The one last earthly thing she wanted to do was let her friend know that she was all right. That the choice she’d made that night in a hospital room in Nebraska was made with no regrets. Not one.
What made being doomed here that much more doomish was the idea that knowing Delaney like she did, she knew guilt was chewing a hole in her gut. Delaney was the kind of friend who’d never have allowed her to give up what she’d given up that night. In fact, she’d have probably rather had a limb hacked off in lieu of. The least Marcella could do was let Delaney know she’d survived. Her friend would never have complete happiness if she didn’t have peace of mind about Marcella’s fate.
“So?” Darwin prodded. “What are you going to do? Whine or take charge?”
“Here’s the problem, mouth, and you know the rules as well as I do, Darwin. Because I was banished to this plane, I can’t leave unless someone summons my soul or unless I can find a medium to connect with and send signs to—which seems to be about as difficult as getting hold of the date for the second coming of Christ. Maybe some of the mediums on the approved list they gave me are just a bunch of shysters. Delaney always said there were more fakes than the real thing. And seriously, do you really think a place called the Spirit Shack—where, I might add, they offer five séances for five hundred bucks, get the sixth one free—is the real deal?”
“The Spirit Shack just helped that Andre, didn’t they? He’d been here for eight years, Marcella. They can’t all be hack mediums if they helped a hard-core plane dweller like Andre. That’s just a convenient excuse for you not to get off your keister.”
“Oh, bullshit,” she snorted, enraged that he was goading her. “Andre’s the perfect example for why I think I was banished to this plane instead of just dumped here. He crossed without the use of a real medium. It was just his time to go, I guess. I tried hitting up the Spirit Shack and got nothing out of it other than watching some lying piece of shit who called himself Jean-Franc perform a séance then pretend he could see some guy named Marlon from Hoboken who wasn’t even there. He couldn’t see me any more than Delaney can still see you. If that’s not enough proof for you, then I got nuthin’.”
Darwin scratched his underside with a rapid thump of his paw. “While I’m certain some of the mediums who manage to make the approved list are just as you claim, full of shit, they aren’t all full of shit.”
“Look, the only friggin’ medium I knew for sure was the real deal was Delaney, and she’s no longer a medium, remember? Or are you forgetting the reason she could see the dead in the first place? The contract with Lucifer. You know, that crazy contract her freaky half brother Vincent had with the horned one that gave him all that evil power he abused the shit out of while he was alive? The power that, upon his death, was passed to his next oldest living relative? That relative being Delaney—who used the power for good instead of evil, by crossing souls. Do you also remember the clause in there that I mentioned to you? The stupid loophole that said the power would stay in Delaney’s bloodline for as long as there were living relatives to be had? Which would have been great had Delaney not actually died that night in the hospital.”
She shivered with remembrance all over again. When Lucifer had used Marcella as a human catapult, launching her body full force at Delaney, her friend had fallen hard and hit her head against a solid porcelain sink, essentially killing her from the impact to her skull.
Yet Clyde, the whole reason they’d had the big smackdown with Satan to begin with, had resuscitated Delaney, saving her life. Though Marcella’d been weak and battered beyond the point of moving, she’d seen everything, lying on that hospital room floor before she passed out and ended up here.
Darwin peered at her with an intent gaze. “I remember this tale as if you told it just yesterday. In fact, I believe it was just yesterday when you finally, after three months, decided to leave your entrails at my feet. What does that have to do with you getting off this plane?”
“The contract. It has to do with the contract. Because Delaney died, she lost the power. That means she no longer sees dead people. I am, for all intents and purposes, the former. You know—dead people. Her medium days are ovah. No one’s going to summon me because no one but Delaney cares that I’m dead . . . gone . . . whatever I am. And if Delaney’s the only medium I know—knew—then color me all kinds of screwed. I’ve tried doing what the others do when they set out to send messages to their family members via a medium. You do remember me following that moron Ivan to Psychic Saul’s in the West End, don’t you?”
What an ass-sucking disaster that’d been. She’d ended up crossing Ivan’s signals with her own and confusing the ever-loving shit out of poor Saul. Ivan had been so pissed because she’d messed up his big moment, a moment that had taken him four years to get the nads up for, he’d made sure no one, not a drifting soul, would sit with her during their “Decisive Decision Making in the Afterlife” class.
“Ah, yet the others, who’re lesser women than you, have managed to make contact. Slacker.”
For the love of all things shiny. “The others aren’t here on the orders of Satan, smart-ass. They’re just lost and undecided for the most part. They’re not bound here by anything other than their own pathetic lack of the take-charge-and-face-up-to-your-obligations gene. The light is still an option for the others once they figure out what they want and settle things. We both know, and I don’t need to be reminded, the light isn’t an op for me. I lost all hope for a choice years ago when I didn’t go into the light upon my death. Maybe that’s why I keep running into roadblocks when I try to contact a medium. Whoever’s in charge just thinks there’s no point in allowing me to send a message, because I’m not worthy. So get off my back, Lord of the Kibble, and go chase cars. A lot.”
If it were still possible for her to be nagged to death, she’d be six feet under, and Darwin would win all kinds of awards for all the poking and prodding he’d been doing since she’d hit this plane. Yet, he was right. She’d once been a take-no-prisoners kind of girl. But since she’d arrived here, her energy points had been dwindling by the hour—and the Marcella of three months ago would’ve been fucked before she’d allow even Satan to get one over on her.
“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am in you.”
Marcella snorted and looked Darwin in the eye. “I’m all kinds of broken up over it, too. I’m just good at hiding my complete devastation. You can’t see it, but really, I’m crying on the inside.” She let the sarcasm in her words ring crystal clear.
The pair remained silent for several moments. Marcella lost in her misery, Darwin flopping down beside her to roll on his back with a carefree wiggle.
“So riddle me this,” he said, interrupting any further wallowing.
“No.”
“Oh, stop being so negative, whiner. I have an important point to make. Something that’s been bothering me since you landed here on Chez Drab.”
“Make it—and then go awaaay.”
He eyed her from his upside-down position with glassy, dark brown eyes. “How do you know Satan personally banished you? I mean, did he actually raise his fist to the sky and dramatically declare you dead to him while you displayed weak emotions like tears and begged him to spare you from the pit?”
Now that made her pause. Huh. Not that she’d have begged for anything from that puke to begin with. No one was more yippyskippy than she was when someone managed to keep that freakazoid from wreaking more havoc. She’d gone into it knowing full well she might end up in the pit for eternity. She hadn’t been a demon for seven and a half decades without knowing the risk she was taking by trying to best Lucifer and protect her friend. She’d never asked to be a demon to begin with, so rebellion of any kind would receive only kudos from her. In fact, nothing got her rocks off more than interfering with Lucifer and his fucked-uppedness.
Nothing.
She’d laid low during her demonic stint, and she’d managed to slip through the cracks of Hell going virtually u
nnoticed, for the most part. Marcella had ridden Hell’s fence for a very long time—but when she’d jumped off that fence, she’d jumped big.
When she’d landed—she’d landed here.
But no. The devil hadn’t handed down an edict for any kind of punishment . . . not that she was aware of. Fancy that.
Darwin pawed her dirty, partially shredded sandal. “So?”
“Fine. No. No, he didn’t, but if you’ll recall, after that night with Delaney—you know the one, right? The one with locusts, and flames licking at my pert butt? The one that in general is the shit nightmares are made of? The one where I tried to stop him from taking out my best friend? What happened after that was this.” She spread her arms wide. “This was where I woke up. I assumed, because I no longer had earthbound privileges, that he was the one who dumped me here. Or one of his ass lickers did it. Why else would I be here?” If picking planes had actually been an option she’d been aware of, this gray dive wouldn’t have been high on her list of plane picking.
“He may have banished you from his domain, genius, but he didn’t necessarily banish you to this plane. Believe you me, there are plenty of planes far worse than this, and if Lucifer was as hacked off at you as I think he’d be because you interfered and kept him from exacting revenge on Delaney for stealing a soul that was supposed to be his, I have to think he’d have left you somewhere much more horrifying. You know, a place where your worst fears come to life. Like maybe the plane where there are never any sales at Pier 1. This is like Candy Land compared to that for someone like you. You know, hit a girl where it hurts and all. He’s not as omnipotent as he’d have you think. Only the Big Kahuna has that kind of power. Satan only has control over Hell, Marcella—nothing more, nothing less.”
Only. “Then why don’t you explain to me why I can’t make contact with anyone like the other spirits can, Wonder Dog.”
“Okay, I’ll give you this much. Yes, you’ve tried. Yes, you’ve failed. Boo-hoo. But to believe Satan could tether you here when he has absolutely no jurisdiction to do so is an easy out, if you ask me. That would take stupid to a whole new level. Do you really believe that?”
“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t fucking know. It wasn’t like I made it a practice to learn every rule in the demon handbook. I have mentioned a time or two that I didn’t choose the demon lifestyle with the intent of actually being demonic.”
“You have, and that puzzles me, too, my Spanish rose—”
Her head shook back and forth while her lips thinned. “Forget it. That part of my eternity is over and done. All I know is I had no one but Delaney when I was a demon, and she can’t see me anymore if I’m a ghost—which is, for the second time in this conversation, what I am now.” Marcella stuck a finger in her eye, pushing it through her skull and out the back side of her head with a dramatic flourish to emphasize her point. “See all the freaky stuff I can do on this plane? I can’t touch anything anywhere else but here. That makes me a ghost. So one more time for posterity: Delaney doesn’t see ghosts anymore. I have tried to do what everyone else here does and sucked so much wind for doing it. Try not to forget that. End of. Now go dig holes or gnaw on some mail-man.” To rag on her because she was just no good at this ghost thing, probably worse at the ghost thing than she’d ever been at the demon thing, was heinous. And mean.
“Oh, Marcella,” he said, disgust seeping into his words, “I always feel as though I’m the only one who puts any effort into our relationship. Weren’t you the one who just told me, for the second time in as many days, that the gift of sight Delaney once had was passed to her because she was her half brother’s oldest living relative and when he died it was transferred to her? Very soap-opera-ish when you say it out loud, don’t you agree? Anyway, you said it yourself. Satan whipped up some crazy contract with that scum-of-the-earth Vincent, and in that contract there was a clause that kept the power within Delaney’s family for as long as there was a living relative, right?”
Irritation prickled her skin. “Point, Darwin. Make it. Soon.”
“Didn’t you just get through telling me that Delaney actually died the night that she faced off with the pitchfork lover? Yes, yes, you did. With a dreamy-eyed, wistful look on your face, you told me Clyde resuscitated her. Oh, and then you sighed—also wistfully, I might add, leading me to believe you’re a bit of a romantic, despite the fact that you’d like everyone to believe your heart is nothing more than a shriveled-up piece of beef jerky. Again, I don’t want to be redundant, but might I point out the contract. The bit about the power staying in the Markham family for as long as there was a living relative . . .” He trailed off with an expectant look in his large, brown eyes.
Jesus Christ in a miniskirt.
Her jaw might have scraped the floor if she hadn’t the fortitude to clamp it shut with a clenched fist.
Darwin sat back up and peered into her eyes—eyes that were wide with disbelief. “I feel a defining moment approaching,” he drawled.
Marcella grabbed his jaw, cupping his muzzle. “Kellen . . .” she muttered. It was all she was able to manage.
Blowing out a breath that made his jowls flap, Darwin nipped at her finger. “Survey says . . . Right on, sistah. Kellen. When Delaney died that night, the gift of sight passed to her brother. Your favorite person in the whole wide world. If the trouble really is that all the mediums you’ve tried to reach so far are hacks—we know of at least one who’s anything but a poser. Kellen’s your target.”
Her grip on his muzzle tightened. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner, why? I’ve been here for three bloody months and you knew all along Kellen was the medium I should target.” She spat the words out at him through clenched teeth.
He let his wet nose graze her hand before jerking out of her grip. “Ahem. As I recall, you were playing the post-traumatic stress disorder card and just couldn’t bring yourself to talk about that night until yesterday. I wasn’t privy to all of the details, just bits and pieces I heard via Delaney and Clyde’s conversations. Oh, and the stray, lip-trembling comment from you. Until yesterday. You do remember our conversation, don’t you? It involved a tear or two staining your pretty, chiseled cheekbones. One even fell on that train wreck of a dress. Then you whined—which became a rather awkward moment for me. So I ditched your sissy ass and skipped off to the plane where Milk Bones shower me at regular intervals to give what went down that night some thought. When I was all thought out—which, P.S., took all of ten minutes, in case you’re wondering—I rushed over here to brain you with my genius discovery. ’Cause I haz skillz.”
“Kellen . . .” she whispered. His name on her lips, rolling off her tongue, made her knees weak and her hands shake.
“Bingo, darling. You remember him, right? Never mind, of course you do, sugar. He’s the man you secretly lusted for but never put the old Marcella moves on because he hated demons. The man you went to extreme lengths to rile with your sharp tongue because it kept him at arm’s length, and that way he’d never know your libido sang a chorus of hallelujahs whenever he was around. Indeed. He’s your man.”
Color rose in her cheeks, because Darwin was right. She hated that he was right. So she reacted with appropriate venom. “Fuck you, Darwin.”
“And again, not if you were a fuzzy Pomeranian who lived in a villa high on a hilltop in the French countryside and dined on canned food every day. Now, get over your shock and dismay, and get off your ass and do something.”
Marcella swallowed with a gulp, fighting the well of tears in her eyes. Jesus. Was she really giving even a little thought to crying? Her only defense was the frustration that knowing Kellen could see ghosts created for her. Yeah. She was frustrated. “I can’t.”
“Because?”
“Because Kellen hates—hated—my guts.” Hoo, boy, had he hated her guts, and she’d done everything she could to stoke the flames of his hatred due to her fierce attraction to him. He was the one man in all her years as a demon who’d made her wish she had just a week
to be human again. A week that included a bed, some silk sheets, a bottle of expensive champagne, and not a stitch of clothing. Delaney was the one who had kept her from crossing the line during the ten years she’d known Kellen. No matter how much Delaney had loved her, treasured their friendship, she’d have never been comfortable with Marcella making a move on Kellen.
Her demonicness, even though it’d been a choice made out of sacrifice, would never fly, considering the Markhams’ past history with Satan. Though there’d been plenty of times when Kellen was sending daggers of death at her with his eyes that she’d wanted to throw him on whatever surface she could find and have her way with him. Have a big way with him. “Kellen hates me. Period. He hated that I was a demon. He hated that I was Delaney’s friend. He hated. Game over.”
Darwin huffed. “I hate you, too, but look at me now all making nice. And why do I make nice with you? It certainly isn’t because you have good fashion sense. It’s because of Delaney. Because she loved you, whether we all thought that was a total waste of emotion or not. I love Delaney. It’s why I won’t cross over. I can’t bear the idea I’d never see her again. Kellen loves Delaney, too. We both want whatever makes her happy.”
Darwin’s confession stung just a little, softened only by the notion that the hatred they felt for her was likely because of misinformation. If only Darwin and Kellen knew how misinformed they truly were. Still, there’d never be a time when she’d ever regret doing what she’d done to become a demon, no matter how much disdain and scorn was heaped on her.
My Way to Hell Page 2
