“What about gay people?” I knew I was being a smart ass, but I couldn't help it. I deserved a little facetiousness after all that I'd been through. Levie shrugged.
“The Devil kicked out Lunen after he refused to breed with a human woman. He wanted to be with a vampire. A male. This is why I am the new successor to the Hell Incorporated empire.” It went without saying that the Devil could use a few diversity workshops, but I skipped over that and went right to the part that concerned me. I'd already established the fact that I was selfish, big deal.
“So what, I'm supposed to make little demon babies for you? Fuck that. I don't even want kids.” Thank God I'd made him use a condom. I was really going to have to send a 'Thank You!' postcard to my old health ed teacher, Mrs. Rickets. Levie ground his teeth together in anger.
“I don't believe that I ever asked that of you.”
“No? Then what the fuck are you doing with me? We barely know each other.” Levie took two large steps towards me, closing the distance between us and slammed his hands on the glass on both sides of my face.
“It doesn't matter. I love you.”
My heart stopped beating for a full minute. Not that it really mattered since I was dead, but it was still impressive. His words replayed in an endless loop through my head and the air around me became increasingly warmer as Levie waited for some sort of response from me. Unfortunately, I couldn't give him what he wanted.
“Get out,” I said softly. “Just go.” His eyes were wide, incredulous. It wasn't fair though. He expected me to just fall into his arms, cooing with pleasure. Well, it wasn't going to happen. I had pride. And dignity. And self respect. Even if I was a little bit dense. Okay, maybe I was a lot dense but still. I ducked under his arm, my feet stomping a quiet, angry rhythm across the salt 'n' pepper carpet until I reached the door. My hand twisted the gold knob, and I stepped aside, waiting for him to leave.
Dia was silent and still, her bald, orange head gleaming as she stared at the floor. It was at least an attempt to be respectful, even if I could still see the edges of her shark-toothed grin on the side of her face.
Levie dropped his hands to his side, and his wings rustled as he readjusted them across his back. He turned around and followed my path to the door.
“I was able to get the Devil to offer you a deal. But it was contingent on the fact that you stay with me. I will have to renegotiate.” He paused, head down next to me.
“Don't bother.” I said, looking over at Dia for confirmation. “I can get out of this myself.” She looked up and met my eyes, nodding in agreement. Levie glanced back at her and shook his head.
“She cannot help you like I can. I will speak with my uncle.” He didn't wait for me to answer, just grabbed the knob from my hand and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
I took a huge, shuddering breath before finally giving into my tears and throwing myself onto the bed. Dia stood anxiously next to me and tried to help by rubbing my back in little circles. She pressed far too hard and succeeded only in making me cry harder, but I didn't ask her to stop. I didn't have the heart to ask anything.
An I Love Lucy marathon was the only thing playing on the T.V. and since there was no computer and no phone, I was sort of strapped in my choices of entertainment. After watching several episodes, I was pretty sure that Hell really was a place of eternal punishment. I knew that I was on a time schedule, but I was also having a hard time making myself care. I stared at the black and white screen and ignored Dia's attempts at conversation. It was only when she mentioned two of my favorite vampires that I really started to hear her.
“This one guy in a ridiculously bad seventeenth century getup was the one that started the whole thing. I mean, I was born in the seventeenth century, so it's not like I haven't seen men in tights but come on.” I turned my head to look at her, but she was into her story and used to me being spaced out so it took her awhile to notice. “Him and this skeleton-vampire were selling my friends like chattel, so of course, I had to check it out. I haven't had a master in like, fifty years. Not since Hell Inc.'s intake levels dropped by like, fifty fucking percent. I was being careless, but I was tired of waiting for someone to listen to me. When I got there, they ambushed me and gave my bottle to that little chit, Leah.”
“She was a Guardian?” I asked quietly, grabbing the remote and turning off the T.V. Diamokina jumped, her bells and jewelry tinkling and a small swirl of smoke emanating from her nostrils. She slapped her hands onto her thighs and shook her white ponytail at me.
“Jesus, girl, I thought you were like, completely out of it!” She leaned forward and brushed a hand across my forehead. Her skin felt strange, more like reptile scales than human skin. I tried not to shudder away from her touch, but it made me uncomfortable. When I was about at my limit, she pulled back and sat down in her chair again, purple skirts folded neatly beneath her. “Now where was I?”
“Leah.”
“Right. Leah. Of course the little chit was a Guardian, only Guardians can take control of a genie.” She reached a hand up and adjusted her hair. Even though there was so little of it, she seemed to be quite prideful of the bit that was there.
“What makes a Guardian a Guardian? I don't understand.” Dia sighed and shook her head as if disappointed.
“I remember the days when Hell Inc. used to give full seminars to all their applicants. Well, not anymore. No sirree, not since Infernix opened up. You don't know shit, do you, girl?”
“My name is Ginger,” I replied curtly, feeling offended though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because Levie always referred to me as 'girl.' Stupid girl. The jerk.
“Well girl, a Guardian is somebody, male or female, that has enough of their own magic that they can see beyond their world and into the next. It's the same reason why they can master a genie or ... ” She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I turned away, embarrassed. “Wrangle a demon.” I looked back to her, suddenly desperate, and flung the blankets back, slamming my feet onto the floor.
“Why can't demons just breed with each other? I don't understand.” Dia smiled and took my hands in hers.
“A demon is just a human with a lot of magic. More than a Guardian.” She released my hands and sat back. “Angels, too. They're the same way. But they have so much of it that it fucks with their ability to reproduce. So they need someone with a lot of magic, but not too much. A normal human won't do. They'll only breed more humans.” I leaned back against the pillows and tried to breathe. “Now can I finish with my story? You're sort of running on borrowed time, girl. We need to get you a body and soon. I can always fill you in on demon lore after you've got a flesh bag to sit in.”
“Sure. Whatever.” Dia took a deep breath and began talking. Once she started, I couldn't get her to stop. She told me how Liam and Nathaniel had been kidnapping the genies without masters and taking the bottles of the ones who did and selling them to other Guardians. She told me how nobody at Hell Inc. seemed to notice or care. Until their entire Recall and Collections department was gone. Now they were in deep shit without anybody to reverse the wishes that had already been made. Like mine.
“So what do you want me to do about it?” I asked her, still annoyed that she knew so much about me but hadn't spilled the beans on where she'd gotten the information. “What the fuck does the Devil think I can do about it?”
“Well, you told me he saw your bottle. He knows you already have me. And even just one Guardian and her genie can really shake things up. I've got as much power as you've got, girl. So what do you say? You scratch my back; I scratch yours. Help me get my friends back and you'll make Lucifer happy, and I'll get you out of every mess you've gotten yourself in. And maybe a yellow Lamborghini. I think you could use a nice Lamborghini.”
“Can't I just order you to do what I want?” Dia frowned at me, and a small wisp of smoke floated out of each ear.
“You want to play that game, girl. Wish for money and I'll make sure that it comes straight out of a high pro
file bank. Then you can be arrested and sit in a fucking jail cell. Or wish for eternal life and I'll switch your soul and Prometheus' and you can enjoy having your liver eaten by a fucking eagle every Goddamn day.” I held up my hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay, I get it. I get it. I'll help you. Now, what do I need to do?”
Diamokina had been adamant that I rehearse the words several times, without the 'I wish' of course, before being allowed to actually go forward with my request. She informed me that she had once had a master that had said the word 'bog' rather than 'big' resulting in a very swampy, alligator infected mess instead of a large house. Considering that I tended to collect the worst of the worst when it came to luck and the fibbing of words, I relented and rehearsed the script at least three dozen times. When I was finally fed up, I spun around to face her and shook the piece of parchment in my hand like a weapon.
“Look, I appreciate the help, and I'm sure that I probably do need it but can we just get this over with? I'm tired of being dead. I can't eat, I don't breathe, and apparently the sex is crap.” I said apparently because really, I didn't have much to compare it to, and I was just going off of instinct. It wasn't like I had anyone to have sex with anyway. Diamokina shrugged and adjusted the strap of the pink nothingness shirt that she was wearing. One which did absolutely nothing to disguise her nipples. I pretended not to notice.
“Fine,” she replied, her voice tinkling like the little bells on the ends of her nose ring. “Go ahead. I'm not the one who's going to end up reincarnated in a charred piece of meat. Take your chances so I can find a new master when you're gone.”
I rolled my eyes at her and shook out the paper. I took a deep breath and counted to ten in my head, trying to relax my muscles and ignore the oppressive heat.
“I wish ... ” My voice stumbled as I said the words which, thus far, had only gotten me into a heap of trouble. I cleared my throat and continued. “That I had a competent, willing necromancer to reanimate my body and raise my soul from the dead, intact and whole.” I spared a glance at Dia who was lounging on the bed, eyes half lidded as she took in the words from my spell and did whatever it was that genies do to turn it into reality. “And I wish,” I continued, using Dia's recommendation that I split the request into two wishes, to avoid confusion. “That she was looking at my body now and performing the incantation so that I might be alive and whole again by the time that she completes her spell.”
I took a deep breath and felt my face split into a grin; I hadn't messed up a single word. Diamokina was looking at me, but she was far away, lost in whatever magics she was using. She didn't look like she was doing much of anything though, sprawled out across the bed as she was.
I waited, twisting my hands together and rocking back and forth on my heels nervously. Even with her reassurances that as my genie, the words could be vague enough that she could fill in the missing pieces, I was still worried.
I watched the seconds tick by on the nightstand clock and tried not to freak out. I wanted to ask her if everything was going okay, but I was terrified of what might happen if I interrupted her process.
I didn't have to wait long.
The first thing that I noticed was a weakening in my knees; they were wobbly and unstable. It felt like I was trying to balance my weight on wooden pegs rather than legs. I stumbled against the dresser, my arm flying out to catch me when I lost feeling in them, too. I vaguely heard the sound of books and cans crashing to the floor, but my eyesight was already changing. I was seeing shapes that weren't there and starting to lose sight of what was. Diamokina and the bed faded from my view to be replaced by a strawberry blonde in a hooded gray sweatshirt and jeans.
Her eyes were bright, a cool green, confident and uninhibited. Despite her age, there was an immense amount of amount of power behind them. From the looks of her, she couldn't have been more than sixteen. I focused on her eyes, used them as an anchor to bring myself into consciousness. It didn't hurt nearly as terribly as I'd thought it would. In fact, it felt rather good.
I slumped onto the floor with a moan, my cheek pressed uncomfortably into an itchy Persian rug. My body shook and spasmed while my soul, spirit, or whatever it was that made me, me, fell into place. Dirty white tennis shoes approached slowly, and the girl knelt down next to me. She poked me in the forehead with a cold finger.
“You in there?” she asked, a yawn catching in her throat. I didn't answer. I couldn't. My entire body was shaking, and sweat was pouring down my forehead. The air here felt thin and cold, nothing at all like Hell. “Bother,” she groaned, puffing out her cheeks. “I hate when I forget the soul.” She reached behind her and pulled out a very shiny and very dangerous looking scythe with an obsidian handle complete with carved skull. Oh shit.
I tried to scream or at the very least move so that she could see that I was in there, but my body still refused to respond. She stood slowly, raising her arms in a stretch as she yawned again. She held the scythe to her right and lifted it above her head, muscles bunching as she prepared to drop it directly on my exposed neck.
The curved metal came swooping down at me, and my adrenaline rush finally kicked in. I rolled over, attempting to avoid the blade. “Stop!” I screamed, hoping she had enough strength in those skinny arms to halt the weapon's path. Recognition glinted in her eyes seconds before the scythe hit my neck.
It was too late.
Again, it wasn't very painful to die. It truly wasn't. I barely felt a thing. I stood next to my severed body and tried not to cry as I was suddenly struck by the image of my mother. I couldn't help but blame her for all of this though. If I had known I wasn't alone in my visions, I might not have been desperate enough to sell my soul. And become a demon's bride.
My own head stared up at me, eyes glassy and empty, and I felt my stomach protest. I turned away and tried to throw up, but nothing would come out.
“Don't worry. It's not just you. Nobody gets to throw up after they die. It's one of the downsides.” I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and stared at my murderer/necromancer.
“Are you fucking insane?” I snapped at her. I wanted to wrap my hands around her throat and throttle her. She was lucky I was transparent. I turned away from her and surveyed the room. It was a living room, nothing out of the ordinary about it. There was a white sofa and loveseat, round glass coffee table, and several bookshelves stuffed to the brim. It was fairly sparse; there wasn't even a T.V. I stumbled over to one of the couches and tried to sit but ended up passing right through it and landing on my butt on the floor.
Where the hell was my stupid fucking genie when I needed her? I reached my hand into my pocket and pulled out the little pink bottle. It followed me wherever I went, dead or alive. Lucky me. I crawled over to my body and dipped the bottle into the puddle of my own blood. It was morbid, but I was just glad that the bottle didn't pass through it.
The necromancer was watching me crawl around, a perplexed expression on her face and the instrument of my second death clutched in her hand. I glared at her while I waited for my genie.
“I'm really sorry about ... ” She gestured at my body with her scythe. “You know.” She didn't sound sorry; she sounded bored. I turned my head away from her and crossed my arms. Any minute now ... “I have this really bad habit of reanimating the body without the soul, and I really hate zombies.” Maybe if I concentrated enough I really could get my hands around her neck ... “I would resurrect you again if I could, but I've only got enough power to restore a soul once. Besides, I used most of it changing your body back from French fry status.”
“I don't need a fucking reminder,” I growled, tapping my foot impatiently and squeezing the bottle in my hand. What was the point of the word competent in the wish? The girl wasn't competent. She was a freaking idiot.
Diamokina finally appeared in a swirl of pink and purple smoke, lounging on one of the girl's white couches and grinning ear to ear with her pointy teeth. “My apologies, girl, that didn't go quite as well as I'd hoped.” I
gaped at her.
“You think?” I screeched, ignoring the necromancer's surprised face and stomping over to the couch. “What am I supposed to do now?” Dia stretched languidly.
“Don't burst an artery. We'll just try again.” She cast a glance at the girl. “You gonna help us out or what?” Dia wiggled her white eyebrows up and down and summoned a glass of red wine into her hands. The necromancer opened her palms in an apologetic gesture.
“I can only raise a person's soul from the dead once. The second time is exponentially harder. I've never actually met anyone that had the power to do it.” She shrugged as if that were that and tucked some strands of shimmering blonde hair back into her hood. “When Helena brought me the body, I didn't even think that I could do it. You're lucky I even got this far.” I turned around to face her, trying not to show how surprised I was. There had to be more than one person in this town with the name Helena, right?
“Helena?” I asked, the anger slowly draining away in my curiosity. “Tall, long dark hair, vampire?” I hadn't even given a thought to the idea that this girl could see supernaturals. Maybe that should've been my first question.
She pulled back her hood, and I was shocked to see pointed ears, like Vae's. Elf. The necromancer laid her staff against the wall and stepped towards me, head cocked to the side.
“What gives you the right to ask me questions? I wasn't even going to resurrect your body. I was only considering it because I owe Helena a favor.” She pointed a skinny finger at me. “You bewitched me!” She turned her angry green eyes to Dia who stared back with little to no interest. “How dare you use your powers on me. You should be ashamed of yourself.” Dia shrugged and magicked a magazine into her hand. This time it was titled Wishers Weekly. I was going to have to ask her where she got all of that crap.
“I did what my master asked me to do is all. Don't be ridiculous.” The necromancer fumed, her pale cheeks turning a bright pink. I was suddenly glad she had put down her scythe. I cleared my throat and drew her attention.
Hell Inc. Page 23
