Swallowing thickly, I gazed upon Alecto, one of Meg's two sister Furies. I would have prayed fervently, except I didn't know which direction the prayers should go—up to Heaven or down to Hell. Mental note: Get religion.
Mental note, part two: First survive encounter with malefic entity.
All the bones in my legs melted into pudding, and I crashed to my knees before the Fury. Maybe she'd see it as a sign of respect. Or abject terror. Either worked.
"It seems your newfound soul has weighed down your tongue." She grinned wider, displaying fangs that looked sharp enough to rend steel. "Or perhaps you are just being rude."
I felt the blood drain from my face. Insulting a Fury was a surefire guarantee for a very short life expectancy, so I quashed my fear as best I could and opened my mouth to speak. While I was—had been—close with Meg, I'd had almost no interaction with Alecto. I opted to go the formal route.
"Greetings, Alecto Erinyes." My voice squeaked, but at least I didn't stammer. Yay, me.
The snake sliding across her shoulders moved down to duck its head beneath her left breast. "Your manners are appropriate for a human," the Fury said as the viper copped a reptilian feel. "But your timing needs work."
Eek. "My apologies, Erinyes. I'd mistaken you for another."
"Indeed." She raised a clawed hand to caress tendrils of serpents dangling by her ear. They darted out miniscule forked tongues and tasted her fingers. Beneath the mound of her breast, the larger snake flowed down and around, wrapping her waist in a scaled girdle. "You saw me as my sister. As I wished."
"Why?" The question was out of my mouth before I could call it back.
She leered, and her serpents paused in their finger-bath to hiss their scorn. "You, of all creatures, ask me why I parade as another?"
I bit my lip. Okay, she had a point. But it wasn't exactly my fault that I'd taken Caitlin Harris's form when I'd run away from Hell. Demons weren't trained to do the ethical thing. And really, the witch hadn't exactly complained at the time. (Then again, she'd been too busy experiencing the best orgasm of her life to bitch about me stealing her looks. And credit cards.)
"Besides," Alecto said, her bloody gaze crawling over me, "I thought borrowing one of my sister's outfits would be amusing."
Amusing, she said. I called it sadistic. My eyes began to water from the stink of spoiled eggs. Bless me, had there really been a time when I'd relished that smell?
She folded her arms over her chest, watching me for a moment. The silence between us was palpable, broken only by the sounds of scaled muscle unwrapping itself from her waist and sliding up her arm. Finally she spoke. "You will come with me, you who were Jezebel."
"Where?" My voice hardly cracked. Another point for me.
The blood in her eyes shone wetly. "Hell."
My heart slammed against my ribcage and suddenly I couldn't take a proper breath. Going to Hell as a mortal meant only one thing: torture. For the foreseeable future.
As I strangled with building terror, she stared at me, the blood streaming from her eyes as bright as a cherry's skin. Her claws tapped out a beat as she drummed her fingertips against her forearm. The serpent draped itself over her shoulders, tucked its head beneath the muscle of its body. The Fury waited.
My growing fear paused, allowing me to take a deep, shaky breath.
Waited?
Since when does one of the seven most powerful beings in all of creation wait for anything?
Answer: When she needs something. Desperately.
"Will you come with me?" she asked.
Asked?
"I don't know," I said, confidence overriding my survival instinct, "ever since they changed management, the food is terrible. And the portions are so tiny."
New York humor in the face of eternal damnation.
Her fingers froze on her arm. The snakes of her hair swayed and hissed; the enormous viper coiled around her neck arched its head up and stretched its maw wide, showing me all its pretty fangs. Gleep.
"You mock me?" Alecto sneered, her bloody gaze weighing me and finding me wanting. "You, a little human tempter girl?"
"Actually," I heard myself say, "I prefer to be called an exotic dancer."
Her wings snapped closed, the report as loud as gunfire. I flinched, then stared down at the floor. Worrying my lip between my teeth, I braced myself for her violent response. I'd pushed my luck. There was a reason why even the Almighty supposedly tiptoed around the Furies. You never, never, never piss off an Erinyes. Period. Now she was going to annihilate me, send pieces of me flying through the planes until they rained down along the rim of Creation like organic confetti.
I hoped Paul wouldn't slip on my spleen when he came home from work.
I wished I could tell him goodbye.
"Your tongue will get you into trouble one of these days," Alecto said. "Perhaps I should just rip it out and crisp it over the Lake of Fire."
Gah.
"Now come along. Quietly."
A cold sweat broke over my skin. But even as the fear washed over me and through me, one thought kept me from merrily bidding adieu to my sanity: A Fury doesn't ask its prey to come along quietly. A Fury does whatever she damn well pleases.
And on the heels of that, a realization: Alecto was trying to psyche me out.
"Well?" Her voice steamed with impatience… and something I thought was uncertainty. "Are you coming?"
I raised my eyes to peer up at her through my bangs. She was drumming her fingers again, the clawed digits pounding her arm so hard they should have left trenches in her skin.
Holy fuck in Heaven, she was nervous.
Taking a deep breath, I said, "Sorry. I've already got plans for today."
Her eyes widened for a moment—perhaps when you're almost on par with God in terms of sheer power, you're not used to meeting resistance. Then those bleeding eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Come with me." Above her face, her hair tangled and untangled, the snakes writhing and reflecting their mistress's displeasure. "Now."
Hmmm. Still not dead. She must need me pretty badly. "No."
In the longest pause of my mortal life, I waited with my breath held. Beads of perspiration tickled my upper lip, making it itch. I fought the urge to wipe the sweat away. When one played chicken with a malefic entity, one did not acknowledge any physical discomfort short of decapitation.
After a small eternity, she spoke through clenched fangs. "Return with me to Hell, you who were Jezebel, and I will take you to your friend." She spat the last word. As a rule, denizens of the Underworld weren't too keen on the concept of friendship. It was bad for their image.
I echoed, "My friend?"
"I will take you to Megaera."
The thought of Meg and I reconciling made my heart dance a jig. Then I saw Alecto's fangs flash in a victorious grin, and I realized she hadn't been offering a way for Meg and me to kiss and make up. "Where is she?"
"If you choose to come with me to Hell, you will find out."
The Pit is a better place without you and your Fury friend. I swallowed thickly, then whispered, "Is she okay?"
"No, tempter girl. She is far from okay. She is in grave torment." Alecto's eyes gleamed as she spoke, reflected her hunger for violence. "If you come with me to Hell, I will take you to her. Perhaps your presence would offer her some small comfort. She suffers because of you."
A pitiful sound escaped my mouth. Bless me, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't go back to the Abyss… but I couldn't leave Meg to suffer.
Alecto's eyes flared like supernovas, and I shielded my face. Through the sound of her laughter, I heard her voice boom in my mind:
Never let it be said that I forced you to make this choice. I give you a human's day to decide. Until tomorrow, Fury friend.
The air shrieked as if ripping itself apart… and then I heard nothing other than my own ragged breathing. When I lowered my arm and opened my eyes, Alecto was gone. In her place, scorched onto the living room floor was
the outline of a heart, with a sword piercing it. The symbol of the Erinyes.
I wrapped my arms around myself as I shivered, staring at the smoking heart. This was the real reason why demons didn't have friends: once you cared about people, they could be used as collateral.
Chapter 3
Paul's Apartment (II)
Okay. Deep breath, Jesse. Now is so not the time to panic.
Yeah, right.
I inhaled deeply, and sulfuric fumes scorched my nostrils. Grimacing, I squeezed my nose as if I could wring out the lingering odor of spoiled eggs. Why was it that my memory of brimstone was all warm and fuzzy, but in reality it made me sick? There really should be a support group for former demons that covered all this stuff.
Including how to handle it when Hell comes a-calling. Me and Michael Corleone: Every time we get out, they bring us back in.
Bless me, what were they doing to Meg?
No. I clenched my hands, my nails biting deeply into the soft flesh of my palms. Think about Meg after. First things first: Assess the damage.
Pulling my gaze away from the symbol burned into the floor, I glanced around the living room to see if anything else screamed "An Infernal Presence Was Here." The black leather sofa and matching armchairs sandwiched a glass, black-framed coffee table—Modern Chic as defined by Ikea. Against the opposite wall, the black entertainment center housed a television, a stereo, and roughly a million CDs and DVDs. Over the sofa, three Nagels hung suspended, dressing up the white walls with stylized half-naked women. I always thought Paul had a fine eye for art.
From the look of the room, anyone would think the only visitor here lately was the cleaning lady. As long as they didn't look down.
The hardwood floor was a smoking mess. Smack dab in the center, the pierced heart glowed faintly with dying red embers, giving it the illusion of winking. I gnawed my lower lip as I stared at the symbol. If Paul saw that when he came home, he'd…
Blinking, I realized I had no idea how he'd react. Just because we knew each other's bodies intimately and wanted to do the growing-old-and-gray thing together, that didn't mean I could read his mind. But given that the love of my life was a cop, I had a nagging suspicion he wouldn't just shrug off a symbol burned into his living room floor as the price one paid for living in New York City.
Throwing one last look at the ruined floor, I scurried into the tiny kitchen and grabbed the receiver from its cradle on the wall. Wireless phones: proof that magic was all around us, slumming as technology. I hit the star button, the number 1, and then the talk button.
A moment later, a warmth—inducing deep voice said, "Paul Hamilton."
"Heya, sweetie."
"Hey." I heard the smile in his voice, and it made my nipples ache. Bless me, he had such a sexy voice… and that smile, ooh…"I should be out of here in five, ten minutes." His words were punctuated by the clacking of fingers on a keyboard. That's my Cabin Boy—quite the multi-tasker. "Just have to finish up a bit more paperwork."
"That's okay," I said, grateful that he'd missed the Erinyes. That would have made for an uncomfortable moment, to say the least. Paul, meet Alecto, Fury of Unceasing Anger. Mind the snakes—they bite. She's here to take me back to Hell. By the way, I used to be a succubus.
"Say, I was thinking about bringing back some Chinese."
"Great," I said. "Listen, there's something wrong with the floor."
"Maybe some moo shu chicken, a couple egg rolls."
"Fine. About the floor—"
"Or maybe Szechwan wontons. I know you like them hot enough to melt your tongue."
"Sweetie, the floor's sort of messed up."
"Damn."
Biting my lip, I ventured, "But I'm sure it can be fixed…"
"I just erased my last two paragraphs. Stupid keyboard."
Huh?
"Look, Jess, I have to go. I keep screwing up the wording on this report. At this rate, I'm never getting out of here."
"But what about the floor?"
"Call George. I'm sure floors are part of the call-the-super list."
"Um, okay." I wondered whether George would consider erasing a smoking, charred glyph as overtime. "I'll do that." Now that I thought about it, did I really want Paul to get involved in Alecto's scheme, whatever it was? Non, nyet, nein, and fuck no. I shouldn't have called him at all. Okay, I'd have George help me hide the symbol. No symbol, no questions from Paul.
"Hon?"
"Yeah?"
"What's wrong with the floor?"
"Um, It's probably nothing. Just some scratches." In the pattern of a heart run through with a sword.
"Scratches can be fixed. Definitely call George. Star nine on speed dial. Let me go so I can finally get out of here and pick up dinner for us."
"Thanks, sweetie."
"Love you."
That never failed to make my toes curl. "Love you too." A ridiculous, lovestruck grin smeared across my face as I hung up the phone. It felt perfect.
Paul Hamilton loved me. No matter how bad my immediate future looked, for the moment, all was good.
That's the crappy thing about good moments. They never last.
Five minutes after I called George, the man himself stood in Paul's living room, scratching his head as he looked at the symbol. The super was one of those pear-shaped men that always look like they're wearing a girdle but really aren't. His paint-splattered overalls emphasized his curves in ways that would make Jessica Rabbit jealous. While his body wasn't exactly a paragon of manliness, his mocha skin looked delicious enough to slurp. Beneath a white baseball cap, he had mounds of black hair. I wondered if it was soft or wiry, how it would feel as I ran my fingers through it.
I shook my head. Bad former succubus. No lookee, and definitely no touchee.
But ooh, his hair was so black that it gleamed with blue highlights. Maybe he had blue-black hair all over that pear shape. Maybe he was more like a kiwi, furry outside and so succulent and juicy inside…
Argh. Mental head slap. I'm a human. I'm in love with Paul. And I'm definitely not going to think about having sex with a man who had more curves than me.
"Weirdest thing I seen since I been working here," George said, his accent a consonant-twisting combo of Brooklyn and Boston. "You say you found it like this?"
"Yeah."
"And it wasn't like this before you got in the bath?"
"No. I heard a noise, which is why I got out of the tub. And boom, there it was, right there on the floor." Minus the visit from one of the three Furies, of course.
"So someone snuck in, burned that into the floor, and snuck back out, all before you got out of the bath."
I did the Bambi-eyes thing. "Yes."
"Huh." His gaze slid to my cleavage. "You want, you can get dressed while I look at this closer."
Whoops. I glanced down at my towel. Between being a demon of sex for four thousand years and working as an exotic dancer here on the mortal coil, I was used to parading around barely dressed. Actually, I preferred it. I kept forgetting that most people felt uncomfortable when they were naked.
Mental note: Learn modesty.
Looking back at the scorch marks, he asked, "You know who did this?"
"Nope." Lying believably was one of those demon traits that I didn't lose when I became human. Maybe I should go into politics.
"Huh." He almost touched the mark, but he pulled his hand back. "Hey, this is still hot!"
"Fancy that. So can you paint over it?"
"Paint?" He shot me a look that said I was maybe as smart as a brain-dead louse. "You want me to paint over the wood floor?"
"Um. Of course not. I meant stain it."
"Stain."
A quick eye-roll on my part, then, "Look, I really need to either fix this or hide this. Can you do it?"
"Well," he said, rubbing his chin, "maybe. Been a while since I been able to really work with my hands."
Oooh. Wonder what those hands would feel like working on me…
Stop it,
stop it, stop it! Focus, Jesse! "Terrific. So what, you could fix this in like five minutes, maybe?"
His mouth opened, closed. He shook his head. Maybe he was trying to figure out how to speak to me in small words. He took off his cap and wrung it between his hands. Finally he said, "See, I'm going to need a bunch of things. Paintbrush, tung oil, a cloth. Wire brush, maybe steel wool. And a pocketknife. First I need to see how deep the burns go and grind away the burned wood. Then I got to use the wire brush on it, real careful so I don't got to do any sanding. Then I got to clean it all away with the paintbrush, dab on some oil, and see how it looks. Might have to smooth the whole thing down more with the steel wool."
He paused, either for breath or for dramatic effect. Then he said, "So no, five minutes ain't going to happen."
"Fine," I said. "Maybe ten?"
"Lady, you want to get rid of this in ten minutes? Cover it up with a rug."
"Oh," I said, brightening. "That's smart. Can you get me one of those?"
With a pained look on his face, he said, "You don't even live here, do you?"
I lifted my chin higher. "Of course I do."
The pained look melted into suspicion.
"Sort of," I amended. "Paul and I are in love."
"Love." He tugged his cap back over his hair, the rim shadowing his face… but not before I saw his dark eyes twinkle. "How sweet."
Something in his voice made me frown, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I tried to sneak a peek at his aura, but all I got for my effort was eyestrain. I couldn't read him. Crap. It figured that the spiffy magical ability I got along with my soul was defective. My talent was less dependable than a condom ten years past its expiration date.
He smirked at the charred heart on the floor. "And look, someone charbroiled their love for you. There's a whole lot of loving going on."
Unease bubbled in my stomach. Maybe I was crazy, but I thought the super lost his tough-guy accent. Clearing my throat, I asked, "So, can you help me?"
His smirk widened, and I noticed his teeth were stained from tobacco or coffee. "You really want my help?"
The Road to Hell Page 3
