“And in all that time, you didn’t see enough world events to catch on to Dad’s little hat trick? When my father truly loves and pities someone, He sends ‘a sign,’ a head’s up that serious shit is coming. He thinks he’s being compassionate, letting them know in advance that in the future He already sees, they’re fucked.”
“But Sire, wouldn’t that mean that in the future He already sees, you’re fucked?”
Realizing the huevos mayor he attributed to himself for even saying it, Hermosa slunk back in to the shadows, doing as good an impression of the fetal position one can while standing.
“Apologies, Sire. I didn’t mean to imply … Ow, frick!”
The postcard flew from the minion’s grasp, replaced by burning embers. Lucifer fetched it from the air. “Yes, Hermosa, that’s precisely what it means.”
Lucifer thought twice about temporarily denying the minion the ability to speak. The last thing he needed was anyone spreading rumors that might seed rebellion, especially given his recent ass kicking that had some of his Damnationals questioning his place as their ruthless dictator. Nonetheless, Hermosa had given him one hundred plus years of unquestioned and loyal service. Letting him keep his tongue seemed a just severance. But just to be certain there was no opportunity for confusion …
“Tell no one of this, and keep me updated on Angeletti’s progress. Daily reports on his PH levels. Understood?”
“Yessir, yessir. I’ll keep you up to date on his post-human readings.” The minion began to slink off, surely all too happy to have not been punished for his transgression. When he’d gone a few steps, he paused and turned back to the devil. “On the bright side, sire, if what you say is true, it means He still loves you enough to warn you. There’s something good in that, isn’t there?”
Before Hermosa could blink, he found himself transported. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, the bars of the very cell he’d leached from just moments before came into focus. The floor beneath his feet liquefied, pulling him down into the molten rock, trapping him in Hell’s prison.
Lucifer stood at the cell door and grimaced. “Just had to say it, didn’t you, Hermosa? Don’t you understand, it’s that fact that’s the most dangerous of all.”
Chapter 5
Persephone’s finger skimmed the rim of the steaming hot cup of chamomile while her half-brother plopped down into the chair opposite. Dee couldn’t help but to plop; his immortal-like frame of muscles made being graceful as easy for him as skinning a goat with a potato chip. She watched as his face contorted through a dozen shades of discomfort.
“I really wish you’d let us help pay for the house,” he finally gasped out in a rush of breath. “It doesn’t seem right, accepting something this big.”
Persephone pulled a lengthy draw before answering. “Sounds good. Have a few hundred thousand dollars lying around?”
“Not really. Maybe we could work out a payment plan?”
“And maybe I could find a way to use a pelican as a bagpipe.” She grinned. “Honestly, Dee, think nothing of it. Consider it payment to the Pure Souls for services rendered. Besides, it’s not really a gift, it’s on loan. The house is a good investment. Sure to appreciate nicely after thirty or forty years. Until then, mi casa es su casa. Besides, we both know what your real issue with all this is.”
He merely arched an eyebrow.
“You’re worried about what happens if life somehow finds you staring upward at the tree roots. Loose ends and you aren’t exactly simpatico. Don’t worry, brother.” Reaching across the table, she rubbed her smooth-skinned hands over his. “If anything happens to you, I won’t turn them out. The Pure Souls, whomever they may be, will be welcomed to stay on as long as they desire. Or until there’s a serious uptick in the market that makes not selling crazy.”
“Loyalty until the dollar yells too loud,” Dee grumbled as he swigged his coffee. A warmth in his tone gave the comment away as half-sarcasm, but also held a nod of recognition.
“After so many years on this Earth, I’ve learned not to let a too perfect opportunity slip by just because of inconvenient concepts like guilt and honor.”
A cadence of footsteps that could only be caused by highly-polished, yet practical low-heeled shoes, sounded from the front hall. The rhythm suggested a confident swagger, and a quick, even pace, sureness while evidencing a certain degree of poise. Likely Ramiel, Persephone thought. She knew that the angel was bouncing around the house somewhere, performing all kinds of high-level hooey meant to protect her brother’s little band of supernatural sheriffs.
But someone most definitely not Ramiel rounded the corner.
Dee slumped back into his chair, taking up his mug of joe. “Oh, it’s only you.”
“You were expecting …?”
Dee shrugged. “Someone I like more? My proctologist, for example.”
“If I were a proctologist, maybe I’d have some hope of removing whatever bug is up your ass.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at her sibling’s expense as she took in the view of a man, who looked to mortal eyes to be Marc Angeletti, but whom she could have said—without her brother having told her—was something not entirely, even if only historically, human. Her reaction drew attention.
“Why, hello there, temptress. What’s your name, and will you please stay to eat dinner? And if not dinner, just stay to eat me?”
“Cute,” Persephone cooed as not-Marc fixed his gaze on her with a mix of intrigue, confusion, and hunger. She felt herself sizzle and shifted uncomfortably as his aura clouded with lust. He might not be human in spirit, but his body certainly hadn’t gotten the memo. “I’m Stephanie Zitka, Dee’s sister.”
“Dee’s sister?” he repeated, before crooking his eyebrows and notching his chin. “Really? On which side?”
Huffing, Dee rolled his eyes. “No reason for cover-ups, Steph. Jerry’s been ‘round the brimstone and back. Jerry Romani, this is my sister and our generous benefactor-slash-landlord, Persephone. Say hello, good bye, and scram.”
The goddess held out a hand in the modern Western tradition. When in Boston, do as the Bostonians do. But to her amazement, Jerry fell forward in full supplication, mimicking with perfect accuracy the dance of the devout from ancient times.
As his lips kissed the floor at her feet, his voice was barely audible against the linoleum. “Megali thea. I honor thee.”
“Please tell me he’s ill and this is a way of praying for a miracle cure.”
Ramiel scoffed at Jerry’s display as he too entered, taking turns giving the converted priest and the goddess scowls. As he set a small wooden box, about the size of a box of tissues, on the table and grabbed a seat, Persephone swore she heard him utter some select insult about blasphemy under his breath.
“Will you please get up off the floor and stop embarrassing me?” Ramiel gave Jerry a quick kick in the ribs as he fished out a small pouch with a drawstring closure.
Jerry scrambled to his feet, before taking Persephone’s hand and kissing it, moving his greeting up to par by several centuries. “I’ve heard much about you, milady. Some of the old timer’s from Hades’s days still speak of you.”
“Really? Wow, that’s … interesting to hear they remember me. It’s been so long. And I’ve heard all about you, of course. The infamous Jerry Romani, gnosis demon and Lothario extraordinaire.”
“Ex-gnosis demon.” He actually blushed a bit.
“And that other thing? You know, I’ve heard from succubae who swear they learned everything they know from you.” Her eyes went straight to Ramiel. The heat coming off of his cheeks threatened to accelerate global warming. “Do you still render services in that area?”
Grinning, Jerry pressed the pad of his thumb down on the inside of Persephone’s wrist. A white light shot into her skin, darting up her arm, causing her to shift and gasp. “I find the abilities of this body limiting, but I learned a charm or two that has carried over.” He pressed his lips to the impact point and kissed it gentl
y. “My mother was a member of your cult in Alexandria. It would only be carrying on my family tradition to serve the goddess in whatever capacity I … Ow! Fuck, what the hell, Ramiel?”
Perplexed, Jerry shot daggers at the archangel. He rubbed his arm where no doubt the Pure Souls’ celestial dugout manager had wacked him with a punch of magic. And possibly a knuckle duster.
Ramiel glared. “Need I remind you that one of the conditions of your resurrection is that you cannot discuss anything about your previous mortal life? Or are you just looking for an excuse for me to cancel your shore leave?”
“Yes, oh mighty angel.” Sarcasm that thick could be cut into pieces, drizzled with chocolate sauce, and served cold. “But I still don’t get why. Everyone I knew has been dead and buried longer than Hoffa. Besides, the lady asked me a question. You suggest I tell her to go stuff it and that it’s none of her business?”
“I hear about you stuffing anything, anywhere, to anyone in this room, and there will be consequences.” Ramiel turned to Persephone. “Miss Zitka, while I have no jurisdiction at present to tell you to have no contact with your brother, and while we’re grateful for your assistance with securing a residence, we ask you not attempt to become involved in any Pure Souls business.”
So, he wanted to play things all formal then, did he? Fine, she could so meet his disdain tit-for-tat.
Cupping her tea, Persephone leaned in over the table. “Are all archangels uptight asswads like you?”
“No, just the ones who have to tell fucking false gods to back off and mind their own business.”
A chamomile pool formed as Persephone slammed her mug on the table and jumped to her feet. “You know that we didn’t put ourselves forward as objects of worship, asshole. Don’t act like we tried to pull a coup d’etat or something. Perhaps you’re confusing my kind with your sycophant brother, Lucifer.”
“Good thing you were there when he arrived in Hell to keep his ass in line. Oh, wait, no, that’s right. You managed to allow him to take over the Underworld, giving him a nearly unlimited hellfire power source to use against humanity. And it’s not like you went to great lengths to start correcting all those ancient goat herders when they started bowing down to y’all, did you? Your darling patriarch sucked up that crap like it was Christmas moussaka.”
“My father is a good man!” she retorted, slamming her hand on the table and nearly breaking it in half. “Maybe a little loose in the loins, but he’s always had mortals’ best interests in mind.”
“Especially if that man happened to have a nice rack!” Ramiel shot up as well, brimming red.
Dee had to use every bit of his muscular fortitude to push the two dueling immortals away from each other. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Just shut the fuck up, okay? Don’t make me go all Kissinger up in here. We’re all on the same side. Just bring it down a notch. Or a hundred.”
They stilled, then broke with a huff and returned to their seats as silence filled the room. The ticking of a grandfather clock that stood in the corner timed their détente. Jerry hoisted himself off the ground and sat down with them.
“Ramiel?” Dee finally asked. The angel turned to him with all the warmth of a raging bull. “Is the charm in place?”
“Almost,” Ramiel grumbled. “Only one more rite to perform, but I need all three of you here to do it. Where’s Riona?”
Looking at his watch, Dee frowned. “Yeah, she should have been back by now. I’ll text her.”
“Don’t bother, she’s almost home.” Jerry popped a potato chip from a bag he’d drawn from his pocket as the three others turned to him with begging expressions. He shrugged. “She’s a creature of habit, or haven’t you noticed? Those couple of weeks we were staying over at the gym in your apartment, she walked the same exact route each day. Only variation is how long it takes her to cross the busy intersections. True, different part of town, so her route is a little different now.”
Dee muffled a cough. “You followed her?”
Jerry didn’t look the least bit ashamed. “I was concerned. She’s been dealing with a lot and I didn’t want to risk some scum demon taking advantage of that. Or worse, some scum man. You can read the depression in her aura like a menu at a burger joint.”
The tip of Dee’s tongue stilled as the lock of the front door began to jingle. Sure enough, fifteen seconds later, a windswept and red-cheeked Riona strolled in to the dining room. Four pairs of eyes fixed on her like an omen.
“What?” She examined her coat as she picked lint off the lapel. “I have something on me?”
Ramiel proved impatient. “No, just perfect timing is all. Sit. I’m going to need a drop of your blood to do this last part.”
“That’s a bit medieval, isn’t it?” She took off her jacket and started rolling up her sleeve.
“It is what it is, but it’s necessary for this sort of powerful, binding magic. We’d just sign in black ink on a fancy scroll, but the Big Guy doesn’t really trust in the power of a Bic. DNA, on the other hand, is forever. Give me your fingers.” The angel fished a tiny knife and an alabaster saucer the size of a pinch pot from his sack. Pulling the witch’s hand across the table, he positioned the tip of the blade on her index finger. “Riona, I’ll tell you the same thing Jerry probably said to you during your brief affair: it’s just a little prick, it won’t hurt but a bit, and will all be over before you know it.”
Jerry’s middle finger sprung up. “Fuck you, Ramiel. I’ll have you know I’ve made this woman speak in tongues before!”
The angel grabbed the one-finger salute and twisted Jerry’s hand, drawing a yelp and more than a bit of enjoyment from inducing pain. “Really sucks being mortal again, doesn’t it, Jer? All that pain and stuff.”
A full crimson drop collected before slowly tear-dropping into the awaiting vessel. When Dee’s blood had been added to the mixture, the angel fished out another, smaller sack. A pinch of dried herbs fell over the blood.
“What’s that?” Riona examined the bowl with a downcast gaze.
Ramiel seemed reluctant to answer, but finally offered up a brief explanation. “Herbs preserved from Eden, and something else that only grows in Heaven.”
“Smells like anise,” Jerry offered, looking over the bowl with a great deal of curiosity.
Ramiel groaned. “It’s not anise. Okay, official heavenly magic time. Jerry, Riona, Dionysius, do you hereby invest in me the power as allotted by your blood to protect this house against the boundaries of Hell, such that no minion of the Devil may enter? Understand this enchantment lives with the blood, and the moment one of you passes from this world, so does its protections. Other than that, it can only be removed or the boundaries altered by the power of another archangel.”
“I do,” Dee said.
“I do, too,” Riona offered.
“I guess, though I still think ADT is a better option. They still call the police after the intruder shoots you. Ow, damn, Ramiel, okay. Just making a joke. Yes, yes, I agree and invest and hereby do that shit. Hear ye, hear ye and God save the Queen.”
The angel rolled his eyes as he pushed the penknife to his own finger, letting a clear but viscous liquid collect before forcing it to drip in to the bowl. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the edge of the dried leaves began to blacken and smoke. Despite their meager amount, a cloud formed over the bowl. In its twisting and billowing folds, lightning struck. When the cloud was about the size and shape of a basketball, it exploded outward, like a star being born.
Persephone watched with morbid fear as the smoke passed not just over, but through her brother and his two teammates. It pushed them into their chairs, warping over their bodies, before slamming them forward again. Breathless and gasping, the Pure Souls looked like they had just been forced to sprint a mile in mud boots.
“Well, that’s it.” Ramiel took up the now empty bowl stained with ash and stuffed it back in the satchel, then put it in the box. “Oh, one FYI for y’all. The house is secure; nothing lashing out in hellfire
can enter.”
Jerry hoped no one else saw his awkward flinch.
“But there’s a yin to that particular yang,” Ramiel continued.
Dee looked flabbergasted. “You only bring this up now? You sure it wasn’t your destiny to be a used car salesman?”
“Come on, Dee, you know that there’s a bite for every blessing. Anyways, now that the house is a dead zone for demons, it’s a dead zone for magic, too.”
“So no magic, but only in the house?” Riona queried.
Ramiel nodded. “Yeah, so you’ll have to handle practicing somewhere outside. Dee’s volunteered the yoga studio at his gym. I think that’s a good idea.”
Leaning back in the chair, she crossed her arms. “Okay, I guess that shouldn’t be too bad. Just as long as I’m careful with my bagels.”
“The yoga studio?” Jerry was clearly not impressed, but after a moment, his expression brightened into sheer, demonic mischief. “Hey, Riona, you ever practiced the pose, downward facing witch?”
Chapter 6
Damn it, she missed her car. Normally Dee would have been happy to lend her his, but as it turned out, he had business errands to run that afternoon. Once Riona found a seat on a bench aboard the northbound T-line, covered in equal amounts of duct tape and newspapers, she fished out the slip of paper from her pocket and held it up. Her stomach almost turned when she saw the little hearts with arrows that Jerry had drawn around the address of the occult shop. The guy just didn’t get the clue that she was so off the menu.
Her iPhone found its way into her hands from her other pocket. The calendar was still up on the screen when she woke it from sleep. A little blue triangle graphic next to December 25 marked “D-Day.” It took almost two months for Satan to put a soul through the demonizing process, Jerry had claimed and Ramiel had confirmed. Which meant that the first possible window for Demon Marc’s appearance on Earth was Christmas Day, with the setting of the sun. Happy Fucking Holidays. There was a guy coming dressed in red and concerned with naughty versus nice, but he didn’t employ elves and it probably wasn’t going to be her stocking he was looking to stuff.
Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls) Page 3
