by Jessi Gage
He had an urge to do some guerilla gardening. He could trim up those shrubs real quick. Maybe doing a little something for her would get her off his mind.
He was about to get out and search for a pair of clippers in his truck-bed toolbox when headlights cut through his cab. Jade’s Jetta turned into the driveway behind him. He tensed to drive off before she noticed him, but the sight of her when she got out of her car stopped him. Her ponytail was limp, and her shoulders sagged. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her jeans and dabbed at her nose as she walked up the porch steps.
He got out of the truck.
His boots were quiet on the brick walk. Through the open windows of the darkened sun porch, he heard her drop her keys and curse.
“Need a light?” he asked, pulling out his keychain flashlight as he opened the screen door.
She jumped.
“It’s just me, Emmett.”
“Jesus. You scared me.”
He picked up her keys and handed them to her.
“Thanks.” She thumbed through them for the house key while he held the light steady for her. “What are you doing here?”
It was a good question. “I was just out making a night deposit and thought I’d check on you.”
She snorted. “You make midnight runs to all your dad’s clients? You got a quality control questionnaire for me or something?”
He ignored her sarcasm, and her assumption that the business belonged to not him but his dad. “You okay?”
“Fine.” She pushed open her door but didn’t make any move to go in. She crossed her arms under her breasts. The air was thick and warm and heavy with the scents of watermelon gum and coffee. She looked tired and worn out. She’d cried off all her makeup. The bruise around her left eye was fading from purple to yellow.
He switched off the flashlight. “Is it your grandmother?”
It was dark, but he saw her eyes widen and grow shiny with fresh tears.
“Come here.” He pulled her in for a hug, and she melted into his chest. He cupped her head in his hand, the movement automatic despite their brief acquaintance. “What happened?”
“She has a blood clot in her lung. They moved her to the hospital. She looks so frail.”
He hurt for her. “I’m sorry. Will she be okay?”
“She’s convinced she’s going to die this year because she broke her hip. But if she gives up that easily, I’m going to kill her.” She backed away and sniffed. “Where were you, today?”
“Oh, man, did Theo do anything I need to apologize for?”
“Yeah, he showed up. I was expecting you. What, does your dad do the schedule or something?”
“Dad’s chief of police for Dover. Herald and Son Lawn Care is my business.”
She blinked. “Cool.” Then she frowned. “So you do the schedule, then. I repeat, where were you?”
“You missed me.” Was he a jerk for feeling satisfied by the fact?
“You stood me…stood up my lawn. What, is my lawn not good enough for you?” Her eyebrows arched. Her cheeks were pink. She was beautiful when she was unguarded and mad.
“You mi-issed me.” He sang it this time, taunting her.
“You’re a dick,” she said, but she was fighting a smile.
“I think your lawn is beautiful.”
That earned him a snort and a full-blown smile. He was never going to be the same after being on the receiving end of that smile.
“Let me make it up to you. You look like you could use some fun. Will your grandma be okay if I take you dancing tomorrow night?”
She raised her eyebrows, like he’d surprised her. “Yeah, okay. What time should I expect Theo to pick me up?” The corner of her gorgeous mouth twitched like she was trying to suppress a grin.
“You’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”
“You ever dated a girl from Boston?”
He shook his head.
She patted his cheek. “See you tomorrow,” she said, and she went inside.
* * * *
Trey cupped her bottom and lifted her to drive deeper inside. She cried out with almost unbearable pleasure. Despite her release, he kept going. And going and going. She lost count of how many times she’d peaked. His dark-chocolate skin slick with exertion, he finally lay down beside her. She felt limp as a wet noodle. He looked like he could go another ten rounds.
“Jeez, Trey, if I had known you could go all night, I’d have wormed my way into your bed a long time ago.”
Something wasn’t right, but Jade couldn’t figure out what. Trey was the Friday and Saturday night bouncer at the Palace, and she’d been fantasizing about him on and off for three years, usually when she was between boyfriends. But this wasn’t a fantasy. This felt real. But she shouldn’t be here with Trey, not when she had a date with Emmett coming up.
Her thoughts went fuzzy. Contentment settled over her as if someone had draped her in a heavy blanket.
She cuddled into Trey’s arms. His neck was sweaty and smelled like fresh soap and hard-working male. She rubbed her cheek there, reveling in afterglow.
A purr rumbled from him. “You keep that up, you’re going to get me hard again.”
Had any man ever wanted her this badly? Taken her so many times in one night? Been so devoted to her pleasure before his own? She felt special, beautiful.
She frowned. It shouldn’t be Trey making her feel special. It should be someone else. But who? A name flitted away before she could grab onto it.
Trey stroked her arm. “Baby, I’ve been wanting you since the day you came in to audition for Casey. You don’t disappoint.” His eyes gleamed with passion.
The fuzziness lifted, and her thoughts cleared. There was no possible way Trey had been wanting her. He was six-foot three, so hard with muscle you could go rock climbing on him, and in a committed gay relationship with Bentley, the DJ at the club on the next block.
A dream. This had to be a dream. Two thoughts tried to connect, but before she could fuse them together, Trey spoke up.
“Shh, don’t do that.” He rubbed his thumb where her eyebrows pinched together. “It’s just you and me right now. It can be just us for as long as we want. And guess what? I want you every night from now on. Every night...every night...every night.”
Trey’s voice echoed as she opened her eyes to her drape-darkened bedroom.
“Oh, hell.”
She didn’t need to stand up to know she’d wet the bed, so to speak. Not only that, but she was so sweaty her hair stuck to her face like she’d been tossing her head on the pillow.
Cursing, she climbed out of bed and lowered her sopped panties into the hamper. “Enough, already, subconscious.”
She would have thought she’d be in favor of orgasms all night long, but each night, she climbed into bed with a little more reluctance. Something was off about these dreams, and it felt like more than just wishing she’d dream about Emmett, already.
He’d asked her to church, stood her up, comforted her when she’d been a wreck, asked her out again, and she suspected he’d avoid her like the Plague if he found out she’d been an exotic dancer, but she couldn’t help the warm tingle in her stomach every time she thought about him. Maybe it made her an idiot, but she had a crush on her flirty church boy.
If she was going to have sex dreams, she wanted them to be about him. But that wasn’t all that bothered her about the dreams. When she was fifteen, she’d shoplifted a pair of earrings. Guilt gnawed at her until she’d discreetly returned them to the rack the next day. These dreams were like shoplifting sex. If she couldn’t come by great sex honestly, she didn’t want it at all.
She sat down to breakfast and firmly put the dreams out of her mind. She planned to visit Grandma Nina this morning, but it was still early. It would be smart to make some progress on the job-hunting front. Maybe she could squeeze in a workout too.
The Dover Towne Library was 1.4 miles from her house according to Google Maps. Of the seven libraries where s
he’d put in applications, that was the one she wanted to work at most. She could remember the first time Grandpa Earl had taken her to pick out a book. She’d been enamored of the building’s stone façade, heavy wooden doors, and the crenellations around the roof. Some whimsical soul had designed it to look like a miniature castle, a place where imagination couldn’t help but run free. It was her favorite building in Dover. It was also the first place where she’d discovered that distinctive old-manuscript smell.
But she was prepared to work at whatever library would have her. It was time to put her year-old degree in Classics to use. Paying her way through the Boston College program had been her motivation for working at The Palace, but after graduation, she’d realized two things. One, Classics was one of those degrees that prepares you for grad school and not much else, and two, she was better at dancing than she’d ever be at anything that required a college degree.
But she couldn’t shake her boobs for liquored up men forever, and if she didn’t start using her degree, she would forget everything she’d learned. Her GPA hadn’t been stellar, and she didn’t have any references, but she hoped her love of books and a degree confirming she knew two classical languages would be enough to land her a job with decent benefits.
She debated whether to call the Dover Towne Library to check on her application and decided it was too soon. She would give it a week. Instead, she found two more libraries, each an hour’s drive away. They’d be last resorts. She downloaded the applications to keep on her computer just in case.
Flipping her laptop closed, she called the job search good for the day. With the responsible stuff done, she cranked up the suitcase-sized radio in the living room and danced through the house in an impromptu workout.
Dancing always made her feel beautiful and strong. Stretching her arms over her head, she gyrated down until her bottom was three inches off the floor. Then back up. The burn in her thighs put a smile on her face. Positive thoughts flooded her.
She had a date with a sweet hottie tonight, a big house to live in rent-free until she found work, a college degree she was finally getting around to using, and great hair, which she tossed around with abandon.
She lost herself in movement and music. While she was bent forward at the waist whipping her hair in circles, a burst of frosty air hit the back of her neck.
She straightened up so fast she got dizzy and stumbled. The mustard-yellow ottoman caught her behind the knees and sent her toppling backwards. Her head connected with the arm of the couch, which was more startling than painful.
While she struggled to free herself from her awkward folded position, her gaze fell on none other than the shadow man.
Chapter 7
He stood against the wall in the hallway, framed by the arched living room entry like a picture-perfect nightmare. His cape jumped in sharp waves, as if whipped by some unseen wind, but his body and top hat were stock-still.
Jade’s heart pounded. She froze in place. Even her lungs refused to take in more than the shallowest of breaths. She felt like a rabbit going still under a predator’s gaze.
His jaw was moving. He was speaking to her, or at least trying to. She heard nothing except the blaring of the music from the radio and the rush of blood in her veins.
Clawing her way into a crouch behind the ottoman, she gathered her courage and shouted, “I don’t want you here! Stop trying to scare me!”
The shadow turned his head from side to side, saying no. Oh, so he was going to play it that way. Fine. This ghost was messing with the wrong girl.
She got to her feet. “This isn’t your home! It’s my grandmother’s! I’m taking care of it for her, and I want you out!”
The shadow reached up his shadow arm and took off his hat. From what she could make out, he was holding the hat in front with both hands. The gesture struck her as oddly polite.
“Don’t you try to sweet-talk me.” She stepped around the ottoman but didn’t venture any closer. “I mean it, you stubborn bastard. Go away.”
The shadow moved again, playing tricks on her eyes. She blinked, trying to reconcile what she was seeing. A black, misty arm lifted away from the wall. The shadow was pointing at her.
Oh, shit, shit, shit.
She knew he could come away from the wall. How else would he have gotten the candlestick onto the dining room table? But seeing the proof right before her eyes turned her knees to Jell-o. She held onto the arm of the couch to keep her feet.
The shadow crooked a black finger, asking her to come to him.
“No.” All her bravado slipped away on the whisper.
Terror became a bitter taste on her tongue. Why was this happening to her? Weren’t ghosts supposed to go away if you stood up to them? What more could she do?
Run.
But she couldn’t. She didn’t have anywhere to run to. This was her home now. And she would be damned if she’d leave town while Grandma Nina was in the hospital.
She lifted her chin. “I’ll call a priest. I’ll bring in some ghost hunters to stick a microphone in your face and ask you to do tricks.”
The shadow dropped his arm back to the wall. He hung his head.
Her courage returned.
“That’s right, buddy. I’m not messing around. You get out of this house, or I’ll do it. I swear to God I will. I’ll make your life…or death or whatever miserable.”
The shadow man hunched his shoulders and glided toward the basement door.
Emboldened by her success, she strode into the hall in time to see him dip around the corner toward the basement stairs. “Oh no you don’t. The door’s that way.” She jabbed a finger at the front door.
Closer now, she could make out the ghost’s facial features. A shadow nose. A shadow mouth. Eyes like darker shadows within shadows. His eyes blinked.
Her stomach shriveled into a prune.
“Oh, God,” she breathed, backing up until she was plastered against the front door, hand over her heart. The shadow disappeared through the basement door, but the image of blinking shadow eyes had branded itself in her memory. Mr. Shadow had looked kind of…depressed.
Fear and sympathy clashed in her gut. She stood in her front hall shaking like a leaf until a man with a car dealership in Wilmington shouted at her from the radio. She went to the living room to turn off the stereo. Her hand shook as she punched the power button.
She was cold. Cold to the bone.
She fled to the kitchen, keeping the basement door in view until she was secure in a wash of warm sunlight. Sliding open the glass door, she stepped onto the deck.
Ah, that was better. Life not death. Light not shadow.
With her face tilted to the sun and minutes of calming-down time between her and “the incident,” she realized the shadow man had listened to her. Sort of. He hadn’t left the house like she’d demanded, but he’d gone away, eventually. It was a triumph, really, if she looked at it the right way.
Choosing to remain positive, she decided threats were the way to go. Better yet, she’d make good on her current threat. She had twenty minutes left before she planned to leave to visit Grandma Nina. Marching inside, she flipped up the lid of her laptop.
“Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she muttered as the screen came to life. “’Cuz momma’s shopping for an exorcist.”
* * * *
After his stunt, Joshua’s essence was perilously close to dispersing. Every fiber of his being trembled with the effort of holding himself together against the storm of the physical plane. He barely made it back to the unaware Draonius in one piece.
He wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he dispersed. He might end up in hell. He might cease to exist. His soul, which belonged to Draonius now, would surely never find Heaven’s peace. He was damned as surely as he was dead. All that was left for him was to do what good he could and find a way to survive this barren existence.
Once, he had believed his soul safe in his Savior’s hands. He’d thought a believer in Christ Jesus coul
d never be harmed by one of the Devil’s minions. How wrong he’d been.
He’d lost his life—and his faith—three weeks from his twenty-first birthday and five weeks from his wedding day. Mercy had invited him to meet her at midnight down by the pond. When he’d found her, she’d had five candles set in a circle. He knew now the configuration had represented the points of a pentagram, but at the time, his mind had been too clouded with the promise of illicit pleasure to notice.
He’d endeavored to take his time with his beloved fiancée, to show her how special she was to him, but she’d had other plans. Within a scant handful of minutes, she’d had him nude and pressing into her welcoming body. In a handful more, he’d given his love to her in the most intimate way imaginable.
That very moment, she stabbed him in the heart with a blade she’d had hidden in the folds of the quilt they lay on. His life had ended, and worse. His soul had been stolen by a demon, Mercy’s demon lover. Draonius.
Who would have guessed his sweet fiancée would betray him so thoroughly? Who would have thought the minister’s daughter might be a witch?
Because of her treachery, he’d become just another plate in a demon’s armor. One more inconsequential layer in his master’s cloak of stolen power. Mercy was there, too, having died shortly after him.
In his darkest moments, Joshua had tried to take pleasure in Mercy’s comeuppance, but he couldn’t rouse anything more than pity for her. What Draonius had done to Mercy was a thousand times worse than what he’d done to Joshua. His thoughts were still his own, whereas there was almost nothing left of the woman he had loved. The demon had reduced her to a witless wretch, a slave to his promises.
He supposed Mercy had earned a fair reward for dealing with the devil, but he hadn’t dealt with the devil. Why had God forsaken him? Was this his punishment for the sin of fornication? For lust? For naively loving the wrong woman?
