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CHAPTERONE
Cam
I stareat the photos again, every fiber of my being aching to get my hands on that puzzle. It’s… incredible. Gorgeous.
Soon.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for the last two weeks, but this time it’s more true than it’s ever been before. I’m literally right now waiting for the demon who’s supposed to be taking me to my pretty, pretty puzzle.
Or rather…theirpretty puzzle. It’s not mine, dammit. I’m not entirely sure who it belongs to. Alistair, the friend who hooked me up with this job, wasn’t all that clear on those details, just that it’s in a mountain cave in the Swiss Alps and I’ll be hosted by the closest town. Or maybe he did tell me, and I wasn’t paying attention because my brain was overloaded by the contents of the pictures he sent me.
The pictures of a twenty-foot-high, twenty-foot-wide mechanical puzzle door. And they want me to unlock it for them.
I’ve never said yes to anything so fast in my life. If they hadn’t asked, I would have begged them to let me come see it… and play with it.
Soon.
The two weeks it took me to finish up some client commissions and move things around dragged out forever. I’m super proud of myself for not tossing it all aside and telling Alistair I could come immediately. I wanted to, but if I want to keep this very comfortable life designing and building custom puzzles for commission clients, I need to not piss them all off by making them wait longer than promised. Lucky for me, puzzles are my work and my joy, and I’d rather be messing around with them than watching TV in the evenings, so I’m always slightly ahead of schedule. As long as I’m back to work in two months, everything will be fine. And unless that wall/door has some very big (and exciting) secrets, it won’t take me half that time to solve it. That gives me plenty of time to play with it and study it. Maybe I’ll even be able to track down the designer! I’d love to talk to them.
A message notification pops up on my phone, partially blocking the picture of the pretty, and I swipe it away, annoyed. It’s quickly followed by another, and I sigh and switch over to the message app.
Unknown Contact:
think you can hide from me?
im coming for you muthafucka
Ugh. Not this again. I consider messaging back to correct his spelling and punctuation, but honestly, I’m sick of getting these messages, and me replying just makes him send more. What kind of idiot orders a custom commission product, tries to cheat the vendor by filing a chargeback but is too stupid to wait untilafterit’s shipped, then contacts that same vendor raging about how I never sent it? Of course I never sent it; you tried to steal it from me.
I was so outraged by his audacity that I sent all our correspondence to the credit card company, making it clear that I was happy for the charge to be canceled, since I still had the product, but that the chargeback claim was fraudulent. I felt petty about it after, until my accountant told me that chargebacks can impact my merchant reputation with the bank and credit companies.
Unfortunately, the client—his name is Cary Mack—seems to have taken it all personally, and the threatening emails started soon after that. Then he somehow found my phone number, and the texts started. He really needs to find a hobby. I’d suggest mechanical puzzles, but that might be like salt in a wound, since I certainly won’t sell him one.
The doorbell peals through the house, and my whole body lights up with excitement. He’s here! The demon who’s going to take me to the pretty hasfinallyarrived. I hope we can go straight there and not have to bother with any official bullshit.
I grab my suitcase with all my work gear—the pictures show some light rust on the door, so I decided it would be smart to bring tools in case repairs were needed—and the overnight bag with my clothes and shit. I hope there’s a washer there for me to use, or I’m gonna run out of underwear real quick. It should be fine. Alistair would have told me if I needed to be prepared for irregular conditions.
Hmm. Maybe he did, and I just wasn’t listening?
Oh well. I’ll find out soon.
I drag my stuff toward the front door—tools are fucking heavy—and accidentally bump into the hall table, knocking the key bowl to the floor with a clatter.
“Fuck,” I mutter. Although, maybe it’s a good thing. I’m about 99.99 percent sure I was about to forget my keys. “Coming!” I call, not wanting the demon—shit, did Alistair tell me his name?—to get impatient and leave. Demons aren’t known for their patience.
I can hear voices, so maybe he brought a friend. I’ve never teleported with a demon before—maybe we needed another person to teleport my bags.
Scooping up the bowl and my keys, I dump everything back on the table, pick up my overnight bag, drag everything three more steps, stop, drop my bags, go back for my keys—dammit—and then finally manage to get myself and my stuff to the door. I fling it open and say, “Hi!” to the back of a man’s head.
Huh. The back of his head is nice enough, as those things go, with thick dark hair in a neat style, but it wasn’t what I was expecting. Why’s he staring—
Tires squeal, and a car peels off down the street. I glance after it, then back to my… visitor? Guide? Transportation facilitator? Why does he care so much about that car? It’s not his, is it? Did someone steal his car?
No, he teleported here. From Switzerland. Where he’s going to take me just as soon as he stops being so distracted.
“Uh… hello?”
He turns to face me finally, and I take a step back at the mean-looking frown on his face. Whoa. Not friendly. It’s too bad, because he’s seriouslyfiiiiine. I like attractive men, even the straight ones. People lust after them, and that generates plenty of sexual energy to keep me healthy. That’s why I live in this neighborhood, even though it’s a bit iffy. There are three strip clubs within a two-block radius, and that means lots of residual sexual energy for those times when I get caught up in work and forget I need sustenance.
