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A Date Worse Than Death

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by Lanette Curington

Can a demon wreck a perfect date? Never! Ginny won't stand for a demon ruining a date with Pete. She has something up her sleeve, so to speak, to ensure the date goes as planned.

A paranormal romance short, approx. 1,000 words.

Flash fiction sequel to
A Date Worse Than Death.

Free story! Read the entire story below.

A Date To Do Or Die
Copyright ©Lanette Curington
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction.

A Date To Do Or Die

The demon lunged at Pete. The low-level fugly fiend, expected to annoy Pete more than actually kill him, was good enough to keep Pete on his toes.

“Ginny, throw the scarf!” Pete yelled at me over the sound of the wind while dodging the demon with some fancy footwork.

Pete was an expert at sending demons back to Hell. Meticulous research had led him to develop the demon trap scarf—a round piece of silk printed with concentric circles of ancient Aramaic script. Basically, a magic spell. When the scarf was aimed at any class of demon and tossed, if the scarf was close enough to the demon and sent on the correct trajectory, it would glide onto the demon’s head, covering it, and close tightly around the demon’s neck.

High-level demons conjured pits to Hell expecting to toss Pete and anyone else around—like me!—into the fiery maw, but Pete, sometimes with my inadvertent help, always managed to send the demon back instead. With the low-level kind, as the demon fought the scarf, a pit erupted spontaneously and the blinded and weakened demon could be pushed into the opening quite easily.

The wind had already caught and carried away Pete’s demon trap. I clutched mine, but as I rushed toward them, I lost my balance and the whipping wind snatched away my scarf, too. I wasn’t close enough to the demon for the scarf to be drawn to it.

Pete and I were on a date, natch. All our dates weren’t interrupted by demon attacks, but enough were that we were always prepared. Tonight had started out lovely and quiet. We dressed casually and decided to have a walk along the river before dinner at our favorite restaurant. We’d first met there when I was on a blind date arranged by a nasty co-worker. (She blackmailed me into it, long story.) And Pete turned up at the restaurant while on the trail of a demon.

This evening started out warm and muggy, but by the time we reached the river, the weather turned breezier and cooler, the sky overhead becoming a solid mass of roiling dark clouds. It hadn’t begun to rain yet, so we decided to go for a short walk anyway. Then the demon showed up to spoil things.

Well, I was going to have my date or die trying!

Extra scarves were in the car, but it was too far away to struggle against the almost gale force gusts to reach in time. Besides, Pete and the demon were between me and where we’d parked. I had an ace in the hole, though. While I hadn’t had a chance to try it out yet, I didn’t have much choice and had to give it a shot.

I reached behind me, under my blouse, and unhooked my bra. I undid half the buttons on my blouse and quickly worked the bra straps free of my arms, but left the bra where it was, my boobs holding it in place. I took off at a run.

When Pete saw me racing toward them without a scarf in my hand, he was horrified.

“No, Ginny!” he screamed. “Get a scarf out of the car! Oof—”

The demon had landed a blow to Pete’s stomach while he was distracted. Pete crashed on his back in the sand, the demon advancing. Pete recovered and prepared to drive his feet into the demon’s mid-section when it got close enough, but then the demon spotted me coming straight toward them and stopped.

With a blood-clotting roar that scoured my eardrums, its arm rubber-hosed out to me, wrapped around my waist, and snapped me back until I was face-to-face with it. The putrid odor of backed-up sewage assaulted my nose. I gagged as I reached into my blouse, yanked my bra off, and wrapped it around the demon’s head.

This time the demon’s shriek was so intense and high-pitched pain ripped through my eardrums and into my head. I clamped my hands over my ears, but that didn’t really help. The demon turned me loose, and I dropped to the sand beside Pete. The demon clawed and tore at my bra, but it molded itself to the demon’s head, the hook ends twisting themselves and tightening around the demon’s neck.

Near us, the sand shifted and heaved, opening up a pit filled with sparking flames. Pete jumped to his feet, gave the demon a shove, and the fiend toppled over, the hole closing up after it.

The wind died down, and the clouds started dissipating. By the time Pete helped me to my feet, patches of stars twinkled overhead.

“Oh, Ginny,” Pete breathed, holding me close. We kissed, long and deep, glad it was over. For now. Then he pulled back, looking at me. “Your bra?”

I giggled as much in relief as the look on his face. “I shrank the magic spell graphic, printed it out on transfer paper, and ironed one into each cup of my bra. It’s one hundred percent cotton, but I didn’t think the material mattered as long as it’s not synthetic. After all, originally the spell was written on the inside of a bowl to put under a house to trap any demons that tried to enter. Bra cups are like bowls.”

Pete placed a hand on each side of my face and laughed. “Wow. I never would have thought of that.”

“Well, you don’t wear a bra,” I said.

We kissed again then walked arm-in-arm toward the car.

“You still want to go to dinner or would you rather I take you home?”

“I need to stop by my place for another bra.” I finished buttoning up my blouse. “But we’re not going to let a stupid old demon wreck our night.”

“Good girl,” Pete murmured and planted a kiss at my brow.

And we had our date just as we’d planned.

The End

Find out how Ginny and Pete first met in A Date Worse Than Death!

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