Page 1 of Minions and Magic
Chapter 1
Xavier
I’ll admit that Benjamin Frederick Allen threw one heck of an engagement party, but then again he could afford to. The man had made millions over the last decade. Everything he touched turned to gold, just like Midas. And just like Midas, that gift had come with a price.
I was here to remind him of that price—and to remind him that the poorly worded bargain he’d made ten years ago at a crossroads didn’t mean the money he so desperately desired would bring him any happiness.
His lover had given him the clap. His wife had left him. He’d had ten years of IRS audits, and was facing a class-action lawsuit. He was completely unaware that the seam in his pants had split and everyone was getting a lovely view of his red underwear. In addition, the daughter whose engagement party he’d spent some serious coin on hated him and was eagerly counting the days until he died.
That one wasn’t my doing. I too was eagerly counting the days until Benjamin Frederick Allen died, but for different reasons. I’d get his soul—a far more valuable commodity than a bunch of paper that the government would seize less than a year after his death.
What to do, what to do? Hmmm.
I’d thought about bringing an unexpected tornado to ruin this party, but that was too much work. So here I stood, looking quite dapper if I might say so myself, wearing a tuxedo and holding a glass of expensive champagne, trying to decide the best way to make Benjamin Frederick Allen just a little more miserable. He was going to die in two years, so I really needed to step up my game before he was out of my hands and into someone else’s in hell.
The food.
I felt a twinge of guilt, because the food really looked magnificent. Maybe I wouldn’t tamper with all of it. I sauntered over to the tables and eyed the spread. Prime rib sandwiches with fresh horseradish. Bite-size quiche with spinach. Little pastries with bresaola and blue cheese. Lamb meatballs with feta. Hand-made potato chips sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning. A mushroom pâté with bread that smelled like it had come right out of the oven. Tiny crab cakes that looked as if there was barely enough filler to hold them together. Colorful macarons. Cups with dark chocolate mousse. Cupcakes with rich buttercream. A ginger cake with a spicy aroma that made my mouth water.
Messing with any of this would be a sin, but I was all about sin. Making a decision, I reached out to put my finger on the ginger cake and nearly leapt out of my skin when someone smacked my hand.
“Oh no you don’t.”
A woman stood next to me in a neatly pressed apron, a white chef’s hat askew on her auburn hair. She waved a finger in my face—actually waved a finger inmyface.
“I see you. I know what you are, and what you’re about. No demon is gonna mess with my food. So you just back yourself away from the table and take your mischief elsewhere.”
I’ll admit I stood there gaping like an idiot, partly because she was beautiful, partly because she had the effrontery to smack my hand and order me around, and partly because she was a witch.
A witch. I hadn’t come across one in centuries. I’d thought that they’d died out until word went around hell that Lucien had bonded with one.
A witch.
“Sorry.” I was apologizing. Why was I apologizing? I never apologized. “It looks really good. Is there fresh ginger in it?”
She sniffed, folding her arms across her chest. “Of course there is. It’s my own recipe.”
Pride. I got a grip on myself and tried to act more like the powerful crossroads demon I was and less like a child who’d been caught trying to sneak a cookie. I could deal with pride. It was my favorite sin.
“I haven’t had a chance to try anything yet.” I gave her my sexiest smile. “Maybe you could prepare a plate for me since I seem to be forbidden from touching any of the food myself.”
A blush rose up her neck and across her round face, making the smattering of freckles on her cheekbones disappear. For a second I thought she would comply, but then she shook her head and glared.
“Why are you here? I doubt Mr. Allen invited a demon to his daughter’s engagement party.”
“No, but Benjamin Frederick Allen made a deal with me ten years ago, and ever since that point, I have an automatic invitation to anywhere he may be—whether that’s the boardroom, or the bathroom, or a party at his luxurious estate.”
She appeared a bit taken aback at my words. “Thebathroom? You seriously spy on him when he’s soaping up his nether parts in the shower, or taking a number two? Why the heck would you do that?”
I blinked, a little shocked that she was more concerned about my violating a human’s expectation of privacy while cleaning himself or eliminating than that I was a demon who’d made a deal for a man’s soul.
“Umm, well sometimes I make him drop the soap and whack his knee on the faucet when he bends over to get it. Or I make him slip and go down on his ass while getting out of the tub. And constipation or a burning sensation when someone goes wee is definitely on my list of favorites.”
Wee. I’d actually said “wee” to this woman as if I needed to curtail my language in her presence. I was a demon. I could curse if I wanted to. And I’d just said “ass” so there was no need for me to use such an infantile euphemism as “wee”.
“Those are spelled out in your contracts as liberties you can take when someone makes a deal with you?” She shook her head, her disgusted impression making my stomach twist into a nervous knot.
“No, they’re not spelled out in the contract. That’s the point. Broadly worded, sweeping contracts allow me a lot of latitude. Basically I get to do whatever I want to the person while they’re still alive as long as they get whatever they traded their soul for.”
