The Road to Hell

by Jackie Kessler

  Paul… love, I knew you'd forgive me…

  I tried to open my eyes, but they were caked with old makeup and restless sleep, and they preferred to remain firmly shut. Besides, the kiss worked better with my eyes closed.

  My mouth locked against his as my tongue joined in the action. His cologne filled my nose—a spicy, primal scent that screamed male. Eau d'Aphrodisiac. My back arched, pushing my breasts against the silk of his shirt, offering them like fruit from a tree, ready to be plucked, sucked, squeezed. A delicious tingle of wetness down low, followed by a growing warmth between my legs. As my body woke up—very, very happily—my brain was still wrapping its mental arms around the concept of no longer being asleep. And something else.

  The hungry kiss… the cologne…

  … were wrong.

  Paul?

  Stop that, my body told my brain. Sex! Sex! Let's have sex!

  My brain told my body to go fuck itself, and commanded me to wake up. Now.

  I tried to say something, but that's tough to do when you're already speaking in tongues. So I broke the kiss, forced open my eyes.

  "Hey babes," Daun said. "Miss me?"

  Oh fuck.

  All the sweet warmth pulsing through my body instantly coated with ice. I scrambled backward and up, stopping when I felt the cool wood of the headboard pressing against my back. Daun's amber gaze lingered over my bare breasts, traveled down to my pubic hair. In my effort to backpedal away, I'd kicked off the comforter.

  Mental note: Wear pajamas.

  "Missed you," Daun said to my crotch. "Been thinking about you all night."

  "I'm nattered."

  "You been thinking about my offer?" His heated gaze rested on my face, and I squirmed as I felt his power, his presence, caress my jaw. "You ready to come back with me, get the orgy started?"

  "I…" Black dots swam in my vision, so I closed my eyes. Marginally better—now the black dots were purple, and sort of lit up the backs of my eyelids. I wasn't in any shape to fend off a horny demon.

  Especially when I wasn't completely sure I wanted him to leave. "I don't know."

  A pause, then: "You don't know? I'm offering you the best sex of your existence, and you don't know? What's there to think about?"

  "Hell's sort of a one-way trip now that I've got a soul."

  "Please, that thing? A few months with me, you'll be back down to demon standard. If it could happen to your old Queen, it could happen to you."

  Maybe. But Lillith had been the First Woman (the pre-Eve model), not to mention cursed by God. Those things had helped her morph into the first mortal demon. All I had were my good looks and charming personality. "The King wouldn't exactly welcome me back with open arms."

  "The King's got other issues on His plate right now. He's making waves, and a number of the old gods are grumbling. He'll be too busy to notice one former Seducer returning to the fold." Daun paused, and I heard the smile unfurl across his face. "You and me, and lots of sex. What do you say, babes?"

  Thinking of Paul, I said, "No."

  "No," Daun repeated, as if he didn't understand the word. Then he let out a throaty chuckle that was the stuff of sadistic villains. "Jezebel. You really think that love will save you, don't you?"

  My eyes opened with a will of their own. Daun still wore a human costume—round face, curly brown hair, no horns—but beneath the shell of flesh, his power swelled, rippling through his form. Raw sexual desire, sensuality dripping like honey, thick and clinging and oh, so very sweet… All I needed to do was open wide, and he would fill me, thrill me, take me to places I've never imagined…

  I clamped my teeth down on my bottom lip. With the pain came the clear thought: No.

  His power reared back, settled down. And waited.

  Oh, fuck me, that had been so close. It would have been so easy to just let his magic roll through me, drown me in a sea of mindless passion.

  "Yes, love," Daun said, as if nothing had passed between us. "You and your flesh puppet with the shoulders, you have such an adorable routine going. You're just too cute. I watch you, you know. It's better than listening to pundits argue politics." He leaned in close, wrapped in the smell of sex and brimstone. "I watch you play at this love thing. And babes, you give me such a laugh."

  All the blood in my body pooled in my ankles as his words hit me. "A demonic voyeur," I heard myself say. "My, my."

  "Come on, babes," he said, his voice a low purr. "Forget about your meat pie. I'll give you something much better to stick your fingers in." His teeth flashed as his grin stretched impossibly wide.

  Shivering, I grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around my body. "I said no."

  "No? Why? Because of your meat pie? That mortal piece of flesh?" The grin slipped, leaving his mouth a horrific snarl. "You think you love him, Jezzie? You think he loves you? Where is he now?"

  "At work."

  "Did he wake you with a kiss, like always? Did he stare into your sleepy green eyes and tell you he loves you? Did you smile at him and tell him the same?"

  My eyes widened as Daun threw the morning ritual in my face. He had it down pat—before Paul would slip away to work, he'd do the whole demonic Sleeping Beauty thing, and then, my kiss fresh on his lips, he'd go off to save the world and I'd go back to sleep.

  Daun really had been watching us.

  Shit.

  "Did he fuck you last night?" he asked, his eyes shining. "Fuck you good and slow, getting your sweet spot and licking your candy from his lips? Or did he tell you that he doesn't trust you?"

  A soft keening sound escaped from my mouth before I whispered, "Stop."

  "Did he tell you he couldn't bear to touch you?"

  I turned away as my eyes brimmed. "Please. Stop."

  "Love sucks, Jezebel. It's complicated and stupid. It plays head games with your heart and heart games with your head. Walk away from it, babes. Come back to the Pit. Together," he said, "we can raise Hell. The fun way."

  Bless me, I hated feeling so lost. "I… I don't know."

  "You think about it. As your man makes you feel like shit for being who and what you are, you think long and hard."

  Something thick lodged in my throat, and I swallowed it down, tasting rotten plums and old pennies.

  "Oh, one more thing."

  My eyes burning with unshed tears, I looked up at him.

  "That heart on the floor in the other room? It's glowing." An ugly smile played on his face. "You might want to think faster. Because Jezebel, I guarantee, whatever it is the Erinyes wants with you, sex is nowhere on the list."

  Fuck.

  "When you finally see the dark, all you have to do is call my name. Bye, babes." Daun dropped me a wink, and he vanished in a puff of sulfur.

  I scrubbed away my tears with the back of my hand. I'd have time for self-pity over what happened with Paul later. Maybe. For now, I had to think about my immediate future. Worrying my lip between my teeth, I wondered what to do.

  Option A: Tell Alecto and Daun to fuck off. But that meant leaving Meg to rot. And no matter how angry and confused I was over how she could have chosen duty over friendship, I loved her still. So Option A meant spending the rest of my life wondering what torment Meg was suffering. Leave the lifelong guilt to others; me, I seriously meant to avoid it. Guilt was murder on the complexion.

  Option B: Agree to go to Hell with Alecto—for whatever reason she wanted me to go in the first place. Find out the truth about Meg. Subject myself to unknown torture, evil, and overall misery for the foreseeable future, and probably longer. Meh. Pass.

  Option C: Agree to go to Hell with Daun. On the plus side, sex. On the negative side…

  Hello, negative side?

  Well, a voice whispered, still sounding obnoxiously like Meg, you'd have to leave Paul.

  But I love him.

  You think he loves you? In my mind, Daun chuckled. You think about it. As your man makes you feel like shit for being who and what you are, you think long and hard.

&
nbsp; Why was I fighting Daun's advances? Other than the eternal damnation thing, that is. And even that wasn't a guarantee—like Daun said, Lillith had become a mortal demon.

  Why not me?

  I brought a handful of the bed sheet up to my nose and sniffed. I wanted to smell Paul on the cotton, wanted to feel his presence next to me. But all I smelled was fabric softener.

  Was Paul thinking about me right now? Was he still angry? Did he forgive me?

  I wished I could hear his voice.

  Did he still love me?

  Reaching over to the nightstand, I picked up the cordless phone and pressed the speed-dial combo to connect me to Paul's police station. Even if he was furious with me, I needed to speak to him, to tell him that I was sorry.

  And if he was really still that angry with me and told me to go to Hell, maybe I'd take him up on his offer.

  No luck. The desk sergeant politely told me that Paul wasn't available, but he'd let Paul know that I called. I told the sergeant to have a pleasant day as I silently hoped he'd succumb to a bout of diarrhea at an inopportune time. Then I called Paul's cell phone. Voicemail. Well, at least I got to hear his voice.

  Mental note: Be more specific when making wishes.

  "Hi," I said after the little beep. "Um. I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking about you. And. Um. I'm sorry about last night. Um, I'll be home. For a bit. Hope you'll call me. Love you. Bye."

  A silver-tongued devil I most clearly was not.

  Where was he? Wasn't it early in the day for him to be saving the world? Didn't he usually wait until after lunch for heroics?

  Maybe he was on another call. Maybe he left me a note.

  A quick circuit around the apartment proved that Paul had other things on his mind this morning besides leaving me a note. Granted, I hadn't really expected one; the only reason he hadn't tossed me on my ass last night (and not in the fun-filled sexual way) was because he had a do-gooder streak in him roughly the size of Alaska.

  He's just busy, I told myself. He'll call.

  Uh huh, Meg's voice whispered in my mind. Once she'd played at being my conscience. Now it seemed like my brain had decided to keep her voice around for such occasions. Sure he will.

  He will.

  He's ignoring you, Jezzie. That's what humans do when they're angry. They ignore each other. They hint each other.

  Don't start about the hurt. You hurt me, and you're not even human.

  I told you before. I'm not Meg, Jezzie. I'm you. And this isn't about Meg anyway. This is about you, and Paul… and whether you're still willing to sacrifice everything for him.

  I love him.

  Comforting. Except he doesn't trust you. Bets on how long a relationship without trust can last?

  Hot tears burned trails down my cheeks as I padded naked around the apartment, lost. The charred outline of the pierced heart pulsed on the floor, with the mid-morning sunlight beaming through the living room window like a spotlight from Heaven. The glow was insidious, subtle—a hint of red winking among the black, the spark of embers in a dying campfire.

  Daun had been right. Alecto was coming for me today—and soon.

  Crap.

  I had to figure out what to do.

  I caught the hint of my reflection off the small window in the dining room—bed head that would have given hairstylists a case of the nerves, smudges beneath my eyes that looked like bruises, my eyes large and shocked, framed in yesterday's makeup.

  No wonder Paul hadn't woken me this morning. One look at me probably was enough to make him want to call in a priest and book the next available exorcism.

  Being human sucked. Emotions sucked. Love really, really sucked.

  Full circle to self-pity.

  Hating my life, I forced myself to climb into the shower. My world was unraveling, but real life didn't allow time-outs when shit happened. My afternoon shift at Spice kicked off at noon. Maybe I was utterly miserable, but that was no excuse to give up a few hours of flashing my boobs and inspiring a lot of wet dreams. Some people smiled even when they were sad; me, I'd strip down to my G-string and bask in the aura of sexual desire, even though the one man in the world I wanted couldn't bear the thought of touching me.

  Sex isn't going to fix this, Jesse.

  I did the shave-soap-shampoo thing as Paul's judgment played in my mind, again and again. By the time I rinsed off my conditioner, my despair and self-loathing had given way to a bubbling anger.

  How'm I supposed to trust you?

  Rage filled me, hotter than the scalding spray of water that washed me clean. Who was he, with his holier-than-thou attitude?

  I need space.

  Well, fuck Paul Hamilton six ways to Salvation. I'd give him all the space he needed. White space, complete with debris.

  I finished my shower and toweled dry. Then, with my hair wrapped in terrycloth and my body covered in a thick robe, I stormed out of the bathroom.

  And let out a screech when Angel appeared in my path.

  "I'm sorry to startle you," she said, all innocence.

  "Holy fuck in Heaven," I shouted, one hand over my heart, "doesn't anyone believe in knocking anymore?"

  "I wished to speak with you."

  "Fine. Speak. But I'm on a tight schedule." I pushed past her into the bedroom.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were busy."

  "Yeah, well, I have to get dressed, do my makeup, wreck Paul's apartment, pack up, find a place to live, and then get to work. So if you don't mind, make it fast."

  Silence for a few precious minutes, which I used to finish rubbing my hair dry. My black curls rejoiced in their shiny cleanliness, bouncing and springing as I ran my fingers through them. There were times when I dearly missed having powers—I'd never, not in a hundred years, learn how to style my hair properly.

  "Er, why do you want to wreck your lover's home?"

  "Because he pissed me off."

  "Oh. And the packing?"

  "He says he needs space. What do you want, Angel?"

  She paused, perhaps absorbing what I'd told her. I barreled past her and went back into the bathroom, tossing my towel to the floor. Paul could let the maid get it. The mirror had unfogged enough for me to start applying my makeup, so I pulled my cosmetics bag out from its resting place in the second drawer beneath the sink. I slammed the drawer shut, feeling extremely satisfied by the echoing bang. Yes, a little wanton destruction would put the spring back in my step.

  "I think it is a mistake for you to ruin your lover's home just because you are angry."

  I cast a glance over my shoulder and up at the cherub. Bless me, did she have to be so tall? "Really? Why's that?"

  "Isn't the answer obvious?"

  "The man wants space," I said, turning back to face the mirror and apply my eyeliner. "I'm thinking a mallet through the living room wall would accommodate that nicely. Humans put too much emphasis on walls anyway."

  "You have a mallet?"

  "Hmm. Good point. Maybe a baseball bat will do. Paul's got one of those under his bed."

  "But this will ruin any chance at you and he making amends."

  "I don't want to make amends. I want to make a mess. A spectacular, unholy mess."

  "That doesn't seem very beneficial."

  "No, but it'll be very therapeutic." I reached for the eye shadow. "I'll blow off steam while I blow up his stuff. Maybe I'll yank his Nagels off the walls and hurl them out the window. If I get lucky, maybe I can smite a few passersby."

  "You don't mean that."

  "Nothing like a good smiting to kick off the day. Why should God get to have all the fun?"

  My blasphemy must have stunned her to silence. Good. I concentrated on layering my lids with sparkling green powder, then I took out my mascara wand and began pumping out my lashes to Biblical proportions.

  "I've been told destruction is hard work."

  Her words caught me so off-guard that my hand slipped. "Oh, crap." Muttering, I reached for my eyelash comb. Bless me,
there were times when I really missed being able to magic myself up a perfect face.

  "You're pretty enough without any cosmetics, you know."

  This from a woman who was so gorgeous that supermodels would gleefully commit hari-kari. "You're all heart."

  My left eye was absolutely stunning—the liquid liner had gone on smoothly, the green shadow transformed my eye into a sparkling emerald, and the mascara hadn't dreamed of clumping. But the right eye was officially a fucking disaster, and my eyelash comb was barely making a dent through all the makeup globs pasting my upper lashes into a follicle pancake. Muttering, I ransacked my bag for the eye-makeup remover.

  As I tissued away the clumped mascara, I glanced at the angel's reflection. "Why'd you ask about destruction?"

  "Just curious about how difficult it is to do a good job. Um. Evil job."

  "Actually, destroying things is easy. It's when you get creative that it takes work."

  "And I assume you're very… creative?"

  "Sweetie," I preened, "when it comes to destruction, I am an artiste."

  "Well then, shouldn't you have waited to shower until after you destroyed everything?"

  "Why?"

  "Won't you get all sweaty and filthy when you… give your lover space?"

  Bless me, the blonde had a point. "Fine. I'll shower again."

  "Weren't you the one who said you were on a tight schedule?"

  Fuck.

  "Of course, if you decided to rearrange some things, maybe you'd still be able to fit everything in…"

  "Fine, fine," I said with a disgusted sigh. "I got it. No trashing the place."

  Her smile radiated good deeds. "I knew you'd make the right choice."

  "Don't you dare start rubbing off on me."

  Her celestial blues clouded over. '"Rubbing off… ?"

  At least she was still stupid. That brought a smile to my lips. "Never mind. So what's so urgent that you had to pop in unannounced?"

  She frowned at me, tilting her head to the side as she considered me. Whatever. I finished my eye makeup as she debated whether to answer my question. I was on my lip liner when she finally said, "I wanted to thank you. For our talk last night."

  "Oh?" I smirked at her reflection. "Is that what they're calling it these days? And here I thought it was still referred to as 'making out.'"