making sure Ms. McLane is doing her job.” She sighed. “I am starting to truly believe you are not the demon for this task.”
Boris immediately dropped his indignant stance and looked contrite. “I am the right demon. I’m sorry, mistress.”
Finola stared at him in the mirror for several seconds, then nodded. “So Ms. McLane, amid your adventures in drugging your possessor and seeking carnal gratification, did you find time to get the July issue together?”
Liza didn’t answer, but instead rose and placed her work in front of Finola. Again, Finola’s eyebrow rose at Liza’s lack of verbal response or cowering respect or maybe both, probably both, but Liza was at her wits’ end and frankly, nothing could scare her at the moment.
Finola didn’t say a word, however. Instead she focused on the newest magazine submissions.
After several moments, she looked up. “These are good. I like most of them. Although I think you could liven up the cover articles. Some of these are old and overdone.”
It was on the tip of Liza’s tongue to ask her what she really knew about running a magazine, or about what would inspire the consumer to pick up a copy of HOT!, but she caught herself.
She might be tired and frustrated and angry that she was in this wretched situation. Basically an indentured slave, chained to Finola by the fact that she was possessed and Finola was the only one who could ever free her of the demon in her body and mind. But Liza was smart enough to know Finola White, despite looking like a pale, elegant ice queen, was the evilest of all demons. And Liza had to show her some respect, if she wanted to survive this possession. If there was a way to survive it.
“I will work on finding more intriguing articles,” Liza said passively.
Finola nodded, appearing to be somewhat mollified. “Good. Otherwise, it would appear the issue is nicely on track. I will let you two go and get back to work. And remember, Bartoris, you are never to interfere with Ms. McLane’s work.”
Boris nodded.
“But,” Finola added, “what you choose to do when she is away from work is your choice.”
Liza gritted her teeth. That was as good as giving him a microphone and a Lady Gaga CD.
“Now leave,” Finola said, waving a hand toward the door. “I have important things to do, like meeting Donald Trump for lunch.”
Liza retrieved the mock-ups of her work, recalling a time when she’d gone to lunches like that. When she’d run this magazine. Of course, she still did. Finola just took all the credit.
More frustration filled her.
See, I told you she was a bigger bitch than I am.
For once, Liza was inclined to agree with Boris.
It’s Bartoris.
Chapter Eleven
F inola didn’t speak until the heavy glass door of her office closed behind Liza McLane.
“I don’t like how she is acting.”
Tristan wheeled the mirror back behind the screen, then strode across the room to lean against the edge of Finola’s desk.
“She is getting a little rebellious.”
Finola nodded, her gaze distant as she thought. “I actually think Bartoris has become a detriment.”
Tristan had always thought the relatively weak trickster demon was annoying. He could only imagine what it would be like to be possessed by him. His voice alone would be enough to drive anyone insane.
He started to say exactly that, but thought better of it. Having Finola irritated with Liza McLane and Bartoris could be a good thing.
“Well, we need some way to keep McLane in check and working for the magazine. She wasn’t willing to sell her soul, so possession was the only way to keep her here.”
He waited, allowing Finola’s thoughts to head in the very direction he wanted them to.
“I’m not sure we need her as much as we once did,” Finola said. “After all, I know fashion, and you are becoming quite proficient at many of the things Liza does. The layouts, the articles. Your work is very, very good.”
Tristan bowed his head, offering the
Boris immediately dropped his indignant stance and looked contrite. “I am the right demon. I’m sorry, mistress.”
Finola stared at him in the mirror for several seconds, then nodded. “So Ms. McLane, amid your adventures in drugging your possessor and seeking carnal gratification, did you find time to get the July issue together?”
Liza didn’t answer, but instead rose and placed her work in front of Finola. Again, Finola’s eyebrow rose at Liza’s lack of verbal response or cowering respect or maybe both, probably both, but Liza was at her wits’ end and frankly, nothing could scare her at the moment.
Finola didn’t say a word, however. Instead she focused on the newest magazine submissions.
After several moments, she looked up. “These are good. I like most of them. Although I think you could liven up the cover articles. Some of these are old and overdone.”
It was on the tip of Liza’s tongue to ask her what she really knew about running a magazine, or about what would inspire the consumer to pick up a copy of HOT!, but she caught herself.
She might be tired and frustrated and angry that she was in this wretched situation. Basically an indentured slave, chained to Finola by the fact that she was possessed and Finola was the only one who could ever free her of the demon in her body and mind. But Liza was smart enough to know Finola White, despite looking like a pale, elegant ice queen, was the evilest of all demons. And Liza had to show her some respect, if she wanted to survive this possession. If there was a way to survive it.
“I will work on finding more intriguing articles,” Liza said passively.
Finola nodded, appearing to be somewhat mollified. “Good. Otherwise, it would appear the issue is nicely on track. I will let you two go and get back to work. And remember, Bartoris, you are never to interfere with Ms. McLane’s work.”
Boris nodded.
“But,” Finola added, “what you choose to do when she is away from work is your choice.”
Liza gritted her teeth. That was as good as giving him a microphone and a Lady Gaga CD.
“Now leave,” Finola said, waving a hand toward the door. “I have important things to do, like meeting Donald Trump for lunch.”
Liza retrieved the mock-ups of her work, recalling a time when she’d gone to lunches like that. When she’d run this magazine. Of course, she still did. Finola just took all the credit.
More frustration filled her.
See, I told you she was a bigger bitch than I am.
For once, Liza was inclined to agree with Boris.
It’s Bartoris.
Chapter Eleven
F inola didn’t speak until the heavy glass door of her office closed behind Liza McLane.
“I don’t like how she is acting.”
Tristan wheeled the mirror back behind the screen, then strode across the room to lean against the edge of Finola’s desk.
“She is getting a little rebellious.”
Finola nodded, her gaze distant as she thought. “I actually think Bartoris has become a detriment.”
Tristan had always thought the relatively weak trickster demon was annoying. He could only imagine what it would be like to be possessed by him. His voice alone would be enough to drive anyone insane.
He started to say exactly that, but thought better of it. Having Finola irritated with Liza McLane and Bartoris could be a good thing.
“Well, we need some way to keep McLane in check and working for the magazine. She wasn’t willing to sell her soul, so possession was the only way to keep her here.”
He waited, allowing Finola’s thoughts to head in the very direction he wanted them to.
“I’m not sure we need her as much as we once did,” Finola said. “After all, I know fashion, and you are becoming quite proficient at many of the things Liza does. The layouts, the articles. Your work is very, very good.”
Tristan bowed his head, offering the
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