by Louisa Lo
Rosemary came back with a vase of flowers. Not a huge one, but a tasteful tabletop botanical creation, with bright yellow carnations, purple Matsumoto asters, and pink Asiatic lilies. A single blood-red rose stood proud in the middle of the cheery beauty, adding a sense of mystic to the floral offering. I so happened to like carnations and lilies quite a bit. Was it just a coincidence?
“It’s for you,” Rosemary proclaimed.
My heart rate sped up. For me? My first thought was wondering if it could be from Gregory. He didn’t seem like the flower gifting kind, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would be sending me something like this. Unless it was from my trickster brothers, and the flowers were time-released stink bombs.
“Oh, look here, there’s a card.” My roommate pointed at the small envelope tucked behind the rose. She looked at me expectantly.
I suppose that was the part where I fulfilled the social obligation of reading the note out loud so a friend could share in the thrill vicariously. I reached for the envelope and opened it. There was a note and what looked like a movie ticket inside. Handwritten in a calligraphic style that was masculine and fancy at the same time, the note said:
Dear Megan,
Would you consider doing me the honor of joining me for an evening at my casino? If you play your hand right, I might be able to help take all your troubles away. If so, please come to the front of the casino and present the guards with the red armband with the enclosed VIP pass.
Until then,
L. Morningstar
p.s. Wear something nice.
Through the roar in my ear, I asked myself, L. Morningstar, as in Lucifer Freaking Morningstar?
My breath caught. What the hell is he doing inviting me to the grand casino of Hell? I mean, I’d been to the Underworld plenty of times in the last three months, but it was always through the no-frill service entrance, never the front door. What was the devil playing at? I was a pay-by-assignment freelancer. A professional. I worked as a team with Gregory. Why had Lucifer approached me individually, flowers and all?
And what the hack did he mean by “I might be able to help take all your troubles away”? Was he talking about my issues with the Council? The timing sure seemed suspicious given the letters I just received.
Or was he talking about helping me find Grandma? If so, the devil sure knew how to tempt me. Wondering how Gran was faring while trapped inside the Internet was what had been keeping me up at night. I had no idea how he would’ve found out about Gran, but he was the devil, after all.
“So, what did it say?” Rosemary asked impatiently, cranking her neck to look over my shoulder.
“I—it’s nothing. Just a client.” I stuffed the note back to the envelope along with the all-access pass to Hell. I hate disappointing my roommate, but a message from the Underworld wasn’t exactly the stuff the mortal should see.
Rosemary’s eyes went saucer-sized. “A client? So not Gregory then?”
Guess that was her first thought as well.
“No, not him.” I shook my head.
“What does he want?”
I decided to give her a half-truth. “He wants me to meet him at his place of work.”
“For business?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like him?”
“Rosemary!” I gasped, horrified by the idea.
“Hey, you’re the one who keeps insisting Gregory is just your business partner. What’s the harm in saying yes to this other guy?”
What’s the harm in mixing up with the devil? Oh, let’s see, how about losing your soul?
Was that it, he was hoping to make a trade for my soul? Maybe as a half-vengeance demon, half-trickster hybrid, my soul was like a collector’s item? Or was this something else altogether?
I glanced at the flowers again. The single rose, plus the suggestion to wear something nice, seem to indicate an interest of a more personal nature.
Eww, creepy.
Everyone knew that Lucifer was the ultimate seducer. Question was, was it my heart, soul, or body that he was going after? A light tremor made me shiver to my very core. Whatever it was, I was now officially singled out by the Prince of Darkness himself.
How the Hell was I supposed to respond to it?
Chapter Three
The Witching Hour
I took the flowers, the letters from the Council, and Lucifer’s envelope to my bedroom. Then I paced around for what felt like an eternity, which was tougher than it sounded given my tendency to be just a teeny little bit messy. My dresser drawers were half open, stuffed with fresh laundry I never bother folding, their corners perfectly positioned for my elbows to bang into. A pair of pants and a bunch of shirts I only wore twice were on the floor. They would eventually get washed when I got sick and tired of tripping over them, or be worn again if I got desperate enough rushing out of the house one of these days.
As I paced, I contemplated Lucifer’s offer. To say I wasn’t tempted would be a lie. With a simple yes, I could get Gran back, or get much further along in my fight against the Council. What was a little heart and soul, when I’d already been threatened with my share of bodily harm in the past year?
But Grandma taught me better than this. No good ever came out of taking the easy route. I would hold on, and I would stay the course.
Even if it killed me.
Besides, I became acquainted with Hell through Gregory, and it just didn’t feel right connecting with Lucifer directly and skipping over my own business partner.
Now that my mind was made up, there was just one tiny, teeny problem.
Just how did one say to the devil, Thanks, but no thanks. Mind if we just keep it professional? Er, no hard feelings, right?
I eventually decided to scribble on the note:
Thank you for the offer, but I’ll see if I can handle it myself first.
There. A “no,” without sounding too closed-minded, but not open-minded enough to provide a lot of hope, either. Hopefully that would do the trick. I guess someone far more cultured—or had spent time at law school—could come up with something far more elegant and with double or triple entendre, but that wasn’t me and there was nothing I could do about it.
I tear the note apart and watch it burst into flames spontaneously, knowing the message was now sent to Hell.
I would have to tell Gregory about this. But not tonight. I would tell him tomorrow. A tiny, petty part of me was looking forward to seeing if he would be jealous of the devil’s gesture, which was exactly why I didn’t want to give into that and call him right over tonight. It just seemed a bit too…desperate.
I left the vase of flowers on my dresser. Plants grown in Hell were nearly indestructible. I would have to look into how to dispose of it safely. The very least I could do for now was not leave it in the common area, lest Rosemary cut her finger on a thorn and grew a horn or something.
For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to tear up the VIP pass, though. So I shrunk it to the size of a microchip with an enchantment and magically attached it to the clasp of my necklace. I couldn’t imagine ever using it, but stranger things had happened.
I wish I could at least go and find out exactly what Lucifer was after, but everyone knew better than to accept the Devil’s invitation. That would be like Hansel and Gretel accepting the witch’s invite to get inside her gingerbread cottage, except much worse because at least their souls were still theirs after the witch killed them.
I took a few deep breaths. Once I was convinced I’d calmed down enough, I made the call I’d been making every night for the last three months. Right around now habits were welcoming, even an unhappy habit.
With the existence of cell phone contact lists, I never used to memorize any numbers. But there was one number I’d been dialing so often that I’d now memorized it without trying.
Esme picked up on the second ring. “Hi, Megan.”
“Any news?” I asked her the same question I’d been asking her every night without fail.
/> “No. I’m sorry.” Frustration was clear in Esme’s voice. “Mother and I keep getting close, but there’s always something blocking us from making direct contact with Gran.”
My grandmother used to be a distinguished member of the Council before she was betrayed by her closest friends and allies. Weakened and injured, she escaped into the one place she’d hated the most—the World Wide Web.
Gran’s mistrust of the Internet had less to do with a senior’s natural fear of technology, and more to do with a general suspicion regarding all things that sprung up and took over the world too quickly. Never trust something that was more than the sum of its parts, she always said, and what was the Internet, beyond programming codes, electricity, and a willingness of people to devote a good portion of their waking hours to it?
And now she was trapped in there. The irony wasn’t lost on me.
It was sheer dumb luck that Cynthia, Esme’s mother and my grandmother's ex-daughter-in-law, happened to be a pioneer of punishing wrongdoers on the Internet. Besides the classic cheating men, she kept her finger on everything from revenge porn uploaders to cyber bullies. Because of that, she was able to sense Grandma's presence in the web and notify us right away.
Esme, anchored by her mother, had been making regular trips there in search for Grandma. Without a guide of my own in the vast sea of information, I had no choice but to step back and let my half -sister take over the lead.
There was a good reason why I took on all those mercenary assignments. It was either working myself to distraction or staying home and biting my nails off.
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” I swallowed. “I’m being a pest, and I know it."
“You’re worried sick,” Esme said gently. “We all are.”
Just how long could Gran stay in the land of the substance-less before she could no longer rejoin the physical world? Just where the heck was her body right now anyway? Stashed somewhere in a safe house in the middle of nowhere? What if some wild animal got to it and she came back with a limb missing or something?
“And you’re sure she still exists?” I forced myself to ask the very question for which I most dreaded the answer.
“Yes,” Esme said firmly. “Mother said she’s not truly lost if she's remembered by those she loves.”
“Just how does that work?” I asked, wanting so much to believe that.
“You know how the more often a certain keyword is typed into a search engine, the higher it raises in the ranking? Just like that, the more our grandmother is remembered and thought of by us, the less likely she’s to fade away in the land of the Internet.”
“Well, I sure as hell refuse to believe that she’s gone for good.” I blew out a breath. “So she better not fade away.”
“I’ll keep trying, I promise,” Esme vowed.
“I know you will.” I hesitated. I was never sure how much concern I could show someone as disciplined as Esme without sounding like I was doubting her ability to be in control of her emotions. Well, screw politeness. “How are you holding up, sis?”
A short pause, then Esme sighed. “It’s been a trying few months.”
The understatement of the year.
“Thank you for what you’re doing. I mean it. I don’t know what I would do without you. And please convey my thanks to Cynthia.” My dad’s ex might not have been the warmest person I’d known, but I had to admit she had been very gracious in helping us in this matter.
“I will. Good night, Megan.” Esme hung up.
I forced back the tears that always threatened to spill out of my eyes during this part of the evening, when I found out, yet again, that there was no update regarding Grandma.
One thing was clear in my mind—I had to remember and honor my grandmother by keeping myself together.
I had to focus on the important stuff, and choose my battles wisely. That meant getting the minor things out of the way and not get so hung up on them as to be used as leverage by anyone, may it be Lucifer or the Council.
I reached over for the invoice from the Department of Vengeance Health, which I’d placed on the top of my dresser with the rest of the letters. Refusing payment was futile—as they had ways to take the funds right out of my bank account—and would only give the Council an excuse to throw more roadblocks my way.
I quickly paid the invoice through electronic transfer. I had more than enough money to cover it, thanks to the payment from Hell that had already arrived in my account. It was just money. Taking care of the bill—and letting go of the bitterness associated with it—helped me concentrate on the end game, which was to fight against the Council.
Even if it meant working as a mercenary, and doing some fancy footwork with Lucifer.
***
I had just come out of the en suite bathroom and was about to slip into bed when I noticed a slight movement under the lump that was my unmade blankets and sheets.
The motion was almost too minuscule to detect, and there was no energy disturbance to indicate the presence of any supernaturals. Not to mention, my magical safeguard for the house was supposed to be top-notch.
But then the best ones were those who could bypass everything, weren’t they?
Bit by bit, I expanded my wings. Usually, I pulled them out fast in case of emergency, but doing it excruciatingly slow meant whoever hiding under my bed couldn’t detect the gathering of my power. Or so I hoped.
I quieted my mind and held back my power like a floodgate to a dam, in perfect control like Grandma had taught me, but ready to let go at a moment’s notice. Then I carefully grabbed a corner of my blanket and yanked, prepared to blast my intruder with everything I had.
It was a good thing I gave my eyes a split second to suss out my enemy before I attacked.
A pair of large green eyes blinked at me, from the face of a young girl no older than seven. Blonde curls danced around her forehead and shoulders, disturbed by my displacement of the blanket.
“Candy!” I exclaimed, hastily pulled back my power, and folded my wings inward. “I almost killed you. What are you doing here?” In the last few months, I’d gotten to know the little rascal more, and hiding her energy signature and breaking through the duplex’s safeguard like a pro were just some of her many skills. That girl was going to be a spectacular witch one of these days. Heck, she was already one in many ways.
“Hey, Megan.” Candy, in her pink jammies, sat up on the bed. She was holding some kind of zombie-looking plastic doll, with dark circles under the eyes and scars all over the face and arms.
I was momentarily distracted. “What is that, a voodoo doll? Whatever happened to My Little Pony?”
The little witch whom Gregory regarded as a baby sister rolled her eyes. “Oh, please, it’s Monster High.”
She looked at me as if expecting me to know what she was talking about. I had no idea. Technically being a supernatural meant we were all monsters in one form or another. To use the words “Monster High” would be like saying something obvious like “edible food” or “wearable shoes.”
“You’re elementary school age,” I reminded her. “High school is a bit far away.”
“It’s not like I’ll be going to either, so what’s the difference?” she said defiantly.
That was, sadly, the truth. Until Candy grew up enough to defend herself, her incredibly potent yet raw talent would attract very bad attention from the wrong people. There were vampiric supernaturals out there who would want nothing more than to make a meal of her and her magic. Enrolling in school run by the four major witches’ unions didn’t protect her. Monsters still came to her home. That was why she was on the run with her mom and younger brother. Mel took them in and gave them shelter, and Candy’s mom became his jack-of-all-trade assistant.
I sometimes found Candy sounding a few years older than her age, if not in the choice of words then in the emotions behind them. But that was because she’d been through a lot. I also know that behind Candy’s bravo hid a longing for a normal life she wou
ld never have. So I repeated my question from earlier, but gentler this time, “What are you doing here?”
Candy grinned. “I came to help you.”
“Help me with what?” I frowned. I wasn’t exactly in the mood for tea with dolls just about now, of the zombie variety or otherwise.
“Finding your gran. In the Internet,” she said smugly.
That stopped me short.
“Who told you I want to do that?” It was supposed to be hush-hush. First Lucifer implying that he knew, now Candy saying so. Did the whole Cosmic Balance know about Grandma’s whereabouts or something?
“I heard the grown-ups talking about it. You forgot I’m there.” Candy added, “And I can help you.”
“No way.” I mean, how could she? Esme’s mother had been searching for months, and Cynthia was one of the pioneers of online vengeance, starting from the early days of dial-up modem and sites such as Hot or Not. If she couldn’t do it thus far, how could Candy?
“Yes, I can.”
“How?”
“The Witching Hour.” She grinned.
“That’s the time when witches are supposed to be at their most powerful, right? I thought it’s all a myth.”
“No, it isn’t.” Candy shifted her body to sit on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet from front to back. “Witches are more powerful during that time, and so are ghosts.”
“Ghosts?”
“Your gran got no body, right? So she’s a ghost.”
“I don’t know what happened to her body, but she’s no ghost. She’s not dead yet.” When I realized I was practically baring my teeth at the kid for vocalizing what I’d been fearing the most, I softened my voice, “She’s not.”
But Candy’s words had gotten me thinking. Grandma was currently substance-less. So she was, in a way, no different than a ghost. What if, as another supernatural whose power was also enhanced during the witching hour, Candy could indeed reach out to Gran? What if she could truly pull off what Cynthia couldn’t?
