CECE RETURNS TO the Midnight Café.
The blare of horns assaults her the minute she steps through the door. The music is blood hot, the place jumping, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. The spotlights normally trained on the stage swing over the crowd in a pulsing, strobing panic. Everything is too bright and sharp and loud.
CeCe stands in the door gripping her cane, dazed. Like a magician’s reveal, the lights swing back to the stage, illuminating the singer. Of course.
The demon wears dark red today, her suit the color of drying blood, her tie a slash of ink. She dips the microphone low, like a dance partner, and the crowd goes wild. Her voice steps up CeCe’s spine, but not the way Madeline’s does. This is an assault; voltage-dipped nails, driven with the power of a nail gun—Bam! Bam! Bam!—between each vertebra.
It brings back last night’s panic; loneliness in the midst of a crowd, as though the demon sings for CeCe alone. Punctuating the point, the woman raises her head, echoing her motion from CeCe’s dream. She grins and the lyrics are lost in a rush of blood pounding in CeCe’s ears. The demon’s lips shape a word meant for CeCe alone: Mine.
The demon throws a dark wink, tipping her hand. Even though she knows what will come next, it still tears CeCe’s heart out. As the song ends, a single spot sweeps to the side of the stage, illuminating Madeline. Her beads are black and crimson tonight. The light hugs her as it always does, but instead of CeCe, it’s the demon waiting to circle her waist, pull her close.
Wrong.
The demon whispers something in Madeline’s ear. Madeline laughs, head back, too-bright teeth flashing in the spotlight. The music kicks up again, a physical wave pushing CeCe away. She’s not wanted here. Madeline has made her choice. She wants nothing to do with CeCe. She wants to be left alone.
CeCe slams through the door, not waiting to hear the music Madeline and the demon will make together. She’s outside, in the rain. Of course it’s raining. Alone. The word echoes, nipping her heels, chasing her all the way home.
IT’S A TUESDAY, or a Wednesday. CeCe doesn’t remember and doesn’t care. Just like she doesn’t remember falling asleep fully clothed. She has a vague sense that the phone has been ringing off and on. The Glitter Squadron is used to her going AWOL. Eventually they’ll give up, but just to be safe, she yanks the cord out of the wall, and crawls back into bed, piling the covers over her head.
The world has gone away; she’s the only one left. Alone.
But knocking insists otherwise. CeCe staggers to the door, opening it only to make the pounding stop, not because she wants to talk to whoever is on the other side. It’s a moment before her eyes focus, and a moment more before her brain catches up.
“Sapphire?”
“Honey, you look like shit.” Sapphire’s nose wrinkles. She purses her lips, then sighs. “I’m not going to stand in your doorway all day, so you’d better invite me in.”
When CeCe doesn’t move, Sapphire pokes her in the chest with a long, gem-studded fingernail, forcing her back a step. Sapphire’s floorlength fishtail skirt hisses behind her. Her nose wrinkles again, taking in the disarray; she nudges an empty bottle aside with one glittering platform sandal and raises an eyebrow.
“Taking good care of yourself, I see.”
“What do you want?” CeCe hasn’t moved from the door, and in fact is gripping it in order to stay upright. None of this makes sense. Bunny she could understand, or Esmeralda. Sapphire doesn’t even like her.
“Charming. You weren’t answering your phone. I thought someone should check to make sure you weren’t dead. Good to know you’re at least face-up in the gutter.”
CeCe opens her mouth to snap a retort, but what comes out is, “Madeline left me.”
“Oh, honey.” Sapphire’s expression flickers through a complicated range of emotions—animosity and sympathy and the urge for a smartassed remark.
CeCe almost smirks, but it isn’t in her. God help her, she almost wants to hug the other woman when Sapphire says, “You want me to make you some tea?”
Defeated, CeCe nods. She isn’t Clark Gable, keeping her cool. She’s just CeCe, falling apart. She needs to sober up, wake up, figure out how to put her life back together. She needs to get the image of Madeline with the demon’s arm around her waist out of her head.
“Wanna talk about it?” Sapphire asks when she returns from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of tea.
CeCe finally moves away from the door. She almost asks if Sapphire has a flask on her, surveying the dismaying ruin of her liquor cabinet littering the floor.
“All right, let’s try this, then,” Sapphire says. “Do you love her?”
“I…Yes.” CeCe runs a hand through her hair, a futile attempt to slick the fallen strands back into place.
“Okay. Good start. Now, go after her.”
“It’s not that simple.” There’s a hollow space inside CeCe’s skull. “She was laughing. There’s another…woman.”
CeCe can’t bring herself to say demon. Because it sounds ridiculous in the light of day, with all the alcohol gone. It would be easier, gentler to believe something supernatural stole Madeline away from her, but the cold hard truth of it is she wasn’t stolen. CeCe lost her.
“She looked happy,” CeCe says.
“Looks are deceiving. Do you know she’s happy? Did you ask her?”
CeCe opens her mouth, but no words come out. She closes it again, frowning.
Sapphire taps a nail on the table for emphasis, drawing CeCe’s attention. “If this was just about you making excuses to be miserable, then I would let it go, but Madeline’s happiness is wrapped up in this, too. Stop being such a candy-ass coward and let her into your life already.”
CeCe looks up, stunned. Sapphire might as well have slapped her, but perversely CeCe finds herself chuckling.
“The traditional response is ‘thank you,’” Sapphire’s tone is sour.
“It’s just, I always got the sense you didn’t like me. But here you are, trying to put my love life back together.”
“Honey, most of the time I think you’re an arrogant, self-centered little prick. But—” the corner of Sapphire’s mouth lifts in the faintest of smiles—”that doesn’t mean you’re not family.”
CeCe feels something unknot inside her; maybe having a family isn’t such a terrible thing after all. “Thanks. You’re a swell gal.”
Sapphire snaps her fingers, pointing a warning finger at CeCe’s chest. “Don’t you gal me. I’m all lady. And don’t you forget it. Now, go get your girl back.”
CECE IS STONE-COLD sober for the first time in what feels like forever. She rests her hand on the dresser for a moment before opening the top drawer. Buried under a ball of socks there’s a velvet box.
The ring inside is an art-deco dream. She bought it at a pawn shop, the same one where she got her pocket watch, the week after she met Madeline. It’s been hidden in her drawer ever since. Holding the ring crystallizes her, drives away the rest of her fear, or at least holds it at bay. She should have given the ring to Madeline long ago. She can only hope Sapphire was right and it isn’t too late.
Music beats a pulse through the Midnight Café’s skin, even from outside. It thrums in CeCe’s bones as she reaches for the door. Hot jazz. The hottest.
It’s like a wave from a blast furnace when she steps inside. Sweatslicked bodies writhe in a space cleared by pushing the tables up against the walls. It’s only dancing, but it might as well be sex. The air reeks of it, and the demon is eating it up. On stage, she howls, sweat beading her skin, but rather than looking like exertion, she glows as if lit by flames.
Once again the demon’s suit is the flip-side mirror image of CeCe’s— blacker than black, with the flourish of a purple pocket square and tie. A single flower, its petals the same velvet nap as CeCe’s suit, decorates her lapel.
As the demon dips the microphone low, leaning toward the crowd, a trick of the light paints the shadow of horns on her brow. The song comes to an e
nd, and the demon sweeps a bow. Her jacket strains at the shoulders, as if against folded wings. Or maybe it’s just a bandage; maybe CeCe and the all-too-human-woman can exchange binding tips when all is said and done.
Two conflicting truths exist in CeCe’s mind: She’s lost Madeline to another woman, and a succubus stole her girl away. Her head buzzes, struggling to keep the thoughts straight as she pushes through the crowd.
“And now, fools and follies, ladies and gentlemen, sinners each and every one of you—I’d like to invite my special lady to join me on the stage.”
A sickening sense of déjà vu makes CeCe’s stomach lurch, and she freezes halfway to the stage. Madeline’s dress glitters like moonlight as she takes her place at the demon’s side. She scans the crowd, looking lost for a moment, and CeCe’s pulse skips on hope. She’s the one who should be up there beside Madeline—the Velvet Devil and the Silken Angel. But Madeline’s gaze passes over her, snagging on a blank space as though CeCe doesn’t exist.
“Before we start our next set.” The demon winks. “I have a happy announcement. Not one hour ago, this little lady here agreed to be my wife.”
CeCe’s ears ring, drowning out the thunder of applause, the whistles, whoops, and hollers. Madeline smiles as though the corners of her mouth are lifted with strings, a doll, moved by the demon beside her. Her eyes are glassy.
“I object!” CeCe pushes toward the stage.
“Well now, I don’t believe anyone asked you.” The demon’s voice is honey and tar, the edges of her smile cutting sharp.
“She’s already spoken for.” CeCe hates the way her voice quavers.
The demon smirks. The shadow of a tail twitches behind her. “Funny.” The demon lifts Madeline’s hand, showing a band of black metal. It looks heavy, and it absorbs the light. “The only ring I see on her finger is mine.”
“Madeline? Doll?” CeCe reaches for Madeline’s other hand. Her fingers are cold. Up close, the blush on Madeline’s cheeks no longer hides the pallor.
Madeline starts, jerking back. Her eyes focus on CeCe, but she shakes her head.
“I can’t…” Madeline’s voice is strained. Her gaze losing focus again.
“Fight it,” CeCe says. “It’s a trick.”
“I think you’d best leave the lady alone.” The demon’s face is inches from CeCe’s. “She’s with me.”
CeCe ignores her, keeping her gaze on Madeline.
“Maddy, I know you can hear me.” She begins to croon, low and sweet, one of the old songs from her Velvet Devil days.
Her voice cracks, losing the thread of the melody. Sweat gathers at the small of her back. Madeline’s expression grows pained, like she wants to turn her head and look at CeCe, but she can’t.
“You’re too late,” the demon says.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The demon cocks an eyebrow. “Will you fight for her then?”
CeCe finally tears her gaze away from Madeline, gaping at the demon.
“What do you think, ladies and gentlemen?” The demon addresses the crowd, arms spread wide. “Shall we duel for the lady’s favor?”
“She isn’t a prize,” CeCe says, but her words drown in wave of applause.
“Last chance.” The demon drops her voice low again, turning back to CeCe. “Time to tuck your tail between your legs and run.”
“Like hell I will!” CeCe draws the handle of her cane from the base, revealing a thin sword.
Running with the Glitter Squadron has taught her a thing or two about always being prepared.
She leaps onto the stage. A brief electric shiver makes its way from CeCe’s polished wingtips to the crown of her slick-coiffed head. She flourishes her sword, vamping as she prepares to lunge.
“Tsk. Tsk.” The demon wags a finger. “I can fight dirty, too.”
A thunder-crack fills the air accompanied by a flash and the scent of black powder and cinnamon. The demon’s jacket shreds as two powerful bat wings snap free, beating the air and lifting her off the ground. The horns aren’t just a shadow on her forehead anymore, and instead of shiny black shoes, cloven hooves peek out from her trouser cuffs.
Cries of surprise fill the air, and panicked footsteps rush for the door, leaving CeCe, Madeline, and the demon alone.
“Surprise.” The demon bares fangs and dives at CeCe.
CeCe dodges, rolling, and springs up with her sword-cane brandished. She can’t help thinking of Errol Flynn as Robin Hood, battling for his ladylove against Basil Rathbone as Sir Guy of Gisbourne. Adrenalinehigh and emboldened by the image, she slashes at the demon’s face, drawing a line of red on her cheek. This is nothing like sparring with Butch, this is the real deal, and she has no intention of holding back.
The demon snarls, landing with a force that shakes the stage. She grasps Madeline’s shoulders, shoving her toward CeCe. Madeline stumbles, letting out a choked noise of surprise. CeCe drops her sword, catching Madeline.
“Are you okay?”
Madeline’s face is tear-wet; a tremor runs the length of her body, physically trying to shake free of the spell holding her. But it still has its claws in her, and panic skitters across her features. She fights CeCe, eyes wide, trying to escape.
“What have you done to her?” CeCe whips around to face the grinning demon.
The terror in Madeline’s eyes breaks CeCe’s heart, but she lets Madeline scramble away. CeCe reaches for her sword, ready to smash the smile from the demon’s face. But the demon is too quick. She kicks the blade away and catches CeCe by the throat, lifting her and slamming her into the wall backing the stage.
CeCe’s vision blurs, her eyes stinging as she pries at the hand gripping her throat. The demon relaxes her hold just enough to allow the tips of CeCe’s polished shoes to scrape the stage. She leans in close, her lips brushing CeCe’s ear, breath hot.
“I can give her things you can’t.”
Stars burst behind CeCe’s eyes.
“Pleasure. Fortune. Fame. I can make her a star,” the demon purrs.
“She doesn’t want…”
“You don’t know what she wants.” The demon squeezes, cutting off CeCe’s words.
CeCe kicks, shoes scuffing the stage, but she can’t get purchase. The tiny hairs on CeCe’s ear bend under the weight of the demon’s breath.
“How about this, then? Two for the price of one, the three of us, all cozy together?” The demon snickers, pushing images into CeCe’s mind— the demon’s lips on her throat, Madeline naked and crawling toward both of them.
CeCe reaches for another image—Madeline on New Year’s Eve, eyes bright, talking about Paris; Madeline, sweaty from rock-climbing, trying to cajole CeCe into coming along this time; Madeline speaking to her sister on the telephone, discussing their mother’s cancer diagnosis and fighting back tears. This is Madeline—not CeCe’s gal, and not the demon’s. Her own goddamn person, the person CeCe wants to share her life with.
“I don’t deal with devils.” CeCe hears the rasp in her voice. She wants to accompany the words with a dramatic gesture, but her hands play traitor, hanging limp at her sides.
“I’m sorry, Madeline.” CeCe wheezes, struggling to draw in enough breath. “I love you.”
If she could reach the velvet box in her pocket…. But she can’t remember why the box is important. It’s hard to focus.
A wordless yell and the sound of splintering wood breaks the spell. CeCe drops as the demon releases her, hitting the stage on her knees, gasping for breath. Behind the demon, Madeline holds the remains of a splintered chair.
“Get the hell away from my woman.” Madeline’s arms tremble, but she shifts her gaze to CeCe, eyes bright and wholly focused now. “You okay?”
CeCe’s swallows against the bruise left by the demon’s grip. “Yeah.”
“Good. Then let’s kill this bitch.”
Madeline gets the tip of her shoe under CeCe’s sword and flips it into the air. CeCe manages to catch it and pushes to her feet, ignoring the
pain. She steps to Madeline’s side, slips her arm around her waist, and together, they face the demon.
“Madeline, honey, babydoll…” The demon’s voice is all liquid sweetness again, plucking at them, a faint prickle at the base of CeCe’s spine.
“No one calls me doll except for her.” Madeline jerks her head to indicate CeCe, driving toward the demon with the chair.
The demon jumps back, wings snapping wide. The microphone stand goes over with an electric whine. A table crashes to the ground and one of the lights overhead pops, raining shattered glass on the stage.
CeCe leans into the wind of the demon’s wings. The succubus howls, lifting higher before tucking her wings and diving at them.
“Get down!” Madeline grabs CeCe and they fall, a tangle of bodies trying to shelter each other.
Pure instinct makes CeCe bring her sword up at the last minute. Too late, the demon’s eyes widen. Momentum impales her on the sword, and there’s a sound like the demon’s suit ripping, only worse. A flash of negative light, a dark so painful CeCe lets go of the sword to shield her eyes. Black powder and sulfur and cinnamon scorch the air. The demon is gone, leaving only a curling wisp of smoke in her wake.
Madeline lets out a cry. The black ring on her finger sparks like ignited gunpowder. There’s a second flash, and it vanishes, leaving an angry, red scar.
“Maddy…”
“I’m okay.” Madeline curls one hand protectively around the other, looking dazed. “You?”
“I’ve had worse days.” CeCe surveys the now-empty bar, the overturned tables and chairs, the cracked mirror behind the bar. “Better ones, too.”
Broken glass crunches under Madeline’s shoes. She stoops, picking up scrap of purple. It takes CeCe a moment to recognize the flower from the demon’s lapel, its petals bruised almost to translucence.
“Did we kill it? Her.” Madeline trembles, shock setting in as the adrenaline wears off.
Her gaze is miles away. Haunted. What did the demon make Madeline see? What did it make her do? Is it possible, despite everything, Madeline actually loved her? CeCe pushes the questions away. “I don’t know,” she says, voice soft.
Heiresses of Russ 2016: The Year's Best Lesbian Speculative Fiction Page 9
