Heh. Lookee. I made the angel blush.
"Not that. The explanation. You made it all so clear. It really made sense when you said that sex could be almost holy." Her lips quirked into a smile. No matter how much color I added, my face would never look half as sensual as hers did at this moment—lips parted in an expression of simple delight, blue eyes sparkling with an inner light.
That bitch.
"That's my new purpose," she said. "To give my clients a touch of the Presence, to let them experience something holy. To let them experience God."
Right before she whisked them down to Hell. But far be it from me to quash her religious fervor. "No problem."
"So now I must return the favor."
I stared at her reflection before I tossed my makeup into my case and zipped it closed. "You must, huh? Explain."
"You helped me when I needed it. Now I must help you."
"Really?" A celestial-turned-infernal entity, in my debt? Ooh, possibilities. "So how'm I supposed to cash in on this unexpected windfall?"
She smiled, displaying her pearly whites. "Think of me as your guardian angel, Jesse Harris. I'll be watching you." With that, she blinked out of existence.
Bless me, Angel and Daun would be a perfect freaking match. What was it about otherworldly beings watching me these days?
And why did they keep accosting me in or near the bathroom?
Chapter 10
Paul's Apartment (II)
I opened my dresser drawers and pawed through my clothing. Later, at Spice, I'd be covered in temporary wrappings, like a living birthday gift. Until then, I'd be content in a green turtleneck, jeans, and low-heeled boots. The bra and matching panties I picked were puritanical: opaque and full coverage. The red satin of the material, though, would have been worn by Puritans subsequently burned at the stake for witchcraft. Paul liked this particular set of lingerie—he said it was the perfect combination of "wicked innocence."
Paul.
I need space.
My lip curled into a snarl. That angel-groping White-Knight-wannabe I'm-so-fucking-righteous Paul Hamilton.
No, stop that. Snarling messes up the lip liner.
I glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand. My shift at the club didn't start for a couple more hours. Plenty of time to stuff my belongings into a suitcase and finding a temporary place to hang my hat.
And shower again, if necessary.
I reached under the bed and emerged with Paul's Louisville Slugger. The wood felt comfortable in my hands. Natural. I hefted it, brought it down into the meat of my palm, where it hit with a satisfying thwock!
I nodded grimly. Perfect.
Even though I wasn't hungry, I decided to make something to eat. I'd need my full strength when I introduced the baseball bat to the living room walls.
Stomping down the hall, bat in tow, I was about to turn the corner to enter the miniscule kitchen when the fine hairs at the base of my neck stood on end.
I wasn't alone.
The leather chair in the living room, its huge back to me, slowly spun around.
Biting my lip, I raised the bat high over my shoulder, ready to knock whatever was waiting for me into the next level of existence via grand slam. Not that the Slugger would do me much good if it were Lillith turning around—her weakness was iron, not wood. But getting her stomach mashed into pulp would slow her down.
Wondering if I had time to race into the kitchen to grab a cast-iron frying pan, I watched the chair finish its spin, stopping when the person seated in it was fully visible. And then I felt my heart stop.
Sitting in the chair, the Fury Alecto smiled, white fangs gleaming against the jet of her charred flesh. The vipers of her hair rose in a reptilian beehive, hissing a hello.
On the floor in the living room, the glyph glowed a brutal crimson… then disappeared.
I was out of time. The bat slipped from my numb fingers.
"Don't worry," Alecto said. "You won't be needing that."
My voice a trapped scream, I said, "You told me I'd have a human's day to think about it."
"It's the next day, is it not?"
Mental note: Nefarious creatures don't operate in real time.
"So," she said, twisting a strand of snake around her pinkie, "have you made your choice, Fury friend?"
"Um. Working on it."
She stared at me, her bleeding eyes spilling over her cheeks like red wine. "You have had more than enough time to consider. Now make your choice. Return with me to Hell, now, and I will take you to Megaera. Or stay here and never know what has happened to my sister. Choose."
I thought about Meg—how she'd sneak me away from Apocalypse Drills, how we'd toast eyeballs over the smoldering bonfires in the Heartlands, how we'd mock the elite and whisper our secrets that we would never trust with anyone else.
How I loved her.
Love sucks, Daun reminded me. It plays head games with your heart and heart games with your head.
A month ago, Meg had made her choice. And now I made mine. I met Alecto's murderous gaze and said, "I'm staying."
The Fury's hair recoiled, the serpents tangling and hissing. Her face contorted into a mask of utter rage. "You will never see her again, you who were Jezebel."
I hated it when supernatural entities tried to strong-arm me into anything. Crossing my arms under my breasts, I said, "I made my choice, Erinyes."
Our gazes locked, the air between us thick with tension. After a small eternity, she hissed through her teeth, a sad, defeated sound. In a voice completely stripped of malefic ire, she said, "That's just great. I should have known the hard sell wouldn't work with you."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
She ran a taloned hand over her eyes. The black snakes of her hair nipped at her clawed fingers, perhaps trying to cheer her up. Without looking at me, Alecto said, "Fine. Let's try the direct approach. You still care for my sister. I saw it in your face yesterday when you thought I was she. You still love Megaera."
"That's debatable," I said, my head spinning from the Fury's abrupt change in demeanor.
"Don't lie to me." She lowered her hand and raised her head until her bloody gaze met my own. "Your feelings are tattooed to your soul. I see the truth of things clearly. You still love my sister."
"So what if I do? I made my choice," I said, sounding far more confident than I felt.
"The wrong one. I need you to come with me, freely and of your own will."
My heartbeat quickened with anticipation. "Why?"
Her lips pulled up in a tight smile. "I need you to accompany me to Hell so that you can save Megaera."
After I picked my jaw up from the floor, I said, "Care to explain that?"
Alecto sighed—such a perfectly normal sound. Just an ancient burned woman with bleeding eyes and snakes for hair and the mother of all serpents for a stole. Other than the form itself, there was nothing overtly threatening about her. For now. She said, "When Megaera failed to bring you back to Hell, she subjected herself to the King's judgment. And He found her wanting."
"Maybe He missed that episode. Meg led me to my death. She did her job." Duty over friendship. I worked my jaw, grinding my teeth together hard enough that sparks should have flown from my mouth. Bless me, even a month later, the betrayal still burned.
"She was supposed to bring you back. That was her assignment. She failed."
The memory of Meg's voice, just before she kissed me and left me to die: Will you return with me now?
I told Alecto, "No, that's not right. Meg offered me a choice." The ghost of Meg's touch made my lips tingle, and I tasted mint and old parchment.
Her sister stared at me, blood seeping from her eyes. Alecto's hair writhed around her face, the serpents twining and untwining, pulsing with menace. "The choice was not hers to give. And now she suffers for making that decision."
Suffers.
I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering from the ice that crept up my spine. For a creature of the Pit to
truly suffer, the punishment must be particularly horrid. Bile rose in my throat as an image came to me of one of Hell's more gruesome torments: Meg chained, spread-eagled and dripping in honeyed mead, her body draped over a badger's den. Her screams would not be loud enough to cover the sound of the animal digging its way up and out, burrowing through her flesh. Once the creature tore its way to the layer with the sweet liquid, Meg's wounds would slowly bind themselves together, the badger would be replaced, and the scene would play itself out again.
And again.
I whispered, "What is He doing to her?"
"I did not lie to you before. Return with me, now, and I will take you to her. Will you come with me?"
Again, a choice from an Erinyes.
"Why didn't you ask for my help yesterday? Why did you try to intimidate me into doing what you wanted?"
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "I am unused to mortals saying no to me. And I have never before asked a human for help." She shrugged. "I am what I am, tempter girl. So the question is, are you truly a Fury friend? Will you come with me and save Megaera?"
Meg's face appeared in my mind. I saw her blue eyes sparkle with wicked thoughts, heard the sound of her joyous laugh.
Oh, Meg. You betrayed me, betrayed our friendship out of a loyalty to Hell. I should let you rot.
But bless it all, Alecto was right: I loved her still. More than a thousand years of friendship was too hard to ignore.
"She's your sister," I said, my throat dry. "Why don't you save her?"
"I am not allowed."
"Allowed?" I spat out a surprised laugh. "Who can tell you otherwise?"
The snakes of Alecto's hair rose up as one, their mouths dropping open in a collective hiss. The gargantuan serpent around her shoulders unwound its tail, rattled its threat. The Fury's face remained stoic, impassive, but her fingers drummed a beat on her chair's armrest. "She is being rightfully punished. Even I must follow rules, tempter girl. There is no way for me to free her. But you," Alecto said, her voice dropping low, "you escaped Hell."
Barely.
"You bucked the King's authority once before. You can do it again. Please," she said, the word clearly foreign to her tongue, "come back with me. Save my sister."
My heart thumped, the beat sounding far too loud to my ears as I considered her request.
I wanted to say yes. Whether it was to escape Paul's judgment or to find a way to help my old friend, I wanted to tell her yes, take me back. Take me away from this plane of despair and destruction, where people murder each other with words and actions, where humans are the demons of their world.
Take me home.
But I had too many questions, and no answers. Why was she asking for help instead of demanding it, forcing my hand? And why was Alecto convinced that I—a former fifth-level succubus and infernal runaway—could somehow free a being nearly as powerful as the Almighty?
"I'm an exotic dancer," I said, "not a hero."
"You're her friend."
Yes. But Hell didn't give a fig about friendship. Something stank to high Heaven, and it wasn't the brimstone. "Will you give me a spiffy talking sword, or something like that?"
Alecto's mouth pulled down into a scowl. "What?"
"Well," I chirped, "isn't that how it works? The intrepid heroine receives a talking sword, or some sort of magic item that will help her in her quest to save the world, retrieve the potion, or destroy the ring of power?"
The Erinyes growled, and her snakes hissed in reptilian harmony. "Do you joke?"
Some entities have no sense of humor.
"No dice," I said, lifting my chin high. "I'm not going. Nothing could hurt Meg, not unless she wanted to be hurt. You of all beings know that. She's a Fury."
A moment passed as she quivered with hatred. She spat, "Small wonder she left you to your fate." Then she poofed away in burst of malefic sulfur.
I waved away the stink of rotten eggs, noting that this time, the Erinyes left the floor unscathed. Figured. When I wanted to trash the place, the nefarious entity cleaned up after herself.
Staring at the baseball bat on the floor, I debated taking my emotions out on the Nagels hanging on the wall. But the encounter with Alecto had left me uneasy, unsettled—and without an appetite for destruction. I sighed. Maybe chocolate would cheer me up.
Meg, wherever you are, you have to fend for yourself.
Because I would be damned if I ever returned to Hell.
Chapter 11
Spice/Paul's Apartment
"Jesus! Careful with that elbow, Jezzie. You almost poked my eye out."
"Sorry," I muttered, not tearing my gaze from the vanity mirror. My hair was being positively scary today. Must have been influenced by all of Alecto's snakes. Well, screw it. I'd be doing the Rocker Groupie thing in a few minutes; might as well go for big hair circa 1987. I took my brush and started teasing out my locks, adding about three inches to my height.
Paul certainly liked taller women, if the way he'd been fawning over Angel at the dance club was any indicator.
You're being silly, my stupid conscience said. Angel had been flirting with him, not the other way around. And she did it only because Daun had told her to. That wasn't Paul's fault.
Right. The White Knight could do no wrong.
Of course he could do wrong. He's only human.
Like you, Jesse.
I told my conscience to take a flying leap off the Empire State Building. Then I focused on fixing my hair.
Whoever had designed the dressing room at Spice must have had at least ten sisters: attached to the wall like a low-riding shelf, the vanity table wrapped around half the room, complete with individual chairs (the comfy plush land, not the ones that fold in half the moment you sit your ass down) and a wall-mounted makeup mirror. Soft-light bulbs dotted the mirror frame; the counter was wide enough for the Avon lady to display her entire set of wares and still have room to fix a sandwich. Each chair had a number; each number matched one on the row of lockers that ran across the far end of the room. Up to thirty dancers at a time could do the makeover thing simultaneously and not get in each other's way.
Well, not unless they were liberal with their elbows.
Next to me, Faith clucked her tongue. "What's wrong, girl? You look madder than a bear with a canker sore."
"Paul's being an ass," I said. Okay, snarled. "Got into a fight last night. He's not returning my calls."
"Boo fucking hoo," Mimi said, off to my right. "Trouble in paradise. And here I thought your guy could do no wrong, the way you talk about him."
I shot Mimi a look that should have roasted her bottled-blonde hair. She was one of those I'm-too-sexy types who acted like her farts were something that should be sold to the highest bidder. "Your sympathy's overwhelming."
"Just surprised that your boy toy's actually human. You make him out to be practically touched by God."
Where I come from, them's fighting words. I was about to suggest that she take her hairbrush and stick it up her ass when Faith asked me, "He get mad at you for going out without him last night?"
Casting one last glare at the peroxide queen, I said, "Something like that."
Mimi rolled her eyes. "Fucking pathetic."
That's it. If I couldn't murder Paul or even trash his apartment, I could at least gleefully slaughter Mimi and tap dance on her carcass. But before I could do more than picture myself decorating the dressing room with streamers of Mimi's small intestine, Candy let out a snort behind me.
"Guys can be possessive," she said as she tucked her boobs into a blue demi-bra. "They're stupid that way."
You'll be mine, Daun's voice whispered. Body and soul.
I closed my eyes and shuddered, my body remembering Daun's touch.
You still taste like a succubus.
Candy was still speaking, but her words were nothing more than static. Ghost fingers brushed against the curve of my breast, teased my nipple. Biting my lip, I told my body to stop that. Daun wasn't her
e now. And Daun wasn't my immediate problem. That honor belonged to—
You really love that flesh puppet with the big shoulders?
Yes. Except I also wanted to kill him. Slowly. And excruciatingly painfully.
Love was fucking complicated. I should never have turned my back on Lust.
And then there was Meg.
No. I wasn't thinking about her. She could rot, for all I cared.
You're lying to yourself.
Go away, Meg.
That's the difference between demons and humans, you know. Humans lie to themselves.
Shut up. You chose duty over me. Fine. Now it's my turn, and I choose life over a dead friendship.
I can see that.
Hear that, brain? I made my choice. So turn off the picture of Meg's face. Mute the sound of her giggles. Rip her out of my memory, like the way she ripped out my heart when she betrayed me.
Hello? Is this thing on?
Humans don't work like that, Jezzie, Jesse. Humans have a conscience. Humans dwell in the "what if."
Ah, crap.
Scowling, I shoved the voice away as I took my frustration out on my hair; in turn, my roots shrieked as they faced death by hairbrush.
"Shit. You didn't hear a damn thing I said, did you?"
Blinking, I looked at Candy's reflection. She stood behind me, hands on her hips, looking like an advertisement for liquid chocolate. Dark chocolate—there was no café au kit about her. From her tight cap of curls down to her stiletto-clad toes, she was an ebon goddess in electric-blue lace.
"Sorry," I said with a tiny shrug. "Lost in thought."
"Couldn't tell, thanks for the news flash." Candy shook her head. "You're eating yourself up over your man. Fuck that. You're about to go on stage in front of a room packed with lusty men."
"Not that packed for Friday lunch," Mimi said.
Candy pinned her with a glare. "So you don't need a crowbar to walk the aisles. Big fucking deal. Now do you mind? I'm in the middle of a pep talk here, and your smartass mouth is crimping my style."
Mimi snapped her mouth closed with an audible click, but I heard her mutter something suspiciously close to "runt."
The Road to Hell Page 11
