Since when was she into snarfing up the sweaty, toe-jammed odor of some kid she didn’t even know?
Fuck-all if she didn’t need to get back to Plane Dismal and head straight for some of those classes she’d been too busy moping in the first time around to garner any helpful information.
Surely, in one of them, there was an answer to this pathetic melancholy she was experiencing—this rush of hormonally imbalanced fucked-uppedness.
Maybe they had afterlife estrogen patches.
I’ll take a full body one, please.
“Joe, I don’t get it. I want to help. I really do, but I’m lost. You show up here, throwing around random words and euphemisms, and look at me like I should know how they translate to what it is you need. This is the second day in a row you’ve done it. So, care to explain in complete sentences how exactly I can help you?” Kellen dragged another box straight through the fluttering image of Yankees great Joe DiMaggio. He bounced a transparent baseball from hand to hand, grinning. “What does monkey business have to do with anything?”
“You’re always so warm and snuggly, Kellen.”
Kellen glanced up at Marcella, cocking a dark eyebrow at her. “You’re back.”
Yeah. How or why had no rhyme or reason, but she was back. “Live and in the transparent.”
“Look, Joe. It’s Marcella. The ghost. I bet if you take her with you, she’ll give Marilyn a run for her shopping money.”
Time and some thought had made Marcella decide to try to make this thing work for Delaney’s sake. Even though Delaney had forced the two of them together with her lame attempt at getting them to do what she wanted with tears, she really had nothing else to do, nowhere else to go. But if he kept up the asshole-ish behavior, she couldn’t be responsible for the fallout. Delaney knew their relationship was antagonistic at best. If Kellen lost a limb in the ghosting process, shit happened.
Her hands fidgeted near the hem of her torn dress. She’d feel much more like herself if she at least had on something cute. “Look, I’ve learned a thing or two being on that plane with those undecideds, if you care to hear where you’re going wrong. I know it’ll be a blow to your ghost-whispering ego, but I do know some things you don’t.” Not many, but some. And she’d heard all about how disorienting and difficult it was for a ghost to come back from the afterlife and try to explain what message he or she wanted to send. It was all the undecideds moaned about day in, day out.
Dragging an X-acto knife across the tape that secured the box, Kellen shook his head. “I don’t know how Delaney did this. I heard all the stories. I even saw a crazy thing or two when she was communicating with them, but to have dead people, especially a legend like Joe DiMaggio, show up in the middle of your bedroom is just this side of insane. Worse, they never make any damned sense.”
“It’s just about putting together the pieces of a puzzle.”
“So hit me, Jigsaw Puzzle Queen.”
Her hands went to her hips in cocky fashion. “Don’t tempt me, you epic ghost-whispering failure.”
Dragging a hand through his hair, he narrowed his eyes at Joe, who let loose a chuckle and repeated the words “monkey business.” When his gaze returned to Marcella, he asked, “Did you just come here to razz me? Or was there something you needed?”
Oh, if only you knew how I needed . . . “I came here to do what you promised your sister I’d do. Help you. You have no one to blame but yourself for that, now, do you?” Her smile was smug.
His lips first thinned, then gave way to a scowl. “Fine, then help. Explain to me what Joe wants. Maybe the two of you can find some common ghost ground I can’t.”
Marcella winked at Joe and smiled before addressing Kellen. “Some ghosts can’t communicate the way they did when they were human. Sometimes they’re stuck on something they left behind at death, but the only way they can relay information to you is in bits and pieces because they’re disoriented when they get sucked back to this plane. Truth be told, it’s like being thrown into a blender and sucked out through a straw.”
“Then how is it you’re not at all disoriented? Your communication skills, while still crass and littered with bad language, are still intact.”
“Blow me, and I have no idea. Maybe because I didn’t actually die? I was technically already dead when I was dumped there. So my guess is Joe here’s got something to say.”
His look of irritation said he’d heard this same song and dance before. “Anybody ever tell you how intuitive you are?”
“Anybody ever tell you how cranky you are?”
“Forget it. You’re not telling me anything I don’t know already. Color me an ass for even suggesting to Delaney that you help me.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
His teeth clenched together in a delectable snarl. “Christ, you’re the most difficult woman. What the hell was I thinking when I told D I’d have you help me?”
Marcella cocked an eyebrow at him. “That’s easy. You were pacifying her because you’re a man, and men hate to see women cry. You gave her exactly what she wanted. Now she’s just buying time until she can find a way to fix something that’s unfixable. Job well done, Mr. Great Beyond.”
Crouching down beside the box, Kellen raised his hands in white-flag fashion before leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I put you in a shitty spot. I did this. So let’s just try to get through it until . . .”
“Until you can get me out of your hair.”
The door jingled to the sound of one of Delaney’s old chimes, making Kellen rise with a grunt. “Customer,” he said with a brisk tone, taking care to slip by her without touching her.
“Kellen? Hey, you back there?” a woman’s husky, seductive voice almost growled.
The hair on the back of Marcella’s neck bristled and her nostrils flared. Floating to the bedroom entryway, she peeked out into Delaney’s old kitchen to find a woman, dressed in low-rise jeans, a figure-hugging black T-shirt that said “The Devil Made Me Do It,” and work boots, leaning against the countertop as if she were very comfortable doing so. Her straight hair fell down her back in ripples of a deep chocolate brown, healthy and clean, that shone under the lights in the kitchen.
Marcella’s eyes narrowed in the direction of Miss Tortilla as her nostrils once more flared. She could still smell and she knew that scent. Demon.
“Some like it hot,” Joe whispered with a chuckle of evident glee.
Marcella waved him off with an irritated hand over her shoulder. “Shut up. She’s not that hot.” With Kellen’s raging dislike of demons, she had to wonder why he was all up in this chick’s demonicness.
“Some like it hot,” Joe repeated in her ear, chant style.
“Yeah, yeah. And some can’t see lukewarm for the trees in the forest. Don’t you like needy blondes? Never mind. Be quiet and let me listen.” Joe drifted away, dissipating into a fluttery white haze as he did.
Kellen’s easy grin as he bobbed his dark head and his hazel eyes took in every lithe inch of Ms. Thang made Marcella want to wrap a fistful of that perfect hair around her hand and drag her out of the store. And you might be able to do that had you attended the classes, dipshit. For now she’d just have to settle for eavesdropping.
“Did you get it from your sister?” she asked.
He smiled, genuine and warm. Warm. Since when did Kellen do warm when it came to a demon? What disturbed Marcella more was his face; it was lighter somehow, with none of the brooding hardness he bestowed upon her whenever she was in the room. “I did. Hang on a sec and I’ll get them from the front.”
Marcella followed him to the front of the store, slipping past “some like it hot” without notice. She appeared beside Kellen, startling him. “Could you not do that?” he rasped, rolling his shoulders and slamming the cash register drawer shut.
“Who the hell is that?” She fought to keep the jealous tinge of her question to herself. It just wasn’t working out the way she’d hoped. Not if her
ears were set on truthful.
“Why the hell do you care?”
Argh. This man. “She’s demon.”
“Yep.” He dug around under the cash register, peering beneath the shelf below it.
“Yep?”
“Uh, yep.”
“That’s all you have to say? Did you hear me? She’s demon.”
“So?”
Her mouth opened in disbelief. “So? So? Excuse me, but don’t all demons have the cooties as far as you’re concerned? Or was it just me?”
Kellen’s head popped up and he smiled at her, all foxlike. “You definitely have something. I wouldn’t rule out cooties.”
Her teeth clenched. “Who is she and where did she come from?”
“Her name’s Catalina Gutierrez, and does she look at all familiar, seeing as all demons come from Hell? Maybe you passed each other in the halls. Shared a story or two by the water cooler?”
“You know what I mean. What does she want?”
“This.” He held up a small brown box. “It’s bat shit from Texas, and don’t ask.”
“Bat shit.”
Placing the box on the counter, he tapped the top of it and smiled again. “That’s what the lady asked for.”
She wanted to sock him for how much he was enjoying this. “Okay, so care to explain why all of a sudden you’re best friends with a demon? You know, evil incarnate.”
“She’s a customer. That means money. Something I really need since quitting teaching. She’s also a customer who’s waiting. So go practice ghost things. I’m busy.” He stepped around the counter, skirting her once more, and went back in the direction of the kitchen. All too eagerly, if you asked her.
Marcella tried to stay rooted to the storefront. But curiosity, and okay, maybe some green-eyed monster, just wouldn’t let her. She drifted to the corner in the living room, skulking like some weird stalker.
“Kellen, you’re my knight in shining armor,” this Catalina crooned, all seductive and breathy. Even Vern and Shirley liked her, swirling their tails around her calves and meowing for attention.
When Kellen bent down to mutter something in what Marcella was certain was a perfectly shell-shaped ear, she had to fight not to gag so she could hear what he said, but she missed it.
Then Catalina giggled.
Giggled.
Bleh.
And then she did this slinky thing, tilting her shiny head and placing a hand on his arm, positioning herself even closer to Kellen as he hauled her close, arching her slender spine. His head lifted but for a moment, making Marcella shrink back into the wall.
The playful crack of his hand against Catalina’s round, shapely ass stunned her so, she tipped backward.
Into the backyard.
She let out a scream of rage when she tripped over her tattered sandals. Since when had Kellen Markham jumped into the demon-loving pool?
That self-righteous, pious fuck. All that talk about hating demons. Years of making her feel like she was just one step up from a serial killer, and all of a sudden, Mr. Do-Gooder had a hard-on for one?
The thought stopped her in her tracks.
That meant it really had nothing to do with his despising demons and everything to do with Kellen just not liking her. Unsettling realization sunk to the pit of her belly.
Ow, ow, ow.
Clearly he could forgive a woman for being a demon. Just not this woman.
And then came the tears that clarity brought, streaming down her face in frustration and pitiful longing.
She absolutely had to find a way out of this. Not even for Delaney could she keep up this façade, and especially not with a woman Kellen coveted in the picture.
Not even for Delaney.
“Is she gone?”
“I can’t believe you can’t see her, too. I thought everyone from the great beyond, including you demons, could see each other.”
“Some of us morally bankrupt worked harder at our demon skills than others. I never made it to the ‘Don’t Be So Self-Centered—You’re Not the Only Paranormal Species’ class. If I focused long enough, I’d probably be able to see her, but ghosts don’t give me any trouble. It’s demons and their shenanigans that burn my britches. So I stick with what I know.” Catalina looked around again surreptitiously. “So are we clear? Because,” she whispered up into his face, “my fucking back hurts.”
Kellen eyed the room and sniffed. Marcella’s perfume had faded along with her voluptuous curves and her fresh mouth, leaving him with a moment of concern for her safety. He brushed it aside in favor of the idea that Marcella was tough as nails. If she’d survived being a demon, other ghosts had to be cake. “Yeah, I think we’re clear.”
“Good, then let me make one more thing clear. Like, really clear. If you ever touch my ass again, Kellen Markham, I’ll set your ninnies on fire. We good?”
He threw his head back and laughed, not at all threatened by her warning. “Yeah, we’re good.”
Catalina’s face softened and she smiled. “So how about you tell me why you’re behaving like a spiteful five-year-old for a woman no one can see but you?”
“You want honesty?”
Her sigh was ragged, the pull of her slender shoulders beneath her T-shirt tense. “From just one man in my life, yeah, I’d like some honesty. It’s rarer than hen’s teeth in my world.”
Hearing the thread of bitterness in her response, Kellen considered asking where it came from, then refrained. “I can’t let her get too close.”
“Reason being?”
He gave her a brief overview of what had happened to Marcella and Delaney, their friendship, and the ensuing battle with Satan. “Marcella and I go way back. She was friends with Delaney for ten years and for every single one of them, we fought. It’s just easier that way.”
“How does fighting with her make anything easier?”
“More honesty?”
“It’s hella fun for me. I actually think my faith in men might be in for a big comeback. So, yes, be honest.”
“It keeps her at arm’s length. When we’re arguing, I’m not busy thinking about things I shouldn’t.” Like how she’d look naked. Shit.
“Like?”
He opted for evasive. “Like the things men and women do.”
“Ah. Fucking.”
Laughter came from deep in his throat. If there was one thing he admired about Catalina, it was her no-bullshit policy. “There’s that, along with a multitude of other issues.”
“So you’ve been hot for her for ten years and never made a move?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because she was a demon. My experience with them wasn’t exactly something I ever wanted to go through again. I let what happened to Delaney and me fester for a long time. As far as I was concerned, all demons were the bottom of the barrel. I grudged, despite the fact that she and Delaney were best friends.”
“And what changed your mind about we of the wicked and immoral?” she teased.
“What Marcella did for Delaney and Clyde. That, and you, and this mission you seem to be on to prevent teen possession, among other things.”
Catalina scoffed, giving him her best hard look. “Please. Don’t let me fool you. I’m as amoral as they come.”
“Right. That’s why you paid three thousand dollars for someone to collect bat shit for you in Texas so you can mix potions and save kids who have no idea the can of worms they’ve opened with their Ouija boards. All I’m saying now is I get that not all demons end up demons because they made the choice to be one. If I learned anything from what happened with Clyde, I learned shit goes down and it sometimes has nothing to do with what you intended.” The problem was, he’d realized it much too late where Marcella was concerned. He’d been too blinded by his rage and by the chaos his half brother, Vincent, had created in the name of Satan. His hatred of anything remotely related to Lucifer hadn’t left him with a lot of gray areas where Marcella was concerned. Thus, their relationship had
been clouded by his prejudice.
“I heard about what happened to Delaney, how she got the gift of sight and passed it on to you. Can’t say I can hate on you for not buying into the idea that not all demons want Hell to rule.”
“Can I ask you something?”
Her grin was withholding. “You can always ask.”
“How did you end up a demon? I know damned well it wasn’t a choice.”
Catalina’s eyes became evasive, her spine rigid. “Yeah? Says who?”
“Not who. What. I ordered you bat shit. I think that says it all.”
The vague, haunted glint in her eyes came and went, replaced with that cocky gleam she wore more often than not. “It’s a long story, and if honesty’s what we have going on here, it’s personal and painful—even after all these years. But I can tell you this, your Marcella may well have been in over her head when she chose Hell. If what you say is true, she sacrificed her earthbound privileges to save your sister. She can’t be all bad.”
“Or maybe, after experiencing Hell, and the reality that it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, she decided to try to win favor with the man upstairs?” He spoke his favorite mantra about Marcella’s six degrees of separation from the devil, but the more he said it out loud, the less he believed it.
“Yeah. Maybe. But here’s the catch. There is no winning favor once you choose Hell.”
“You know that because?”
“Because I’m high-IQ demon. I know just because I know. There’s no going back without some serious divine intervention—ever. So whatever she did to get there, I’m going to suppose she did it for a reason if she’s altruistic enough to save your sister’s life.”
“Like you?”
Catalina waved her hands in the air, dismissing him. “You so want me to be a good guy, don’t you? Forget me and focus on the woman you’ve possibly judged unfairly.”
My Way to Hell Page 7
