Remembering the photograph on his nightstand, I asked, "Who was she?"
"College sweetheart." His eyes shone, and I saw love sparkling there. I didn't know his old love, but at that moment, I hated her. "Tracy and I were in the same poly-sci class at Boston U. freshman year. We just clicked, as if we were meant to be together. After graduation, we kept dating. And it kept getting more serious. Next thing you know, I'm spending two months' salary on a ring and we're talking about setting a date."
Already knowing the answer, I asked, "What happened?"
His face pulled into a grimace, and he closed his eyes. "I left for work early, like always. She was still sleeping, so I didn't give her a kiss, because I didn't want to wake her. Next time I kissed her was in her coffin." His eyes opened, but he was focused two years in the past. "Hit and run, when she was out for her morning jog. Happened on a side street, so it wasn't called in right away. No one saw it happen. She was dead before they got her to the hospital."
"I'm so sorry."
He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. "The first few months were tough. Her family took it hard, and her mother still blames me for not being there."
"How could you have been?"
A smile flitted over his face. "Not the point. Grief does strange things to people. Makes them say horrible things. Makes them do unpredictable things they might later regret." He looked me dead in the eye.
Ouch.
Okay, so maybe I'd been off the deep end when he rebuffed my advances in the hotel room. It wasn't my fault; I'd never been rejected before. Considering that I hadn't ripped off my amulet and fried him into a crisp, I thought I'd handled it pretty well.
"After a few more months, I started accepting that Tracy wasn't coming back. A year after she died, I moved to New York. Part of it was to get away from her family—her mom especially had a way of just showing up at places like the supermarket when I'd be shopping, and she wouldn't say anything at all, just stare at me with those haunted eyes, like she was judging me and finding me guilty, over and over. I had to escape."
Boy, could I relate. "It's not just escaping judgment. It would have killed you."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But it was more than leaving the bad stuff behind. I needed a fresh start. And that meant walking away from my past. I got established in New York pretty quickly. And I like it here. I met a couple people who've become good friends. I went out on a few dates, nothing too serious. And I was good for awhile. When the second anniversary of Tracy's death came around, I took the train to Boston to visit her gravesite. To let her know how I was doing."
As a demon, I'd never understood the need for humans to convene with the dead. Unless they spoke through mediums, the dead were way beyond the mortal coil. And the handful of true mediums I'd met over the millennia all agreed that spirits were flighty at best and downright vindictive at worst. The whole séance thing was pointless; spirits of the deceased couldn't provide any comfort or real answers. When an entity is transparent physically, it was a good bet that mentally and emotionally, it would be just as empty.
Even so, humans continued to reach out to their dead. Small wonder there weren't more charlatans out there, bilking people away from their money for the promise of a few moments with their ethereal loved ones.
But now…
Maybe it was because I was human. Or maybe it was because it was Paul telling me this, and as much as I wanted him to be just my Cabin Boy, he was growing into something more meaningful. Like a Gardener, or even a Butler.
"To be honest, I hadn't even been planning to go up to see her," Paul said. "But I had this dream a few nights ago that had me thinking about her all the next day."
All the blood in my face pooled down in my toes. Trying to ignore the pretty black dots swimming in front of my eyes, I asked, "Are you still in love with her?"
A smile bloomed on his face. "I'll always love her. But I've also said good-bye." He spread his hands wide, a helpless gesture that looked so odd on a strong man. "I've made my peace with it. But I hadn't counted on you."
I squeaked, "Me?"
"I don't know what it is, but there's something about you. I knew it from the moment I saw you sipping coffee at South Station. When I saw you again on the train, something inside me just, I don't know, connected."
He leaned close to me. "God knows, I've wanted to kiss you as soon as I met you. But there's more to you than just sex appeal."
More than just sex appeal? My hands shook. Never in all of my existence had anyone suggested something so… blasphemous. All I knew was sex and desire; there was nothing more to me.
"I know you, Jesse. Somehow, deep inside, something about you just feels right to me."
My throat constricted. This was way more than I'd bargained for. Yes, I wanted him in that wonderful Biblical sense—but more than that, I wanted him to be right. I wanted there to be more to me than just a roll in the sack.
I wanted to be loved.
My heart slammed against my chest like it couldn't stand being in my body. Shit! Humans and their icky emotions! This sucked! I was born and bred in the Pit—warm and fuzzy feelings were supposed to be an anathema!
"I want to discover what that thing about you is," Paul said, "what makes you resonate with me. I want to discover who you are."
I whispered, "Maybe I don't want to be discovered."
He reached out and clasped my hand, swallowing it completely in his own. "I think you do. I think you're waiting for the right person to find you."
"You don't know anything about me," I said, finding it hard to breathe.
"But I want to." His hand tightened on mine. "I want to know whatever you're willing to share. Whenever you're ready. I want to know you."
Feeling like I was going to cry my fool head off, I said, "I don't even know me."
"So let's learn together."
I looked into his eyes and saw waves of green swell and recede into an ocean of dark blue. My voice barely louder than a mouse's squeak, I said, "How?"
"I can start by making up to you about before, in the hotel. What should I do?"
Let me ride you like a bronco. "I don't know. No one's ever tried to apologize to me."
"Well… what do you like?"
I nibbled my lip, thinking. Finally, I shrugged. "I really don't know."
"Okay, I'll guess. Chocolate?"
"Very yummy." At least, I assumed it was.
He inched closer to me. "Flowers?"
"Very pretty." And they died so quickly, which was rather thoughtful of them.
Now his hand was draped over my shoulder. "Wine?"
"Maybe…" Especially if he poured it over my navel and lapped it up.
Eyes darkening, he said, "Dine?"
"Hmmm." Too many delightful possibilities to consider.
His breath on my neck, he asked, "Dinner and a movie?"
"That sounds nice…"
"Jesse? I'd really like to kiss you now."
"Have at it."
And he did.
Time was ridiculously relative. In this particular instance, the thirty minutes flew by.
We'd kissed and cuddled, but we didn't let it get any further than that. Part of it was because I was a dancer, not a hooker (even though Roman had invited me to be one), and I was on the clock. More important, I was terrified of pushing Paul away by moving too fast.
Ugh. I was a pathetic former malefic entity. Even angels would have attacked Paul by now.
When time was up, we approached the door together, hand in hand, and shared a lingering kiss. "When's your shift over?"
"One."
He sighed. "Can't stay the whole time. Maybe until midnight." An unspoken thought danced in his eyes. "I need to get me some sleep tonight. Have a big day tomorrow."
"Okay. You going to stick around here awhile longer?"
"For a bit. Maybe watch one more of your sets before I call it a night."
I led him downstairs, back to the showroom. Near the DJ booth,
he asked me, "So, when're we going to get together for dinner and a movie?"
My mouth stretched into a very happy grin. "I'm off Sunday and Wednesday."
"Sunday it is. It's a date."
Date. Oooh, shivers!
He squeezed my hand, and I gave him sappy, moonstruck eyes. This was turning out to be a decent night.
Which is why I was stunned when my peridot stone suddenly flared against my breast.
My hand flew to the shieldstone. Hot, screamingly hot… then dead cold.
Feeling nausea roll in my stomach, I pasted a smile on my face while I glanced around the crowded showroom, trying to pinpoint the source of Evil. On stage, Circe's eyes bored into me as she made love to the stripper's pole. Offstage, stretching her hands over her head, Lorelei glared at me like she'd happily tap dance on my grave. Too many men to count—most lusting, some leering—letting their gazes roam freely over my shape. By the foosball table, Roman's eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at me, then at Paul, who seemed blissfully unaware of all the heated, hateful looks.
Bless me, it could be anyone.
I hoped it was only Daun doing the jealous incubus thing inside Roman's body. Daun I could handle.
"Jesse?" Paul nuzzled his nose against my neck. "Either the lighting's bad, or you just turned green."
Green. As in a creature of Envy… or Greed. I looked around the crowded room, Depeche Mode thumping in my ears, suggesting we play master and servant. But with the shieldstone on, my power lay beyond my reach… and my sense of the Underworld was cut off, stripped.
"I'm okay," I lied, feeling like a vice was slowly pressing against my heart. "I'm okay."
Chapter 19
Belles (III)
Feeling completely rattled, I gave Paul's hand another squeeze. "See you later, sweetie. Got to visit the little girl's room."
"I'll definitely say good-bye before I head out for the night."
I grinned up at him, thrilling over how his smile showed in his eyes. "See you later."
With a parting squeeze, I sashayed off the showroom floor, Depeche Mode's Dave Gahan insisting that domination was the name of the game. My shieldstone remained cold, indifferent. Maybe it had been a momentary blip on the Evil radar, like a psychic solar flare.
Uh-huh. Right. And maybe Tammy Fay Bakker would be seen in public without her layers of makeup.
Heels clacking against the bare floor, I trotted down the dark hall toward the dressing room. Each click-click of my shoes grated at my nerves, shredding them until I thought I would scream. Mental note: Consider wearing sneakers at work.
When I felt a hand press down on my shoulder, I almost hit the roof. Whirling, I drew back my fist, ready to slam it into a mouthful of fangs.
"Christ on a pogo stick! Don't hit me!"
No demonic entity in its wrongful mind would ever say the C-word. Scowling, I lowered my fist. In front of me was a scrappy girl who looked like she'd stuck her finger in a socket. With dyed black hair, heavy eye makeup, and more piercings than exposed skin, she was a prep school's worst nightmare. Even without my shieldstone doing nothing more than nuzzle between my breasts, I knew she was only human. No demon would try to blend with the flesh puppets by wearing enough jewelry to set off a metal detector.
"Sorry," I said.
She blew a relieved sigh in my face, bathing me in spearmint and tobacco. "I was just going to ask where's the ladies' room. Christ, you're a jumpy one, aren't you?"
Shrugging, I said, "Thought you were someone else."
"Christ, I sure hope so! So where's the ladies' at?"
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. "Got to use the one in our dressing room. There's only a gent's room off the main floor."
"Isn't that, you know, sexist?"
As if I cared. I shrugged again. "Maybe. Most of our customers need urinals instead of tampons, so maybe it's just good business sense."
"Seems pretty fucking sexist to me. What if I'm a lesbian who's into dancers?"
"Are you?"
"Nah. Here for a fucking bachelor's party."
My eyebrows rose all the way to the roots of my hair.
"Yeah," she said, "I know. What can I say? I'm a fucking groomsmaid. How fucking gay is that?"
"It'd be gayer if you were a lesbian."
"I know. I'm just one of the guys, I'm surrounded by tits and bush, and I'm so unturned on that my fucking sex drive's dead." She sighed again. "Christ. Life's just not fair. At least I didn't have to pay the cover charge."
"Come on," I said to Goth Girl. "I'm headed to the bathroom."
Together we clomped, me in my stilettos, she in her steel-toed workboots, down the hallway that led to the dressing room. Inside, Aurora and Candy were muscling each other out of the way for a better helping of mirror as they touched up their makeup and hair.
"Who's that?" Candy asked, motioning with her mascara wand toward Goth Girl.
"Just passing through," I said. "She needs the facilities."
"Yeah, well she's got to wait her turn to facilitate. Jemma's in there."
"Jemma's still in there," Aurora said, rolling her eyes. Then over her shoulder, she called out, "Yo, you fall asleep in there or what?"
"Sick," came the muffled reply.
"Shit. Don't go stinking the place up with vomit. Bad enough it always smells of fried cat in here. Last thing we need's puke on top of that. Even Momma's incense won't cover that up."
"Christ, you're all fucking heart," Goth Girl said.
"Ain't that the truth," Candy said. "Since that Julia Roberts flick way back when, guys expect dancers to have a heart of gold."
"Thought that was hookers."
"Same shit. Except I'm paid to be on my feet, she's paid to be on her back."
She and Aurora cracked up over the display of wit. Me, I really had to pee. I strode over to the bathroom door and knocked. "Come on, sweetie. Don't die in there. Shitty way to go."
Candy and Aurora fell over themselves with laughter. Just call me Jezebel the comedienne.
As I considered the possibility of exchanging my heels for a microphone, the door banged open, crashing into the wall and chipping the plaster. I had a moment to see Jemma glare at me with hate-filled eyes before she grabbed me by the throat and slammed me against the wall.
Clawing at the vicelike hand pressing against my windpipe, I tried to scream. What came out was a strangled "Eep."
In front of me, Jemma's eyes glowed a bright, wet red, like fresh blood on a white satin pillow. Her lips pulled into a leer, and from her mouth came a sultry voice that oozed sex and screamed death. "Hello, Jezebel. I've been looking all over for you."
Oh, fuck.
The voice hit me like a spike in my spinal cord. In Jemma's body, Queen Lillith grinned at me.
Jemma's hand squeezed tighter, her fingers digging into my neck, cutting off my air. I pried at her fingers, to no avail; my nails sliced her flesh, but all she did was bleed and smile. Switching tactics, I tried to punch her, but she held me aloft and away from her body. My feet—dangling off the ground—swung out in crazy arcs as I thrashed.
"Hey! Let her go, you crazy bitch!"
I tried to warn Candy to stay away, but I was too busy trying not to let Jemma crush my throat.
Not deigning to look behind her, Jemma threw back her free hand. Candy sailed backward and landed hard against the vanity table. Lillith stretched Jemma's grin wider.
Shit.
Someone, either Aurora or Goth Girl, screamed for all she was worth. Whoever it was had a set of lungs on her. Terrific. Except we were in a strip club where the rule of thumb was to keep the music just above teeth-rattling level. It was extremely doubtful that the cavalry would be arriving anytime soon.
Lillith turned Jemma's head, glancing at the dancer and the patron. Sizing them up. Maybe thinking about taking them out, just for giggles; a creature of the Abyss always had time for a little wanton destruction. The scream abruptly stopped, cut off by the monstrous sight of Lillith's red
gaze dancing in Jemma's eyes. Humans had this thing about possession: It terrified the fuck out of them.
Someone muttered, "Christ." Goth Girl. Either a curse or a prayer. I would have happily accepted either, but all the word did was make Jemma's hand tighten on my throat.
Okay, Jezebel. Distract the psychotic demon queen.
In a choked whisper, I asked, "How?" Considering that I couldn't breathe, getting the one word out there was a real feat. Gold star for me.
Turning back to me, Jemma's grin reached her ears. I must have amused her. Goodie. "How what, Jezebel? How did I find you?"
Maybe she took my silence as something other than me desperately trying to stay alive, because she answered her own question. "Your friend, the satyr. I knew he'd come find you. So I watched him. And I learned of this place. So I waited, biding my time until I could identify you. Nice trick, becoming a human."
"Thanks," I whispered. I felt my face turning purple.
"I don't know if it's just the sex, but the satyr seems genuinely to care for you." Her eyes narrowed, telegraphing what she thought about such nasty feelings.
Keep the bitch talking. The more she talked, the less she was killing me. "What. About. Shield."
The Queen of the Succubi laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that would have given serial killers a hard-on. If I hadn't been slowly strangling, I would have been equally as impressed as I was terrified. "Your little necklace does nothing against me."
I coughed out, "Why?"
Her grip around my throat tightened, wringing out the last vestiges of air from my windpipe. Eyes glowing, she said, "I'm not a creature of Evil."
My heart thumped madly in my ears. Blood pounded in my head like someone had mistaken my face for a bass drum. As my body realized there was no oxygen coming in, my limbs nailed all the harder, as if with a life of their own. Which was a good thing, because my own life was being choked out of me.
No. No way. I didn't just start breathing a day ago only to have a possessed stripper force me to stop.
Focusing my waning strength, I managed to place a snap-kick to her stomach. The stiletto sliced the soft flesh of her belly, but she either didn't notice the blood seeping out or didn't care.
Hell on Earth 1 - Hell's Belles Page 17
