by ROCFanKat

Disclaimers: See Chapter 1.

There was no excuse for not expecting it. Even though I hadn't slept all night, and even though I was starting to take the weirdest things for granted, I should have known what just had to be next. When I got to work in the morning, Monica was in my office, dressed up like a person. Well, make that a person in a very, very short skirt.

"You'll never guess," she said without preface, "so I'll tell you. I'm your new admin. You can call me Miss Kerry. I told Mr. Jenner we're no relation--yet. Do you like my costume?"

Keeping a mistrustful eye on her, I hung up my raincoat and grabbed the biggest mug. She had, at least, made coffee.

"I scheduled you for an extra meeting this morning. I invited Kurt."

Without comment, I filled up the mug.

"I also called Mrs. Wolfe. You accepted her kind invitation. And I got you two seats to Kansas City on a very early flight next Wednesday."

Just to be safe, I topped it off.

"You don't look surprised to see me." Her tone was a bit petulant.

"Nothing surprises me anymore. I've got demons from here to Auckland. What do you want now?"

"What I've always wanted. You're making it hard on me, Devlin. That's going to go very hard on you." She showed me her fangs, by way of reminder that she kept them sharp. "But there'll be time for settling up. How do you feel about a thousand years of fire and then a thousand years of ice?"

Shrugging, I settled in at my desk and switched on the computer. "Not very original."

"I can do worse."

"I'm not afraid of Kathie Lee Gifford. Or polka music."

"Hell is diverse," Monica said ominously, pointing at the Mac, which was still booting up. All of a sudden, I had the Windows Blue Screen of Death.

"Cut that out."

"I thought you'd hate that. How about this?"

I started to tell her that any admin of mine had too much work to do to play games when movement on the screen caught my eye. It looked like streaming video of something. A football game, maybe? Out of habit, I moused down to where I kept the RealPlayer icon, to make some adjustments on the picture.

"Allow me," Monica said.

The next thing I knew, what had been on the computer screen was a hologram in the middle of the office, complete with very loud audio. It was a football game, all right. Unseen people all around me were screaming in Southern at the big lunkheads lining up in front of my desk. Curious, I leaned over to check the carpet. The desk was right on the 20-yard line. Not a bad seat.

"No popcorn?" I asked.

"Great Satan, you're getting jaded," she grumbled. "Just watch."

The noise was deafening. The quarterback in the red jersey turned to yell something to the backfield, but they couldn't hear a word; immediately, he called time out. As he straightened, I frowned; he looked awfully familiar.

Then the center reared back on its hind legs, and there was no question: It was Howard Abner. Howard Abner 20 years ago, maybe, but definitely one and the same. Not what I really wanted to...

Wait a minute. The quarterback was Abner too. So was the backfield. And so were all the lunkheads in yellow and white on the other side of the line.

"Not funny, Monica," I warned.

She laughed and strolled through one of the huddles--literally through it, like a ghost. Then she took a seat on the edge of my desk, the way Cassie did. "Wait till they start playing again."

I had a very bad feeling about this. "I think I know where this is going. Let's not go. It's very cute of you, but..."

"Shhhh," she said, leaning over to kiss the top of my head. It burned a little.

A referee's whistle drew my attention back to the field. Twenty-two Howard Abners squared off again, the crowd started howling again, and this time the ball got snapped. At least, I'd thought it was a ball up to that point. But it was in fact a live pig, still using its skin, and it turned out to be irrelevant, because the quarterback heaved it toward the sideline--right at me. I barely ducked in time.

"It's all right. It's one of them too," Monica explained.

"Not funny," I repeated.

She looked terribly pleased with herself. "Never said it was."

Where the hell was the close box on this thing? I tried to click the RealPlayer window on the computer screen, but nothing happened. Was it in a corner of the hologram? I got up to get a better look. Then I realized what was happening on the field.

"Make that stop, Monica."

"Why? Sauce for the goose isn't sauce for the gander?"

"But they're...they're...God!" I jumped out of the way just before an ardent linebacker tackled an equally ardent wide receiver. It was child's play to tell how they felt; nobody was wearing any pants anymore. The crowd was going wild. "Get me out of this picture. Now."

"You used to be more fun," she complained.

"Things used to make sense. It was easier then."

"Was it?"

All right, maybe not, but at least it wasn't this messy. And I had never, ever had a gay Baptist orgy in my office before. "Just make it stop."

Monica didn't answer for a second; she seemed to be intrigued by something down by her feet. I glanced over--and instantly clapped both hands over my eyes.

"Oh, all right," she finally said. The noise stopped, and when it was safe to look again, I found the hologram gone too. "Better, pookie?"

"Don't start with that, Monica. So that's your idea of Hell?"

"Only one of them. One of yours, if we want to be accurate. Would you like to see the wedding reception with the Chicken Dance instead?...No? I agree. That's a bad one. How about the all-Wayne-Newton radio station? Or Thanksgiving with your father's side of the family?" She smiled unpleasantly. "Next year, of course. You're spending this one with the Wolfes."

"You can't have my soul. It's too late. I don't think Cassie wants to give it back anyway."

"You don't seriously think I'm afraid of her. Let alone that...imp of hers."

"Vanessa? She says she's..."

"She's not big enough to be a demon. She's an imp. No--make that an impette." Looking disgusted, she leaned over to speak confidentially. "I would never have kissed that Barbarian person, Devlin. She has hideous taste in men."

"Sounds familiar."

"Well, it should. Where do you think your Cassie got it from?"

"We probably shouldn't have this conversation."

"I miss you," she said suddenly. "What if I get rid of both of them? I could give you a couple hundred more years to surrender. We could have such fun. We did have fun. Remember?"

Yes, we had, and yes, I did. But that was then, and this was...

...going to get me killed if Cassie found out. "History," I said.

Monica leaned farther down, eyes glittering. There was a chance that I was in trouble. "Nobody knew then. Nobody has to know again. No TV reporters, no lies to clients, no talk in the office...I could turn Kurt into an opposum, if you like. His little friend Walt, too. I could arrange a possum wedding for them. A pity neither of them could wear white, but then, the rules may be different for possums. Would you like that?"

"Forget it, Monica. I already told you..."

"And Cassie doesn't have to know either. It'll be our secret." She stretched out a razor-sharp fingernail and ran it around my ear, just enough to draw blood.

"Damn it, that isn't going to..."

Work. It wasn't going to work. Except that she was licking the blood off, and I'd somehow forgotten the word.

"No one will know," she murmured. "She was supposed to destroy you. In her way. She can still try. In her way. But I still know a few tricks that she doesn't. Remember?"

Damn. Now I understood what the word diabolical meant. "Get out of my office. I mean it."

"That's the last thing you mean." Monica slithered across the desk, putting certain parts of herself directly in my line of sight. "I think..."

The office door slammed open--and for the first and only time in my professional life, I was relieved. Cassie looked to be in a mood, and Vanessa, right behind her, looked to be in one too. With some force, I pushed Monica aside. "It's not what you think, Cass. She..."

"Stay out of this, Devvy," Cassie commanded, glaring at Monica. "You. In the admin drag. Off the desk."

"She's trying to threaten me, Devvy," Monica remarked. "Isn't that cute?"

Even from a distance, I could clearly see the hot blue glint in her eyes. "Nobody calls her 'Devvy' but me. Nobody. Especially not you, you...you..."

"Let me," Vanessa said, rather happily. "Slut!" Then, with impossible speed, she yanked the back of Monica's designer jacket and hurled her to the carpet. "An impette, am I, Miss Scarier-Than-Thou? An impette?"

This could get ugly. Not wasting a second, I shot out of my chair and pushed Cassie to the opposite wall. "Stay behind me. And don't say one more word."

"Let go, Devvy. I can take care of myself."

"That's what I'm afraid of," I said grimly, blocking her as best I could.

There was a howl of outrage from the carpet, followed by a thud. Cassie fought clear of my shoulder. "At least let me see."

With misgivings, I pulled back a little, but kept a tight hold on her. Only when I was sure she wasn't going to make a break for it did I turn to see what was going on. Where the linebackers had been rolling around just minutes ago, now Monica and Vanessa were having at each other--with different intent, but with equal intensity. It was every cliché of a catfight, complete with shrieking and hair-pulling. The only difference was that every time one of them said a bad word, a patch of the carpet caught fire. Just from where I stood, I could see about half a dozen little blazes.

"Disturbing," Cassie said.

"Very."

"Fifty bucks says mine wins."

"This kind of talk is exactly what got us into this trouble in the first place," I reminded her.

"Don't like your odds, baby duck?"

I scowled at her. She smiled back sweetly, raised up on tiptoe, and put a tiny kiss on the bridge of my nose.

"A little help here?" Vanessa yelled.

We turned again. Monica was jumping up and down on Vanessa's spine. That had to hurt, especially with those shoes.

"Raise you fifty," I told Cassie.

"Done. No personal checks. Cash money."

I was starting to say something to that when the office door slammed open, again. Oh, hell. Of all the wrong people to walk in at the wrong time...

Cassie took one look and sank down on my shoulder. It was too late to worry how that looked--Lisa Hartwell from Channel 12 was in the doorway, with a cameraman; the camera's red light was on. And Jenner, Jack, and Kurt were right behind them. To their credit, they all seemed stunned.

Even Monica and Vanessa were surprised. But I suppose that even demons would have a hard time explaining how they came to be in this position this early in the morning on a work day. This sort of thing just wasn't normal.

"Do something," Cassie whispered.

***

(c) 1999, ROCFanKat

To be continued

Continued - Part 18