Winter Wishes Anthology by Vivi Andrews; Moira Rogers Vivian Arend

Author:Vivi Andrews; Moira Rogers Vivian Arend [Vivian Arend, Vivi Andrews; Moira Rogers]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2010-12-18T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

The Blurry Lines Between Heaven, Hell & Hollywood

Sasha wasn't in a crisp, gleaming white crypt anymore.

"What the he--" She stopped herself before referencing Hell, uncertain what the protocol was for swearing in the Underworld. "Hello?" Her voice echoed as if she were on a cavernous sound stage, but the dim, torch-lit room she was in was small, barely bigger than Saint John's alcove. Sasha spun three hundred and sixty degrees, trying to get her bearings.

There were no doors, no windows, just a seamless drywall box, but somehow she had been transported here without moving an inch. In theory, that meant she could get out again. Unless the entire quest was a trap. But why would the angels go to such trouble to trap her here? It didn't make sense. This had to be the entrance.

Or some kind of waiting room. The only furnishings were a high-backed chair, a freestanding lamp and a coffee table stocked with back issues of Us Weekly and Hello! magazine.

"Great. The waiting room of Hell. So where's the damn receptionist?"

A high, chattering giggle echoed behind her.

Sasha whipped around, her hand going to the Desert Eagle on her right hip.

A little man crouched in the shadows.

"You weren't there a second ago."

He cocked his head to the side. "Wasn't I?" He giggled again, the sound skittering around the room like a bird fluttering off the walls.

"Geryon?"

"Please, call me Gerry." He stepped into the light from the lamp and Sasha realized what she'd thought was a crouch was his natural height. He couldn't be more than four-feet tall, but his shoulders were those of a much larger man, broad and heavy. He wore snug black leather pants and a flowing pirate shirt hung open midway down his chest. He had a thin, greased moustache--the kind that hadn't been popular since the twenties--and when he smiled his face was eerily familiar, though Sasha was sure she had never seen him before. She would have remembered the horns. Not to mention the solid red complexion.

Nubby horns the size of a thimble ringed his head like a crown, poking out of his oil-slicked black hair, and his skin was the ruddy color of red clay.

He looked classically demonic, but she'd envisioned the gatekeeper as bigger, more imposing. Maybe breathing fire or with razor-sharp teeth. Not as a chittering Oompa-Loompa with a pirate fetish.

"You're the gatekeeper?"

"Mmm," Gerry mumbled vaguely as he circled her, peering up into her face. "So you're the one dating Satan's stepson, eh? I thought you'd be taller."

"Sorry, you've got me mixed up with someone else," Sasha said, beginning to feel like that was all she ever said. "I don't know Satan or his stepson." She flashed the invitation. "An angel sent me. I need to get into Hell."

And with those words she officially surpassed her daily quota of things she'd expected never to say.

Gerry beamed at her and scuttled back to perch on a stool she would swear hadn't been there a minute ago. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers over one knee.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.