Brew-and-Jerry’s routine in such a short time. Dee was awoken by a text from Riona in the morning, saying they had their marching orders and to meet her at The Grotto at ten that night. Apparently, intelligence had been alerted to a demon presence at the university area’s hang spot du jour. College campuses were always a fertile recruiting and feeding ground for all sorts of dark world maggots, and no one knew that better than Marc. Dee half-expected that the priest would still be too drunk or hung over to be up for the mission, but to his surprise, Marc’s text asking for a “9 pm pick up” had immediately followed Riona’s.
“You know what your biggest problem is, Marc?” Dee’s comment hooked Marc’s eyebrow, which rose suspiciously. “You really don’t want anyone to like you for you, and you cover it up with sarcasm. I think you need to man up and just admit, both to yourself and the world, that you’re a pretty decent person.”
Marc’s head turned from side-to-side, his eyes casting a wide gaze over their surroundings. “Is this an intervention of some sort? Following up on the other night’s fabulously delivered pep talk with a little ‘get over yourself already’ chaser? Where are the cameras?”
“Just seems like you’re being a hypocrite, is all. Telling everyone that God forgives all sins, but apparently yours are too designer to be tossed out with the holy water. So instead of admitting you can fuck up, learn from it, and move on, you keep building this wall of pins and needles around you so no one ever suspects you might actually be human.”
Marc rolled his eyes and started his way across the street to join the queue. “Whatever, Dr. Phil. Let’s just focus on the task at hand and find our Keystone, eh?”
If there’s one thing of which Marc was certain, it was that a collared-priest in a bed of sin and swank like The Grotto would stand out like a professional wrestler in a preschool Christmas pageant. Wisely, the father had left his vestments in his top drawer next to his socks, and opted for black jeans and a Nine Inch Nails t-shirt that must have shrunk since college. Luckily, his membership and recent activities at Dee’s gym had tightened up that rib cage a bit, and a bit of his washboard was firming up beneath the cotton sheath. Still, he felt like a flounder amongst fleas for all the good his version of street clothes did him. The materials of choice in the crowd around him came in three varieties: leather, lace, and plastic. Metal studding was optional, but popular. Most of these clothes looked like they should carry a “Made in China” label. It wasn’t as though Dee, with his Levis and plain white tee, fitted in any better, but at least his collection of pure physical mass gave him a presence few would dare to question without fear of a fisted reprisal.
“Riona’s going to so stick out. She’s going to give us away,” Marc worried. “You know her with her smart little three-piece suits or grey yoga pants. There’s no way she’s going to blend into the …”
“There you guys are!”
Her voice — and her appearance — killed his words faster than a cobra strike on a flute-wielding swami.
H-O-T. Riona defined it. Forget her customary business casual ensemble. Tonight, she was dressed with sin in mind and temptation on the menu. What few scraps of clothes she did wear were tight and taut and turning Marc on like the Las Vegas Strip at dusk. Her red hair, which she normally wore tied back in an afterthought of a pony tail, was shiny and straight and hung half way down her back. He had a feeling it was the perfect length for grabbing from behind while being thrust into. Her face had been hijacked by a department store cosmetics counter, and held for ransom by Estee Lauder. Those batting eye lashes would show up on Logan Airport’s radar. Then there were those lips… Painted over in a shade so close to red flames and heating him from the inside out, Smokey the Bear should put them in the background of a PSA where woodland creatures sprinted for cover.
“Riona?”
Looked like he wasn’t the only one taken off guard, either. Marc tore his impure thoughts away from Riona long enough to take in Dee’s gaping mouth and wide eyes. The demigod beheld their Keystone with a mixture of awe,