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Authors: Andrew Cheney-Feid
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to be a record for me, five pounds in five days.”
I responded with sullen silence, watching the small, European cars whiz by us.
“Ever stop to consider they might be right about that birth certificate? That it’s a hoax?”
I gave Mark a sour look and hadn’t meant to.
“Buddy, I’m on your side. You also happen to be the spitting image of your father. In my book, that’s irrefutable proof that, at the very least, you’re an Iverson.”
Christie nodded again. “What about their marriage certificate? If Laura and your father were really married, there has to be a record of it somewhere.”
They were right. Too bad I was so damn irritable I couldn’t think straight. Another apparent side-effect to being an incubus was heightened emotions, especially anger. I liked being angry. It energized me. It didn’t, however, give me a right to be pissy with my friends. They didn’t deserve it.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right, but I couldn’t find one in any of Laura’s files.” The minute we got home, I was going to blow the lid off this mystery. And nothing, I promised myself, was going to keep me from doing just that.
Except we weren’t heading back to Los Angeles right away.
“You’ll get to the bottom of it,” Christie said, snuggling up to her husband on the bench seat next to me. “And for what it’s worth, I applaud your decision not to let the rest of the trip go to waste. Prague’s going to help chase away those disappointment demons, you’ll see.”
I was tempted to say, “Wanna bet?”
Through a Czech design connection, Christie arranged for lodgings in a charming boutique hotel located in Prague’s historic center, which was to be their treat. It was the least they could do after I’d paid for the airline tickets and accommodations in Rome.
Our rooms offered lovely views of the old Charles Bridge, its thoroughfare extending over the Vltava’s murky waters, and ending with the imposing Prague Castle perched high on a hilltop overlooking the city. I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, all I wanted was to get home and make one last ditch effort to obtain the answers I needed surrounding my strange adoption, which I was still convinced was no hoax.
If that effort failed, I was officially done with it. I’d do what my friends suggested and put the infuriating mystery of it behind me and get on with the rest of my life.
I was also still in the dark about the whole being a demon thing. Other than the entity at Joy’s claiming that my thirtieth birthday triggered the change, it didn’t explain how and why this had happen to me. How did a guy even begin to put something like this behind him?
In the meanwhile, Prague delivered. It proved exactly what Christie had promised it would and was the diversion I needed to pull me out of my sullen funk, at least temporarily.
Her contact, an engaging and flamboyant fellow named Pavel, proved an exceptional tour guide. By day, we visited all the noteworthy sites. By night, he had us wiling away the late hours in the trendiest restaurants, bars, and dance clubs the city had to offer. Dancing was anathema to Mark, which didn’t stop the rest of us from tearing up the dance floor without him.
It also quickly became evident why Prague was the porn capital of Europe. The women and men of the Czech Republic were hot, hot, hot!
Christie’s words to me during the ride to the airport in Rome turned out to be truer than I could have hoped for. Prague really had chased away the disappointment demons.
The night before our departure, Christie and Mark bowed out to spend a romantic evening alone. Fine by me. Pavel had lined up some special fun of his own for us.
Regrettably, that fun proved to be outside of my comfort zone—multiplied by ten!
I peered out through the taxicab window at the large banner above the entrance to Alcatraz, one of Prague’s most infamous sex clubs, and felt my shoulders slump. It boldly
I responded with sullen silence, watching the small, European cars whiz by us.
“Ever stop to consider they might be right about that birth certificate? That it’s a hoax?”
I gave Mark a sour look and hadn’t meant to.
“Buddy, I’m on your side. You also happen to be the spitting image of your father. In my book, that’s irrefutable proof that, at the very least, you’re an Iverson.”
Christie nodded again. “What about their marriage certificate? If Laura and your father were really married, there has to be a record of it somewhere.”
They were right. Too bad I was so damn irritable I couldn’t think straight. Another apparent side-effect to being an incubus was heightened emotions, especially anger. I liked being angry. It energized me. It didn’t, however, give me a right to be pissy with my friends. They didn’t deserve it.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right, but I couldn’t find one in any of Laura’s files.” The minute we got home, I was going to blow the lid off this mystery. And nothing, I promised myself, was going to keep me from doing just that.
Except we weren’t heading back to Los Angeles right away.
“You’ll get to the bottom of it,” Christie said, snuggling up to her husband on the bench seat next to me. “And for what it’s worth, I applaud your decision not to let the rest of the trip go to waste. Prague’s going to help chase away those disappointment demons, you’ll see.”
I was tempted to say, “Wanna bet?”
Through a Czech design connection, Christie arranged for lodgings in a charming boutique hotel located in Prague’s historic center, which was to be their treat. It was the least they could do after I’d paid for the airline tickets and accommodations in Rome.
Our rooms offered lovely views of the old Charles Bridge, its thoroughfare extending over the Vltava’s murky waters, and ending with the imposing Prague Castle perched high on a hilltop overlooking the city. I appreciated the gesture, but honestly, all I wanted was to get home and make one last ditch effort to obtain the answers I needed surrounding my strange adoption, which I was still convinced was no hoax.
If that effort failed, I was officially done with it. I’d do what my friends suggested and put the infuriating mystery of it behind me and get on with the rest of my life.
I was also still in the dark about the whole being a demon thing. Other than the entity at Joy’s claiming that my thirtieth birthday triggered the change, it didn’t explain how and why this had happen to me. How did a guy even begin to put something like this behind him?
In the meanwhile, Prague delivered. It proved exactly what Christie had promised it would and was the diversion I needed to pull me out of my sullen funk, at least temporarily.
Her contact, an engaging and flamboyant fellow named Pavel, proved an exceptional tour guide. By day, we visited all the noteworthy sites. By night, he had us wiling away the late hours in the trendiest restaurants, bars, and dance clubs the city had to offer. Dancing was anathema to Mark, which didn’t stop the rest of us from tearing up the dance floor without him.
It also quickly became evident why Prague was the porn capital of Europe. The women and men of the Czech Republic were hot, hot, hot!
Christie’s words to me during the ride to the airport in Rome turned out to be truer than I could have hoped for. Prague really had chased away the disappointment demons.
The night before our departure, Christie and Mark bowed out to spend a romantic evening alone. Fine by me. Pavel had lined up some special fun of his own for us.
Regrettably, that fun proved to be outside of my comfort zone—multiplied by ten!
I peered out through the taxicab window at the large banner above the entrance to Alcatraz, one of Prague’s most infamous sex clubs, and felt my shoulders slump. It boldly
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