Page 22 of A Date With Demons

“Shall I flay him for you?” I offer her.

“Flay…him?” Portia says. She’s terrified at first, but then a smile plays on her lips. “Let me think about it for a minute, boys.”

The deejay claws at Bragg’s talons that cuff his throat. He makes a choked cry. “What the fuck, Portia?”

Bragg lifts him higher, the man’s feet kicking against his equipment.

Portia squares her shoulders. “You don’t get to speak to me or about me like that. Do you understand?”

“Call off your pit bulls, bitch!”

Bragg squeezes his windpipe and he twitches.

“No, I don’t think I will,” she says.

“I think my girlfriend would like an apology,” Bragg says.

“Yes,” I say. “Apologize. And mean it.”

The people nearby who haven’t yet run away from danger start to murmur their disapproval.

“They’re gonna kill him!”

“That would suck. We don’t have that many deejays in this town!”

“My god, he’s asphyxiating!”

Portia rolls her eyes and sighs, “Fine!” She places a soothing hand on Bragg’s arm and whispers, “He can’t apologize if you’re cutting off his air supply, babe.”

By this time, most of the house has emptied as the guests have poured outside, eager to get away from the scene.

Bragg reluctantly lets the impudent human breathe. “Dammit,” Bragg growls. “You’re lucky Portia’s here.”

The deejay, who’s about 135 pounds soaking wet, finally apologizes. It’s puny, pathetic, and quick, but it’s a sincere apology.

“You may put him down, Bragg,” Portia says.

My friend drops the deejay, who scrambles along the floor to hide behind the deejay booth. He’s so frightened, I scent his urge to vomit.

“You may keep your skin, then. For tonight,” I say.

Portia hooks her arms through ours and leads us out of the party, one of us on each side of her.

Chapter

Twelve

Bragg

Portia looks genuinelysad when she checks the time.

We’re back in her attic bedroom, helping her clean up the mess we made.

“We don’t have much time left,” she says, sitting on the windowsill, the sun beginning to peek over the distant hills behind her. “You’re both cleaning. Meanwhile, you’re supposed to go back in an hour. We should make the most of it and…you know…teach me more things.”

Her blush is radiant, and I feel my heart break.

“It will take an hour just to remove that dress of yours,” says Rewd, remembering how long it took Portia to put it on, complete with the layers of bloomers, underdress, overdress, and bodice, not to mention the hair accessories. “It’s better if we leave your home how it was before we arrived.”