* * *
Casanova was warm, and there was the seductive slide of silken flesh against his own. He let his hand slowly fondle the nearest pert backside without bothering to open his eyes. ‘Ticia, he identified lazily. Or possibly Berenice. He decided he was hungry and threw a leg over whoever-it-was, pressing the giggling bundle further into the soft folds of the feather bed.
Berenice, he decided. She really did have the most delightful—
The covers were abruptly stripped away, and a puff of air conditioning hit his bare ass. The girls squealed, more out of cold than modesty, he suspected, although there was a strange man in the room. Very strange, Casanova thought resentfully, catching sight of a familiar scowl in the mirror behind the bed.
“Get up,” he was told brusquely.
“The hotel had best be burning down,” he said, rolling over and reaching for his robe. ‘Ticia grabbed it first and fled, followed by Berenice. The blond took her time, and didn’t bother to cover up her best asset as she swayed out of the room. She did, however, throw a coy glance over her shoulder in the direction of the war mage.
No accounting for taste, Casanova thought darkly, as Jason’s red head popped up over the far side of the bed. He looked around blearily, wincing at the light. Pritkin hiked a thumb at him. “Out.”
“Just because you’ve chosen the life of a eunuch--” Casanova began hotly, cutting off when his clothes hit him in the solar plexus.
“Get dressed.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“It’s who in hell,” Pritkin said, with a strange smile.
It took Casanova a second to get it, because it was the middle of the day—far too early for him to be vertical. And because it was so bizarre. “Since when do you claim your title?”
“Whenever it’s useful to me. Now get dressed. Unless you intend to go naked.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Ealdris escaped again.”
Casanova stared at him, his clothes clutched to his chest. “Ealdris? Ancient demon battle queen with a grudge against the world, that Ealdris?”
“That would be the one.”
“But…but you just put her back in prison!”
“And now she’s out again.”
Casanova stared at him, feeling slightly ill. Not that he’d had anything to do with it. When one of the ancient horrors escaped their very just imprisonment, it was a problem for the demon lords, not the minor-level incubus with whom he shared body space. But he was marginally acquainted with the lord who had returned this particular horror to captivity, and beings as old as Ealdris took a wide-ranging view of retribution.
He suddenly wanted Pritkin gone for an entirely new reason.
“What do you expect me to do about it?” he demanded. “I wouldn’t last ten seconds against one of those things!” He shivered. “Hateful, filthy beasts. I don’t know why the council didn’t destroy them all—”
“Probably because it had enough trouble merely imprisoning them.”
“Which is my point! If the council itself couldn’t deal with them, what use do you think I’d be?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Then why in the name of all that’s unholy are you dragging me—”
“I’m not dragging you anywhere. You’re going upstairs.”
“Up—”Casanova stopped, a horrible idea surfacing. “No. Oh, no. Please tell me that complete disaster of a—”
“Careful.”
“I knew it!” Casanova raged. “It’s that awful, awful woman, isn’t it? She’s somehow involved in this.”
“She isn’t involved.”
“This used to be a nice, quiet operation—”
“Run by a mob boss.”
“--and then she showed up and look at it! Someone is always trying to kill her, or kidnap her or do something to her and what happens in the process?”
“A good woman is put through hell for no reason?”
Casanova frowned. “No. My hotel is slowly being destroyed! Every other week it’s either raided or bombed or taken over by a bunch of deadbeats. And now there’s an ancient nightmare coming to finish off what’s left!”
“Ealdris has never heard of Miss Palmer.”
“How the hell can I be expected to show a profit when—” Casanova stopped, as the mage’s words sunk in. “She hasn’t?”
“To my knowledge, no.”
“Then why are you—”
“Because Rosier has.”
Casanova felt his demon curl into a tighter ball somewhere under his sternum. Or maybe that was his stomach. It tended to give him problems whenever the Lord of the Incubi decided to pay a visit. “What does he have to do with this?”
“He’s offered me a deal. I recapture Ealdris, and he refrains from further harm to Miss Palmer.”
“And you believe him?”
“He swore a binding oath. If I succeed, he will have no choice but to honor his commitment or the curse will kill him.”
“And this involves me why?” Casanova demanded, dropping the wrinkled mass of clothing and stalking over to the closet for something more suitable.
“Because I don’t trust him.”
“And you do me? I’m possessed by one of his subjects, remember?”
“Which is why you’ll be able to detect a demon presence, should one show up. And I trust your enlightened self-interest. What do you think Mircea would do to you if you let his golden goose get killed on your watch?”
Casanova scowled, and yanked on a pair of boxers. “If you’re so concerned, tell Rosier to go hang. Stay and watch the damn girl yourself!”
“I can’t afford to do that.”
“And why not? We’ve managed to keep her alive so far without making deals with the devil—any devil.”
“We’ve been lucky so far. But I can’t protect her 24/7. Neither can you. Neither can that fool of a vampire, who believes that if he surrounds her with enough of his creatures, no one can touch her.”
Casanova shifted slightly, uncomfortable with criticism of his other master. Even if he somewhat agreed with it. “You can’t protect her at all if you’re dead,” he pointed out.
“That is my problem. Yours is making sure that nothing happens while I’m away.”
Casanova scowled and pulled on a honey-colored shirt that set off his olive skin. “She’s a time traveler, isn’t she? Why not have her shift a few weeks into the past until you deal with this, take in a movie?”
“Because that would require telling her why she needs to go. And that would result in her deciding to help me—whether I like it or not!”
“But even Mircea has trouble keeping up with her. How am I supposed—”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“I could chase her around the training salle like you do, but I’m not that frustrated,” Casanova said caustically. “I prefer a different kind of swordplay with nubile young—”
“Anything that touches her gets hacked off when I return.”
“Walking disaster areas are not my type,” Casanova sneered. “You can save the threats.” Besides, Mircea had already made them all.
“Can you think of no way of amusing a young woman for an afternoon besides sex?”
Casanova blinked. “Why would I want to do that?”
The mage took a deep breath for some reason. “I don’t care what excuse you use, merely that you stay with her. Her bodyguards won’t notice a demon presence until it’s too late, but you will.
“Making me the chief target! Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because--”
He broke off when the mage grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him into the wall. “I don’t care how you feel,” he hissed, looking a lot like his father suddenly. “I care about what you do. Allow me to spell things out for you. I will be back. And if she’s dead, so are you.”
Casanova watched him leave, feeling his demon curling within him. “Well, shit,” they said.