Naughty Karma

Chapter Ten Demons and Bumpers and Sprinkles, Oh My!

On Tuesday morning, Prometheus flipped over his new Gone Demon Hunting sign and locked the front door on his shop before turning to face Rodriguez and the piece of crap car besmirching his parking lot. Apparently, their days of rolling through the country side-by-side on their motorcycles were over—and even if it meant he didn’t get to drive, Prometheus was relieved to see that. Yesterday had been boring as hell.

Or rather, more boring than hell. Hell had to be more exciting than trailing along after Rodriguez.

The exorcist had led the way upstate to a small town being afflicted by what appeared to be a rash of demon-related pranks. After chatting with the locals and repeatedly telling Prometheus to “shut the fuck up and stay out of the way,” Rodriguez had begun tracking the energy signatures of the demons involved—which would have been impressive—Prometheus had only ever heard of a handful of exorcists who had that particular ability, if not for the fact that Prometheus himself had a much more kickass ability. His spidey-sense could pinpoint every demon in a hundred-mile radius—including the enclave of seven Rodriquez was tracking. Tracking without a prayer of success, since Prometheus could sense that the nest’s summoners had already released the demons back to the demonic plane because they couldn’t provide the energy to sustain seven corporeal demons. Though there was some very suspicious activity nearby…

Of course, Rodriguez hadn’t been interested in anything Prometheus had to say on the subject of demon hunting, so they hadn’t located a single demon.

Boring. And pointless.

He hadn’t even been able to talk Rodriguez over to his side because roaring along on bikes without linked helmet-mikes made talking impossible and Rodriguez had told him to shut up every time they stopped to investigate a new trace of demonic energy. Prometheus had been a good boy—doing what Rodriguez said, when he said it, precisely as Karma had commanded—and he got jack shit out of it.

Today he’d woken up feeling distinctly less Boy Scoutish.

Maybe it was time Karma learned that breaking the rules could get the job done. Prometheus had decided to start that lesson today. With Rodriguez.

Prometheus crossed the parking lot, eyeing the ancient Honda. “I figured you more for a sports car kind of guy,” he told the exorcist leaning against the trunk. “That might be the ugliest car I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m more of a minivan guy, actually,” Rodriguez mouthed off. “This is my sister’s car.” He pointed to a microscopic scratch in the back bumper. “And this is where a car possessed by a demon you summoned rear-ended it.”

Ah. Apparently they’d come to the reparations portion of the program. That tiny scratch was the result of the demon-induced car crash Karma’d been so peeved about? Prometheus waved a hand toward the bumper—an unnecessary gesture, but he’d always felt showmanship added a certain flair to magic use. The scratch vanished. “Better?”

Rodriguez glared at the pristine bumper. “No.”

“You’re right.” Prometheus waved his hand again in a slightly more elaborate gesture and the drab, faded tan paint job was instantly replaced by a rich, gleaming dark blue.

Rodriguez’s frown intensified.

“No? You prefer green? Or perhaps black?” One glistening paint job replaced the next in a cycle of rich colors before Prometheus settled on a nice deep red, throwing in a pair of fuzzy dice dangling from the rearview mirror.

Rodriguez growled. “You can’t just wave a hand and make everything better by magic. You’re still the dickhead who almost got Brittany killed by sending a demon to possess her car.”

“Ah, so this is about Bubbles the Wonder Secretary.”

Rodriguez shot him an I-know-exactly-where-I’m-going-to-hide-your-body look. “Just get in the goddamn car.”

Prometheus smiled. The joys of male bonding. He slid the passenger seat back as far as it would go and folded himself into the car, relieved that at least he didn’t brain himself on the doorframe. His height could be a distinct disadvantage. One of the many reasons he preferred his VTX1800. The bike was a big sumbitch and never made him feel cramped. Rodriguez’s Harley was a little fella by comparison, but Prometheus had swallowed all the tempting mine’s bigger comments he could have made yesterday. Good behavior really did suck all the fun out of life.

Rodriguez buckled himself into the driver’s seat and cranked the key. The engine coughed before it caught and Prometheus sent a flicker of magic through the fuel-injection system to clean it up.

“Am I going to get to play today?” he asked. “Or are we going to run around all day chasing our own asses?”

“Chasing demons. Is your ass demonic?”

“What if we didn’t have to chase them? I can tell you exactly where they’re hiding.”

“Let me guess. You know where they are because you summoned them.”

“No.” Though he did have a good idea who had. “I know where they are because I have demon radar.” At Rodriguez’s skeptical look, Prometheus added, “Trust me.”

“No.”

“Fine, don’t trust me. Regardless of how I know where they are, I know. And if you let me tell you where to go, we find them faster, banish them faster, and that’s less time you have to spend with me. Sound good?”

“Sounds fucking fantastic. Provided this isn’t a trap.”

“If I harm you in any way, Karma spends the rest of my rather short life making me wish I was already dead. Doesn’t sound like a good strategy for me.”

“Fine. Where are they?”

Prometheus didn’t feel any great surge of victory—he’d known all along he would win, but it was pleasant to be proved right. “Get on Route 7 headed north. I’ll tell you which exit when we get closer.”

“If this is a wild goose chase…”

“You’ll jump rope with my intestines. I get it.”

Rodriguez shot him a startled look. “I’ll probably just tell Karma. I’m not really into doing the Rocky thing with intestines. Sounds messy.”

Prometheus smiled. “You have no idea.”

The exorcist shifted, subtly tilting his body away from Prometheus.

Prometheus sprawled back in his seat. “So, you and Sprinkles, huh?”

Rodriguez frowned. “Sprinkles?”

“You know. Bubbles, Skittles, Buttons, Candy, Sugarplum, Sunshine. The receptionist.”

“Brittany?” Rodriguez glared at him—uncomfortable bowel-jump-rope comments apparently forgotten. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Brittany, all right, cabron? You’re the reason she was stalked by a fucking demon for almost a month, so whatever the hell you wanna say, you just keep it to yourself.”

Prometheus contorted his face into a mask of contrition—or what he imagined contrition might look like. “I’m here to make amends.”

“Because Karma fucking forced you to. If you’re so intent on making amends, how come you haven’t said you’re sorry yet, huh?”

If that was all he wanted, that was easy enough. He didn’t believe in apologies, but words were even easier to throw around than magic paint jobs. “I’m sorry.” When Rodriguez glared, he repeated the words, trying for sincerity. “I’m very sorry. Truly. Deeply. Devoutly sorry.”

“Yeah, well, tell it to Brittany. She’s the one you should be apologizing to.”

“Right. Of course. Shall we swing by the office right now? Take care of that?”

Rodriguez didn’t change lanes, continuing northbound with an irritable glower. “You’re an ass. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I believe that was one of the names Karma shouted at me, but most people are too afraid of me to dare insult me.”

“Karma shouted at you? Like actually raised her voice?”

“Oh yeah.” Prometheus smiled at the memory. “That woman is a helluva sight when she’s in a temper.” When she wasn’t in a temper too.

Rodriguez was silent for a long moment, then he flicked Prometheus an appraising glance. “So, where’s this demon GPS of yours telling you to go?”

Prometheus bared his teeth in a feral grin, more than ready to show off his exorcising muscle. “Head to the campus we were near yesterday. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, save his periodic navigational instructions, Rodriguez stewing over whatever the hell tattooed exorcists with crappy attitudes thought about while Prometheus’s thoughts honed back in on Karma. She did fury well, with her eyes flashing fire, an enraged goddess, power pulsing out of every pore. Damn, did he ever want to get her back there. Touch that rage, breath it in. Pull all her passion and fire into his body and hold it inside him, filling up all the hollow spaces left by a deal he’d made almost two decades ago. She filled his thoughts, expanding to touch every cell in his body as the miles ticked by beneath the car. Heading north toward his redemption. Such as it was.

“Dude, it’s the fuzz! Hide the weed!”

Prometheus snorted a laugh and even Rodriguez the Hardass’s lips twitched. Sutherland College’s motto was Making the Future Bright, but if the odor coming from the cracked windows of Phi Gamma Gamma was any indication, it should have been Making the Future High. It was probably a less than promising sign for that future that the residents of Phi-G couldn’t tell the difference between Prometheus and Rodriguez—with his tats on every visible skin surface—and cops. And a worse sign that their reaction to a sting, such as it was, was to shout, “Hide the weed!” next to an open window.

After many thuds, a few feminine squeals and the sound of something crashing, the front door of the frat swung inward to reveal a walking PSA. Don’t do drugs, kids, or this could happen to you.

The kid looked like he hadn’t showered in a few days. He was wearing a pizza-stained T-shirt and jeans with his feet bare on the grimy floorboards. And he was sweating like he was facing the devil himself on soul-collection day.

But the really interesting part—in the fuck-me Chinese prophecy sense of the word—was the energy pulsing behind the not quite closed sliding doors of what looked to be the common room. This was the address where Prometheus had expected to find the shitstorm, but that was not the kind of demonic energy he’d expected to feel—those weren’t corporeal mischief demons they’d been summoning. Something was off. The boys of Phi-G had been very naughty indeed.

“Can I help you, officers?”

Rodriguez frowned past the kid, his attention snagged by the gap in the common room doors. “We aren’t—”

“Sure you can,” Prometheus cut in before Rodriguez could ruin their advantage by admitting they weren’t cops. “What’s your name, son?”

“Uh, Darren?”

“I’m Detective Murtaugh and this is my partner Officer Riggs. We’re investigating a series of incidents nearby—vandalism, theft, public menace, that kind of thing. Mind if we come in for a moment?” He started to move forward as if the invitation were a foregone conclusion.

Darren visibly paled and feinted half-heartedly to block his way. “We don’t know anything about that.”

“No?” Prometheus arched a brow. “Are you baking?”

“Baking?” the kid yelped.

“I can’t quite place that scent. Cookies, perhaps? Something smells delicious.”

“Brownies,” he blurted, his Adam’s apple bouncing up and down as he swallowed convulsively. “We, uh, we really love our brownies at Phi-G. Always have some in the oven, you know.”

“You do seem to be expert bakers. Why don’t we move this conversation into the common room?”

“I… uh…”

“Surely you don’t have anything to hide?”

Darren couldn’t seem to decide whether Prometheus was screwing with him or not. Which just went to show that pot had corroded his most basic instincts. Very few people looked at Prometheus and didn’t see a predator. Their survival instincts usually went off like sirens in his presence, but this kid was too busy trying to figure out if he was going to be expelled to worry about the bigger problem of the big bad wolf at his door.

Prometheus smiled, showing all his teeth. “Let us into the common room, Darren.” He put a little extra push behind the words, going Jedi-mind trick on Darren’s pot-fried ass. The stoner’s will crumpled like a soggy paper cup and he rushed over to jimmy the sliding doors open. They resisted every inch of the way, the tracks broken and warped. Every inch of the room beyond that was revealed made Prometheus’s grin stretch broader.

“I should have gone to college,” he muttered under his breath to Rodriguez.

Couches and foosball tables had been shoved against the walls to clear the center of the room, which had been covered with plastic and four inflatable kiddie pools. Each of the kiddie pools was filled with a different neon colored Jell-o. And huddled against the side wall, where Prometheus and Rodriguez hadn’t been able to see them from the front entry, about ten frat boys were clustered…with a dozen sorority girls in colorful bikinis, half of them already dripping sticky, gelatinous goo.

And every single one of those girls radiated a fierce red energy, distinctive of those possessed by demons and devils.

“I think we found our infestation,” Rodriguez mumbled.

They certainly had. But these weren’t demons. The energy was off. Too sexual. Demons tended toward the androgynous. The girls were definitely possessed, but Prometheus knew better than most that demons weren’t the only things that could possess a human. This group of supernatural visitors hadn’t come from the spell he’d sold the frat kid who’d come to him. Prometheus was careful—or as careful as a man who believed in chaos could be—never to sell spells that could be used to summon sex devils. That was his teenage fuckup, thank you very much, and he generally liked to avoid inflicting his mistakes on others.

“We were just—”

Prometheus didn’t wait to hear what they were just. This many sex devils—even if they were of the playful nymph variety—were dangerous. Far too dangerous to be allowed to remain.

He focused his energy, raised a hand and banished them with a flick of his fingers. Easy.

Or that’s what should have happened. The dozen nymphs released their hosts, the fiery red of their energy flaring bright for a moment before it was sucked in on itself, but a fraction of a second before it vanished, something jerked back, pulling against him. A dark, sinuous energy rolled down his spine, a sultry hello that felt all too familiar. And distinctly unwelcome. Shit. It couldn’t be her, could it? She’d been ignoring him for years, why would she start screwing with him now?

But then, right when the tug grew stronger and he felt his own magic start to seep down the line that connected him to whatever was pulling back on the nymphs, the ward he’d had tattooed on his lower abdomen to protect against the Big Bad Bitch began to burn, and the pull released, the nymphs vanishing with a snap.

Fuck. It was definitely her. And if she was watching him, playing with him, things were worse than he’d thought. For the first time, his cockiness wavered.

Rodriguez swore in Spanish. “Did you just exorcise the whole room? How is that even possible?” Then his awe melted into irritation and he growled, “How the hell are we supposed to question them now?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

“Don’t worry? We need to know who summoned them.”

“I know.”

“How can you—?” Rodriguez growled and shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

Across the room, the newly awakened sorority girls began to shriek and smack the nearest frat boys upon discovering themselves bikini-clad and covered with Jell-o. Since they seemed to be more than holding their own against the cowering frat brothers, Prometheus left them to defend their own honor, collaring Darren as he tried to sneak out of the room. The little stoner squirmed in his grasp, squeaking protests.

“C’mon, man, none of this is illegal!”

“Jell-o may not be, but we both know your famous Phi-G brownies have a few special ingredients on the not-so-legal side of the spectrum. Now, I could book you and bring you in and have you expelled and put in jail for three to five years, but that just sounds like a shitload of paperwork and I’m not here to bust your ass on drug charges. Unless you make me do it. I’m here because some of your recent pledges have been crossing the line on some of their pranks. So just point me in the direction of the brother in charge of pledge initiation and nobody has to go downtown or do any bullshit paperwork. Unless you want to go to prison…”

“Tyson!” Darren all but shouted, breaking the land-speed record for ratting out a frat brother. “Tyson’s in charge of all that stuff. Nobody needs to do paperwork, dude. I swear.”

“Where can we find this Tyson?”

“Philosophy 101 in Kent Hall.”

“He’s at a class?” Prometheus didn’t bother to disguise his surprise.

Darren shrugged. “All the hot freshmen chicks take Intro to Philosophy. Prime hunting ground.”

The future of America, ladies and gentlemen. “Which way is Kent Hall?”

Armed with directions and a description of Tyson as a “tallish dude with an Orioles cap”, Rodriguez and Prometheus set off across the quad.

“Murtaugh and Riggs?” Rodriguez grunted as they dodged a Frisbee. “You didn’t worry he would catch the reference?”

“Nah. Kids these days have no respect for the classics. Besides, I don’t believe in worry. If his smoked-up brain could function well enough to put it together, he deserved to catch us. We aren’t cops.”

“Cops can’t handle demons. But you didn’t have any trouble, did you? I’ve never seen anyone clear a room like that and you didn’t even look like you were trying. Though it would have been nice to question a few of them first. Confirm we have the right summoner.”

“We have the right summoner.”

“How can you be so sure it’s this Tyson guy—aw, shit. You taught the little prick how to do it, didn’t you? He’s summoning sex devils and putting them into the sorority girls, and you knew about it because you orchestrated the whole damn thing.”

“Rodriguez, your lack of faith in me hurts. It really does.”

“Does that mean you didn’t do it?”

“I didn’t orchestrate anything. I’m more of an enabler than a planner.” Though he hadn’t enabled this. He’d enabled the little prick, as Rodriguez so aptly called him, to summon lesser demons to inhabit the freshman frat pledges for two-hour stretches and told him how he might be able to summon corporeal mischief demons if he could get enough focused energy. Fairly harmless in the scheme of college hijinks. This was something else. Someone else had a hand in here. Prometheus just hoped he was wrong about who. The last thing he needed now was the Big Bad Bitch taking an interest in his activities again.

Rodriguez didn’t notice his introspection. He was too busy being disgusted. “Madre de Dios. You have no shame, do you?”

“Shame is for the weak.”

“And the remorseful. Aren’t you supposed to be atoning for your sins?”

“I’m leading you to the kid who summoned all the demons we’ve been chasing, aren’t I? And there he is now.” A kid in a backwards Orioles cap stepped out of the brick hall, oozing earnestness as he walked between two hot young coeds. Prometheus held back, letting the cocky little slimeball work his game until Tyson whipped out his phone and punched in their numbers—no need to add cockblocking to his list of sins. When the pair of blondes had bounced off, he and Rodriguez closed in on the little bastard.

“Tyson. Buddy. Remember me?”

Tyson froze in place—clearly having better predator-sensing instincts than Darren, though the rabbit-like if-I-don’t-move-it-won’t-eat-me response wasn’t the best survival tactic in this case.

“You’ve been busy, buddy.” Prometheus tucked his hands casually into his pockets as Rodriguez folded his arms and glared menacingly from Tyson’s opposite shoulder. Who’d have thought Prometheus would get to be the good cop? Life was full of surprises.

“I didn’t break any of the rules you gave me. I swear.”

“No, strictly speaking, you didn’t. But when did you start summoning nymphs, Tyson? I didn’t give you any instructions on how to do that.” Sex devils were way too close to her territory. Prometheus didn’t touch that shit. “How did you do it?”

“I dunno, it was kind of an accident. What’s the harm, man? We were just having fun. That’s what college is for, right?”

Technically for learning, but why split hairs? “Summoning a nymph to possess a girl so you can have sex with her is rape, douchebag.”

Tyson went white. “Nothing like that happened, dude! I swear. It was just the Jell-o wrestling and the mud wrestling and the wet T-shirt contest.”

“Good.” Prometheus caught his hand like he would shake it, but instead gripped it hard, staring straight into Tyson’s eyes. “And if you’re lying to me and even one girl was touched by one of your frat brothers without her consent, you won’t be able to get it up for a year. And if two girls were harmed, you’ll have a raging case of herpes for the next six months to remind you that this was a bad idea.” He smiled as he flexed his magic, shoving the curse home inside Tyson’s manly parts. He dropped Tyson’s hand and the kid put his hands protectively over his junk—for all the good it would do him now.

Prometheus turned to Rodriguez. “What’s the punishment for summoning without a license?”

“No one said anything about a license!” Tyson yelped.

Rodriguez was silent for a long minute before admitting, “There’s no license. And there’s no punishment. Just don’t do it again, dipshit.”

Prometheus arched his brow. “Don’t do it again? Really? I can do better than that.”

Tyson, who’d looked ready to faint in relief, blanched again. “Please,” he blubbered. “Please, I’m sorry. I swear. I won’t do it again. Like ever.”

“I believe you, Tyson. Now. But memory fades and without concrete consequences for our actions, it’s easy to forget why we shouldn’t do things.”

“I won’t forget, man. Never.”

“Good. But to help you remember…” Prometheus caught Tyson by the back of the neck and stared into his eyes again. “For every summoning you perform, you’ll lose a tooth. Starting with the ones in front. And every time you tell someone else how to perform a summoning, your fingernails will fall off and your skin will break out.” When the curse had set, Prometheus released him and stepped back with an easy smile.

“My teeth?”

“You aren’t vain about your pretty-boy smile, are you, Tyson?”

The kid slapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.

“Hey, just don’t summon anything else and you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Prometheus glanced over at Rodriguez. “We about done here?”

Rodriguez was studying him, visibly puzzled. “I’d say so.”

“Good. I’m starved.” Nothing worked up the appetite like a good curse.

Rodriguez jerked his head at Tyson. “I’d leave now, kid, before he can think of anything else to punish you for.”

Tyson yelped and took off at a run toward the frat quad. They watched him go, Rodriguez frowning, Prometheus grinning. He could get used to this white hat crap. Justice was fun.

“I thought you were supposed to be following my instructions,” Rodriguez commented mildly.

“I didn’t see you jumping in to take over. Figured you approved.”

“Did you really curse him? Or just scare him by making him think you did?”

“Oh, I cursed the hell out of him. He better pray none of those girls were taken advantage of.”

Rodriguez nodded, still looking after Tyson. “That isn’t how we do things at Karmic.”

“Maybe sometimes it should be. If you could’ve, you’d have cursed me when you found out I summoned the demon that went after Bubbles the Wonder Secretary, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s a job. We don’t do revenge.” He said that, but his locked jaw and death glare said Hell, yes.

“Revenge, justice. Who can tell the difference?”

"You gonna take revenge on whoever taught the little prick how to summon sex nymphs?”

If she doesn’t kill me first. But Rodriguez didn’t need to know exactly how deep the shit Prometheus found himself in was. He flashed a smile and looked the exorcist straight in the eyes. “Why would I do that?”

Rodriguez frowned, studying him. Prometheus must be losing his touch—either that or Rodriguez was almost as good a lie detector as Ronna.

A trio of co-eds slowed as they walked past, batting their eyes at Rodriguez. He glowered, letting the question of revenge drop. “Let’s get out of here.”

Prometheus waved him back to where they’d parked. “You’re the boss.” For now. Tonight Rodriguez would report back on what an upright citizen Prometheus had been and tomorrow he could begin Project Karma, buttering up the boss lady herself.