by Holly Lisle
Rhea pulled a chair behind his desk and sat down by him. She reached out and took his hand in a steely grip. "Jack," she said intensely, "there are things in my past. Things you don't know about me. Things that make marriage very difficult."
Jack's throat tightened as all his worst speculations came back. "You don't have to tell me." He looked into Rhea's eyes, pools of emerald fire—a man could drown in there, or boil. "It doesn't matter what happened before," he said. "I don't care who you were, or what you were. You just have to believe that I will never hurt you."
"I know that, Jack," she said, her voice husky. Her eyes clouded with tears; she blinked them away. "I wasn't finished." She took a deep ragged breath and he smelled the sweetness as she exhaled. "It's very difficult, but I want to do it."
Jack sighed. "That's okay, I un—what? You want to do what?"
Rhea smiled suddenly, sunshine peeking through clouds. "I want to marry you."
Shadows vanished from the corners of the room; the cobwebs cleared from his mind. Jack's entire world narrowed down to her face in front of him. He was laughing as he threw his arms around her. They kissed, and for a minute, he knew again the simple joy of childhood—pure sensation with no thought of the future. Then it hit him: the ring! What had he done with it?
"Don't move," he whispered. He turned and began searching through drawers, frantically tossing aside the rubber bands, paper clips and dead ballpoints that seemed to breed in their natural habitat. There! Between the metric ruler and last summer's company picnic map. He grabbed the small box.
When he turned, though, the smile was gone from her face. "Not yet," she said, holding up a hand. "I want to marry you. That doesn't mean that you're going to want to marry me."
He stopped and waited.
"I do have to tell you, you see," she continued. "It's part of the agreement... and I have to tell you before we can have any sort of formal understanding between the two of us."
"Formal understanding?"
"Before I can say, 'Yes, I'll marry you,' you have to see me. Really see me, Jack. You have to know."
He nodded. Waited. Best to let her get around to it in her own way.
She swallowed hard. "I'm one of the Hellraised."
"I already knew that. What else?"
She looked shaken. "What else? What do you mean, what else? And what do you mean, you already knew?"
He shrugged. "I had my suspicions before—little things about you that just didn't quite add up. I knew for sure in Devil's Point, when the devils hurt you. They couldn't even touch me, but they cut you with knives." He smiled gently. "They couldn't have touched you, either, unless you were one of them."
She looked stunned. "You knew? You knew when you asked me to marry you?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, my God."
"I figured you had to realize I knew after our trip—when you turned me down I thought it was for some other reason. Like you didn't love me."
"But I... do. Love you. I just didn't see how you could love me."
"Well, I do."
"You love what you've seen so far." She closed her eyes, and the pain on her face was clear. "You haven't seen the real me."
She showed him. She shielded the room first, so that the Hellawatts it took for her to translate her human seeming back into her angelic form wouldn't show up on Hell's monitors, and then she shifted.
He caught his breath. She was both beautiful and terrible, a creature who bore the scars of unmeasurable pain and grief. Fear raced along his nerves like a jolt of lightning; from darkly glowing wingtips to fiery eyes and Hell-shaped body, she was the beautiful stuff of nightmare, seductive and terrible and overwhelming as a Giger painting. Logically, he knew he should be wanting to run for his life... but he could see her Hellish form and still love her—because she was this creature, but she was Rheabeth Samuels, too.
"Seen enough?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. "Unless you have more you need to show me."
She changed back to her human seeming.
He nodded. He felt a bit shaky, but only in the knees—and that was just gut reaction. He looked at her, and smiled. "Fine," he said at last. "You've shown me what you were before I met you. I understand what I'm getting myself into. Now will you marry me?"
She reached behind her and he heard a metallic click. The door lock.
Rhea walked towards him, and began, innocently, to shed her clothes. Her skirt went first, falling soundlessly to the floor; then her blouse. Somehow she managed to step out of her panties without breaking stride. His overtaxed knees gave way at last, and he dropped into his chair. She slid onto his lap, wearing only a bra and a smile.
"I—I've got something for you," he managed to say.
"I can tell," Rhea said.
"I mean—"
"I know," she said quietly, and took the open box from him. She slipped the ring on her finger. "It's beautiful, Jack." She put the box down carefully. "Now, want to give me a hand?"
Jack reached behind her and opened the bra clasp. He had gotten pretty good at it. He pulled the flimsy red annoyance away from her and took in the sight of her the way nature intended. Well, maybe nature didn't have so much to do with it, but he didn't care. They kissed again, frantically this time. His hands roamed over the wonder of her and she returned the compliment. After what seemed like an eternity, but wasn't nearly long enough, she broke away.
Rhea stood and took the phone off the hook. "You're a little overdressed, don't you think?" She bent over and began working his shirt buttons.
It was a great angle to appreciate her from and he made the most of it, but at some point he had to get rid of his pants. He stood reluctantly and worked to get them down, past the natural obstruction that had developed. Rhea knelt in front of him and helped. After his jeans and jockeys slid to his feet, she kept on helping.
She looked up with a gleam in her eyes. "Okay, mister," she said, "on your back!" She pointed to the metal trolley table.
Jack touched it dubiously. "It's awfully cold," he said.
"We'll warm it up," she said. "In the meantime, better your buns than mine."
She was right, he thought later, when thought was possible again. He was warm now. He opened his eyes and looked up at Rhea, still astride him. She was staring dreamily into the distance, sweat beaded on her perfect skin. Her gaze focused suddenly. She looked startled, then giggled and waved. She rose up slowly, letting Jack slide free, then walked to the office window.
What? Jack sat up and looked out. Jan was in the parking lot making a frantic cranking pantomime with her hands. As Jack's head came above the sill, she waved at him, and gave him a big thumbs-up sign, then resumed her signaling. He could feel himself flush crimson as Rhea quickly cranked the blinds shut.
"How long was she out there?"
"Long enough to know the blinds needed shutting," Rhea laughed.
"But she saw—"
"Nothing she hasn't seen before. Besides, you're the one who's been on film. Anyway, I'll wager she would have kept everyone else away. And if not—"
Jack got off the table. "And if not, what?" he said.
She shrugged. "And if not, let's really give them something to talk about. C'mere you!"
"You're an evil woman, Rhea," Jack said.
"I'm trying to give up being evil," she said. "But I'll always be wicked."
Chapter 62
"Give me a pigfoot and a bottle of beer," Glibspet told the clerk at the RediMart.
"I don't know," the clerk said. He looked doubtfully at the large glass jar Glibspet was pointing to. "No one's ever bought one of those things since I was here. I don't even know what I'm supposed to fish 'em out with." He paused. "Hell, I don't even like looking at 'em."
"And I don't like looking at you," Glibspet snapped. "Use the hot-dog tongs and put it in a drink cup."
The clerk stiffened. "Okay, mister, if that's what you want." He moved with deliberate slowness, making a production of finding a cup and rins
ing the tongs. He put his arm around the huge glass jar and wrestled the screw top off. The pressure equalized with a pop. Apparently no one had ever bought a pigfoot. Why then were the jars stuck in convenience stores all across the state? Glibspet smelled a brother Unchained in the loop somewhere.
The clerk took the tongs and fished through the mass of floating pink tissue until he got a solid catch. He raised it, let it drip for a second, then plopped it into the cup. It made an ugly sloughing sound. Glibspet's mouth started to water.
"Okay now, mister, let's see some ID," the clerk said.
"Do I look like I'm under twenty-one?" Glibspet demanded.
"Rules is rules," the clerk said. "You want your beer, you show me your ID."
Glibspet had lots of ID. If pressed, he could prove that he was any of thirteen different people, all of them old enough to drink. He produced a driver's license from his pocket.
The clerk scrutinized it and him. "Yeah, I guess that's you," he said. "Here you go."
Glibspet paid and hurried out the door. He was on a mission. Craig had struck pay dirt after a day in the newspaper morgue. It wasn't hard to confirm that one Rheabeth Samuels was the owner and CEO of Celestial Technologies, and that her picture looked almost too good to be human. Glibspet gunned the Lincoln and peeled out of the parking lot. He put the cold beer between his legs, raised the cup with the pigfoot and drank down the liquid that had run off of it. Not bad. A little too fresh, perhaps.
A little work at the courthouse and tracking down her driver's license turned up a home address, which just happened to lie in the rough center of his cluster of green pins. Coincidence? He popped the top off the beer bottle with his teeth and took a long swig from it. Glibspet knew all about quantum uncertainty, but he didn't believe in coincidence. He looked at the address again. For some reason, it was a hard one to remember, but he should be almost there.
A police car passed, going the other way. The patrolman glanced at Glibspet suspiciously. Glibspet raised the hand with the bottle and waved at him. Looking surprised, the cop screeched to a halt, then fired up the lights and siren as he swung the patrol car around.
Glibspet grinned. This was always fun. He swung the Lincoln in front of a school bus and jammed on the brakes. The driver swung the wheel frantically to avoid rear-ending him, and the bus careened across the road, children screaming, horn honking. Blocked, the patrol car came to a stop again while Glibspet turned down a side street. He would be blocks away before it was all sorted out, and the cop would find out later that he'd never gotten a clear glance at the license plate. Glibspet hoped they went looking anyway. People who drove Lincoln Town Cars tended to be older, well-off men, crotchety and well-connected enough to make life hell for any officer who hassled them.
Now what was that address again?
He drove by it three times before he saw it; for some reason his mind always turned to some other problem while he was counting off the numbers. It wasn't a big house—looked like three bedrooms, nicely kept, no fence so probably no dog. Mmm. Dog. That had been a really juicy pup he'd rounded up the other night when he'd fed Craig some line and had gone back to his old digs for a few hours. Probably not a pure poodle. A cockapoo perhaps, with a little more meat on the bones than usual, and really succulent ears...
A horn honked impatiently behind him and brought Glibspet back to the present. He was stopped in the street about a block past his goal. He flipped the hidden toggle that dumped oil in the fuel line and hit the gas, moving on, leaving the car behind him in a cloud of noxious black smoke. This time, he didn't circle back around. The house was obviously protected, and not by Averial—he would have smelled any spent Hellawatts. Unless he greatly missed his guess, there were angels in that house, and that was out of his league. Now, if this Rheabeth Samuels really were Averial, and she had angels in her house, something completely unprecedented was going on. Something he would have to think about. Glibspet bit into the pigfoot and chewed slowly. In the meantime, he would have to try to catch up with her away from home.
Chapter 63
Court Okays Succubi
Fayetteville—The Fayetteville Observer
Federal Circuit Court Judge Janice Hudson ruled Monday that Bragg Boulevard club Just South of Heaven is not in violation of federal equal employment opportunity laws. The topless entertainment club which employs only succubi, had been sued by local human dancers denied employment there.
In her ruling, Judge Hudson concluded that "since over the course of an evening a succubus may manifest as any conceivable racial or ethnic group, and since federal law recognizes no general racial group of 'human' or 'Unchained,' this court has no choice but to find for the defendant."
Speaking for the plaintiffs, Elizabeth "Bambi" Scott said, "This is a real setback for Fayetteville's dancers. All of the big tippers go to that place."
A spokesman for the Fayetteville police department confirmed that the force would continue to keep a close watch on the club to forestall any of the illicit activities commonly associated with succubi. "We'll shut them down in a heartbeat if they step over the line," said Lt. Frank Devon.
Just South of Heaven reacted by offering free doughnuts to all law enforcement officers.
Ft. Bragg officials continue to hold the club off-limits to all Army personnel.
Rhea's cellular phone beeped. She took it from her purse and flipped it open. "Samuels," she said.
"Got some good news, I think." It was Jan, barely audible over the drone of the Cessna's engines. "I've got someone on-line who comes on like he's swimming in money, and wants to drip some of it in our bucket. Want to talk with him?"
Jack looked at her quizzically from across the cabin. "Money," she mouthed at him, then cupped her hand around the microphone to shield it from the noise. "Definitely," she told Jan. "Right now, we'll take lunch money from kids if we can get it."
"Well, this guy's no kid, but that's all I can tell you. Here you go." There was a click as Jan switched the call over.
"Ms. Samuels?" The cultured voice on the other end had a faint trace of Cajun accent.
"Speaking," Rhea confirmed.
"Domino Glibbens at your service, Ms. Samuels. You'll not have heard of me, I'm sure."
"Well..."
"Oh don't flatter me, Ms. Samuels. I keep a low profile, and I've been out of the country for several years. The point is I own a small herd of oil wells down in the gulf and I consider myself relatively well off, at least compared to my poor friend Ross." He paused and Rhea took the opportunity to ease her chair back. "Now, I understand you're building a private spaceship."
"That's right," Rhea said. "All the details are in our prospectus." Jack came up behind her and started massaging her shoulders. She hadn't realized how tense they were.
"And you're desperately in need of capital," Glibbens continued.
"I wouldn't put it that way, Mr. Glibbens," Rhea said. "I would say that our development schedule is ambitious and that we always have room for additional investors." Jack stopped kneading, and she could almost feel his eyes roll.
"Well, however you want to put it, I'm very interested, Ms. Samuels. Been a space buff since I was knee-high. Can we meet face to face and talk turkey?"
"I'm afraid I'm not in the Triangle now, Mr. Glibbens. In fact, I'm about to touch down in Manteo on the Outer Banks to do a few days work here at our shipyard."
"Well now, that's nigh perfect. I'm up at Corolla myself, above the lighthouse, and I'm fed up with watching those damn wild horses chomping the plants at my beach house. It's what, three forty-five now. Shall I meet you there at eight for supper?"
"That sounds fine." Rhea said, "I'll have one of my engineering staff go with us to answer your technical questions." She paused. "You do understand, of course, Mr. Glibbens, that we'll have to verify your finances before we can do business."
"I understand completely," Glibbens said. "Wouldn't deal with anyone who didn't work that way. Eight o'clock then."
Rhea
gave him directions and hung up. Jack looked at her.
"I don't know," she said. "If he's legit, he could save us a lot of grief, and take some of the pressure off. On the other hand, he could be trying to run a scam on us somehow. There's something in his voice I'm not sure I like."
Jack shrugged. "We can't get much further in the hole," he said, "and you know what they say about beggars and choices."
The pilot signaled them to buckle up, and the plane began its descent to the small airstrip below.
"So why did you include me in his dinner invite?" Jack asked. "You know I like talking business about as well as I like root canals, and you invented the key technologies. You don't need me there to explain them."
The plane bucked slightly as they descended into the clouds. Rhea pulled her seat belt tight. "You need to know how the other side works, Jack," she said. "And I want you there with me."
Chapter 64
Jack worried as the plane touched down and taxied towards the main hangar. Rhea was in a somber mood, and he couldn't seem to shake her out of it. Dealing with the TRITEL thing was taking all her juggling skills. The last time he'd seen her really happy was when they came out of his office after that second bout of intense reconciliation, with her wearing his ring. Practically the whole staff was there in the corridor, applauding. Rhea had cried then, and so had he, a little bit. After that, she had buckled down to work twice as hard.
The little Cessna coasted to a stop, and Jack and Rhea climbed down the short ramp to the tarmac. Jack looked around, and spotted the Manteo foreman waving from the parking lot. He waved back to her, and he and Rhea walked over to her car.
Kate Tamaru was a small woman with long black hair who had come to Celestial from UC Berkeley where, Jack was convinced, things were much stranger than the most Unchained-infested parts of North Carolina. Surprisingly, she was not a vegetarian, nor did she wear Birkenstocks. She was a master of organization and headed up the small on-site Celestial operation that oversaw the numerous contractors working on the ship.
