to,” Callie says, opening her eyes. “I don’t. But we need information.”

  Mag purses their lips. “If you say so. But…”

  Callie ignores the beginning of her friend’s objection. “Why are you willing to help us?” she asks me.

  I shrug. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  She frowns.

  She let me convince her so easily that she’s a guardian, steering her smack into the decision I hoped she would make. I picked up on a bit of … frustration with her current circumstances there for the exploiting.

  But I realize almost too late that I can’t gloat too much or be too blasé. Persuasion is one of my gifts. The hard sell isn’t. I’ll have to give her a better reason. “Like I said, it won’t be good for anyone—including me. I like things the way they are. I’ve got a pretty sweet setup. Hell on Earth would mess that up.”

  “Excuse me if I’m the only one not getting the whole picture here. But what are we actually talking about doing?” Mag asks. “Going back to that house with that cult? Because: No. Way.”

  Callie raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t know precisely what’s next.

  I do. And I can’t have her overthinking her decision. I had to let her come to it on her own, but she can talk herself back out of it too. That would be the safe choice, and I suspect after just this small amount of time with her that she is excellent at those.

  “Is there someone who can watch your … Bosch?” I ask.

  I’ve seen enough to know that the pooch is not getting left behind alone and I don’t think we need to bring a dog along with us. We have hounds in the office, but they aren’t nearly this charming. More what I’d call slavering beasts.

  “She can stay at home with Jared, depending how long we’ll be,” Callie says. “We have to be here to open tomorrow.” Her forehead wrinkles.

  “You want to prevent a cult from gaining the Spear of Destiny and also open on time tomorrow?” I ask.

  She nods. “Yes.”

  There’s a challenge in it.

  “We can try to do both.” I should be up-front about something, because it’s to my advantage. “I can’t actually prevent them from getting the spear. They summoned me appropriately and a bargain was struck before you broke the summoning pentagram.”

  “That worked?” Callie flushes with pleasure. “I wasn’t sure, but I’ve read things that made me think it might. Mostly I just wanted to distract them.”

  Flattery is my friend, and, in this case, also true. “You have killer instincts. And yes. Otherwise he could’ve kept me there indefinitely.”

  “We can’t just let them get it. Unless we’re already too late?” Callie asks. Almost hopeful.

  “We can try to beat them to it,” I say. “You could get it first.”

  “I really would rather never see those guys again.” Mag has gathered their arms around themself and shivers despite a lack of cold. Can’t say I blame them. Solomon Elerion is not my favorite sort of human either.

  “You don’t have to go,” Callie says in a way that tells me she is praying Mag won’t take her up on it. “I can do it solo.”

  Mag blows out a breath. “Nice try, Cal. I’m not leaving you alone with … Luke.”

  I grin at them. “Cheer up. I’m not so scary. We’ll have fun.”

  “We’re saving the world or something like that,” Callie says. “It is not for fun.”

  I’m playing it Antarctica cool, giving her the impression there’s no other option. Which isn’t a lie. I couldn’t do anything to stop the cult’s plan without her. And there is a part of me that wants to.

  Another interesting discovery.

  Not as interesting as finally divesting the cult members of their souls and satisfying Father will be, but …

  “Suit yourself.” I shrug. “I plan to have fun.”

  I get the narrowed eyes of disapproval once more.

  “Luke, you should know…” Mag says. “Callie loathes bad boys.”

  “Who said I was bad?”

  They look at each other. “Aren’t most people who live in Hell?” Callie asks, all skepticism.

  “Judgmental,” I return.

  Now I get a shrug back.

  “Most of them are,” I say.

  “Not all?” She stops, curious. Then retrieves a leash from the desktop, and clips it to Bosch’s collar.

  Technically, every denizen of Hell belongs there. “Would I be helping you save the world if I were all bad?”

  “Probably.” Callie brushes past me, and I resist the impulse to reach out and pull her close. That would be the best way to make her run. I almost do it anyway.

  I’m saved from the impulse when she heads for the door, dog in tow. “We’re walking home, by the way. I don’t want Bosch getting zappity time-space traveled like we did.”

  “Probably best,” I say, “since we’re then going to Portugal. Look, I swear I’ll let you know the moment you can’t trust me anymore. Deal?”

  I still want to touch her. So I hold out my hand.

  Callie turns, hesitates. “Is this going to give you power over me or my immortal soul or anything like that?”

  If only it were that easy, good Callie. I’d have to stop lying to you for that.

  “No.”

  I fold her fingers in mine again. I like the feel of her skin too much. I lightly stroke her wrist with a finger. Her breath hitches.

  We lock eyes. The intensity surprises me. Neither of us looks away.

  I want her to tell me every thought in her head and then kiss her until neither of us is thinking anymore. This feels dangerous, which is as new as anything. But then what about this situation isn’t? I am, frankly, fascinated. Maybe for the first time.

  Mag waves a hand between me and Callie, breaking the moment of connection. “Did you say something about going to Portugal?” Mag asks, with something like dread.

  “To the city of Sintra,” I confirm as Callie removes her fingers from mine. I pretend to be unaffected, as if I don’t have the immediate desire to reach for her again. “That’s where the Quinta de Regaleira estate is. Hopefully we’ll have time to poke around a bit. I think you’ll like it.”

  “Portugal,” Mag says.

  “You always wanted to go abroad,” Callie says, apparently recovered from our moment and bright-siding.

  “Not like this,” Mag says. “Will we get passport stamps? No, we don’t even have passports.”

  “I could probably fake something up,” I put in. Forgery is another innate gift of mine. “But technically no passports are needed for zappitying.”

  “Is that what you’re calling it now too?” Callie shakes her head.

  The term is ridiculous, but I used it so I can’t admit it now. “I guess so.”

  Callie brings Bosch to the door, and we follow her down the stairs.

  I hesitate. I’m compelled to issue a warning. “This is probably going to be both difficult and treacherous. You understand? I don’t see the cultists giving up on getting the spear without a fight.”

  “We know it’s dangerous,” Callie says, a tone even I recognize as c’mon, duh in her voice. “Hello. But why plan on fighting? I help build escape rooms. And you say I’m a guardian. We’ll trick them. Or we’ll trap them. Or both.”

  Mag says nothing.

  But the confident gleam in Callie’s eye makes me feel a new burst of happiness that the evening has proceeded as it has. Which, in turn, makes me slightly uncomfortable. Other people’s emotions don’t typically factor into my decision-making.

  I’m not bothered enough to put an end to this evening of exciting cult-thwarting festivities though. “I can’t wait to see your work,” I say.

  The truth feels s
trange on my tongue.

  * * *

  Bosch trots along happily, while Callie, Mag, and I descend into an uneasy silence as we traverse the narrow shoulder of the pavement.

  Callie’s house turns out to be less than a mile’s walk from the shopping center that houses the business. The road is fairly well trafficked, and so I wave my fingers and let some shadows conceal us without bragging about it. Something tells me Callie would protest about me hiding us with no real cause. She likes protesting.

  I want to talk to them—to her—but I also don’t want to seem like an overeager pain in the buttocks (no matter how nice mine are and, again, I’ve been assured they’re exquisite). Truth is, my sojourns on Earth have been as lonely—maybe more—than my time at lessons or as Rofocale’s intern. The conversations I’ve had with these two are among the best in my memory. It’s against my nature to be cautious, but I tread carefully here.

  We’re going to have an adventure. And inside forty-eight hours I have to show back up at home with souls or this is likely to be my one and only adventure.

  “Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” Callie asks. She squints over at me. Suspicious.

  “No reason.” I consider whistling, but decide it would come across too creepy.

  “I don’t believe you,” she says with an adorable uptilt of her nose. “So, what can you tell us about these cultists that we don’t already know? What kind of assumptions will they make?”

  I blink and reaccess everything I know about Solomon Elerion and his merry band of lunatics.

  “The Order of Elerion is approximately four hundred years old, but it’s remained a fringe group in terms of size. Thirteen members, always. Believes artifacts that contain magic were left behind on Earth expressly for the battle between good and evil. Various churches and many individuals went out of their way to hide a lot of these objects, so they aren’t easy to lay hands on. The Holy Lance, which would allow them to make what they think is the infernal plan for Earth a reality, has been the cult’s ultimate goal all along. Unlike most cults, they are filled with true believers to the core. No one has ever left.”

  “Wow,” she says.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head, almost in awe. “The way you rattled that off. It was…”

  I could swear the word she’s about to use is sexy. But then she shakes her head again in a way that is obviously meant to clear it. “What do you mean ‘what they think is the infernal plan for Earth’?”

  I’d rather go back to the first thought, but her question is perceptive. “Lucifer views his role very specifically. He will punish those who lose their souls, but he wants people to surprise him. He views the infernal and the divine’s eternal conflict as a stabilizing force of sorts.”

  “Huh.” Callie absorbs that. “Okay, back to the cult. It has men and women, though? And different ages? Like we saw tonight. So progressive as far as small, non-dude-wants-a-bunch-of-wives-slash-sex-slaves cults go?”

  She’s right. They’re not one of those cults. “Yes, but women as full members in the last twenty years only.”

  “Got it. And what kind of training do they have? Weaknesses? Anything like that?”

  Callie is taking all this in as if I’m a book and she’s reading the words. I want to answer her every question. But I’m stumped on this one. “Can you narrow it down a bit? What kind of skills?”

  “I’m looking for anything we can exploit.”

  “There’s the element of surprise.”

  Callie nods. “Useful point. They won’t be expecting us to show up, not with you. I’ll need you to write down the name of where we’re going so I can take a quick Google…”

  I feel as if I should give myself a mark on an invisible score card. So I do.

  “Um, Callie,” Mag, who has remained quiet for this entire exchange, interrupts with a warning. A late one, unfortunately.

  “Mag … Callie … is that you?” The guy who asks is standing on the tidy front porch of a two-story house painted light gray with Halloween-style silhouettes in the windows even though it’s spring. I immediately determine this is Callie’s older brother, Jared.

  “Jared,” Callie says. “Hey! And yes, I am me.”

  “And I’m me,” Mag says. And studies their shoes.

  “And who’s your friend?” he asks, curious. But nice.

  Callie glances between the two of us and grimaces, shaking her head. “Nobody. Come on. Bosch is hungry.”

  Nobody?

  But then what do I expect her to do? Explain my dossier—or what she believes is my dossier—and how we met?

  Her brother is now looking at me with a combination of curiosity and suspicion, but he moves out of Callie’s way as she barrels past him into the house.

  Mag says, “Hi, Jay.” Then hesitates.

  “Long time no see,” Jared says with a hint of a smile.

  “Just a week,” Mag says, hiding a grin.

  “Like I said.” Jared stares at Mag, who bashfully shuffles past him the rest of the way inside.

  There’s a story between those two, which Callie doesn’t seem to be aware of. Again I long to pry. But I don’t.

  They’ve abandoned me with Callie’s brother. Thanks, gang.

  I nod to him. “Hey,” I say and offer my hand.

  “Callie doesn’t really bring guys home,” he says, shaking off whatever passed between him and Mag. Or trying his hardest to. “Who are you?”

  “A friend of Callie and Mag’s, obviously. Should we go inside?” I say, neutrally. “You could give me a tour.”

  I want to see the house. All of my time spent “hanging” with humans has been spent in dimly lit bars or the occasional dank club. The fact that this is the place where Callie lives is only part of it. I’m curious to see what a home is like.

  “Sure,” Jared says. “Do you have a name? Where’d you guys meet?”

  “I’m Luke,” I say. “And if Bosch likes me, how bad can I be?”

  Jared wants to know more than I’m offering, but I shrug and follow Mag and Callie inside.

  The silhouette in the downstairs window is an old-fashioned iron cutout in the shape of a witch, complete with pointy hat and long nose. The door opens into a living room that I shouldn’t find surprising, but do. Controlled chaos is the term. Stacks of books sit on end tables and a coffee table that’s an old steamer trunk. A large TV has a videogame console hooked up to it. Shelves and shelves of more books and media surround the room. There are nerdy little touches all over, like a Star Wars–patterned throw draped across the back of the couch.

  “I like your house,” I say, as Callie appears in the wide entryway that leads to the rest of the place.

  Behind me, Jared says, “Thanks. Our mother has a certain aesthetic—it’s just her and Callie here now. Usually.”

  Callie has her hair tucked behind her right ear, which has turned a lovely shade of pink. “I’m just back here until I figure some things out, Jared, thanks.” Her attention switches to me. “Hey, can you come with me and show me that … thing we talked about?”

  “Of course,” I say.

  Mag appears behind Callie as Jared says, “What thing?”

  Callie sighs. “Jared, what are you doing?”

  “I know, it stinks,” he says. “But I promised Mom I’d watch out for you.”

  Callie sighs again. “Hard as it is to believe, I’m an adult too.”

  Jared’s eyes can’t seem to avoid finding Mag, who studiously avoids meeting them. Jared has on a tucked-in collared shirt and khakis. His hair has been recently cut, impeccably neat. He gives off the air of wanting to impress someone. I’m not going out on a limb to guess it’s Mag. He must’ve known they’d be here tonight. That’s why he’s home to “watch” Callie.

  Callie motions for me to come with her. “This way. I promise we’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “But—” Jared says.

  “Mag’s coming too. Don’t worry, we’re not having a ménage à tr
ois,” she says.

  Jared sputters.

  “Callie,” Mag says, as we start up the stairs and leave a gaping brother below, “none of this is like you.”

  “Satan’s bad influence,” Callie says under her breath.

  The wall alongside the creaky, wooden staircase is dotted with a mix of old posters and vintage oddities, signed photos of celebrities in costumes, and the odd family photo of Callie, Jared, and a woman who favors them both that I assume is their mom. No sign of a father in the picture, so that explains Jared’s overprotective instincts. That and his torch for Mag.

  “You’ve never brought a guy home before?” I ask, as we head up a short hallway and Callie opens a door with a Morse code poster on it.

  “I have, just not recently. And you’re not a guy,” Callie says. “You’re a demon.”

  “I’m still a guy.”

  Callie snorts.

  Her bedroom is on the small side and all the books make it feel even smaller. Lots of mystical and occult-themed books, but plenty of novels with cracked spines too. There’s a small desk with a semi-ancient computer on it, which she boots up now. There’s also only one chair.

  “You can type?” Callie asks me.

  I refuse to be insulted, but it’s not easy. I can time-space zappity. Yes, I am literate.

  “Among many other skills.” I give her a wink.

  She stares at me with something like hunger, which again confirms that she’s not as immune to my charms as she’s pretending to be.

  “I can expound on them, if you’d like,” I say. “Or demonstrate…”

  She hesitates for a breath, then shakes her head and gestures at the computer. “Can you type in the location?”

  I slide into the chair.

  Mag sits down on the bed. “You realize we have a problem.”

  Callie says, “Yes. I can’t believe Jared’s giving me trouble about Luke.”

  “That’s not entirely fair,” Mag says.

  I decide to help them out and learn more about Callie in the meantime. “You and your brother don’t get along?” I ask, as I pull up a Google window.

  “No, we do,” Callie says.

  Mag speaks carefully. “It’s funny he thinks he can tell you what to do better than you tell yourself. But in this case…”