Winter Wishes

by Vivian Arend, Vivi Andrews

  She tossed out the name of Hollywood’s newest darling casually, but Gerry’s breathing quickened and his pupils dilated until his eyes were pools of black—a junkie scenting his next fix. “Trista Lovelace?”

  “I might be willing to tell you,” Sasha said carefully, “if that information paid my toll and got me into Hell without any further delay.” She tried to make the sentence pin down any variables, leaving as little up to interpretation as possible.

  Gerry beamed. “She learns!” He laughed, bounding up onto his stool again, the framed photo vanishing from his hands. “Tell me.”

  “Agree to the deal first.”

  He rocked back and forth on the stool, humming gleefully. “Smart, Christian, not to trust me.” His eyes twinkled like a demented Santa Claus as he confessed, “I lie, you know. It’s what we do.”

  The feeling she was completely out of her depth returned. Marching into Hell and making deals with demons wasn’t how she’d envisioned her Christmas Eve. Fantasies of decorating cookies and watching It’s a Wonderful Life, all down the drain so she could negotiate with creatures who took pleasure in deception.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “So stern, so forceful.” Gerry snickered. “A deal. You tell me about Trista Lovelace’s love life and I open the portal of Hell for you.”

  “Do we shake on it?”

  “Never give a demon lord your hand, Christian. You might not get it back.”

  Sasha put her hand back on the butt of the Desert Eagle. “Fair enough.” Thank God she’d just finished doubling for Trista on next summer’s blockbuster. “Trista Lovelace broke up with Cameron Kyle and is now dating his younger brother, Duncan. Open the portal.”

  Gerry’s head wobbled in a circle as he giggled, the Cheshire Cat on helium. “Duncan Kyle! That is almost worth two boons.”

  “The portal.”

  “Yes, of course.” He spun to face the blank wall behind him, rubbing his palms together. “But where should I put it? Here? Close to your imprisoned lover? Or perhaps there, in the outer Mongolia of the demonic realms? Decisions, decisions.”

  Frustration tightened Sasha’s grip on the angel’s gun. “Put it close. You can count that as my second boon. You said yourself my gossip was worth two.”

  He held up a finger. “Almost two. But I can put you right in your lover’s lap, if—”

  “If?”

  “Layla Christian. So beautiful, so charismatic, and yet so elusive. She smiles and even the press forget to mourn the loss of the stories she could give them. And you know all her secrets.” Gerry’s expression was no longer that of a playful fanatic. Now his eyes were hungry and dark. “Tell me just one secret, Layla Christian’s daughter. One thing no one else knows.”

  The Desert Eagle seemed to leap out of the holster, eager to come out and play. “My mother taught me how to fire a gun,” Sasha said, leveling the .44 Magnum at the impish demon. “How’s that for a secret?”

  Gerry gasped, his expression alight. “Oh yes, I can see why he likes you. An Amazon with an angel’s sword.” He grinned again—an expression Sasha was coming to realize was more feral than joyful. “You may yet succeed tonight, Christian. But are you sure you want to? Angelic promises never mean what you want them to. What prize did they offer you?”

  “This isn’t about a prize.” She wasn’t a mercenary, for Chrissake. “I’m getting Jay out of Hell.”

  Gerry shrank down on himself, his giddy humor darkening rapidly. “Be careful what you wish for, Sasha Christian. In Heaven, as in Hell, things are rarely as they seem. The pawn of virtue enamored of Morning Star’s stepson is not beloved of angels. Light cannot love the dark.”

  What the hell was his deal with the Satan’s stepson bit? Was that some kind of demonic trash talk? “Thank you, Yoda. The portal?”

  This time Gerry’s smile was disturbingly demonic. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  He turned and placed his hand against the plain white drywall. It shriveled away from his touch like tissue burning, peeling back the walls and ceilings and eating across the floor until the waiting room was reduced to ashy cinders on a rough stone floor.

  Now this is a catacomb. Indiana Jones, eat your heart out.

  Torches lit a massive cavern with wavering light, drawing shadows on pocked stone and sod walls. Sasha avoided looking at those walls too closely—not wanting to know what else they might be composed of.

  Uneven stairs led up to a stone altar in the center of the cavern, an altar dominated by an engraved metal door standing alone at the center of the dais. A door she knew didn’t just open to the empty air on the other side.

  Gerry scurried up the stairs, pulled a key from his voluminous pirate sleeves and fit it into the lock. The door swung open without a whisper of sound—no pomp, no fanfare, no deathly screams. Gerry bowed like a Victorian butler. “Welcome to Hell, Christian.”

  Sasha licked her lips nervously. Quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. She took the steps two at a time and kept that momentum going, rushing the door. Oh shit, what am I doing? Two running strides and she was there.

  Sasha stormed the door to Hell at a run—and slammed into an invisible barrier, bouncing off it and landing hard on her ass. “Oomphf.”

  Gerry’s cackle danced around the cavernous room. “Did the Champion forget to sign her contract? Silly girl. Can’t get into the Prince’s lair without signing.”

  “What contract?” Sasha snapped. “There was no contract.”

  “Wasn’t there? What’s that in your pocket?”

  The embossed invitation to Hell began to rise out of her back pocket of its own volition. Sasha caught it one-handed before it could float out of reach. The paper crackled beneath her fingers, heavy cardstock morphed into crinkling velum and a trifolded contract fell open in her hands. Large calligrapher’s script filled the pages with brown ink.

  “Sign and enter,” Gerry taunted from behind the door.

  No matter how rushed she was, there was no way Sasha was signing a contract to enter Hell without reading every word. The Desert Eagle still in one hand, she began skimming. The definitions for Champions, Satan and the Dominions of Hell filled the first two pages, but on the third page…

  The signer commits herself to the role of Champion of Virtue until dawn, Christmas morning—blah, blah, blah—at which time, if the Champion has not exited the Dominions of Hell, he/she will remain therein eternally.

  “Whoa. An eternity in Hell?”

  Gerry shrugged, examining his nails. “Sign and risk your eternal soul or refuse and seal the fate of another’s. Your choice, Christian.”

  Sasha wasn’t a fan of ultimatums unless she was the one issuing them, but the contract reiterated what the angel had said about no replacement Champions. It was her or no one. Jay may have been about to break up with her, but even commitment-phobe assholes with green card issues didn’t deserve to spend the rest of their lives in Hell. It was a little too extreme a punishment.

  And she might actually be in love with the idiot. The jury was still out on that one. Though if she saved his ass from Hell and he still wouldn’t come to Christmas dinner, they were going to have words. And those words may or may not involve her fist connecting with his pretty-boy nose.

  “You got a pen?”

  Gerry flashed his teeth—his smile looking less friendly by the second. “Not ink, Christian. Blood.”

  His body evaporated in a puff of smoke, but his laughter continued to ricochet around the cavern.

  Sasha holstered the gun and released a throwing knife from her wrist sheath. In the movies, the idiot actors always sliced open their palms or fingertips, but Sasha didn’t need fresh blood slicking her grip or an open sore distracting her right now. She shoved up her sleeve and pressed the tip of the blade to the back of her forearm until a drop of blood formed on the tip.

  Lifting the knife, the single drop fell. When it splashed onto the contract, a blinding flash of light cracked through the cavern and the pape
r vanished. Lightning in a catacomb.

  ’Cuz that isn’t ominous at all.

  Sasha cleaned and resheathed the knife, drew the Desert Eagle and walked toward the door.

  This was insane. Absolutely insane. Going to face God-knew-what in the devil’s den to save a guy she’d been halfway to breaking up with this afternoon. Maybe she did really love the schmuck. Only love was this nuts.

  Chapter Six

  No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

  Jay groaned and rolled onto his side—less than comforted by the rattling of chains that accompanied the move.

  He felt like he’d been hit in the face with a baseball bat. Which wasn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility. The last thing he remembered was being yanked into Hell and the whip-crack of his mother’s voice.

  Coming to in a dark cell, chained ankle and wrist, wasn’t exactly a shock.

  Jay forced his eyes to focus, taking stock of his surroundings. There wasn’t much to see.

  A dripping candelabra sat on the floor in front of him, the flickering light not managing to penetrate the shadows more than a few feet. What he could see of the cell was the kind of classic Tudor-era torture chamber his mother preferred, but the lady herself was nowhere in sight. He didn’t think she would actually torture him. He was too valuable. It doubtless simply hadn’t occurred to her to put him anywhere else.

  His jeans were ragged and dirt-crusted at the knee, as if his legs had been dragged along the ground to the cell. No shirt, no shoes, and what felt like dried blood caked in his hair. He reached up a hand to his forehead and found at least he wasn’t actively bleeding.

  A door creaked open in the darkness. “Awake already? Damn, you heal quickly.” Verin’s face swam out of the shadows. “You’ve been a bad boy, cousin.”

  Jay groaned, propping his shoulders against the wall so he wasn’t lying prostrate at her feet. “And here I was trying so hard to be good.”

  “Is that what you call it?” She crouched down in front of him, her sharp, angular features severe and unsmiling. “You should have come back when you were told, Jay. Lucifer doesn’t take it well when his summons are ignored.”

  “The Prince never summoned me.”

  “A summons from his bride is a summons from the Dark Prince.”

  “Forgive me if I’m not interested in being a pawn in my mother’s political games,” he snapped, gathering the chains around him so he could sit up more.

  “It’s not my forgiveness you should be begging for, buddy. Jezebeth is very angry with you.”

  “That’s nothing new.”

  Verin smiled. “But some things are new, Jay. The balance of power has shifted.”

  Because of him. His mother had been Lucifer’s mistress for millennia and no one had taken her seriously. The Prince had known she was too ambitious for her own good and kept her in check, but Jezebeth had chafed against his restrictions. Demonic powers were most effective against humans, but Jezebeth had heard rumors that demon-human hybrids could use their abilities against other demons, even within the bounds of Hell itself. Thirty-five years ago, she’d gone to the mortal plane, found a human with natural immunity to demonic powers and seduced him.

  Jay was the result.

  She had created him as a weapon. And a lure. Jezebeth had known Lucifer would forgive her infidelity if Jay would fight for him. But no one had suspected she would actually get him to agree to a marriage contract. The balance of power had certainly changed, but it wasn’t clear yet how—or for how long it would stay this way.

  “I’m not going to stay here and fight for Lucifer, no matter what my mother wants.”

  Verin laughed. “You say that as if you have a choice.” She leaned forward, her eyes alight.

  She was enjoying taunting him. Cackling delight filled her thoughts, bouncing around in his brain. He’d forgotten how damn loud that could be, with Hell acting as an amplifier to his abilities.

  Verin cocked her head. “Perhaps you have a choice after all. You’ve certainly made some interesting friends in your time on earth, Jevroth.”

  “I am charming.”

  “Did you know the angels sent a girl into Hell after you? And she isn’t just a girl, is she, cousin?”

  Sasha. His heart began to pound. Hell was dangerous even for those who knew it well. He didn’t want her anywhere near this place, but still his stupid heart rose at the thought of her coming for him.

  Verin scowled. “You should have told me what Sasha really is. Secrets are bad for the soul.”

  Jay locked his jaw. He’d learned his lesson about secrets the hard way. He’d lost his chance to tell Sasha the truth himself. Now he had no way of knowing what the angels had told her. Lies, truth, they could be equally damning if she believed them.

  By now, they would certainly have told her he was a demon. No more breaking it gently. His mind raced, supplying a thousand possible reactions she might have had.

  “Do you know what her quest is?” Verin asked conversationally. “We’ve been taking bets on it all evening. Does she come to redeem you? Or to kill you for her angelic masters?”

  He couldn’t believe Sasha would kill him. Leave him to Hell, yes. Seek him out to exterminate him? He didn’t think he’d gotten her quite that angry.

  “No bets? You aren’t being a very good sport about this, Jay. Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “It must be chained up in a different cell.”

  Verin laughed. “Don’t worry about the chains. I know you want to see your precious Sasha and we’re going to make sure she finds you. We have to know if she’s going to save us the trouble of killing you.”

  “My mother won’t allow me to be killed.” He was too useful.

  “No, you’re probably right. But Sasha on the other hand…well, she probably won’t be killed right away either. She’s valuable to you, isn’t she? What would you do to spare her life, do you suppose?”

  Something feral rose up in him. “Don’t you threaten her,” he snarled.

  “What did you think would happen, cousin? You ride off into the sunset together and spawn adorable little demon cherubs? I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Light and dark can’t coexist together. You know the rules.” Verin smiled. “And she’ll make such a pretty whipping girl.”

  Jay lunged up, snapping the chains taut, so quickly Verin barely had time to jerk out of his reach. Her back slammed against the far wall of the cell and she stayed there, only her eyes visible in the darkness, her breath coming fast. “Damn, you’re quick.” She crept back into the light and he heard the echo of her thoughts growing more arrogant with each step. “Harming me won’t do you any good, cousin. I’m not the one holding an ax over Sasha’s pretty head.”

  No. That was his mother. Jay sagged back against the wall, letting the chains fall lax.

  “It shouldn’t be long now,” Verin commented as she faded back into the shadows again. He heard a creaking groan, a heavy wooden door being opened. “Patience,” she said, the word sounding like a curse—and from Verin, Demon of Impatience, it could be.

  The door rattled on its hinges when it slammed shut, leaving Jay alone with his thoughts. Chained in a holding cell, with only his doubts for company, awaiting Lucifer’s judgment on his truancy these last few months. Awaiting the arrival of the girlfriend his very existence had put in danger.

  Just another sterling Christmas Eve.

  * * *

  Hell wasn’t at all what Sasha had expected. No fire. No brimstone. Just a series of empty beige halls permeated by the indefinable odor of the DMV, not quite masked by the scents of ammonia and lemon Pledge.

  She’d imagined Hell as a crowded place, noisy with the screams of those burning in its fires, but the only sound was the constant hum of the air conditioners. She had yet to see a single demon, but an itching between her shoulder blades, the unmistakable sensation of being watched, had plagued her ever since she stepped through Geryon’s door.

  She’d never felt so uncomfortable in
someplace quite so innocuous. The dull corporate hallways had to be an illusion, a veil over the real Hell. What could be more deceptively innocent than unflattering fluorescent lighting?

  Sasha navigated the maze of abandoned Hell halls, guided by nothing more than instinct, a gut feeling she was headed toward Jay. She’d always been hyperaware of him, from the first time they met.

  She’d been feeding her fiction addiction at the Malibu public library when she felt a tingling wakefulness shiver through her thoughts, like a tuning fork ringing inside her mind. She’d looked up and he’d been standing right in front of her, a question in the bottomless black of his eyes.

  Physically he was a god, but the mild-mannered library dweller had never been her type. He looked like Clark Kent, apologetic and shy, but she’d let herself be talked into grabbing an espresso at the Starbucks down the street, hoping Superman would make an appearance.

  He’d talked about digging through old family records, looking for traces of aunts, uncles and cousins he’d never known. He was interesting, occasionally quite funny, but so tentative with her, like he expected her to reject him at any moment. Sasha didn’t understand how someone so pretty could be so insecure one second and then brash and confident the next.

  He wasn’t the type of guy who usually flipped her switches, but she really liked him. It was hard not to. So when he asked if he could see her again, she said yes. And then outside the movie theater on their first date, she let him brush a hesitant kiss across her mouth and agreed to go out again.

  Jay was a puzzle—capable but guarded—and she was intrigued. So she kept saying yes, because there was never a good reason to say no. She kept hoping the tingles, the humming awareness of him, would translate into wild passion, but even though she couldn’t complain in the bedroom department, she’d always been waiting for the fireworks that never came. There were hints of Superman lurking inside, but he never made an appearance, and she’d discovered she rather liked dating Clark Kent.