But he wasn’t buying that. “Darlin’, you have as much chance of findin’ that cave dungeon as a one-legged lady at an ass-kicking contest.”
“Charming!” she murmured at his word choice.
Beau just grinned, took her by the hand and led her down the deserted corridor, looking right and left to make sure no one saw them. Once, he yanked her into a niche until two imps came tumbling by, talking enthusiastically about going to a game room. Regina didn’t want to think about what games they might be playing.
Regina could probably handle two imps on her own. Imps were the weakest of all demons. If they had been mungs or haakai, that would be a different story. Even if these two imps were lower-level devils, it was best not to draw their attention. So, they waited, and Regina became aware of Beau’s musky male scent, not unpleasant except for the sulfurous undertones.
After at least fifteen minutes of travel along the twists and turns, steps, and creaky iron doors, they came to the cave where Zeb was being held. Along the way, they’d seen other caves and other long-held victims whose conditions were beyond pitiful. It made Regina feel guilty that she just passed them by, but she couldn’t help everyone, and, really, demons deserved what they got. Didn’t they? Most of them anyway.
Craven was indeed fast asleep from Grimelda’s potion, but Zeb’s eyes were wide open.
“You again?” he said. “So I wasn’t dreaming when I saw you last night?”
“No, you weren’t dreaming, but you’ll wish you were if you call me Satan’s sister again.”
Zeb grinned, or tried to with his raw, blood-seeping lips. “I know who you are now. A vangel. Regina the Witch. I saw you one time at . . .” He glanced behind Regina at Beau who was examining some of the torture implements. “. . . at the castle.”
She nodded, understanding that he didn’t want to give away any details about the vangel headquarters, even to a Lucipire who appeared to be helping her.
“Why are you here?”
“To rescue you.”
“Lord help me!”
“You better hope the Lord is on your side,” she snapped.
“And the old witch who gave Craven the beer?”
“That was Grimelda. She’s helping me, along with Patience Allister who’s standing guard with her at the tunnel entrance. And Beauregard Doucet.” She motioned toward Beau who was gawking at the walls where moving pictures were being shown of Zeb kissing a woman, with two laughing children tugging on their knees to be picked up, a loop of images being repeated over and over. She would have liked to look closer herself. Zeb appeared to be a really good kisser.
Beau shook his head as if to clear it (Regina did, too) and said to Zeb, “We’ve howdied but ain’t shook hands yet.”
There was the thing! In the short time Regina had come to know Beau, he had spouted enough Cajun colloquialisms to fill a book, one hokier than the other, even in the midst of dire danger. Did he deliberately try to appear dumb as a rock?
“The Cajun,” Zeb said in recognition. Apparently, he’d been exposed to a few of Beau’s sayings, as well. Then Zeb turned back to Regina. “Whose half-brained idea was it to engage three witch Lucipires to help you? They aren’t called the Crazy Coven for nothing.”
Well, that was rude. “Three witches do not a coven make,” she remarked.
“We’re recruiting,” Beau said defensively, “but not everyone can be a witch, ya know.”
“I know.” I really do.
“Besides, we witches have a bad rep. All that toad’s feet and eyes of newt crap.”
Zeb interrupted. “Excuse me, but are you two here to rescue me or engage in witchy chitchat? I don’t care if you join the Crazy Coven or the Book of the Month Club, just get me the hell out of here.”
“If I were you, Zeb, I wouldn’t be knocking Beau, and Patience, and Grimelda.” Or me. “We need all the help we can get.” She winked at Zeb, behind Beau’s back, to indicate she had no intention of bringing those three with them. Zeb didn’t seem to notice. He was too engrossed, painfully so, in his own motion pictures. Now, the children were gone, and he was doing more than kiss the woman. Aside from being a good kisser, Zeb was also clearly a good . . . well, never mind!
“Why didn’t Vikar or one of the VIK come?” he asked. The seven Sigurdsson brothers comprised the VIK. “If they think I’m worth rescuing, why didn’t they come themselves?”
“Uh, they were busy.”
He narrowed his eyes . . . well, the one not swollen shut . . . at her. “They’re not coming,” he deduced with a sigh of disappointment.
“Not right away.”
Beau snickered, but when she shot him a dirty look, she saw him still staring at the walls, like a pervert. And why not? He was a demon; perversion came naturally.
“It’s been a year. Three hundred and seventy-five days, actually,” Zeb pointed out. “Not that I ever expected Michael to relent, but, to my shame, I hoped.”
“The Lord moves in mysterious ways,” she replied evasively.
“And He sent you?” Definite hope in his voice.
“Um . . . you could say that.”
“You mean, the VIK sent you at His direction?” Confusion mixed with hope now.
She hated deflating his balloon. “Not exactly.”
“I’m afraid to ask what you mean by that,” he remarked with a shard of misgiving sharp enough to pierce . . . a balloon.
“Then don’t.”
Pop, pop, pop!
“Are you sure Satan didn’t send you, just to raise my hopes and dash them all in one demonic breath?”
“Don’t start the Satan’s sister nonsense again.”
“Listen, you’re wasting time.”
“I’m wasting time? Well, you ungrateful—”
“Unlock my chains. The key is on the ring attached to Craven’s belt. Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Can you even stand?”
“I don’t know. They’ve been burning the skin off the bottoms of my feet. You might have to carry me.”
Even with all the weight he’d lost, Regina doubted she could do that. “Maybe we can just teletransport from here.”
“I seem to have lost my ability to teletransport. Don’t you think I would have done that long ago if I were able?”
That made sense. “Does that mean you’re not a demon anymore?”
“I don’t know. Enough with all these questions! How long have you been inside Horror so far?”
She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “More than twenty-four hours.”
“Oh shit! That long? You’re going to get caught.”
“No, she’s not,” Beau said. He had come to stand beside her, no longer entranced by the family videos. “We’re guarding her . . . our new best friend.” He attempted to put an arm on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.
Instead of making a snide remark, Zeb asked, “Why? Why would a Lucipire offer a vangel protection?”
“Because she’s taking us with her. With you and her.” The steely look Beau gave Zeb was not at all hokey now. His expression dared Zeb to disagree.
Zeb let out a painful-sounding choke of laughter. “A five-person tandem teletransport? Or are we going to be like a kite with four tails?”
Regina didn’t appreciate his mocking her. “I don’t know. I’m still working that out.” She’d had enough trouble getting here herself, but she thought she might be able to manage one other person . . . Zeb . . . if he held on tight. On the other hand, Beau and Patience and Grimelda might have enough combined witch/Lucipire transport energy to carry them all, but then, that meant the three of them would be coming along for the ride. Oh, this was becoming way too complicated. “Some things will have to be decided on the spot. There’s nothing wrong with winging it on occasion. Winging, vangels, angels, wings, get it? Ha, ha, ha.” I am losing it here.
“Are you demented?”
More and more by the minute. “Are you rude? Really? I’m here to save your ass.”
r /> “Yeah, we’re all gonna save your ass, big-time,” Beau contended. “Ass savers, that’s us.”
Holy clouds! This was a goat fuck in the making. That was an expression Regina had heard another VIK, Trond Sigurdsson, and his Navy SEALs pals use on occasion. It meant one big mess.
“Sorry,” Zeb said, not at all apologetic. “But where, pray tell, do you expect us all to land?”
“Well, I was thinking . . .” Regina started to say.
When she didn’t go on, Zeb said, “Lord spare me from a thinking woman.”
Definitely rude! She made a hissing sound of disgust.
“Sorry,” he lied again. “Go on.”
“I heard a rumor that you have a secret island in the Caribbean.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“I overheard Trond Sigurdsson tell his brother Vikar about it one day. Trond is a Navy SEAL vangel who—”
“I know who Trond is!” he shouted, then glanced at Craven to make sure his outburst hadn’t awakened the sleeping giant. In a lower voice, he asked, “Did he say where it was?”
She shook her head. “No, but I figured you could maybe tell us how to get there. And once we arrive, I can maybe go back to the castle and maybe talk Vikar into convincing Mike to maybe come get you all.”
“There’s a whole lot of maybes in there.”
“It is what it is.”
“I hate that expression.”
“I do, too. So, how does a Lucipire get to have an island?”
“It’s my hidey-hole.”
“Hidey-hole? What are you, like twelve years old?”
“It is what it is.”
“Aaarrgh!”
“Holy Sac-au-lait!” Beau said then. He was staring down at Zeb’s barbed wire–encased penis. “Ah bet that hurt worse’n a cat tail in a possum trap.”
“Only if it enlarges.”
“Man, ya’ll better hope ya doan get a sudden hard-on. They come on me all the time, faster ’n a dog on a bone. A bone, boner, get it?”
Zeb groaned at Beau’s lame attempt at humor. “I haven’t seen anything worthy of an erection in ages.”
“Is that meant as an insult to me?” Regina asked, giving him her best witchy stink eye. “Like I have any interest in your dangly parts!”
“So, Regina,” Zeb said. “You, and me, and three other witches on an island?”
“Yes.”
“Ménage à cinq?”
Zeb was either in shock, or he had a warped sense of humor, like Beau. But they were wasting precious time with this nonsense. “Sure,” she said.
“Go for it,” he said, dropping back onto the pallet and stretching out his manacled arms and legs. “What else have I got to lose?”
Chapter 4
The devil was in the details . . .
Zeb had no interest in sex at the moment (hardly ever, for that matter), especially with a barbed wire cock. Not a one-on-one with the admittedly alluring vangel witch who resembled the red-haired, cream-skinned Satan, and certainly not a five-way that included the Crazy Coven, demon vampire witches who were clearly a dozen straws short of a full broom.
In fact, Zeb had every intention of ditching all four witches once he was out of Horror, assuming they got him that far. Alone, he might have a chance to regroup and escape to a safe place. With all that extra baggage, none of them would succeed.
His loner intentions weren’t worth piss on a snowbank, he soon discovered, once they unlocked him and he tried to stand on his feet.
Apparently skin on the soles was essential for that mere task, as he’d suspected. The pain was so excruciating that Zeb’s knees buckled and he almost passed out. Beau caught him just in time.
“I’ll carry him,” Beau said to Regina.
“What? No, no, no! My ribs are broken! No carrying!” Zeb tried to say. “A hospital gurney, that’s what we need. Or a padded robe. Anything to protect my ribs.”
No one paid him any attention.
“Y’all better secure Craven ta that La-Z-Boy, jist in case he wakes before we kin get outta Dodge,” Beau advised Regina.
“Grimelda said the potion would last for three hours. That gives us another hour, at least.”
“My PawPaw always said, ‘Never trust a sleepin’ gator.’”
“Oookay.” Through the haze of his pain, with Beau holding him upright with both hands under his armpits, he saw Regina scurrying around looking for rope. The only thing she could find in short order was duct tape, which Jasper had used in the early days of Zeb’s captivity to manscape his pubic hairs.
Ouch!
“That’ll do. Duct tape is a guy’s best friend. Ah even tied up a gator with duct tape one time,” Beau said.
“Why?” Zeb asked, without thinking.
“ ’Cause Ah could,” Beau answered, as if that made perfect sense. “And mah cousin Rufus dared me to.”
“I suspect more than a little home brew was involved,” Regina said as she attempted to peel off a long strip of the duct tape and it kept getting attached to itself. After bunching up and tossing aside three tries, she finally got a first clear strip.
“Fer sure, darlin’.”
So, Horror’s tortureologist soon found himself duct-taped to the chair with about fifty yards of the gray stuff. Luckily, Craven stayed unconscious from Grimelda’s potion during the whole clumsy process, including a wide swath across his snoring mouth. If anything would wake the mouth breather up, that would be it, but Zeb found himself unable to speak above a groan to point that out, especially when Beau hefted him not so gently up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. His cracked ribs cracked some more.
If he’d had anything in his stomach, he would have thrown it up. Instead, he just passed out. Which was a blessing, really.
Next time he awakened, the four crazies were standing at a crossroads of underground corridors arguing. Zeb could barely make out their faces in the dim motion sensor lights, especially from his upside-down position over Beau’s shoulder, craning his head up and around. If he wasn’t already bruised, battered and, well, dead, he would be soon from the pounding pain behind his eyeballs.
“Why aren’t we going out the way we came in?” Regina wanted to know.
“There’s been a change in plan,” Grimelda said with a cackle of glee, presumably because she was the master of this change in plan. “We’ll go down that corridor over there. It comes out about a mile or so outside of Horror.”
What plan? They have a plan? I thought they were going to wing it.
“A mile!” Beau exclaimed, shifting Zeb on his shoulder.
Zeb saw stars at that move, and not the celestial kind.
“I’ll carry him for a while,” Regina offered.
That I’d like to see. Not!
“Not ta worry, darlin’. Ah kin handle it.”
Darlin’? I’m in excruciating pain, and he has time for darlin’s?
“Why don’t we just teletransport from here?” Regina asked.
Yeah. Good idea! Let’s do it. But wait. Teletransport where? Oh, damn, but my head hurts, and my ribs, and my cock in its barbed wire condom where it keeps bouncing against Beau’s back. I want to kill somebody. I really do. Maybe myself.
“No, no, no! No teletransport inside the castle,” Grimelda said. “I just found out, that new Lucipire . . . Gordon the Geek . . . set up a radar system for detecting every single teletransport into and out of Horror.”
That’s something new. Like a speed trap for escapees. Good, if you’re a demon, to have such security, but not so good for those wanting to skip the joint. Like us. Uh-oh! We’re going to get caught. Oh, hell! Oh, damn! Oh, shit! We’re definitely going to . . .
They were on the move again. This time down another corridor. Bounce, bounce, bounce. Pain, pain, pain. Yak, yak, yak.
“Where’s Patience, by the way?” Regina asked.
“Outside,” Grimelda answered as she huffed along trying to keep up with Beau and Regina. “Blowin’ up the balloo
n.”
“Cool!” Beau said.
“What balloon?” Regina asked.
“Hot air balloon,” Grimelda answered. “We got to get out of the radar, dearie.”
“In a balloon?” Regina almost shrieked.
“What? You thinkin’ we could all fly out on brooms?” Grimelda snarked. “We could have tried snowmobiles, but they make so much noise.”
“Oh, Ah always want to go on a ski mobile,” Beau said, clearly disappointed.
“Well, we ain’t got no ski mobiles. We got a big balloon from the North Pole where Santa was savin’ it for an emergency. Ha, ha, ha.”
Regina rolled her eyes. “Are you people nuts?”
Zeb decided that he concurred with her sentiment and let his head drop to rest his cheek against Beau’s shoulder.
“Wait! Don’t fall asleep now. You need to direct us to your island,” Regina shouted into his ear. Which gave him an earache, on top of his headache, on top of his rib ache, on top of heartache, on top of . . .
Zeb happily succumbed to delicious oblivion. Hopefully, when he awakened next time, this would all have been a dream.
Up, up, and away! . . .
Regina was high above the Norselands, drifting away from Horror Castle. Joy, Joy! Yes, she was accompanied by three wacko witch demon vampires, and one high haakai demon (that would be Zeb), but at least they were beyond the range of the geek Lucipire’s teletransport radar. Hopefully.
Of course, Jasper might very well launch a rocket or something at any moment, popping the balloon. But Regina chose to remain optimistic. No popping of her personal Pollyanna balloon.
The good thing in this latest step of what could only be called Regina’s Great Adventure was that the hot air balloon had already been inflated. Apparently, a mission to capture some dire sinners in Denmark the day before had involved hot air balloon enthusiasts, and the Lucipire captors had yet to deflate the balloon.
The bad thing was that Regina and her gang didn’t know diddly squat about steering an airborne wicker basket.
But wait. Regina was determined to remain positive.
Okay, another good thing was that Zeb remained unconscious.