Page 2 of Oh No! There’s an Incubus in my Hot Spring (Getting Cozy with Demons #1)

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Bum-Fuck-Nowhere Colorado

“ M om, I’m already on the road,” I say for the seventh time as she tells—not asks—me to reconsider leaving Jason behind in New York.

“ Hija , you should’ve told me about this sooner, we could’ve fixed it,” her voice blares from the speakers of my RAV4. I turn down the volume again.

“There’s nothing to fix. He was fucking my assistant,” I say for the…hell…fiftieth time?

I bump along the winding Colorado mountain road with my little trailer of “roughing it” supplies hitched to the back. The mountainside is crispy from the summer sun, leaving a bit to be desired in terms of greenery. Still better than the smelly streets of a bustling city, I guess.

My mother scoffs. “Every man cheats at least once. It’s just about how you punish him for it and get him back in line.”

“I’m not his drill sergeant, Mom. I don’t want to ‘get him in line.’”

She sighs. “This is my fault.”

“What? How?”

“I obviously didn’t prepare you well enough for the world.”

I grit my teeth and the crazy girl takes the reins. “So, what did you do to punish Dad when he cheated?”

Aside from the jostling of my floating hitch and the bumps of the road, it’s so quiet I can hear my heart beating.

Ah, fuck.

“Mom, I didn’t mean to be a shit—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts me off. “Well, I think I better let you go so you can drive safely. We can talk more about this when you’re settled in.”

But I don’t want to talk more about this. I’m an adult. This was my decision.

“Yeah, okay,” I say. “I’ll text you when I get there to let you know I’m safe.”

“Yes, and tell me if it’s just as bad as those pictures made it look and I’ll send you money for a hotel tonight.”

“Mom, thank you, but I don’t need your money for a hotel. I have a tarp and a blow-up mattress with all my bedding.”

She tsks. “Does it even have a microwave? How are you going to eat dinner?”

Crazy-girl, please don’t take the wheel again.

“I’ll get some sandwich ingredients at the grocery store.”

“Is this really the best choice for you?” she asks, extending the conversation after carefully deflecting from the topic of my dad. “You don’t even know how to operate a business like this.”

I swallow down the fire in my belly. “Mom, I’ve been helping all kinds of businesses come back from the red for five years. I’ve got the experience and the money to do this.”

“But what if someone slips and falls? What if they die?” She gasps and I imagine her clutching nonexistent pearls.

“I’m sure there’s special insurance policies I’ll need to take out, and I’ll have a consent form for everyone who comes in—”

“But what if they sue!”

“Mom, I’m coming up on my exit and I need to focus,” I lie.

“Okay, carina , I love you and I just want what’s best for you, take care,” she rushes out in a single, run-away sentence, then hangs up.

I take a few very deep breaths and then turn on my music and crank it up. The dulcet, new-age rock band Sleep Token blasts through the speakers and seeps into my bones, settling me. I shout the lyrics and point my hand at my imagined adversaries. My mother’s anxiety and disappointment, my ex—who I had to block on everything because he would not stop begging for another chance—and all the work that stands between me and a fuckin’ ballin’ hot spring resort.

When I finally spot the sign for Grizzlywood Springs, I’ve replayed the same song about three hundred times. The sun is creeping toward the crest of the mountains around the town as I wind through the turnoff. The road deposits me onto a bustling, well-lit Main Street.

String lights blink on between the lampposts and a banner waves over the entrance to the road reading, “Welcome to Grizzlywood Springs!” In smaller letters below the welcome is another line: “Visit the historic Silver Mountain Resort for the first time and get 10% off!”

Silver Mountain Resort.

My competition.

I did my research on the town after drunkenly blundering into my purchase. There are several hot springs in nearby towns, but this is the only one I’ll have to share the locals with. That’s all right. I’m not afraid of some friendly competition. And I’m sure there’s more than enough customers to go around for the both of us.

I take it slow as I peruse the businesses along the side of the road. There’s a sushi place and, next to it, a bar with karaoke Thursday through Saturday. A performing arts center that does mostly comedy shows is on the right, with a cute diner with a drive-up coffee spot beside it. There are loads of shopping opportunities, and much more.

The business listing really undersold the town. Then again, I didn’t really read it.

I pull off at the local grocery store and beeline for the deli section, finding the perfect little charcuterie board. A nice bottle of wine will finish it off. And for breakfast, PB I’ve seen her pictures on Instaframe. She messaged me there, too, but I haven’t had the guts to open it. I thought Alexis was not just my executive assistant, but my friend. How wrong I was…

“Hi there.” A pompous, masculine voice rips me from my screen.

I look up to see that before me is a classically beautiful man in his early forties. His brown hair is slicked back, his eyes are sparkly blue, his jaw is clean and sharp…and he’s wearing a black sweater in fucking June.

“Hi,” I say, stuffing my phone in my pocket.

“Sorry for dropping eaves, but I heard you’re the new owner of the haunted hot spring,” he says, extending his hand for a shake.

“Yeah, I am. Sylvia,” I say, accepting the offer.

“I’m Mark Torres, the owner of Silver Mountain Resort,” he says, giving me a winning smile with overly sharp canines. It probably makes other girls’ hearts patter, but it gives me a bit of the creeps, like he’s a wolf baring his teeth at me.

I shake the thought away and smile. “Oh, great. So nice to meet you.”

I want to make a good impression. I want to fit in. I don’t want a bunch of conflict as I’m trying to put my life back together and build myself a decent future.

Especially if the hot spring is actually haunted…

He steps into my space and I release his hand. “Owner to owner, could I offer you some advice?”

I try to shift back, but I hit the glass behind me. “Uh, yeah, please. Offer away.”

“Sell that dump.”

I chuckle. “Why? Because it’s haunted?”

He leans down and his eyes narrow on mine, taking on a predatory quality. “No,” he says quietly. “Because if you try to take any of my business, I will fucking ruin you, professionally and personally.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and blood rushes to my head. “If you’re trying to intimidate me—”

“Sylvia, your drink,” Irene calls, interrupting us. There’s a severe look on her face and she shakes her head at me subtly.

Mark looks over at Irene and smiles. “Just welcoming our newest community member.”

Irene gives him a wrinkle-nosed smile that looks more like a snarl. “I bet you were.”

He winks at me before turning away, his blue eyes sparkling with malice. “See you around.”

I hope not, says the crazy girl, who wants to take over once more.

But I know it’s inevitable that we’ll cross paths again. This town is too small to completely avoid him.

Irene approaches me with the latte. “Making friends already, huh?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that,” I say, accepting the drink.

“Tell me if I got it right,” she says, looking at me hopefully.

I take a sip. Hot nutmeg and cinnamon hit first, then undertones of fall gourdy goodness and sweet, rich oats.

I hum in delight. “It’s perfect.”

She grins and pumps her fist. “Nailed it for the new girl.”

“Do you know Mark?” I ask, super un-casually.

She scoffs. “Everyone knows Mr. Torres.”

“Okay, well, how do you know him?” If I’m making alliances here, I want to ensure I’m making the right ones—though I don’t really doubt my gut that Irene is good people.

“I was his marketing manager. See all the signs around town?” she asks, gesturing to the hostess stand behind us.

I nod. “Yeah. Your doing?”

“Mmhmm. I have a freakin’ bachelors in business analytics with a minor in advertising, okay? I know my shit. Mr. Torres grabbed me for a never-ending internship five years ago, and I, like an idiot, strung along with it for four whole years. Four,” she says firmly, and I cringe, commiserating. “All because my dad’s in town and he loves it here, but he’s also sick and you know how it goes…” She trails off sadly, and I do know how it goes.

“Anyway, I finally grew my ovaries and asked to be hired on, and he let me go. Guess he got what he needed out of me,” she says with a shrug.

Crazy-girl makes a huge racket in the back of my mind and I temper my reaction. “I’m really sorry. That’s bullshit.”

She nods. “It is.”

“Well, the haunted hot spring doesn’t come with any staff, and I’ll definitely need some help with marketing in the next few months. Would you be open to some contract work? I mean, I know you’re really busy—”

“No, yes! Yeah, of course,” she exclaims. “Hell, I’ll drop a shift or two. They’ll figure it out. You just say the word and I’m there. Well, not there . I really don’t like that place. But I will work remotely and show up in person for important meetings.”

I giggle. “Okay. I don’t even know the status of things, but I’m hell-bent on making this work, so I will need a master marketer in the near future.”

“I’m your girl,” she says, pointing two thumbs at herself.

“Great, do you want to give me your number?” I ask, holding out my phone.

“Yeah! And I can tell you all about the boysenberry you’re missing out on,” she says as she types in her info.

She hands me back the phone with a big smile, the tired lines under her eyes disappearing for a moment. This is what she loves, what she lives for. I get that. I get her.

I look down and shoot her a text. “There. Now you’ve got me.”

She pulls out her phone when it dings and scrolls through it, her smile only growing.

There’s a loud, incessant ringing somewhere behind us. “Cherry! Order up!”

“Oh, shit. Okay. Great. Yeah! Okay, see you later,” she says in a flurry as she picks up her serving tray and runs for the cook window.

I can’t stop my grin as I watch her go. I look down and send her a gif of infinity blueberries, zooming in forever. She’ll laugh at it later.

I sip my latte as I run back to my car and start it up. My map leads me farther down Main Street until the houses and businesses fade away and I’m climbing into the mountains once more. Two switchbacks and a steep incline later, I’m finally here.

My heart sinks before I can even park.

“What. The. Fuck.”