by Nina Harper
I felt pretty again, and lighthearted, so long as the music played and we danced. Sybil and Vincent were on the dance floor as well. So was Eros—with Beliel. I knew they were friends but when they danced they looked like a couple, and Eros hadn’t said anything about Beliel that would lead us to believe he was anything more than just a friend.
And then Marten steered me expertly to the edge of the dance floor and slowed down the whirling so that we finally came to a halt by the tables and chairs. “My lovely, lovely Lily,” he murmured into my ear. “I would love to stay with you all the time I am here. I would love to whisk you off to my hotel right now and never let you go. But alas, there are things that I must do. I must make a meeting tonight and will not be available until tomorrow afternoon. But after that, I am all yours.”
He bowed in the courtly manner I had not seen in two hundred years, and I wondered whether he actually was a demon after all. Most ceremonial magicians were old and sour and didn’t go out dancing or have fun. Their rituals took forever and often called for all kinds of disciplines (which often included celibacy) and constant attention.
Marten wasn’t like them at all.
“Do you skate?” he asked me, breaking into my thoughts.
“Skate?”
“Ice skating. That is one thing I have missed since I have moved to Aruba. Do you skate?”
“I never have. I’m willing to try it, but you’ll have to promise to teach me, or at least hold me up so I don’t fall,” I told him. “I grew up in Babylon. We didn’t have much in the way of ice rinks.”
The one thing I could never, ever tell Nathan I could say to Marten perfectly casually.
“Well, then, it is well past time to rectify this,” he said, grinning. “But now I must go. I see my host and I have promised to spend some time with him and his friends tonight.”
I nodded, but didn’t quite understand why. I thought that generally ceremonial magicians tried to control demons, to bind us to do their bidding. They very rarely did anything for us. So why was Marten meeting with a demon? Did he have a bargain with one? That had happened before: Faust had bargained with Meph and Meph had won.
But it wasn’t Meph that Marten went to meet. He stood in a knot near the screens with Greish and Ezamian, both of whom ranked on a level just below the lieutenants of Hell. Hatuman, our host, joined them and the four of them engaged in what appeared to be a serious, if short, conversation. Then the four of them left.
Why would Hatuman leave the party? He was the host.
But then I noticed that the party had thinned out considerably. Marduk was gone. So were my girlfriends. I wondered if they’d all gone home with someone. I’d find out at brunch, no doubt. They wouldn’t have interrupted me with Marten to say good night.
As I stood there I saw most of the demons in evening dress drift toward the door. Most of the beings walking through the party space now wore Waldorf uniforms and were gathering up stray cups and canapés.
It was time for me to go. I joined the line at the door. Hatuman was there saying good night to his guests. There was no sign of Marten or the two demons who had accompanied him.
I paid my respects to my host and thanked him sincerely for a delightful evening. Then I found a cab and went home and lay in bed half awake until dawn.
* * *
The alarm went off at eleven, jolting me out of a bad dream. I had managed maybe five hours of sleep and I felt awful. A long hot shower helped, though not enough.
My face looked ragged when I finally got the mirror cleared enough to attempt makeup. It was one of those days when I was grateful for foundation and blush and Visine. These miracles take a little time, though, so once I was fit to face the day there was no time for coffee.
No help for it. I flew out of the elevator and through the lobby, not noticing which doorman was on duty. When he whistled me a taxi and held the door for me to get in, I did notice that it wasn’t Vincent. I wondered if Vincent had gone home with Sybil last night.
I’d certainly lost track of the party.
I arrived at Public precisely at noon. None of my friends were there.
I fumed. I was furious. I was on time and I hadn’t even had my coffee and I’d had a bad dream and I was tired. And I was there first. I had never ever in my life arrived anywhere first.
They were supposed to be here already. They should have put us on the list. I wanted to know what had happened that I had missed. And it was cold.
I went inside to the hostess stand, a modernist statement in poured concrete that only made the rich mahogany and antique brass of the entrance area more elegant. There was the usual crush and at least six names on the list before us. I lied and said we were all here so the hostess would add us to the queue, and was conflicted when she said that it would be at least a twenty-minute wait.
Desi and Eros came in a cab together, about five minutes after the hostess had given me a suspicious look. Sybil arrived last, her face glowing with something other than the chill.
But just as she opened her mouth, the hostess announced “Lily, party of four,” and so we had to drop all hope of information until we were seated (at our second-favorite waiter’s station) and had our menus. Then Sybil, being either shy or actually hungry, refused to say a word until we had all carefully studied the menu, which hadn’t changed from last week or the week before, and even if it had I was still ordering the banana-stuffed French toast.
Ryan came over to take our order. Since he’d served us about a hundred times, he just checked in with each of us. “Lily, the banana-stuffed French toast today? Coffee and a Bellini?” I didn’t have to say anything, I just nodded. One of these days I might surprise him and order something different. One of these days I might move to Long Island, too.
“So?” Eros asked as soon as Ryan disappeared.
Sybil blushed but the three of us stared her down. “I’m not the only one who had an interesting evening,” she protested. “What about you? You spent half the night with Beliel.”
Eros rolled her eyes. “What about Lily? What about her Aruba fling showing up like that?”
Sybil’s eyes became very large and dark with worry. “What if that happened to me? If one of my Aruba flings showed up at the party and I was there with Vincent . . .”
Eros waved her hand. “It won’t happen. You had actual flings. Even if they did show up in New York, they wouldn’t have been at that party.”
“But Lily’s was,” Sybil protested. “Is he a demon?”
“He’s not a demon,” I told them. “He’s a ceremonial magician, or so Azoked said. And I really don’t know what he wants or why he’s here, but he seems to be hanging out with Hatuman, which could be dangerous.”
“Do you have a date with him?” Desi demanded.
I hung my head in shame. “But that’s only because I promised Meph that I’d look into what’s going on politically,” I protested.
Desi patted my shoulder, since she was sitting next to me. “It’s okay. You can admit to having a date. He’s very attractive and he was wearing Helmut Lang. And besides, you need a little fun and pampering now.”
“And there’s no reason to be ashamed,” Eros added. “If you want to go out and have a good time and forget the creep who treated you badly, that’s the best thing you could do. I, for one, am all for it. If I’d thought of it, I’d have sent him a ticket myself.”
“I’m seeing him,” I admitted. “But he’s only here until Tuesday. And what about Sybil? What’s up with Vincent?”
But we were thrown into silence again as Ryan arrived with a busboy and four huge, steaming plates. Waffles and French toast swimming in syrup, fruit stuffings, chopped walnuts sprinkled on top. And our Bellinis, which always make life and embarrassment easier to endure.
Not only did we not talk in front of the waiters, but we were too engrossed in our food to waste a moment on chat. Brunch at Public is delicious and while gluttony is a guilty pleasure, it is a pleasure indeed; for a mortal si
n, it’s fairly low-level. Pride, lust, and greed are the power trifecta in Hell, and sins like gluttony and vanity are at the bottom of the list. Sloth and wrath are in the middle, respectable enough for a demon to admit to the specialization, but they’re never going to catapult anyone into the higher ranks.
Though, truth to tell, with the rising rates of obesity in the world, the gluttony demons are starting to organize and demand some respect. We had always discounted them as losers who couldn’t manage a real sin, and here they were slowly taking over the world and causing more death and misery and despair than the big three. Quite a shake-up in the boardroom. Perhaps Meph will be able to come out of the closet as a fan of gluttony any day now.
Or not.
“Okay, Sybil, spill,” I said when I had finished half my Bellini. I gestured to Ryan to get us all another round. I thought Syb might need it.
“Really, there’s nothing to tell,” Sybil said to her plate. “Vincent and I are dating now. The only thing different is that it’s official, that’s all. He’s still a doorman at Lily’s building, he’s still working on his Level Three qualifying courses, and plans to take Level Four as soon as he passes the exams for Three. That’s it. No big announcements.”
“Yet,” Desi said, her eyes gleaming.
Sybil shook her head and her soft honey-blond waves fluttered around her shoulders. “Not yet. Not now, anyway. We’re just going to see how it goes. Where it goes. He hasn’t been a demon very long, but if he doesn’t make at least upper tier in a year or so we may have to rethink this. I think he’s still traditional enough that it would be very hard for him to be an entry-level demon and doorman while I’m one of Satan’s Chosen.”
“To say nothing about being one of the great stars of Wall Street,” Eros observed dryly.
“That too,” Sybil agreed with remarkable candor. For Sybil, at least. “Honestly, it would be an issue for me if all he could manage was being a doorman and a low-level enforcer. The disparity could be a relationship problem.”
We all nodded in glum agreement. Maybe, being immortal and so very old, we weren’t quite able to shake the idea that a guy should be at least a little taller and every bit as successful as we are. The problem here is obvious, and it has nothing to do with height.
Maybe it’s not all old-fashioned assumptions about a man making the money and having the status. In fact, I remember times and places where that wasn’t true. My status as the daughter of the king would have increased the status of any family I married into.
No, while there are issues of status and money and compatibility, there is also the fact that we don’t want to be used. I don’t ever want to wonder if a man is dating me for my money or my proximity to Satan.
Well, that wouldn’t be a problem with Nathan, I thought grimly. As soon as he found out that I was a succubus he had fled. Run. Totally came apart at the seams. He wasn’t using me for my contacts, that was for sure.
“Your Aruba guy, what’s his name?” Desi asked.
“Marten.”
“Right, Marten. Well, Marten could be using you because you’re a demon,” Desi reminded me sharply.
“While he’s great in bed, I don’t think that sex is his greatest desire.”
“He’s very good at it,” I defended him. “Besides, what would he be using me for?”
Desi shook her head. “Power? Don’t all ceremonial magicians want power over demons? And what about your ichor?”
“You think he’d be dating me to bleed me?” I was aghast. Yes, ceremonial magicians used ichor in certain of their workings, but it had never occurred to me that Marten might—no, I wasn’t even going to think it.
“But how come we’re talking about me again?” I asked. I turned to Sybil. “What about you and Vincent? So you’re now officially dating. Did he take you to his place last night?”
“Oh, no,” Sybil looked offended. “Certainly he didn’t. He came to my place. He only has a tiny place in a sketchy neighborhood.”
“You took him to your place . . .” Desi tried to pick up the thread. “And?”
“He liked the new wallpaper,” Sybil said stoutly.
And she wouldn’t say any more. We all knew, and since Sybil was not a sex demon, sometimes she got a little prudish if we asked about her intimate life.
Thinking about Sybil, I had managed to forget that my friends were also curious about me. Or rather, about my plans for and with Marten.
“So is he a ceremonial magician?” Eros asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know for sure myself. Azoked said he was, but we all know that she can be misleading. He hasn’t asked me for anything yet.”
“Except sex,” Desi pointed out.
“Except sex,” I agreed. “But if he knew at the time what I was, then he’s either brave or stupid.”
“Or arrogant,” Eros suggested.
“Or he just knows he’s a very good lover,” Desi defended him. “Some of them put real effort into it and are proud of their results. It’s like any art form, really.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m seeing him tonight, and maybe tomorrow night. Maybe I’ll find out. Maybe I’ll just have fun. Mostly I’m thinking about having fun.”
Sybil nodded vigorously. “You should definitely have fun with him. If he wants anything, well, you can find out what it is. If he knows what you are, he knows that you can’t give him riches or position or anything.”
I giggled. “No, but you could certainly give him riches. If he asks for that, I’ll recommend you as his financial adviser. And give me the name of that fund you’re managing again?”
Sybil rolled her eyes. “You know, Lily, you own several thousand shares of that fund. Don’t you ever read the prospectus?”
My food was all gone. I scooped up stray syrup on my fork. It was time for dessert. Sybil might be embarrassed by blatant sex talk, but I was a little embarrassed myself. I didn’t know the name of the funds or the stocks I owned. I threw all those little pamphlets they sent around into recycling without opening them.
“So, what are you going to do with Marten tonight?” Desi asked.
I looked at her pointedly and Sybil blushed, but Desi is not so easily embarrassed. “Oh, I don’t mean that. I mean, where are you going to dinner?”
It was past two and I’d finished dessert. It was time to go. We’d paid our bill, left a more than generous tip, and were just settling wallets back into purses and making sure that favorite lipsticks were in place when I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye.
I turned and recognized Craig Branford just inside the door.
I froze. He was looking at me, at the four of us, and his face was screwed up in a terrible scowl. Nathan had warned me.
Desi went white, and she’s not the timid one. Sybil looked like she was about to dive under the tablecloth. Me, I stared him in the face.
“Well, hello, Mr. Branford. Fancy seeing you here in Public,” I said rather loudly. “Would you like to join us?”
chapter
SEVEN
“Why would I want anything to do with you, handmaidens of Hell?” he hissed.
“Well, you’ve been pursuing us for over a month now. I thought it was time we at least stopped pretending that we didn’t know you’ve been trying to do something to us. So I thought that maybe we could talk it over like reasonable people,” I said. “I did try once already and thought we’d come to an agreement.”
Sybil and Desi had disappeared as I spoke, but Eros sat stone-still, a hint of amusement in her eyes.
Branford’s eyes were so wide that I thought he had been drawn by the guy who does South Park.
Suddenly I had the urge to giggle. He appeared as terrified as Sybil had before she fled, as if he believed that Eros and I would annihilate him on contact. Which was completely convoluted, since he was the one who’d tried to kill us with holy water–infused letters. I’d gotten mine first and had third-degree burns over my palms. If Satan hadn’t come and healed me on the s
pot I would still be in the burn unit at Columbia Presbyterian. Fortunately, She had gotten word to the others before they had ripped open those thick, creamy envelopes that had looked just like wedding invitations.
“You could sit down and order a cup of coffee,” I reiterated. “That would probably be better than standing there with your mouth open.”
“I do not take refreshment with demons,” he said stiffly.
I shook my head slowly. “You know, I don’t know where you got this idea or why you’ve got it in for us. But after busting up our friend’s date and then talking nonsense to my date in Aruba, I think you’ve got some explaining to do. Not to mention those weird cryptic notes you sent. You’re stalking us.” I didn’t mention the holy water. Only a demon would have known there was holy water on those notes, and right now my defense was running toward the fact that none of us had suffered any harm he could see. And that Marten had laughed in his face in Aruba.
“You are Hellspawn and it is our mission to rid the world of the likes of you. Go back to your master Satan.”
I don’t know what possessed me. Maybe I just lost it. Maybe I was sick of being stalked, and of hiding. But mostly I think I just got a raging case of the what-the-hells. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you. Do you believe that there really are such things as demons walking around the streets of New York? And that I’m a demon? I’m a fashion editor. Some people might think that I’m pretty rotten, I’ll admit that. Several of my ex-boyfriends would agree with you, and at least two designers whose bags I refused to show on the Accessories page. But trust me, the bags were horrible.”
He turned pale. He might be a weak, puny mortal, but we couldn’t overlook him completely; whoever was feeding him the information about us, what we were and where we were, was the real demon we were after. And even that demon was likely in the service of someone else. Whoever had been stealing from Marduk’s Treasury.
“You’re lying,” Branford said, clearly upset. “I know what you are.”
