Read Online Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls) by Killian McRae - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Killian McRae
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stairs, leading up to Persephone’s vulture’s perch of an office, Chipper punched a series of numbers in to a keypad. The door sprang open, and Persephone looked up only long enough to register their faces. She scowled, but it wasn’t clear who caused her disdain, Ramiel, Chipper, or the poor sap who she was yelling a la long distance.
“Bart, look,” she barked into an old-fashioned rotary phone, “you can’t charge me extra for shipping because your guys screwed up the order. It’s not my fault you had to truck it in from New York City. You’re going to give me the same delivery rate you usually do, or I’m simply going to find a new supplier, got it? Fuck credit. I don’t run my business on credit. I’m a cash it or kiss it kinda girl.” A pause as the other side apparently appeased her. Persephone nodded a few times. “Good, good. I knew you’d see reason. So, send us the invoice and we’ll get the payment out to you next week. I have to go, something just walked in.”
She set the receiver down on the base before circling to the front of her desk, where she took a cigarette from a jade box topped with a carved figure of an ox. Her inhale was slow, measured, pleasurable. A release of a cloud of smoke funneled through pursed lips. “What the hell do you want?” she at last asked as she tipped off the first remnants of ashes into the carpet.
“We need to talk. In private.” Ramiel removed his bomber jacket—nothing more than a prop so as to not to gain human attention in late autumnal Boston—and threw it over the back of a nearby sofa. Underneath, he stuck with basics. White tee, and faded jeans that looked as though they had seen better days, despite the fact that they had only come into existence when he envisioned them while materializing on the earthly plane. “Can you release your hound and order him back to his kennel?”
A flick of the two figures anchoring her cigarette accompanied, “Chipper, we’re good. You can go back to sleep.”
The bouncer nodded. “Sure thing, boss. I’m downstairs if you need me.”
“Didn’t know you got the Cerberi in the divorce,” Ramiel commented when they were alone.
The corner of the goddess’s mouth raised. “I’m not divorced. You know that. But, yes, the Cerberi have always been faithful protectors. Lucifer didn’t see a use for guard dogs in Hell, being that he brought a whole gaggle of fallen angels with him, all of them preinstalled with that far-reaching angelic magic of yours. My husband is too busy focusing on the needs of his front side to have someone watching his back, so they came with me. Besides, they work for scraps.”
Ramiel directed his attention back to a woman who, much to his dismay, served as a prototype for mortal beauty. Persephone knew exactly how to package that product to sell, too. The skirt: pencil. The blouse: low-cut and white. The heels: at least four inches, and like pedestals upon which legs perfected like sculptures sat. Her olive skin served as a perfect canvas for the gold chain that hung around her neck. Her blonde locks had been twisted in loops and gravity-defying swirls that would have even pleased Eva Peron. She was the human form perfected. All this, despite the fact that she wasn’t even human. When the Big Boss had made his accommodation to the last remnants of Earthlings 1.0, trapping them in mortal form, it had been a blessing for anyone with eyes, however, the forms he let them take.
Too bad those majestic bodies belied the mass of their egos, which Big Boss didn’t bother to shrink in proportion.
Ramiel took three steps in her direction. “I told you, I don’t want to see you around them.”
“Well, as long as one of them is my brother, you can expect me to pop in from time to time. Learn to deal with it, or arrange for his death. And there’s also the fact that I am technically their landlord, and have certain rights as set forth by the laws of the Commonwealth of
“Bart, look,” she barked into an old-fashioned rotary phone, “you can’t charge me extra for shipping because your guys screwed up the order. It’s not my fault you had to truck it in from New York City. You’re going to give me the same delivery rate you usually do, or I’m simply going to find a new supplier, got it? Fuck credit. I don’t run my business on credit. I’m a cash it or kiss it kinda girl.” A pause as the other side apparently appeased her. Persephone nodded a few times. “Good, good. I knew you’d see reason. So, send us the invoice and we’ll get the payment out to you next week. I have to go, something just walked in.”
She set the receiver down on the base before circling to the front of her desk, where she took a cigarette from a jade box topped with a carved figure of an ox. Her inhale was slow, measured, pleasurable. A release of a cloud of smoke funneled through pursed lips. “What the hell do you want?” she at last asked as she tipped off the first remnants of ashes into the carpet.
“We need to talk. In private.” Ramiel removed his bomber jacket—nothing more than a prop so as to not to gain human attention in late autumnal Boston—and threw it over the back of a nearby sofa. Underneath, he stuck with basics. White tee, and faded jeans that looked as though they had seen better days, despite the fact that they had only come into existence when he envisioned them while materializing on the earthly plane. “Can you release your hound and order him back to his kennel?”
A flick of the two figures anchoring her cigarette accompanied, “Chipper, we’re good. You can go back to sleep.”
The bouncer nodded. “Sure thing, boss. I’m downstairs if you need me.”
“Didn’t know you got the Cerberi in the divorce,” Ramiel commented when they were alone.
The corner of the goddess’s mouth raised. “I’m not divorced. You know that. But, yes, the Cerberi have always been faithful protectors. Lucifer didn’t see a use for guard dogs in Hell, being that he brought a whole gaggle of fallen angels with him, all of them preinstalled with that far-reaching angelic magic of yours. My husband is too busy focusing on the needs of his front side to have someone watching his back, so they came with me. Besides, they work for scraps.”
Ramiel directed his attention back to a woman who, much to his dismay, served as a prototype for mortal beauty. Persephone knew exactly how to package that product to sell, too. The skirt: pencil. The blouse: low-cut and white. The heels: at least four inches, and like pedestals upon which legs perfected like sculptures sat. Her olive skin served as a perfect canvas for the gold chain that hung around her neck. Her blonde locks had been twisted in loops and gravity-defying swirls that would have even pleased Eva Peron. She was the human form perfected. All this, despite the fact that she wasn’t even human. When the Big Boss had made his accommodation to the last remnants of Earthlings 1.0, trapping them in mortal form, it had been a blessing for anyone with eyes, however, the forms he let them take.
Too bad those majestic bodies belied the mass of their egos, which Big Boss didn’t bother to shrink in proportion.
Ramiel took three steps in her direction. “I told you, I don’t want to see you around them.”
“Well, as long as one of them is my brother, you can expect me to pop in from time to time. Learn to deal with it, or arrange for his death. And there’s also the fact that I am technically their landlord, and have certain rights as set forth by the laws of the Commonwealth of
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