Mel swallowed the last of her croissant. "You're wonderful. Thank you, Patrick." She snagged both bars from the table and offered one to Luce, who shook his head. She tossed it back, set the second one on the arm of the couch and reached for her tea. "Now can we please go back to Purgatory? Or Asda."
"Right. Asda. The bars. Well, it was odd that the girl at the supermarket mentioned Purgatory, so I asked her whether she got many pilgrims. She said they didn't, except when they were lost, like the strange foreign girl a few weeks ago. This girl came in and loaded a trolley up with all the Toffee Crisps they had, insisting she needed them to take with her. She said she was going to Loch Dearg and she needed directions because she was lost. The shop assistant…her name was Orlaith. Very traditional name. And she looked like one, too. She was very helpful and showed Persi where to go, then asked why the girl needed so many. After all, it was only a three-day retreat – she could come back on the way home. Persi said something about a gift for her cousin in Australia." Patrick grinned. "What a coincidence, huh?"
Luce snorted. "Luck, surely."
"Angels' luck," Mel said softly. "When it's not for personal gain, everything goes right. It's what won me the HELL Corporation coffee machine, Luce. But it doesn't answer the question of where Persi is. Three weeks ago, she bought me a box of chocolate bars, but she hasn't come home to deliver it. So where is she?" Plastic crackled as she unwrapped a bar and bit into it. "Mmm."
Patrick and Luce sat in silence, just watching her. Luce's mind spun through the possibilities of Mel, some warm chocolate and all the pleasurable noises she could make. One day he'd try to persuade her to try…
Without opening her eyes, Mel said, "Me eating chocolate isn't erotic, either. This is getting silly." She held the bar out to Luce. "Here, you try some. If you'd gone for years without one, wouldn't you be savouring the taste and texture just a bit, too?"
Unable to refuse, Luce took a bite, crunching through the gritty, gooey aggregate of caramel, biscuit and chocolate. Sure it was sweet, but nowhere near as sweet as the thought of licking warm chocolate off Mel's bare skin. Maybe she'd even be willing to reciprocate.
The crackling of plastic brought him out of his daydream as Mel dropped the empty wrapper on the coffee table. "That's the last time I eat a chocolate bar in front of you boys. Thank you again, Patrick, but…"
Patrick laughed. "Ah, you're irresistible when you're enjoying yourself. You just don't do it enough, Mel meum."
Luce agreed. "As soon as we sort out this mess with the nephilim, we're going to change that, Melody."
Mel inclined her head. "You're both very sweet, but there's still Persi to find. So where was she, Patrick? Purgatory?"
"She was," Patrick replied. "I spoke to the prior and he definitely remembers her. A snippy little thing, swearing about getting stuck in a flock of sheep on one of the roads. He thought she was going to stab him with one of her spiky heels when he suggested she take her shoes off, she was so angry. She snapped that she wasn't one of his pilgrims – she was looking for Patrick's place. She raged and swore a bit, saying I went there every year and she wanted to see my place. Of course, the prior doesn't know who I really am – though he knows me as a regular visitor. So he told Persi that I'd already done my pilgrimage this year but he'd be happy to help her with hers. He gave her a map of the grounds and sent her off. As the day progressed, he heard an increasing number of complaints from pilgrims about a loud, foul-mouthed girl in high heels who seemed to have traversed the whole island and every building on it, upsetting everyone as she went. When the last boat of the day left the island, she was on it."
Luce snorted. "I'd have kicked her off the island, too. Not exactly the sort of person to help with religious contemplation or whatever people do there."
"No, he didn't have to. She left of her own volition, he said. Whatever she was looking for, she hadn't found it and she departed in high dudgeon. Apparently, she broke one of her heels, so she'd spent most of her day barefoot, too." Patrick laughed. "Seems angelic luck doesn't apply to little Miss Persi. The prior said her eyes seemed almost red by evening, as if she was possessed."
"But demons can't possess an immortal's constructed body," Mel objected. "If Persi left it for a day, it'd disintegrate into dust. Perhaps he imagined it."
"I saw her eyes flash red, too, when she came after me in Hell," Luce offered. "She had to get in there somehow. I figured it was the power I signed over to her that did it."
Mel shook her head. "No. You can't sign over Hell – just your corporation and all your Earthly possessions. Your soul, too, if it came down to it. But to relinquish your responsibilities in Hell itself, you'd have to speak to your angelic superior to be relieved of your duties, and a replacement would need to be found. But not Persi. Persi will never be the ruler of Hell."
"I don't think one of your superior angels would care about whether she's a good choice or not. None of the higher angels like me and they'd happily take power off me if they could, especially if they could replace me with someone as submissive as that nephilim." Luce leaned forward. "Not all angels are as practical as you, Mel."
Patrick burst out laughing and even Mel managed a small smile.
Luce got the impression he'd said something stupid. "Okay, what's funny?"
Patrick pointed at Mel. "She's your superior and the one who picks your replacement. The Domination of Heaven, Earth and Hell. If Mel says Persi will never rule Hell, then she won't. But that doesn't explain the red eyes. A tainted or demonic soul does that. Is it possible that Persi…Persi herself is a demon?" The tightening worry lines around his eyes betrayed his pain at the possibility.
Silence reigned for a few seconds, through which Luce could faintly hear the traffic downstairs. He shifted uncomfortably. No one had mentioned what he'd done to the girl yet, but it was only a matter of time. Better to admit it than wait for Mel to reveal the truth.
"I did give her the dark souls that shrouded mine," he said. "If she welcomed them into her soul, she could be a demon."
"Summon her, then," Patrick said, taking a biscuit from the dwindling tray of cakes. "If she's a demon, then the Lord of Hell can summon her to do his bidding." He returned Mel and Luce's stares. "What? It beats you two haring around after her. And if you can't summon her, then she's not a demon."
"Yet," Mel said softly. She gripped Luce's arm. "Do it please, my love. If Persi's a demon, I need to know. Maybe I can help her. The sooner we find her, the better."
"Summon a demon? Don't we need a witch for that? You know, with spells and candles and herbs and animal entrails?" Luce laughed shakily. "You know that stuff rarely works for humans, unless there's a mischievous imp around. If Persephone's turned into a demon, then she chose her fate. Not even you can help her if that's what she wants, Mel."
"I helped you," she said. "Please, Luce. Even as a demon, she'll still speak to me."
He couldn't refuse her. "Fine. If you want her here, I'll summon her. But if she is a demon, I want to send her to Hell where she'll stay out of my way. I don't like her and the more I see her, the greater the temptation to snap her neck."
Closing his eyes, Luce concentrated on the nephilim as he'd last seen her in his lair in Hell. Dressed in an ankle-length dress that didn't tempt him in the slightest and with red, flashing eyes that had put him off more than her Hellish tattoo had. He wanted her here, now, to answer to him and Mel why she'd left the HELL Corporation and all her responsibilities, giving Raphael an excuse to try and order him around, and breaking up his first Heavenly idyll with Mel. She'd fit right in with Lilith and the other harpies in Level Seven.
He wanted her skinny arse here so he could banish her back to Hell. Right now.
Luce squinted at the rug, where he'd focussed his energy. It was mercifully nephilim-free. His breath hissed through his teeth. "She's not a demon. I can't summon her."
He felt Mel relax in his arms. "Oh, thank God. But if she could become one, we need to find her. I can't let that hap
pen, Luce. I just can't." She lifted teary eyes to Patrick. "Did your prior friend say anything about where Persi was headed or even why she was looking for you?"
Patrick shook his head. "Nope. If she'd wanted to find me, all she'd have to do is look me up. Patrick Driscoll, political adviser, isn't a hard man to track down when my number's listed on the consultancy website. She's not after me, Mel meum. She's searching for something else. Something she didn't find at Loch Dearg."
"But what? Why would she disappear without leaving word for me, or even asking for my help? Persi never does anything without consulting me. Why now?" Mel looked troubled.
"Can't you look into the future and find out?" Patrick ventured.
Mel shook her head. "No. Whatever she's doing has rendered Persi's future dark to me. Which means it must have something to do with me, but I don't see how."
Or me, Luce thought darkly. Mel's future was intimately entwined with his and he wouldn't let her go lightly, so whatever trouble Persephone intended to bring to Mel's door, he'd be the one answering her knock. Being a nuisance in his life and domain was bad enough. Disrupting Mel's life when she needed rest? Unacceptable.
"Hey, go easy on the furniture, Lucifer. If you want to take your frustration out on anything, I know a couple of concrete eyesores in London that could benefit from demolition. Probably best if you wait until dark, though."
Luce pried his fingers off the sofa arm, surreptitiously trying to fill the gouges in the wood. "I could do with blowing off a little steam," he admitted.
"Not destroying buildings," Mel objected. "Surely there's something that'll draw less attention than that."
"Well, we could head up to the pub tonight. You, me and the devil." Patrick grinned. "It's been your favourite for centuries and it's still open. The new management has made some changes that I think you might like, Mel."
"Pub tonight then. Sounds like a plan," Luce said, stretching. "Anything that doesn't involve that nuisance nephilim sounds great to me."
"It's green," Luce observed, staring at the pub. "Matches your sweater, Patrick."
"It's a jumper. Got to speak the language or people won't understand you," Patrick replied. "Who cares as long as the beer's not green? Though on my name day, it usually is." He led the way through the worn wooden doors that Mel knew well.
"After you," Luce said with an elaborate bow.
Mel blushed, smiled and followed Patrick. She felt Luce's hands grasp her hips.
"Hell, you look sexy in jeans. The way the denim clings to your curves as if it was made for you. Are you sure you don't want to go straight home and help me get you out of them?"
She laughed merrily. "No, Luce. You need to blow off some steam and I admit I'd like to see you in action on the dance floor. From what I remember, this place has a good one."
"Ooh, it's good to see you back, Mr Driscoll," the girl at the entry desk said. "I've missed your accent. Just you, as always?"
Patrick grinned. "I brought some friends from Australia with me tonight, so it'll be three." He gestured at Mel and Luce, then offered his wrist for the girl to stamp.
"I hope you've been practising for tonight," the girl bubbled, inking a blurry birdcage on Mel's wrist.
"Oh, I'm more than good enough. I've had all the practice I'll ever need," Luce drawled, winking at the girl as he extended his hand for a stamp.
She giggled. "Someone's very confident. Good luck with the competition, then."
Competition? Mel wanted to ask, but Patrick urged them to hurry and Luce pulled her with him.
Patrick headed for the bar, shouting at them to get a table near the stage. As they approached, a group rose together and headed out of the pub, leaving one of the bar staff to collect the glasses and give the table a cursory wipe. Front and centre – perfect. Luce helped Mel before taking the chair beside her.
Luce picked up one of the menus on the table and leafed through it, then threw it down. "It's not a drinks menu, it's a music one. Seems they take their dancing very seriously here."
"Dancing? Hell no. Friday nights are for karaoke. With all the choir practice you two get, I figure I'll have some stiff competition tonight." Patrick set three pints of beer on the table and plonked himself on a chair opposite Luce. "I had you pegged for Miley Cyrus' Wrecking Ball, Lucifer. What do you think?"
Luce swallowed his mouthful of beer. "I think I can do better than that."
Patrick pushed Mel's beer across the table to her. "What about you, Mel?"
Her insides froze. Singing in public? If there was anything worse than public speaking, it was singing. And she couldn't sing. She'd be lucky to emit a squeak. "I'll just enjoy my beer and the show, I think," she said, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she lifted her pint. Some of it slopped onto the table and she sighed.
"A saint versus the devil? I like those odds. Care for a wager on the result, Patrick?" Luce asked. He scrawled a song choice on his paper and covered it before Mel could read it.
Patrick shrugged. "Sure. Loser pays for the last round of drinks and the cab home. And Mel can judge."
"You're on." Luce shoved back from the table and headed for the DJ booth to hand over his selection slip. He winked at Mel as he returned, slipping an arm around her shoulders as he lifted his beer in his other hand.
By the time they'd finished their first pints, the pub was more than half full and Luce had to wait at the bar for several minutes before he returned with their second round of drinks. "Looks like they're about to start," he said, nodding at the stage and a costumed Elvis impersonator.
The MC opened with an explanation of how karaoke worked and the rules of the competition. Even Mel tuned out a little before the end; but then again, the rules didn't apply to her. She definitely wouldn't be singing.
She clapped and cheered politely for the first few acts, feeling that the performers' courage deserved her applause even if their performance didn't. After all, who was she to criticise them for being brave enough to do what she couldn't?
Before she knew it, Patrick jumped to his feet. "That's me!" he shouted, jogging up the steps to the stage.
He got a healthy cheer from the audience, which made Mel wonder just how many times Patrick came here. He winked at her and launched into U2's Beautiful Day. He played to the crowd and not just her. The way he spread his arms and raised his eyes Heavenward for each chorus made her almost expect the ceiling to open up and let a blaze of light in. She knew he could do it, too.
Mel applauded until her hands tingled when he was done, and again when a beaming Patrick thumped into his seat. He drained his beer in one long pull, slamming it down on the table before heading for the next round. Both Luce and Patrick had made it clear that she wouldn't be buying – not when they were engaged in some sort of chivalric competition for her.
She almost choked on her beer when the MC announced, "Next up…Lucifer, who's Bad to the Bone!"
Luce released her hand and grinned as he ran his fingers through his hair. Was that…a horn? Two? They were hidden again before Mel could be sure, but surely Luce wouldn't…not if he'd given his real name! She grabbed Patrick's arm. "He's going up there as himself in front of what must be more than a hundred people! What if he breaks out his wings?"
Patrick just laughed. "Even if he did, this mob would probably just laugh and cheer louder. Costumes are normal here. Didn't you see Elvis? No one will believe he's really Lucifer, and they'll love the character they think he is."
Luce had left his jacket draped over the back of his chair, so he loosened the first couple of shirt buttons to expose his sculpted pectoral muscles. His growled imitation of George Thorogood was so good it was bad…or bad that it was good? It vibrated through her bones like powerful bass. By the first chorus, all his shirt buttons were history and he'd whipped it off, whirling it above his head as if he wanted to lasso himself a girl from the crowd. Instead, he tossed the shirt on the table in front of Mel, to riotous screams from what sounded like every girl in the pub.
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"Impress me," she whispered, knowing he could hear her.
He grinned at her over the guitar solo and caressed his rippled abdominal muscles. The screaming increased in volume.
When Luce reached the second chorus, Mel clapped her hands over her mouth. Luce's tail poked out of the back of his pants and it was writhing and lashing in perfect rhythm to his song – no way in Hell would they believe it wasn't real!
Screams and cheers greeted his devilish appearance as he ran his fingers through his hair to reveal his horns. Every gyration of his hips, wink or blown kiss seemed directed at her – was he playing the crowd, or was he truly focussing his devilishly sexy performance solely on her?
He finished with a slide across the floor on his knees to her side, chest thrust out and slick with sweat from what had been a very energetic performance. The last notes of the song died away as he jumped up, grabbed her and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.
Panting, Luce seemed oblivious to the deafening cheer that erupted around them. His exhilarated eyes drank her in – Mel could feel the love fizzing through him.
"Well, I guess the devil has to win occasionally," Patrick said, sighing as he headed to the bar for more beer.
"Mel, singing Angel!" the MC shouted, startling Mel.
She laughed shakily. "For a minute, I thought he meant me."
Patrick was grinning. "Of course he does. When you were too shy to put in a request, I made one for you. You'll be great, Mel. Go on." He stood up and hauled Mel to her feet. "She's here!" he shouted.
Her knees liquefied as her insides froze. No. She couldn't. She couldn't go up on stage.
Luce's arms around her kept her upright. "It'll be all right, Melody. I'll help you."
"Luce, I'm not singing," she insisted.
"You don't have to. Just sit there and look angelic and I'll do all the work." He winked as he hauled a chair onto the stage, then lifted her up after it. He grabbed the microphone. "Mel's a little shy, so I'll help her out or we'll spend all our time waiting." Laughter and cheers followed.
To Hell and Back (Mel Goes to Hell Series Book 4) Page 10
