Dragon Soul (Dragon Falls, #3)(17)

Gabriel and May shared a smile. “They won’t see us,” May said complacently. “Gabriel and I can both access the Beyond. The demons will never see us there.”

Rowan gave them a little nod and made his way into the hotel, fetched his key, and headed to the elevator, too tired to take the stairs. He wondered what it was like to be in the Beyond, that part of the Otherworld that was more or less a shadow world, one where spirits of many types resided… but was definitely not a habitat for him.

“My place is a small tent in a muggy bend of the Amazon where the mosquitoes eat you alive, and a bad conversation with one of the indigenous tribes could result in a poisoned dart poking out your back. Ah, bed, blissful bed.”

He didn’t even bother with the ice, just collapsed on the bed, took a couple of painkillers, and was thinking about summoning up the energy to change his alarm so that he could get an extra hour’s sleep before he had to creep into the thief’s rooms, but just as he reached for his phone, it rang.

The number was not one he recognized, but he answered it nonetheless.

“Hi! It’s Sophea and Mrs. P. We were wondering if you’d like to have dinner with us? As kind of a thank you for coming to our rescue twice in just a few hours. We’re going to eat here in the hotel, since that little episode in the tea shop has made me swear off stepping foot outside the building until it’s time to leave for the airport, but you’re more than welcome to join us if you’re hungry. Our treat.”

He thought longingly of the bed, of just sinking into the depths of the mattress, and sleeping for a good three or four days. Then he remembered his sister and the fact that a demon lord was running rampant and about to strike out at the mortal world as well as the Otherworld, and he told himself that sleep was underrated.

“Hello? Uh… this is Rowan, isn’t it? I can hear you breathing, so I know you’re there, but… did I get the wrong number? I could have sworn I punched in the one on the card…”

“Sorry, yes, it’s me. I was just thinking, which is not normally such a slow process, but it’s been a very long twenty-some hours. I’d be happy to join you for supper, although there’s no need to provide it for me. Quite the opposite, it would be my pleasure to take you two ladies.”

A slight pause followed that statement. “Um… to dinner, I assume you mean. Because otherwise, you just propositioned both of us, and as charming as Mrs. P thinks you are, I don’t think even you have the stamina for her.” Sophea’s voice dropped to a whisper. “She may look frail as hell, but man, that old lady is a goer! She’s worn me out with her demands I learn how to hoochie-coo. Did you know that was an actual dance? I thought it was kind of a made-up word, but holy hells, she made me try it.”

Rowan couldn’t keep from laughing. He tried to remind himself that Sophea was the enemy, and that she was clearly putting on an act in order to lull him into believing she was not after the very same thing he was, but at the same time, he found her funny and charming, and actually quite enjoyable.

“Must be my lack of filters,” he said to himself.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, just talking to myself. Why don’t you tell me about how one hoochie-coos over dinner? Shall we say in half an hour?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d be ready to go sooner than that. Mrs. P is—hold on a sec…” Sophea clearly put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, because her demand that Mrs. P stop trying to unhook the drapes was muffled. “Sorry, just a little issue going on here. And on. And on, but we won’t go into that now. How about five minutes?”

He looked at himself in the mirror that was mounted on the wall opposite the bed. He looked like he’d been dragged through a thornbush backward two or three times. “Twenty minutes.”

“Fifteen, and we reserve the right to be nibbling on bread when you show up. I’m famished, and it’ll give Mrs. P something to do with her hands that isn’t illegal. And I didn’t mean that to be a sexual innuendo. Mrs. P has to be ninety if she’s a day.”

He laughed again. “Very well. Fifteen minutes.”

As he hung up, he could hear Sophea saying in a plaintive tone, “No, Mrs. P, I don’t think you can fit that pillow in your bag…”

Rowan set down his phone, wondered what he had done in life to deserve such punishment, then remembered exactly what it was.

The First Dragon had sworn to never let Rowan rest until he’d paid off his danegeld, and clearly, Sophea was the latest in a long line of torments he had to bear. With a sigh, he stumbled into the tiny bathroom, managed to get a fast shower before scraping from his face the worst of its whiskers. He was only two minutes late when he strolled into the hotel restaurant, which occupied the basement level of the hotel.

The room had a close air that was common to all subterranean areas, but the five tables that dotted the room each bore a candle that gave off a warm, golden flicker. Three of the tables were occupied by other patrons, while the fourth was being used by Sophea and Mrs. P. True to her word, Sophea was eating a piece of bread, while shoving a bowl of butter spheres at the old woman.

“How do you know you don’t like it when you haven’t even tried it?” Sophea asked as he approached the table.

“The butter they use in this century is inferior to what I’m used to,” Mrs. P complained, then brightened when her pale eyes turned to him. “Ah, there is your young man. He looks tired. You should take better care of him. I always took exceptional care of my lovers. I made sure their mental states were positive, that they had eaten properly, and had suitable rest so that they were fit for our sexual congresses.”