CHAPTER 15: SCHEMING DEMONS DRESSED IN KINGLY GUISE
Smith seats us at a table almost as far away from the back door as possible. This makes me suspect he's on to us. Joe keeps clenching his fists, and I half-expect him to Wendigo out from sheer rage any second.
"Are we seriously gonna do the flip-the-table thing?" Nikki asks. "Not that I'm not down with it, but-"
"Yes." I reach out and reassuringly pat her hand. "Anything to show these guys we don't have time for their shenanigans. Not now, not ever, okay? Priority one - get back to Earth."
She pats my hand even as I'm patting hers. Soon we'll have some pat-ception on our hands. Literally. "Is it too late to tell the chefs here I'm vegetarian?"
"For real?" She nods. "Okay, remind me not to give you my stone soup recipe. I'm pretty sure the broth, at least, is chicken."
"I'll just make it with veggie stock."
We exchange smiles. She may be very, very new here, but she's a strong girl. I'm really enjoying having her by my side, even if it won't last beyond the time she returns home.
"Dinner is served!" Smith, returned to a more normal human size (and, sadly, his Aladdin outfit and not-so-tan skin), emerges with three sizzling hot plates - they're practically glowing, which is more than I can say for the borderline-blackened giant's cutlets on their surfaces. I mean, seriously. Even if roc blood is bad for you, does the meat really have to be burned to get rid of it? I've never, ever liked my meat cooked anything better than medium, and even medium is pushing it. I'm a red-meat kind of girl, goddammit. The only foodstuff I'll consume at this level of roasting is espresso.
And now I'm thinking, again, of Crane's first time having espresso. That rant about Italians and "sadistic larceny," and then he had his first taste and was hooked forever. Then again, he'd already lost his taste for tea after the Boston Tea Party, like most of his contemporaries. Turning him on to coffee was only too easy.
Crane, if you're still up there, and those Owls and Roosters or whatever aren't giving you too much of a hard time, know that I'm coming back. Team Witness will reunite. I promise.
And in the meantime, I have a table to help flip. Thank you, Joe, for reminding me with a silent three-count. He splays his fingers out over the tabletop, then pulls them back one by one.
In unison, Nikki, Joe, and I reach under the table and push it up and over to the side, making Smith scream and drop the plates. Charred roc meat and the assorted vegetable fixins spill all over his feet, and he jumps onto a nearby empty table in a failed attempt to get away from it.
I'm unable to resist a one-liner before following the others towards the back door. "I asked for chicken, you dickhead!"
Ten seconds later, I'm with Joe and Nikki as they pound on the door, struggling to open it, but to no avail. "No handle?" I ask, observing the door for myself.
"Fucking fire hazard." Joe kicks the door repeatedly, first with one leg at a time, then with both feet at once. The noise attracts the attention of a pair of men who emerge from an office in resplendent royal-purple robes. They survey us for a moment before snapping their fingers, and instantly, cuts appear on all our wrists.
I gasp, not so much from pain as from the realization that the smell of blood is going to trigger Joe's shift.
Which it does.
He at least has the thought to run forward, charging at these two demon kings or whatever the hell they are. They snap their fingers again, and I feel my cut seal, but the damage has already been done. Joe's already in full Wendigo mode, covered in gray fur with black reindeer antlers sprouting from his skull.
He turns to me and Nikki, growls, and charges at us instead. Nikki grabs my hand, hers trembling in abject terror, as is mine. Then I pull her aside at the very last minute, opening a door and taking us through it. Immediately, I hear the noises of the kitchen all around us, and smell the smells too. It at least smells like they have food that's more appetizing than charred roc.
But that's not important.
What's important is Joe not stopping in time to avoid hitting the door with his antlers, which punch right through the faux wood and tear giant holes.
He pulls out, sees Nikki and me in the kitchen, and charges at us again. As much as I hate playing matador with him, we have pretty much no choice. We lead him on a merry chase through the kitchen, out another door, and back into the dining room. Upon seeing us, Smith shakes his fist, grows to his double size again, and yells, "You sneaky b-"
"Bye, Felicia!" Nikki laughs as we run back through the hallway, almost mowing down the purple-robed guys in the process. At the back door, I reach through one of the holes and open the door from the other side, allowing us - including Joe, who's still coming after us, to burst through it and almost crash-land on another sharp rock formation outside.
Joe looks especially dazed, and sure enough, by the time he's back on his feet, he's returning to human form. "You okay?" I ask him.
"If we find a hospital," he mutters, "have me checked out for a concussion. And by the way, next time I go Wendigo, please just immobilize me right away, okay?"
"Non-lethal only," I assure him.