Page 9 of Demons Dig Donuts

“Great! Wonderful!” Indy flailed. “Can we please banish this asshole?”

“On it, sweetie!”

Although it was obviously very stupid to fight the demon in charge of every demon ever in the entire city, he had few options if he didn’t want to lose a hand or any other vital body parts. He’d been given a choice, and defiance won out over living with potential mutilation.

Yes, there was a great chance that he wouldn’t survive this, but Indy had already faced his own death before.

He’d made a deal to stay young and beautiful.

If he had to die, at least he’d be a pretty corpse with both hands.

Mr. Heiss snatched the pickle as if he was going to crush it, but it was not a pickle for very much longer.

It was the leshy in all of its towering glory. It grew until he absolutely dwarfed Mr. Heiss, and its antlers bumped into the ceiling. There was the distinct smell of something burning, though there was no obvious source or apparent fire. There was even the sound of crackling wood, like a campfire popping and sparking, and the scent became even more potent until it clogged Indy’s nose.

Mr. Heiss narrowed his eyes and scowled. “Ah. Hello.” He tilted his head to examine the leshy. “How curious.”

“Hey! You!” Indy waved at the leshy. “Pronouns? He, him?”

The leshy seemed confused.

“Do you identify as someone on the masculine end of the spectrum? As in, this leshy is great because he has such a nice smile.”

The leshy nodded and grinned.

“Okay, thank you, big guy. Not sure if you’re taking requests right now, but it would be extra great if you ate him.” Indy pointed at Mr. Heiss.

The leshy turned to stare at Indy, his expression horrified.

“How about just a tiny bite? A nibble?”

“Enough.” Mr. Heiss pushed around the leshy and grabbed Indy by the front of his shirt. “You. You are coming with me.”

Indy snapped his nail and raised his hand, an inexplicably large amount of salt pouring out from the tiny bit of acrylic. “Eat this, you dickless piece of—”

“Sweetie cakes! Get ’em!” Gammy howled. “I’ll grab the—”

Indy didn’t get to hear whatever else she was going to say.

The apartment was gone in a blur, he tasted salt, and his wrist burned with the press of fiery fingers. He thrashed as hard as he could. His fist made contact with something solid and the searing grip released. He had no idea what he’d punched, but it could have been a face. It was impossible to be sure. There was a howl—Mr. Heiss? Indy didn’t know, but he certainly hoped so.

His vision cleared and he was now sitting in a plush chair in a fancy office.

He tried to get up, but he was held in place by more of those fun invisible forces.

Under different circumstances, it could have been hot.

But right now, Indy was pissed off.

All the furniture was a dark brown, the carpets a deep red, and everything dripped in gold accents. The vibe it was giving was the setting for a fancy GQ photoshoot: masculine and about as exciting as watching paint dry. He could only see what was in front of him, which included a big desk, funky black plants, and heavy brocade curtains.

There was also a big silver tray stacked high with assorted donuts and pastries on the corner of the desk, as well as a very displeased Mr. Heiss standing over him.

Mr. Heiss had put his human disguise back on, and he was rubbing his jaw.

Ha, nailed the bastard.

Didn’t seem like any of the salt got him though.