Fire Me Up, Page 3

I stopped ogling Drake and slapped a few errant curls that were smoldering with the aftereffects of my run-in with dragon boy. "All right, enough of the wiseass comments. The show's over. It was just a little fire exchange, nothing more. Nothing to get excited over. Now perhaps I can get on with things. Important things. Like life without you-know-who."

  Pal and Istvan, two redheaded men who were part of Drake's sept (and served as his bodyguards), stood watching impassively as Drake returned to the Asian woman's side. Pal lifted his hand toward me in friendly greeting. Istvin glowered, first at me, then at Jim.

  "Looks like Istvan hasn't forgiven you for almost neutering him," Jim commented.

  "That was an accident and you know it. Besides, I've sworn never to play darts again, so he has nothing to be surly about." I gritted out a smile at both men, gave Pal a little wave in return, and ignoring the stares and whispered comments from everyone in the lobby, made my way to the front desk.

  "Here is my cousin Bela's mobile number." When I was finished checking in, Rene pressed into my hand a postcard with a phone number scrawled across the back. "You will call me when you are ready to find the hermit, yes? I do not like to think of what trouble will find you if you were to go off on your own. Did you learn any language for this trip?"

  "Language? Oh, Hungarian. Yeah. There was this guy I ran into in a chat room when I was online looking up information on the hotel, and he gave me a couple of phrases to say. Let's see ... uh ... szeretnelek latni ruha nelkul."

  Rene's eyes widened as he choked. "What... eh ... what is it you think you just said?"

  I frowned. "What do you mean what do I think I said? I said, 'It's a lovely day out.'"

  He shook his head. Jim snickered.

  I* thinned my lips at them both. "Well, I'm sorry, my pronunciation is probably a little off. I'm new to this learning foreign languages thing, as you both very well know. What did I say wrong?"

  Jim licked its leg with strange absorption, A faint smile tugged at the corners of Rene's lips. "This once, your pronunciation was good. Not excellent, as is mine, but good enough to be understood."

  "Oh," J said, pleased by his praise. Rene had tried to teach me some useful French a month ago (useful if you want to say things like "I have frogs in my bidet") and previously had only scathing things to say about rny pronunciation. Clearly French was not going to be iny forte, but Hungarian was obviously another thing altogether. Maybe I'd turn out to be a linguist after all. "So what was wrong with what I said?"

  He stopped fighting the smile as Jim put a paw over its eyes and groaned. "To me, you say, 'I would like to see you naked.'"

  "No!" I gasped, mentally damning the man in the chat room. "That poop! And I went to the trouble of learning all the stuff he gave me. Dammit!"

  Rene shook his head as he laughed, giving my hand a sympathetic squeeze. "You will be sure to call me? I do not want to think of you walking around Budapest telling people you like to see them naked. You call if you need a driver. Or if you need help with others. You remember I am much good behind your back."

  I gave him a hug. "Yes, thank you, you are wonderful at watching my back, and I very much appreciate all your help. It's getting too late today to find the hermit, but what say we make an appointment for tomorrow?"

  We agreed upon a time, and with a final grin, Rene toddled off, his hands in his pockets as he whistled a jaunty tune, looking utterly normal in a world that I was fast realizing was anything but.

  "Come on, you hairy hound from"—Jtm raised an eyebrow at me—"Abaddon. Let's go get ourselves spiffed up, and we'll see what's going on with all the Diviners and Theurgists and Guardians."

  "You do that really well," Jim said as I dragged the suitcase over to an elevator, checking the plastic key card for the room number.

  "Do what? Twelve-fifteen. Drat. I hate rooms above the third floor."

  'Ignore the fact that the second you saw Drake, you stood en points faster than an Irish setter spotting a pheasant."

  I glared at it. "I am not a dog, and I resent you comparing me to one. You're the one with the dog fetish, not me. I'll thank you to remember that I'm perfectly happy being a human."

  "No, you're not a dog, but you are changing the subject."

  "So observant, my little demon." I patted Jim on the head as the elevator doors closed.

  "Do you really think you can just ignore him? It didn't work when you were on the other side of the world, Ais-ling. Now you two are in the same city—the same hotel. And the second you see him you're all but drooling on the man."

  "Demon, I order thee to keep thy trap zipped until I tell thee otherwise."

  Jim glared at me, unable to violate a direct order. I hated having to resort to such harsh measures, but ] was having a hard enough time getting my brain to stop running around like a deranged Chihuahua to tolerate Jim poking at something I just couldn't deal with at the moment.

  "I am a professional," I told the empty hallway as I dragged my suitcase down the long, opulent passage, Jim walking silently behind me. "I have seen the worst and triumphed over it. I can do this."

  I didn't release Jim from its bondage of silence until I had taken a fast shower, changed into a gauze peasant skirt and matching blouse that I thought looked exotically pretty, wrapped a colorful scarf around my hair in an attempt to look totally and completely different from the crazed woman who had fallen in the lobby, and gathered my new organizer.

  "You're to be on your best behavior," I warned Jim on the ride down to the conference level of the hotel. *'No peeing on anything unless I say you can. No gender checks by sniffing anyone's pertinent body parts. No wisecracks about me in relation to men named Drake. You got all that?"

  Jim's lips curled, but its great black furry head gave a curt nod of agreement.

  "Good. You may speak now."

  "I hate it when you do that," it burst out, eyes bulging a little with the strain of having kept its comments to itself. "Not even Amayon used to make us be silent!"

  "Don't tell tales about your former demon master. Ah, I think this is where we're supposed to be." We exited the elevator to walk through a busy reception area. Over a wall of doors a huge banner hung, reading (in French, English, and what I assumed was Hungarian) 238TH INTERNATIONAL CONFERENCE OF GODTAM. Although the conference wasn't due to start for another hour—with the official kickoff banquet—there were a number of people in business attire milling around, some sitting on the scattered benches and chairs, others in small clutches talking quietly with one another. A latte stand in the corner of the room did brisk business. "Wow. Our first conference. Maybe I should have worn my brown suit? Do I look dressy enough to you? This is kind of exciting, huh?"

  "Yes, no, yes, and it would be downright thrilling if you were to feed me," Jim answered, watching an attractive couple wander past bearing paper latte cups and elaborate pastries bristling with almonds.

  "The dinner will start in an hour or so. You will kindly remember that I had to pay for you to attend the meal and not embarrass me by demanding horsemeat or something ghastly like that."

  "You sure know how to take the fun out of life," Jim snorted as we joined a short line before a skirted table manned by several individuals all wearing badges with a nine-pointed symbol.

  Although I knew from experience that most of the citizens of the Otherworld looked perfectly normal—the dragons' slightly elongated pupils being the only physical sign that they weren't human—I still half expected to see something out of the ordinary, some indication that we had stepped out of the real world and into something cloaked in mystery and magic.

  "Name?"

  I pulled my mind from its wanderings to attend to the registration woman. "Aisling Grey."

  "Ashling?"

  "That's right." I spelled my name for her. "It's Irish."

  "Denomination?"

  "Huh? Well, my mother is Catholic, but my father was Presbyterian. I'm kind of neither."

  The woman gave me an annoyed look. "Are you a
Diviner, Theurgist, Guardian, Oracle, or Mage?"

  "Oh, that sort of denomination. Guardian. Kind of. Really more like Guardian lite."

  "Less filling, half the fat," Jim quipped.

  The woman ignored both of us as she pulled a box of envelopes toward her.

  "And there should also be a registration for my... um ... demon. Its name is Effrijim."

  Jim nosed the box. "I hope it just says 'Jim' on the name tag. I don't want anyone to think I'm a sissy."

  "A demon?" She gave Jim a cold look before flicking through the thick envelopes, finally extracting two. She handed me clip-on name badges for both of us, as well as a thick packet of material. I clipped my badge to a ruffle on my peasant blouse, then attached Jim's to its collar "Demons are expected to be kept under control at all times and are not to be left unattended. If you do leave your demon without supervision, it will be trapped in limbo and returned to its demon lord at your expense. The main convention hall and ballroom have been warded and spelled so that you cannot conduct dark magic within their confines. The meeting rooms are unprotected, however. Do you understand and accept these terms?"

  Jim started to tell the woman that /was its demon lord, but I interrupted it before it could blather that news to everyone. "Sure. No problem. I'm not really hip with dark magic. I'm just here to find a Guardian mentor."

  The woman tapped a few keys on the laptop computer sitting next to the registration materials, and a printer at the end of the table hummed to life. She pulled a piece of what looked like parchment from it, sliding it toward me along with an old-fashioned nib pen.

  "Kind of an odd mixture of high-tech and quasi-medieval, huh?" I commented, waving at the printed parchment with the pen.

  She just looked pointedly at the paper.

  In the upper corner of the sheet was my name, written in a beautiful, ornate calligraphic font In the center was drawn the same elaborate nine-pointed star that the conference workers wore, I looked closer at the pen and realized that it wasn't a pen at all. It was a lance, the sort diabetics use to get a drop of blood for testing. "Uh—"

  "You must seal the agreement in blood," the woman said in an annoyed, put-upon voice. "Failure to do so will result in ejection from the conference."

  "Heaven forbid," I murmured as I jabbed my thumb with the lance. "Where do you want it?"

  "In the nonagram." I blinked. She sighed. "A nona-gram is a nine-pointed star. It is the symbol of studied achievement, which is part of the motto of the GOD-TAM."

  Without further ado I pressed the bead of blood into the center of the star. The parchment must have had some magic worked on it, because the second my blood touched it, I was overtaken by the sensation of silken cords wrapping around and around me.

  "What—was that—?" I rubbed my arms. Despite the fact that I could see there was nothing on me other than my clothing, the feeling of the bonds remained.

  "You are now bound by the covenant of the GOD-TAM," the registration woman intoned in a bored voice. "Welcome to the conference, and blessed be. Next!"

  "Oh. Does my demon need to be bound as well?"

  "Demons cannot be bound in such a manner. You are responsible for its behavior. NEXT!"

  Jim and I passed through the doors into the main conference area, following a group of men in expensive, well-tailored suits.

  "Mages," Jim said in an undertone, its eyes on the men.

  "Really? How can you tell?"

  "Their shoes. Mages go in for Italian footwear. So do dragons, but those guys don't smell like dragons."

  I slid a curious glance down to Jim, walking at my side. "Just what exactly do dragons smell like?"

  It lifted a furry black lip in a sneer. "You ought to know, you've spent enough time with your nose buried in Drake's—"

  "Jim!" I shrieked.

  "—neck."

  I pinched the thick skin on its back. "Just forget I asked, OK? Shall we mingle?"

  "Oh, yeah. Are those hors d'oeuvres for everyone? I'm gonna get me some before I starve to death." Jim shimmied toward a waiter wandering through the gathering crowd offering a tray of tall champagne flutes and another with tiny canapes.

  "Save room for dinner!" I called after the demon, then stood looking around at everyone in their suits and chic outfits, feeling very out of place, very bumpkin visiting polished town cousins.

  "Hullo. You're a Guardian, too? Is this your first time?"

  I turned at the friendly singsong voice. A tall blond woman wearing a slinky black dress smiled at me. She looked like a Barbie doll come to life, a Scandinavian Barbie doll, if her accent was anything to go by. "Yes, to both questions, although the first one is kind of iffy. I'm Aisling. I'm actually here looking for a mentor."

  "Really?" She eyed me from crown to toes, walking a circle around me to get a better look. I wished I had put on my brown power suit. It might not be a sexy little black dress, but at least T looked professional in il. "I have been thinking it time to take on an apprentice. We might suit. I am Moa. I am from Berge, Sweden. You have completed the ritual?"

  "Ritual?" I bit my lip. "I've done a couple of rituals. I summoned a demon, and later I almost summoned a demon lord—"

  "No." She waved away my paranormal resume" with an elegant scarlet-tipped hand. 'The ritual. The test that all apprentices must pass in order to begin formal training. You have not passed it?"

  Oh, great. There was a test [ had to pass just to sign up to be an apprentice? Why did no one ever tell me these things? "No, I haven't passed it. I didn't know anything about it until you mentioned it. Is it difficult? How long will it take? I don't have a lot of time to spend studying. Is there a cheat sheet I can buy somewhere?"

  Her tips pursed as she pulled out a thin gold notebook, flipping through the pages until she came to one she liked. "I have time tomorrow after the panel on troll rehabilitation but before the demon-tormenting workshop. Shall we make an appointment to meet then? I will discuss with you the ritual and my requirements in an apprentice."

  "Great," I said, watching as she extracted a gold pen from the notebook and made a note. "Maybe we can sit together at the demon-tormenting thing."

  She gave me a blinding smile. "Yes, it is always nice to have an acquaintance at torture workshops. Be sure to bring a plastic raincoat. Until tomorrow, Aisling."

  "Thanks. I look forward to it."

  She headed off toward the Mages in expensive suits, leaving me standing by myself, feeling even more at sea than I had in the last month.

  But at least I had an appointment with a potential mentor! At last things were looking up.

  By the time the evening was over, I'd been stabbed, propositioned more times than I could count, and had my amulet stolen.

  And that was before the real action started.

  "Hello, I am Tiffany. You're a Guardian, aren't you? Here is my card. I am a professional virgin. You will please let me know if you have any need of my services." The pretty blond woman who sat next to me at the large round table smiled an aggressive smile full of teeth and passed business cards out to everyone at the table, laying one in front of Jim's plate. "Is that your demon? How large it is! I knew a Guardian once who had a pet demon, but it killed her one night when she was cooking a lobster. The demon tossed her into the pot of boiling water. It was very sad. I wept pearly tears of sorrow."

  I stared at her for a moment before turning my gaze to my other side, where Jim sat, and gave the demon a good glare.

  Its eyebrows rose. "Hey, don't look at me, I don't even like lobster."'

  "Who is new? This is my fifth GODTAM conference," Tiffany chirped happily, giving us all another blast of her tooth paste -commercial- white smile. "Oooh, fruit cups! I love the fruit cups. Fruit is the flower of our souls, don't you think?"

  There were eight of us at the round table, one of about two hundred tables that filled the huge conference ballroom. We were sitting along the left edge of the room, near enough to the podium that we could see the speakers but out of the
main crush in the center of the room.

  "I am Monish Lakshmanan, and this is Tej, my apprentice. I am a part-time oracle." The speaker was a small, dark-haired man with lovely large brown eyes. He spoke English with great precision, biting off each word as if he was afraid it was going to escape from him. Next to him was a friendly-looking young man of about eighteen, dressed in a faded T-shirt and a sports jacket that was probably two sizes too small for him. He smiled at us all as his mentor continued, "We are from Bangalore. That is in India."

  "Oracles! Part-time ones at that!" A woman on the other side of Jim, with big moussed I980s hair, snorted in an Ozarky twang, digging her elbow into the rabbity man next to her. "Honey, you haven't seen an oracle till you meet my Hank. That's Hank O'Hallahan. You've heard of him, of course. We were on Jerry Springer. Show 'em what you can do, Hank."

  Hank, wearing a slightly hunted look, sat up straight as everyone at the table looked at him. One hand automatically tugged at his tie until it was a bit askew. "Oh. Uh. Here? You think here, Marvabelle? Is that a... uh... good idea? Someone might overhear. There are those book people who are interested in my thoughts, you remember."

  A suspicious look stole over his wife's face as she narrowed her eyes at the rest of us. "You're right, muffin. You shouldn't show them your stuff, not right out here where anyone could steal your wonderful deep oracle thoughts and sell them to publishers. You just never know about people."

  Silence descended at our table with a thud. I stared at the atrocious Marvabelle, surprised and outraged on behalf of everyone she'd just insulted. Before I could inform her that I doubted anyone would be interested in stealing Hank's oracular thoughts, the eighth person at the table, a middle-aged black woman with bright red glasses and a dramatic white streak down the middle of her ebony hair, spoke. "Hullo. My name is Nora Charles—no relationship to the fictional character, I assure you—and I live in London. I'm a Guardian, and this is my fifth conference. I have a dog as well," she added, smiling at Jim. "His name is Paco. He's a Chihuahua, but he's not a demon."

  "I see you're still blind as a bat," Marvabelle said, making a grimace that no doubt passed as her version of a smile. "Just jokin', honey. You know me."