Naughty Karma

There was something very wrong with Karma’s receptionist. No one should be that excited about laundry. One of Prometheus’s favorite magical perks was that he hadn’t had to do a load of colors in twenty years. “Uh- huh,” he said, in what he hoped was an encouraging tone, not an I’m-mentally-fitting-you-for-a-strait-jacket one.

Before Brittany could wax rhapsodic on the joys of laundry, the door to Karma’s office opened. Prometheus came to attention in his chair, but the figure exiting the office and sealing it after himself could not have been more opposite from the elegant, contained proprietress of Karmic Consultants.

He was Latino, slightly above average height—which meant Prometheus towered over him—and thick, black tribal tattoos marked his arms from his wrists to where they disappeared into the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. He might as well have tattooed “Badass” on his forehead.

Sprinkles the Wonder Secretary sprang out of her chair. “Luis!”

Ah, the infamous boyfriend. Not a pairing he would have predicted. The gang banger and the cheerleader. It was like an after school special gone wrong. Prometheus came to his feet as well, as Luis stalked to the brunette’s side.

The boyfriend raked him with a distinctly unfriendly gaze. “So you’re the asshole.”

“Luis,” Brittany scolded.

Prometheus grinned. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever been called. “That’s me. And you are?”

“I’m the poor bastard who’s stuck with you. Rodriguez. Exorcist.” He instinctively shoved his hand out to shake Prometheus’s, then seemed to think better of it and used the hand to urge Sunshine behind him. “Karma wants you to shadow me.”

Prometheus’s grin dropped from his face. Shit.

He’d been counting on his ability to worm his way into Karma’s good graces, but it looked like her graces weren’t even going to be present to be penetrated. Bad enough he had to play at being a white hat. There was no way he was going to trail along behind an exorcist, watching without doing a damn thing as the fool bungled his way through Demons 101. He should be teaching a master course on demons to Karma’s staff, not playing at being some tattooed punk’s sidekick.

“I don’t shadow.”

“Nullifying our agreement already?”

Prometheus whipped around at the sultry sound of Karma’s phone-sex-operator voice. He hadn’t even heard the door to her office open again, but there she stood, framed by the doorway. Composed, controlled. Queen of all she surveyed.

Damn if that didn’t make him want to muss her up. But he was being a good boy. If it killed him.

“Of course not.” Prometheus smiled his most earnest smile—which, admittedly, wasn’t very earnest. “I simply thought you would want to take advantage of the full range of my significant abilities.”

The exorcist snorted. Karma didn’t even blink.

“I don’t trust you,” she said flatly. “I trust Rodriguez. You will do as he says, when he says it, and if he has a positive report I will consider allowing you more leeway. You’re on probation, Prometheus. Don’t push it.” She gave him an icy smile. “Besides, Rodriguez and Brittany are two of my employees you’ve wronged. You want to show me how reformed you are? Start by making amends with them.”

Prometheus eyed the pair. Brittany didn’t look like she needed amends—if she even had the brainpower necessary to understand what amends were. She beamed at him encouragingly. Rodriguez, on the other hand, looked like he would cheerfully cut open Prometheus’s mid-section to jump rope with his intestines. Prometheus returned his gaze to Karma’s. “I’d rather make amends with you,” he said, giving amends the dirtiest, most suggestive inflection and taking a step toward her, crowding into her space until jasmine and ginger teased his nostrils.

She didn’t even give him a twitch of reaction, but her energy flared and he thought he saw the slightest hint of color touch her high cheekbones. Damn, he loved her feigned indifference, that near-constant resistance to the attraction that crackled between them whenever he got too close. Karma wasn’t the type to fall easily into his arms, but the push and pull of simmering heat and cool disdain were aphrodisiacs in their own way.

She dismissed him with a slow, disdainful lift of one eyebrow, looking past him to the Starbucks on the table. “I don’t drink coffee.”

With that, she disappeared back into her office, the door snicking shut behind her. Prometheus stared at the wood panel for a long moment, tempted to use a bit of telekinesis to throw it open, to see if she was hovering on the other side, as intently aware of him as he was of her.

“Come on, cabron,” the exorcist grumbled. “I don’t have all day.”

Prometheus didn’t have the time to waste staring at doors either, but something told him this doorway was worth laying siege to. He wondered if Karma realized her defenses were already under attack.

“Hey. Pendejo,” the exorcist snapped.

Prometheus pulled his attention away from the door. “I’m coming.” Like a good boy.

Karma leaned back against the solid wood of the door, trying to reclaim her center.

She should have resisted the temptation to see how Prometheus would react to learning Rodriguez was going to be his keeper. Temptation had never done her any favors. Always better to walk in the opposite direction—quickly and calmly, like an evacuation drill.

She pressed her hands to her face, feeling the heat pouring off her cheeks. Why did that man unsettle her so? It wasn’t attraction, necessarily. It was more a vulnerability—like he had found a crack in her facade and she couldn’t maintain her perfect autonomy around him. He made her feel human—when that was the last thing she wanted.

Why him of all people?

She didn’t like it and she couldn’t afford it. A woman couldn’t juggle all the balls Karma had to keep in the air to run Karmic Consultants smoothly if she was moony-eyed over a tall warlock with unnaturally white hair.

Ciara needed her. Her clients needed her. Karma couldn’t afford distraction.

But still she listened to the voices in the outer office until she heard the street door slam behind Rodriguez and Prometheus. Only then did she push away from the door and cross to her desk, her heart rate returning to a normal speed as the distance between herself and the warlock stretched farther.

Keeping temptation at arm’s length was good. A few counties away would be even better. For her own selfish sake, Karma hoped those demons had nested far out in the country, taking Prometheus miles and miles away from the refuge of her office.

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