Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
The smell of burnt grass filled the air as a black pit opened up under each of the dogs. But the damn mutts didn’t fall in. No, of course not. These were smart and fast puppies. They were bounding about their magical enclosure and leaping into the barrier. Each one slammed into the barrier the witches created and bounced off like some kind of insane dog parkour. They were moving in an awkward circle, barely touching the ground as Sky tried to guess where they were going to land and put a portal in their path.
“Come on, Sky!” Audrey snarled. “We can’t keep the barrier up for much longer. Catch these bastards.”
He got it. Each time the dogs bounced off a barricade, black cracks formed in the misty white walls. The witches couldn’t hold on. He wasn’t doing much better himself. It took a lot of damn energy to open and close portals in fast succession. Not like he could keep them all open. That would allow God only knew what to slip out. It was bad enough that they had two stubborn demon dogs desperate to stay loose.
“Fuck it,” he muttered as he closed all the portals. Charred grass and earth pockmarked a huge section of the soccer field from the doorways. That was going to be an interesting report on the news tomorrow. Aliens. They’d say it was aliens.
The dogs stopped bouncing around the field and sat, their tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths as they panted. Those assholes looked so smug, pleased with themselves for outsmarting the necromancer.
“Going with Plan B,” Sky bellowed across the field. “Be ready to drop the barrier when I say.” No one spoke, but he could feel the gaze of the dandy dogs sharpening on him as their panting stopped.
He opened the battered leather bag at his feet and pulled out a tiny bottle of whiskey. After breaking the seal, he spoke a couple of summoning words and sent his energy into the liquor as he poured it into a circle next to him.
Once again, the scent of scorched earth, grass, and now alcohol flooded the air as the underworld doorway opened with a sharp snap.
A massive paw the size of Sky’s head thrust up out of the darkness and slammed on the ground. A heartbeat later, it was followed by a powerful, furry arm that same tawny color as a lion’s, but the head that followed was that of a black wolf with cold, blue eyes.
When the creature emerged from the underworld, he stood over nine feet tall with the body of a lion, the head of a wolf, and the tail of a snake. He was vaguely aware of the panicked cries from the witches, but Sky’s full attention was on the demon next to him.
Fuck, he hated summoning demons.
Minions were easy. They could be grumpy and belligerent, but they usually followed orders. And if they didn’t, Sky could send them home. No problem. Easy-peasy.
A demon followed only specific orders, and they had to be linked to their specialty. If you tried to get them to do something outside their job description, they could laugh and walk away.
It was also very hard to send them away once summoned.
Sky cleared his throat. “I—” He stopped and cleared his throat again, determined to infuse his words with all the authority and magic he possessed. “I demand that you take the dandy dogs to the underworld right now.”
The demon arched one eyebrow at him in what seemed like vague amusement.
Sky cleared his throat a third time. “Zalramon created this mess. Could you help me clean it up?”
The demon grunted. “He said you’d call. You got something for me?”
Clenching his teeth, Sky held in a series of scathing curses for the king of demons and even the dandy dogs. If Zalramon had known that this demon was the keeper of the dandy dogs, why hadn’t he just told Sky? Or better yet, sent the damned demon himself?
But he didn’t say any of that because Grammy had raised him not to shout at demons, no matter how much they pissed him off. He bent to his leather bag and pulled out a large bottle of special-label whiskey.
The demon didn’t take it. He furrowed his brow and wrinkled his long muzzle at the bottle as he cocked his head. “Not a sandwich?”
“What?” Sky squeaked. “A sandwich? The book says you work for expensive alcohol.” He looked at the bottle cradled in his hands and the fact that it represented the funds for his next couple of dates with Nolan. “I’ll give you it’s not the most expensive whiskey in the world, but I’m a necromancer and a greeting card designer. My budget isn’t that big. I promise it’s a very nice whiskey.”
“Zalramon claims you make good sandwiches.”