“Why?”
“To check on my dad, mostly. Make sure the house was still standing.”
“Don’t you hate this house?”
Her smile turned wistful. “I do. Mom didn’t.” She paused, blinked, then shook her head. “And that’s the end of tonight’s chapter in the My Tragic Life book. Unless you have an epilogue you’d like to throw in there.”
He brought his hands up. “No thanks.”
“Okay.” Varina gestured to the other rooms. “Bathroom’s at the end of the hall. I take no responsibility for the state of the rooms.”
“Of course.”
“And I’m locking my door.”
Campbell inclined his head. “I know.”
Varina nodded again, though this time, it seemed to be self-aimed. “I am going to want those answers, you know. Tomorrow.”
“You’ll get them.”
“And depending on what they are, you might be out of a place to sleep tomorrow night.”
“Understood.”
Campbell stared at her a moment longer, his tongue thick, his brain scrambling to come up with something to say, though he couldn’t figure out what or why. In the end, he opted to quit while he was ahead and turned to make his way down the hall. And despite the urge, which was considerable, he didn’t look back to see if she was watching him. Because he was not that pathetic and that was not the reason he was here.
He chose the room at the end of the hall, the one right across from hers. Again, he managed to keep from glancing her way, which felt much more impressive than it had a right to.
Pull yourself together, asshole.
Campbell kicked the door closed behind him, but didn’t get much farther. It seemed his strength had been waiting for privacy to collapse. He managed to flick on the light, bringing the room’s dust-covered offerings into stark relief. All of which looked and smelled older than him.
Campbell’s back hit the door, his body sagging with his weight. Shit, he’d never felt so pathetic in his life, and that was saying something.
He gave himself a moment to reevaluate. Another to compose his thoughts.
And then, like clockwork, the fear set in. His old friend. The thing he couldn’t lose. A rush of cold so potent he didn’t remember being warm once it arrived. It was a slow sickness, one that spread outward, turning everything that had been color back to gray. The familiar rush flooded his ears, his palms became sweaty and his heart started to pound. And pound. And pound.
He drew in a ragged breath, his stomach roiling. Each horrid symptom he’d experienced since Rome had remained locked away when he was with Varina. Whether it was his altered focus or her combativeness, or a combination thereof, he didn’t know, but he’d been okay. Even when discussing Legion downstairs, he hadn’t felt off balance. He’d felt calm and in control, even with the half-truths and full-on lies he’d had to interweave.
Campbell swallowed and shoved off the door. He’d been wrong. This was more pathetic.
Everything he’d said, felt or done since Rome had been more pathetic.
Funny how telling himself that did shit to make the panic go away.
Campbell pulled his hands into fists, his legs eating up worn carpet until he was beside the bed. It was a nice bed. Four-poster canopy, probably two hundred years old, with a mattress set high above what would be considered normal standards. Too bad it was covered in a worn and—if the smell was anything to go by—moth-eaten comforter. And the abandoned webs dangling from the posts somewhat detracted from its majesty, but it matched the décor of the room. Antiques covered in a coating of dust with strings of cobwebs stretched across various surfaces. Homey.
Seemed no one in this damned house had been born with modern sensibilities. Something that would have amused him a lot more had the rush of panic not been climbing steadily upward, he was sure.
Campbell studied the bed for a long moment, turned around, then turned again. He needed to anchor himself. He needed to focus.
No, he needed a distraction.
And he had the perfect one.
“Pixley,” he said to the room.
The curator appeared in a blink, Registration in tow.
“Well,” she said, taking a look around. “That was quick.”
“What?”
“You’re already in her bedroom? Not even Ira moved this fast, back before he was domesticated.”
Campbell scowled. “You’re right. Ira moved faster.”
Pixley smirked, rocking back on her heels. “He knew how to move, that’s for sure.”
“I didn’t ask you here to talk about my brother’s sex life.”
She arched an eyebrow, glanced at the bed behind him. “Oh?”
It took a moment for the mental pathways to intersect. Campbell pulled his face into a grimace. “What? No! Shit, Pixley, what the hell?”
“You called me to your room on the first night of your assignment. And you have been even moodier than normal recently.” She lifted a shoulder. “What’s a girl to think?”
“Not that I want sex.”
“Pity. I was hoping to find a semi-regular booty call. That’s the one thing I miss about your brother. The sex was great.”
“Again, don’t need to hear this.”
Pixley rolled her eyes and gestured. “Then get on with it.” Behind her, the Registration bobbed, the quill scratching loud against the parchment. Loud enough that Campbell feared Varina might hear.
If the sound of conversation didn’t attract her attention first.
“I need some documents.”
Pixley stared at him expectantly. “And?”
He swallowed. “For me.”
More staring.
“I need something that says I don’t have a disease.” A beat. “Or infection. Of the, err, sexual nat—”
And that was when she started to laugh.
Campbell scowled, a rush of heat scoring up his neck, making his cheeks burn. “What?”
“You fucked Varina Jefferson?”
He said nothing. There was nothing to say. Pixley pressed her lips together, then burst out laughing again. It wasn’t soft laughter, either. It was the sort that should have Varina pounding on his door. The fact that she wasn’t led Campbell to believe Pixley had worked some sound proofing mojo on the room.
Good. At least one of them was thinking clearly.
“I’m sorry.” Pixley coughed into her fest, still smiling like a loon. “I was wrong. Ira had nothing on you.”
Campbell glared at her. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Oh, I’m sure. This is love.”
“I was here. This afternoon. I met her at a bar.”
Pixley crossed her arms and nodded. “So long-term relationship then.”
“Would you stop it?”
“What? Finding this funny? I doubt it.” Another bubble of laughter peeled off her lips. Then she sobered, her expression turning contemplative. “You knew her when I handed you the file earlier. Because you and she had…fornicated in a bar?”
“No. Well, yes.”
“Really?”
“You didn’t pick it up from Gula?” he retorted.
“I never know when to take Gula seriously.” Pixley shook her head. “And you didn’t say anything. I suppose you didn’t think this warranted a mention.”
“Not particularly. Why would it?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Lucifer didn’t expressly prohibit sexual conduct on this assignment, but I somehow doubt it was in his overall game plan.”
“We fucked before I had an assignment.” He paused. “And, technically, after too.”
Pixley snorted. “This has been an active day for you.”
“It wasn’t like I planned it.”
“Sure. You knocked on the door and then tripped.”
Campbell sighed and backed up until his ass hit the bed. “I… Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. I just need something to show her I’m not some walking STD. The name I gave her is
Campbell Darcy, so you should probably—”
“Darcy?” She cackled again. “It just gets better and better.”
“Yes, laugh it out.”
“I intend to.” She made good on that promise, laughing loud enough to confirm that Pixley must have enacted some charm upon arrival to keep others from hearing. It was a thoughtful touch on her part.
Still, Campbell didn’t like having her here anymore than he liked being the butt of a joke. If she didn’t shut up soon, he was going to throttle her.
At last, the curator wiped delicately at her eyes and reaffixed her attention on him. “You might not need to explain yourself to me,” she said, laughter still in her voice, “but Lucifer is bound to find this interesting.”
He clenched his jaw, his hands finding the edge of the mattress. He squeezed but didn’t take the bait.
Pixley smirked and materialized a notepad in one hand, a pen in the other. “So, recent physical clearing you of sexually transmitted infections. Under the name Campbell Darcy.” Her lips trembled like she wanted to giggle again, but thankfully, she managed to maintain control. “Anything else? The mumps to explain why you can’t impregnate her?”
“No. She can’t get pregnant.” He thought of the scar that decorated her lower abdomen. “Apparently, Legion left her… Well, having a child wasn’t her concern. It was the other thing. The diseases. She wants some proof that she’s safe, and I told her I’d get it for her.”
“Mhmm.” Pixley jotted something on her pad.
“She also said no more sex.”
“Pity for you.”
Well, yes. Campbell wouldn’t deny he was a bit disappointed, if only because he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.
There was fear there too. He couldn’t quite escape it. The same he’d felt stirring when their eyes had locked in the mirror at Rat Trap. This fear was a breed of its own—exciting as it was frightening. He wasn’t sure he liked it, but he was sure he preferred it to the fear that had been born in Rome.
Pixley capped her pen, flipped the cover of her notebook over, and vanished both items the next moment. “I’ll have someone bring by your medical records soon. Probably need to give it a couple days, though. I imagine she’d be suspicious if you had it tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay, but nix the someone. You can bring it yourself. I don’t need anyone else knowing about this.”
She grinned. “I think Ira would love to visit Louisiana this time of year.”
“Pixley, I will end your life. You hear me?”
“Please. We both know I am irreplaceable.”
“And I’m not?”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Two words for you. Grayson Bailey.”
His shoulders sagged. “Fuck me.”
“No thanks. I’m over my manwhore phase.” She winked at him and took a few steps back. “You need anything else—”
“I’ll beat myself to death with a hammer.”
“So dramatic. Ta for now.”
With that, she disappeared, and the air in the room grew still again. Quiet.
Campbell stared at the space Pixley had occupied, his hands still curled on the mattress. He waited a moment, debating, wondering if he could sneak in something else before that crippling cold returned. A never-ending game of chicken he could compound with delay upon delay. Perhaps that was how he was supposed to get through life now. Fill every waking moment with sensory overload so his mind didn’t have the chance to drag him back down the dark path of endless black.
A long sigh rushed through his lips, and Campbell pushed himself off into action. He started with the bed, stripping it down to the mattress, killing the three spiders he found under the blankets and the two more that had made a home in the canopy. He dedicated the next half hour to beating the pillows and fanning the sheets until they were as reasonably free of dust as could be expected.
After he’d finished with the bed, he turned his attention to the other pieces in the room. There wasn’t much he could do without a can of Pledge, but his shirt made for a handy rag in a pinch, and he could always use his superpowers to shine it up. Hell, in theory, he could get the room spic and span by pulling a few supernatural strings, but busywork kept him occupied, and occupied was good.
By the time Campbell felt he could slide between the sheets of the now mostly clean bed, he had succeeded in working himself into a reasonable exhaustion. His brain was processing more sluggishly, though without as many barriers between himself and the thoughts that kept him standing at the edge of that cliff. It was usually this time that the night in Rome mutated. The blanket of stars, the screams of Hell Demons, and the certainty that the end was around the corner. The barrage of fists, fangs and claws digging into his skin intensified until he felt he wasn’t standing on the edge of the cliff anymore, but falling and falling and falling. A never-ending plummet to the unforgiving below, all the while denied the mercy of death, and terrified it would arrive all the same.
But that night wasn’t alone anymore. It had found an ally in Legion. In the sea of expectation from his brothers and sisters, from the devil and Big J. From the woman sleeping in the room across the hall. It grew and transformed, then grew some more. Until Campbell and his sleep-deprived mind were certain that conventional wisdom had it wrong—it wasn’t the fall that would kill him, but if he didn’t stop falling, he’d wish it would.
In those moments, the absolute certainty and silence of death didn’t seem so bad. And often, that was what scared him most of all.
7
The scream reached into her dream and pulled her out.
Varina sat up in bed, breathing hard, her hair plastered to her skin and her sleep-addled mind fighting to come online. She knew it was a scream that had awakened her, but wasn’t sure if it had been her own or outside. The fact that she knew immediately where she was upon opening her eyes made her more inclined to believe the former. While it had been a good long time—she thought—since she’d had a genuine night terror, she wasn’t surprised that they would choose now to return.
But then another scream tore through air. Guttural, muffled and male. And then she remembered Campbell.
Varina frowned, her heart leaping into her throat. Campbell didn’t seem like the sort of guy who screamed at, well, anything.
Unless…
Legion.
She inhaled and threw the covers back, swinging her legs over the bed. She hurried toward the closed door, nearly tripping over discarded bed linens blocking the path, and flipped on the bedroom light. Another two screams had sounded before her eyes adjusted, and her mind was doing a bang-up job with the mental slide show of what she’d find.
Weapon. I need a weapon.
Varina grabbed a dusty bookend off the dresser, inhaled, then threw the door open.
The hallway was empty, and the door to the room Campbell had chosen was closed. Varina swallowed and edged a step forward. Another long whine sounded on the other side. She frowned.
Nothing followed. No crashes or grunts. No roars or growls. She hazarded another step forward when he let out a softer cry. By the time her hand was on the doorknob, she was fairly certain what she’d see when she looked.
And she had to look. Had to. No matter how much of an invasion it felt, this was her home—for better or worse—and she had to know.
The small sliver of light that spilled within the dark room didn’t provide much help, but Varina’s eyes worked better at night these days, anyway. Campbell was in the middle of the bed—that much she saw. The blankets were bunched at the end, dangling over the side. She couldn’t quite see his face, but from the sounds he was making, she knew he was asleep.
Or he was especially good at feigning it.
Varina studied him for a moment. After a lengthy debate with her better senses, she cleared her throat and called, “Campbell?”
He gave another cry before falling still again, his heavy breaths slowing until finding some sort of rhythm. But even at a distance, she could see the look
on his face. Wherever his dreams had taken him, it wasn’t a happy place.
There wasn’t much else she could do. She wouldn’t enter the room—she didn’t trust him or herself. Her own experience with night terrors had taught her that being jarred from them could be dangerous for other reasons. Sometimes she’d come out swinging, screaming, and almost always she’d never been fully awake—rather trapped in a place that was half nightmare, half reality, and entirely terrifying. Most of the time, though, as her father had once explained, he couldn’t get her to wake up at all. Campbell looked like a fighter, and while she knew she could hold her own, she didn’t want to learn just how strong he was.
By the time her sense of shame kicked in and she convinced her feet to move, Varina knew getting back to sleep tonight would be a chore. She was surprised she had fallen as quickly as she had, exhaustion or no, as it was. Now that she had a few hours under her belt, her body was revved—her mind jumpstarting on the tasks she had ahead and the conversation she had left unfinished with her current houseguest.
And Legion.
Varina eased the door to Campbell’s room closed and backed up slowly. She contemplated her room and bed, torn between the desire to postpone the mental powwow she knew was on the horizon and resume her digging in the parlor.
The sooner she found it…
Well, what? If Legion was truly back and after her, as Campbell claimed, she had nowhere to go.
Varina stared at his door a moment longer before commanding her feet to move. Though her brain was up and at ’em, she knew her body well enough to identify the lingering fatigue. The best thing she could do for herself now was return to bed.
Just before she crossed the threshold to her bedroom, the sound of breaking glass—distant but distinctive—tickled the air, followed by a thump.
Varina froze, her spine stiffening.
That had come from downstairs.
For what seemed like hours, she stood as though suspended between two planes of existence. The one where she wanted nothing more than to bury her head under the pillows and ignore anything out of the ordinary, and the other belonging to a hardened, wiser woman whose fears had long ago been molded into strengths. Hard breaths pressed against her chest and she weighed her options.
Deliverance from Sin: A Demonic Paranormal Romance (Sinners & Saints Book 5) Page 8
