Page 32 of Far From Center
Then the Gormand laughed again, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. “You’re a gutsy guy. Got that anger thing down-pat, along with pride, and lust. Better than most demons I know.” He turned to skinny demon. “Get the fuck out of here, loser. No fee for you. And no food either. If you’re not gone by the time that waitress puts the plate of blackened grouper in front of me, you’re dead.”
The waitress stopped in front of their table eyeing the two demons nervously. With a shaking hand, she sat down a handful of mugs, beer sloshing over the side. Skinny demon bolted, making it out of the door just as the woman slid a plate in front of the Gormand. “As you asked, Sir. Basil thyme rub and a side of fresh tomatoes. The chef would like to know if you’re a food critic? A reviewer? What is your name sir?”
The Gormand inhaled deeply, nodding as he looked up at the waitress. “Gordon Ramsay. How about you bring me fried snapper too, just to get a feel for what you guys serve here.”
Nyalla rolled her eyes. This demon looked nothing like Gordon Ramsay, but he clearly had a bit of a fanboy thing going on. Which meant he’d been this side of the gates long enough to watch some Food Network television. It was an amusing appropriation of the famous chef’s name. Gormands were gluttons and food critics but their culinary skills were practically non-existent.
The waitress’ eyes grew huge and she scampered away. Nyalla eyed the four mugs of beer and dragged one over to her. With everything that had gone down tonight, she could use another alcoholic beverage.
“I’m not calling you Gordon Ramsay,” Gabriel scowled as he got up and sat down next to Nyalla in the chair skinny demon had vacated.
“You will if you know what’s good for you.” The Gormand took a bite of fish and looked to the ceiling. “Fresh caught. Broiled to perfection. These dumpster-hole paces always have the best damned food.”
“About the artifact.” Nyalla tried to redirect the conversation. “What sort of fee are you looking for?”
The Gormand paused mid-chew. “How about I get in your pants for a start? It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent fuck.”
The air crackled with static and Nyalla looked over to Gabriel in surprise. Was that him? He’d just been hit with a magical tsunami twenty-four hours ago. He shouldn’t be able to do more than flick a lighter at this point.
“The lady is not interested in your hands or any other part of your anatomy in her pants,” Gabriel snarled. “I suggest you think of something else.”
The Gormand’s eyebrows shot up, then he narrowed his eyes at the angel. “Did you have a demon daddy, there bud? Or maybe you took Magic 101 with the elves? Either way, a static shock isn’t going to do more than piss me off. And you don’t want me pissed off.”
“I’m not letting you feel me up or have sex with me,” Nyalla interjected, trying to regain control of the situation before someone, namely Gabriel, got hurt. “You’re a Gormand, not an incubus. Cut with the lust stuff and tell me if you want money, jewelry, food, booze, or perhaps a forty-foot yacht.”
That got his attention. “My fee is an eighteen-inch strand of ten-millimeter pearls, a two-carat VSV diamond ring, and a five-pound crate of these tomatoes.” He looked at the plate of them fondly. “I’ve got no idea where they get them, but they’re amazing. Venezuela? Brazil? I must have more.”
“How dare you–”
“The tomatoes, eight ten-millimeter pearls, and a voucher for the casino boat.” Nyalla interrupted Gabriel, who clearly had no sense of self-preservation or familiarity enough with demons to know that all things were negotiable.
“What would I want with a casino boat? I don’t gamble, I’m a Gormand.”
“They have one of the best chefs in the island cooking their meals, and rumor has it that their casino is particularly susceptible to robbery. Quick snatch-and-grab, and you’re only a mile from the Venezuela coast. Easy job, easy money, and all after a meal that would make Julia Child rise from the grave.”
“Nyalla! That’s–”
She jabbed Gabriel hard in the side and he grunted.
The Gormand’s eyes narrowed. “Plus one hundred in chips.”
“Deal.” Nyalla smiled her most innocent, human-who-had-been-an-elven-slave smile. “But I need additional verification of the artifact.”
The Gormand scowled. “It’s already verified. The angel sigil, feather, and blood-mark is on the scroll.”
“That’s–”
Nyalla stepped on Gabriel’s foot in warning. “Well, yes, but there’s no guarantee that the artifact he verified is the one I’m receiving at the exchange. Angels don’t lie. I trust them. I want an angel to verify that the artifact you’re handing over is authentic.”
A shadow flitted across the Gormand’s face. He’d been intending to screw her in the deal. It wasn’t like that was surprising. “How do you expect me to find that angel again? There aren’t thousands of them wandering around here.”
There were. Not that he knew that, though. Nyalla shrugged. “I don’t have the skills to verify the artifact, and neither do my human friend or my two demon friends. I need an angel to do that. That’s non-negotiable.”
He scowled. “I want an extra five pounds of tomatoes then.”
She noticed that he didn’t mention the angel would want anything. “Deal. So…time and place for the exchange?”
“It’s gonna take me a while to find an angel,” he confessed. “And I need to get clearance from my client.”
“Thought you didn’t have–”
Nyalla elbowed Gabriel once more and he glared at her.
“So you’ll be in touch?”
The Gormand stood, stuffing the last slice of tomato in his mouth. “I’ll be in touch.”
