Page 35 of It All Started with a Bite

“I’m Fred,” the guard said with a friendly nod. “I’m half demon.”

That explained the brimstone smell.

I was surprised that I was not more surprised by this. Maybe I was coming to terms with my weird new reality after all. Or maybe my sanity had fled the building.

I hesitated as I studied Fred. “Any relation to Ted, the security guy at Pennington & Graves?”

Fred blinked. “Good guess. He’s my cousin.”

Of course he was. “Is Ted also a?—?”

“Nope, he’s totally human,” Fred said cheerfully.

Charlene handed me a security pass. “Mr. Hawthorne is expecting you. Take the express elevator to the fifth floor.”

I stared at the pass. It already had my photo on it.

I sighed and headed in the direction Charlene had indicated with Bo, the receptionist’s and the guard’s stares boring into my neck.

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Demons are real?”

“Yeah.”

I grimaced. “How?”

“Ouija boards and summoning circles, mostly,” Bo replied. “Humans do the craziest things.”

The express elevator was hidden behind a panel of Brazilian rosewood. I accessed it with the pass and stared at the flashy interior.

It was all chrome and gold.

The mirrors made me uncomfortably aware of how nervous I looked all of a sudden.

“You smell like daffodils and stress,” Bo commented as it rose smoothly.

“Thanks for that insight.”

He perked up. “Want to rub my belly?”

“No.”

The doors opened on the fifth floor. We stepped out of the elevator, stopped, and stared.

The scene in front of us could only be described as organized chaos.

The stylish woman in the designer suit we’d seen outside the building was cursing and chasing what appeared to be floating papers down a corridor, her polished look a thing of the past and her eyes glowing yellow. A man who looked suspiciously like Kevin from my old job was arguing with someone I couldn’t see inside a break room. The carriage of a vintage typewriter moved ponderously on a desk in the open office ahead, keys click-clacking slowly under the hands of a pale figure with sharp canines, a suit that looked like it belonged in a museum, and a two-finger typist attitude. A woman with a pointy hat scowled and muttered under her breath while she color-coded a file with vicious swipes of her highlighters, a slick broomstick that looked like it could break the speed of sound floating next to her. A guy with horns and smoke curling out of his nostrils was rearranging the tiny fire extinguishers on his desk while he spoke with someone on the phone, reptilian tail swinging slowly where it poked out of his trousers.

“This place is a supernatural zoo,” I said leadenly.

“Better get used to it,” Bo contributed unhelpfully.

“Welcome to Hawthorne & Associates,” someone drawled to my right.

I turned to find Hugh looking surprisingly professional in a suit.

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