George attempted to subtly move the bottle away.
Phoenix glared at him. “Stop it, George. I’m not a child.”
George harrumphed. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, which was approximately 200 years out of date, and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He put them on, leaned closer, and peered at Phoenix.
Phoenix blinked. “You’re a demon, George. You don’t need glasses.”
Unperturbed, George gripped Phoenix’s jaw with a clawed hand and examined his face. “You’re a demon, Phoenix. You don’t need to dress like a GQ model pretending to be a motorcycle hooligan. Are you sure you haven’t been hit with a spell lately?”
Phoenix pushed George’s hand off and waved the idea away. “I’d know if I had.” He abandoned the glass and drank straight from the bottle.
Damn witches.
George removed his glasses and stowed them in the antique jacket. “Cosmo?”
Phoenix attempted to stare Cosmo down while simultaneously drinking from the bottle. It didn’t work very well. He managed to dribble champagne down his neck in the process.
Cosmo tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Something’s affecting you. If not a spell, it’s your witch, Raya.”
Phoenix righted the bottle and coughed. “She’s not my witch. I’m just mad at that stupid mortal, Nathan, for being such an arrogant prat.”
“Takes one to know one,” said George.
“Shut up, George.” He finished the dregs of the champagne. “I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to find that witch, Nathan, and terrorize him to the point where he’ll never dare to insult a demon again.” Phoenix stood up. Anger bloomed inside him, warming him like a fire. It felt wonderful. “I’ll teach him some manners.”
Cosmo sprang up and put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe that isn’t such a good—”
Phoenix shook her off and ran for the window. His wings exploded to full length as he dove through it and into the night.
Finding Nathan’s hotel was child’s play. Raya had mentioned it in passing, and Phoenix knew Paris from the inside out.
Now he just had to wait for the witch to fall asleep. Surely he would be exhausted from the party on the boat.
Phoenix perched on the roof, wishing he could talk to his friend Andromalius, currently ensconced with his mortal lover, Erin—in a poky little town in Florida, of all places. He and Andy had viewed Paris as their own, spending many a night raising hell throughout thearrondissements.
Instead, he banked his anger to a slow burn and waited, deep in the shadow of a garret, for his chance. He might be flighty, but no one would ever accuse him of not having the patience to wait for the right moment to wreak havoc on someone who had offended him.
The moon crept across the sky. Phoenix remained motionless, a handsome gargoyle of pain and anger, on his rooftop perch—until he sensed Nathan drop into unconsciousness in one of the rooms below.
He smiled to himself. This was going to be fun. Mortals were at their most vulnerable in dreams.
Phoenix descended into Nathan’s dreaming mind, appearing in what looked like a shadowy forest. He considered transforming into a hideous monster, but discarded the idea, preferring for Nathan to know exactly who haunted his dreams. He would rue the day he’d ever spoken to Phoenix, and he’d think twice about ever insulting a member of demonkind again.
Through an opening in the trees, Phoenix spotted Nathan.
Nathan stood with his back to Phoenix, seemingly caught up in his own dream, unable to sense the demon silently stalking him.
Phoenix glided noiselessly through the dream woods, preparing to seize control of Nathan’s dream and twist it to his own purposes. Should he chase him mercilessly? Or just drag him shrieking into the sky and drop him like a rock, until he awoke drenched in the sweat of his own terror?
So many choices.
He was almost upon Nathan. Oddly, the surroundings seemed more solid than the average mortal’s dreamscape. His rage flared again, wiping out any thoughts of hesitation or loneliness or Raya.
Then Nathan turned around and raised one hand.
Phoenix collided with what felt like a brick wall. He recoiled, then struggled as he realized he hadn’t just been hit by a brick wall—he’d been surrounded by one.
What was happening? Mortals weren’t usually this powerful in dreams. Suddenly, the realistically detailed landscape made sense.
