The Demon in the Pastry Shop

20: Chips in the Cup, in the Stone of an Idol

 "Find her for me," Silus said (it was an order).

"I don't take orders from you," Lovell grinned, sitting with his wolf body curled up on an office chair (not taking orders for the fourth time this week).

Half a week gone and Lovell refused to contribute to the search for Kit. He was sore about his gunshot wound (emotionally). He was sore about his gunshot wound (physically). The Terrorling even convinced Remis to leave the caves with him, leaving Silus with a hostage and little way of finding Kit except to explore the depths of the tunnels which he knew led into at least three separate realms.

"The Collector won't take kindly to this kind of blockade on his next acquisition," Silus thudded his hands into Lovell's desk.

"I heard this was a personal favor you were doing in exchange for one from him," Lovell remarked, adding to his book of tallies. The contents of the book were secret to anyone but the Terrorling himself, though everyone knew it had to do with his Terrorling calling. Lovell smirked and without looking up, he added, "I don't think you'll be the one to tell him that you can't get anything done on this mission."

"You're the one who's not doing anything!"

"You think the Collector cares enough to differentiate? We're mice to him. Do you take the time to figure out which mouse is causing the trouble before calling the exterminator?"

"What do you want, Lovell?" Silus slapped a hand to his face just to channel some of the rage. His snakes jerked away in a wave.

"I would like for subordinates to stay sub-ordinate," Lovell's eyes flashed up from his work, "I don't work for a dead god and I don't work for his deformed copy."

"Just come out with it. You know trackers are hard to come by these days and I don't have options other than you."

"I don't want anything. No, I'll revise that. I want to watch you squirm and writhe in the dirt of your utter failure."

Silus clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes. Lovell wasn't getting over the gunshot wound anytime soon. Which said something. Between demons, a gunshot wound somewhere non-fatal on a creature that had healing powers was like a soft-handed slap between humans.

So, upon stubbing his toe on the reality that pleading with Lovell was futile for the moment, Silus turned around and headed for the door.

"And Silus?" Lovell called when his foot was on the other side of the threshold.

"What?" he snapped over his shoulder.

"If you fail on purpose because you can't bring yourself to cage the pretty little bird, I'm going to take up the torch and bring the Collector your heads on a platter. You're quite collectable too, don't you know?"

Silus knew.

He left Lovell's office with a head full of I'm not infatuated with Kit, it was a momentarily daydream, that's all! When I see her, I'll drag her by her hair if I have to.

Inside his apartment, Silus frowned with the deepest crease in his eyebrow that he could muster. He crossed his arms and sighed loudly.

Ravitavah sat (in a chair for once) at his table, a half-eaten snake-shaped roll in his hand as he chewed it happily, filling up his freckle-speckled cheeks. In his other hand was a teapot with scuffs practically striping its plump porcelain body. It wasn't Silus' teapot. Silus didn't own a teapot, but he wasn't surprised that Ravitavah did and that the accompanying teacups were chipped at least three times on each rim and the saucers were obviously and terribly glued back together from breaks that split them in pieces.