Aren’t you tired of doing everything right?
Wouldn’t you like a second chance to go back and do it wrong?
Coed Demon Sluts: There’s always room on the team.
Only a few years ago, Jee was a slave in a Bangkok whorehouse. When her rageful teenage rebellion endangered her life, Hell’s recruiter came along with an offer she couldn’t refuse: become a succubus, with an invincible body, a great paycheck, and a loft in Chicago.
Reg answered an ad in Craigslist to become the onsite manager of the coed demon sluts. But the succubi weren’t putting up with a pimp. Jee got him under control immediately. Reg has found bliss in his new home, even if it means eating his dinner from a dog bed in the kitchen. Then his worst enemy recaptures him and drags him back to a darker slavery in her basement…his mom.
Jee’s childhood scars won’t begin to heal until she lets her succubus team under her skin. She thinks she’s too tough for that, until she takes pity on the unlikeliest teammate of all. And Reg will someday be grateful that he can morph into a child-protecting monster.
The second adventure in the Coed Demon Sluts series!
Read a sample:
With all the stuff I’ve done and been done to, I never thought I’d be spooking out now, just as I’d become a succubus and settled down to a perfect life. I had a brand new, unbroken body. I had a room of my own, a lair full of trusted sisters-in-wickedness, plenty of food, drink, weed, and all the designer clothes and jewelry I could wear. Oh, and a houseboy.
It couldn’t go on. If I was losing my mind, at least my street cred shouldn’t suffer.
Pog and Reg were cleaning up after breakfast, helped by Beth. Everybody had their eye off me, finally.
I went downstairs to the locker room and consulted the best magician I knew. Amanda was in there, cleaning the spikes on her golf shoes.
My back and neck felt knotted. “I need a spell.”
She didn’t even look up. “What kind of spell?”
I knew exactly what I wanted, but how could I describe it? Plus, I didn’t want to have to say it out loud. I still felt fragile.
With Amanda, you say things out loud. God knows if she gets anything that isn’t words of one syllable. “I suppose you heard me last night.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She went back to cleaning her spikes. “What kind of spell?”
Thank goodness she’s retarded. I sat down at the other end of the bench with the golf shoes between us. “You remember Get Smart, the TV show? About this dumb secret agent, and he had all this fancy gear that almost worked?”
Amanda smiled, nodded, then did a double take and looked at me. “How on earth did you learn about Maxwell Smart when you grew up in Indonesia and Thailand?”
“Duh. All American TV is available over there. Especially the old stuff.” I had fond memories of Agent Ninety-Nine, the unflappable girl sidekick. One of the best things about my childhood. Let’s not think about childhood this morning. I rushed on, “Remember the Cone of Silence?”
Now Amanda was smiling at the toe of her golf shoe. “But—” She glanced up at me.
I couldn’t meet her eyes. I got up and walked around the locker room, inspecting the newly cleaned and repainted lockers.
She said, “It would be pretty loud inside. Why would you want it loud inside?”
I wandered over to the big washbasin, which looked like a stainless steel fountain in a waist-high cement basin. Well, waist-high to a normal person. Coed demon sluts run tall. When we moved in, the whole thing was stuck shut with lime deposits and rust and nastiness, like everything else in this place. Now it’s shiny. It’s amazing what money can do.
“If it gets loud in there, it’ll wake me up,” I said over my shoulder. “But I’ll have privacy.”
Amanda’s denseness is a big plus sometimes. She didn’t seem to connect what I was saying with what happened in my room. “What if it doesn’t wake you up?”
I hadn’t thought of that. It rocked my nerves to imagine being inside a small space with my amplified screams and I might still be unable to wake up. I drew a shaky breath. “Then I guess it won’t.”
“Do you want the Cone of Silence to shut off once you do wake up?”
I thought of how long I’d sobbed after I woke up and threw everybody out of my room, sobbed with the pillow jammed over my head in humiliation. “No thanks. Let’s just keep my bedroom, uh, private. All the time.” After all, Reg was in there with me sometimes. I stole a look at her.
Amanda nodded. “I think I can do that.”
I pushed the on-button at the fountain-spout in front of me and watched a smooth, wide fan of warm water spurt out and arch up toward the center of the washbasin. My nerves began to settle and my neck muscles loosened. “Thanks. I’ll pay you whatever.”
“Screw pay. Only if it cuts into the last golf days of the season,” Amanda said, as indifferent as if I’d asked her to pass the salt.
I couldn’t face her. I nodded at the spray of water and then strode out.
The midday meal at the lair of the coed demon sluts was a team effort that day. Reg made sangria. Beth ordered in Ann Sather cinnamon rolls, which even Pog admitted were better than hers, made with both butter and lard, hoo boy so good. Amanda cleared the table and slapped down fresh paper plates and tableware when the litter got too deep.
I had sangria and watched. I was a slave for seven years. I’m done with work.
Pog cooked up a monster frittata with two dozen eggs, crumbled sweet Italian sausage, minced ham, diced Jarlsberg cheese, pineapple chunks, diced red and green pepper, leftover caramelized roasted carrots, and some crunchy fried onion bits because Amanda had bought a case of them at that food service supply store and we were trying to eat them up. There’s only so many crunchy fried onion bits you can eat with beer. That calls for pilsner, and none of us besides Reg likes pilsner.
I drank my brunch. Big surprise. “C’mon, c’mon, I need that back rub, stat,” I grumbled at Reg, while he loaded flatware into the dishwasher.
“Be right there, mistress,” he said breathlessly. He tied a knot in a big black garbage bag and hoisted it out of the barrel next to the kitchen table. “I only got the two hands.”
“Are you talking back to me?” I said dangerously.
He fitted the new bag into the barrel, sending me a languishing look. “No, mistress.” Multitasking on me.
“Somebody else could do that,” I complained.
“I like to keep it nice for you,” he said. “It’s so clean here.”
We all looked at him with incredulity.
“Oh, leave it,” Pog said, as I’d known she would. “Give her the damn back rub before she expires of old age.”
He sent her a servile look and dropped the bag on the floor. I stalked out, Reg scampering ahead to open the kitchen door for me.
When the kitchen door had swung shut, I stopped in the hall so fast, he bumped into me.
“Sorry, mistress,” he whispered.
I took pity on him. “Go sort my shoes, will you? By color this time.” I wanted to listen at the kitchen door.
I waited for him to go into my room and shut the door. Then I put my fingertips on the wall and stretched my demon hearing, aiming it at the kitchen.
Amanda was telling the others about the spell I had asked for.
Pog said, “Oh, good grief. That’s Jee all over. See a problem, throw money at it or spackle it over.” Thanks, buddy.
“What would you do in her shoes, Pog?” Amanda said.
“She doesn’t want to hear herself screaming?” Beth said. I heard her bustling around the kitchen, probably looking for something to clean that Reg hadn’t got to.
Amanda said, “She doesn’t want us to hear her screaming.”
Beth is clueless. “But why is she screaming?” There are a million unwritten rules about being a succubus, most of them made entirely for our own benefit. Like, don’t pry into other people’s pasts.
“Ask Reg,” Pog suggested. “He’s dumb enough to tattle.”
“Why would he know?” Beth persisted. “He started here the same day I did.”
I rolled my eyes and reminded myself never, ever to tell Beth anything. Reg was not dumb enough to tattle, but Beth?
“Because she wants to tell him, and she doesn’t want to tell you,” Amanda said. So she did get a few things. Amanda doesn’t treat people like they’re stupid, but you never misunderstand her.
Beth didn’t say anything.