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What do you do when your incredibly rich but equally eccentric great uncle dies without a written will?
Having exhausted all other options, Chance decides bringing his uncle back to life is the only way to gain his inheritance. But something goes terribly wrong with his plans.
Together with his neighbor, hunky demon Dylan, they try to set things right again, but they soon find out it's easier dead than done.
Praise for A Fiend in Need
"If you like your demons to be on the humorous side, if you want to watch a well-meaning young man get himself (and everyone else) into more trouble than even a demon can handle, and if you’re looking for an entertaining read filled with supernatural horror as well as a healthy dose of fun, then you might like this short story."
-- Serena Yates, Rainbow Book Reviews
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
A Fiend in Need (Boyfiends Multi-Author)
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2017 Kiernan Kelly
Chance coughed and waved his hand through the greenish-purple smoke rising from the bubbling cauldron. The concoction smelled like burnt monkey ass, or at least what Chance supposed burnt monkey ass would smell like. In truth, he'd never been close enough to a monkey's butt, burned or otherwise, to get a deep whiff, but felt strongly if he had it would've been incredibly similar to the reek now filling his bathroom.
He checked the book again. Nowhere did the recipe or spell suggest the brew should smell this badly, and he couldn't help but worry he'd screwed up somewhere along the line. Surely if such a stench was expected, there would be a footnote or something. He carefully reread each word from the beginning, and then read it yet again. No, he'd done everything perfectly, from precisely measuring the ingredients to carefully adding them to the cauldron in the exact order listed on the page, to the hand motions he'd made and the words of the spell he'd recited.
Maybe it was supposed to be this way. What did he know? Perhaps all resurrection spells smelled like burnt monkey ass. It would explain why so few people were brought back from the dead. The ones casting the spell would have to be harboring a supreme, wholly unconditional love to withstand the stench long enough to complete the ritual.
Really, the book should've come with a nose plug, or at the very least, a clothespin.
He gagged a bit, and reached for his trusty can of air freshener, giving the whole area another good, long spritz. For the briefest moment the scent of honeydew melon hung in the air before the cauldron's stink overpowered it again.
Damn. There wasn't enough air freshener readily available in the entire free world to overcome this reek permanently. He grabbed a bag of potpourri and dumped it into a dish balanced on the rim of the tub, but it didn't do anything except make a mess when the dish upended and sent bits and pieces of dried flowers everywhere. Seeds and petals drifted into the cauldron, but he ignored them. How much worse could they make the stench, anyway?
He resorted to pinching his nostrils closed as he recited the last few lines of the spell in a slightly altered, nasally voice. "I betheech ye thpirit of Uncle Forrether to come back and walk again thith mortal coil. Don again your flethy raiment; feel the thun and wind and rain upon your thkin. With the power of the Earth, with the might of the Univerth, I command thee!"
A sudden crack of thunder outside the apartment, loud enough to rattle the windows, startled him so much he dropped the can of air freshener into the cauldron. The can hissed, and for a moment he was afraid it would blow up. He ducked, shielding his face and head from what he was certain would be an explosion, but when nothing happened after a couple of moments, he ventured a peek and was shocked to see that the bubbling goop in the cauldron had completely dissolved the can of spray.
Wow. The stuff was as strong as it smelled. He was suddenly very glad the ritual didn't call for him to touch it or, God forbid, drink it, or he suspected he would need a resurrection spell himself.
"Well, for better or worse, it's done now." He glanced out of the window. Black clouds were roiling in the sky. It seemed a storm was brewing. "It's all up to you now, Uncle Forrester."
He was just beginning to clean up his mess when he heard pounding at the front door. He froze, staring at the door. Well, that'd worked quicker than he'd imagined it would.
Jumping up, he raced through the living room, skidded to a stop at the door, and flung it open, a wide, delighted smile lighting his face. "Uncle Forrester? Wow that was fast--"
His expression dimmed then darkened almost immediately when he saw who stood on the other side.
It was his neighbor, Dylan. All six feet four inches, broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, thick, silky black hair, and killer smile of him. Dylan Gray was, for all intents and purposes, perfect. Perfectly gorgeous, perfectly charming, and perfectly willing to overlook the little problem of Chance's disinterest in being anything more than nodding acquaintances. In fact, as far as Chance was aware, Dylan only possessed two other flaws -- a pair of small, matching horns poking out of the top of his head. Even so, Chance had to admit -- to himself, never out loud -- even they were sexy. Bright red and shiny, they grew in a short twist, reminding Chance of two little dollops of soft serve strawberry ice cream.
In any case, Dylan was not someone Chance needed or wanted to deal with at the moment. "I'm kind of busy, Dylan."
"Oh? Well, I stopped by to see if you were having the same trouble I am with this godawful smell." Dylan waved a hand in front of his nose. "I can see you are. Where is the stench coming from? It smells like somebody's frying onions and raw sewage."
Chance tried closing the door in Dylan's face. "No idea. I'll let you know if I hear anything about it, okay?"
Dylan, as usual, was being obtuse. He shouldered the door open again and stepped inside. "Smells even worse in here, Chance. Did your toilet explode or something?" Chance winced as Dylan followed his nose toward the master bedroom and bath. Dylan coughed and turned an interesting shade of green that deepened in hue the closer he got. "Whoa... it's burning my nose hair in here! God, that's disgusting! It smells like Satan's armpits in here. And coming from a demon who's actually sat behind Satan in the sauna, I know of what I speak."
"Yeah, well, great, but you should go back to your apartment. Maybe something backed up in the pipes. I'll call the super." Chance tried to shoo Dylan toward the front door, but Dylan ignored him, continuing on into the bathroom as if he owned the place.
For some reason, although Chance had never given him any reason to think it, ever since Chance moved into the building a month ago, Dylan seemed to believe they were friends. Dylan even hinted at perhaps there being something more than mere friendship between them, and was proving to be exceedingly difficult to convince otherwise.
The truth was, while Chance liked Dylan, maybe even harbored a little secret crush, he had more important things to worry about than making friends or having a love life. He had furry, helpless things to worry about, like cats and dogs and a shelter in trouble, not to mention raising an uncle from the dead.