by Deanna Chase
“Ah.” Graddie considered the monkeys then shrugged. “Why would someone leave this with us?”
“It’s a job,” she said.
“Funny, I don’t see a client or his deposit.” He looked at Angel. “Remember our new philosophy? You can’t pay, we don’t play. Cough up the dough, or we won’t go. If a demon caught is what you wish, then you better pass the money dish.”
Angel grimaced. “I can’t believe you remembered those awful mottos we cooked up at Dusky’s. We were drunk, Graddie.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re running a business, not a charity.”
“Jeez! Who’s cynical now?” She put the statue on the desk and picked up the box. “You know how this works. It’s not my job. It’s my calling. It’s who I am, not just what I do.”
Graddie sighed. “Fine. But being noble doesn’t pay the bills or put food in our bellies or buy drinks at Dusky’s.”
“We’ll try to scare up a paying gig,” said Angel. She removed the tissue paper and shook it out. A square-cut piece of parchment floated free. She snatched it and read the note out loud. “Four demons imprisoned for their sins. Let them go and chaos begins. Each has a gift you must gain. Only then will you break evil’s chain.”
“No money AND a thinly veiled threat written as bad poetry!” Graddie exclaimed. “That’s just going to far.”
“Get a grip, will ya?”
“Right. We’re in the business of dispatching demons and saving the world, so I’m supposed to be serious.” He sighed, pensively staring at the monkeys. “It’s never easy, is it?”
“If it was easy, everyone would do it.” Angel patted his shoulder. “Before we save the world, I need a drink.”
“Amen, sistah.”
***
Emily Dayton wandered among the garage-sale treasures. She touched votive candles, potholders, Matchbox cars, and a cookbook. Her fingertips relayed the differences in textures. Smooth. Soft. Bumpy. She could see the sizes and shapes of the items.
The colors were missing.
Her once vibrant world was permeated with gray. How she longed to see a red rose, a blue sky, or a green Starbuck’s logo. Had it only a year since every happy thing in her life had been stolen? The man she loved. The wedding they’d planned. The new promotion she’d gotten. Hmph. Hard to be an interior designer without the ability to see color. Even their dream house, which they’d only moved into the week before the accident, had been taken. Without Tim or her job, she hadn’t been able to afford the mortgage payments. Now, she lived on insurance money and disability.
When she’d come out of the coma, the doctors told her that her cerebral cortex had been damaged. Cerebral achromatopsia was the result. She was lucky to be alive and luckier still that only her limited vision was the price paid for the same wreck that took Tim’s life.
Snap out of it, girl. Pity parties are so lame. Emily rounded the corner of the table and looked at the items displayed on a rickety bookshelf. Her fingers danced along an assortment of Precious Moments figurines. She knew why she was so damned mopey. Today would’ve been her first wedding anniversary. Had Tim lived, they would be celebrating, maybe even taking the first step toward a family.
Her gaze swept the driveway, looking at the careless displays of toys, shoes, and tools. What the--
Heart thumping, Emily leaned down and reached into the cardboard box labeled “Miscellaneous ~ 25¢ each.” The ceramic monkey was as wide as her hand and twice as tall. The creature covered its eyes in a permanent game of peek-a-boo. Though it was heavy, it looked ordinary. Except that it was anything but ordinary to her eyes, which had only seen in grayscale for so long.
Its painted fur was a garish shade of purple. Honest-to-God purple. On its backside she saw three thin lines of color: red, yellow, green. The lines were crudely drawn from the back of its neck to its buttocks. Elated, Emily looked around. If she could see color again, maybe her vision was getting better. What did doctors know? Miracles happened every day.
As her eager gaze bounced around the neighborhood—staring at cars, at people, at lawns, she saw the dreary grayness she always did. She looked at the monkey again. For some odd reason, she only saw this object in color.
What did it matter? It was probably just the first step as her vision healed. Grinning like a lottery winner, Emily dug out her wallet and extracted a quarter.
Finding this little guy was like getting a message from Tim. I’ll always take care of you, Em. Always. That had been his constant promise. It felt like the statue was his gift to her; a reminder that he was still keeping word, even in death.
***
“So, what did you find out, oh demon-hunting goddess?” asked Graddie, looking fabulous in his electric-blue mini skirt and white blouse. His stilettos were the same eye-popping color as the skirt. He’d gone for a blond pageboy wig. A faux diamond dotted his cheek. His lips were cherry red, his eye shadow glittery blue.
“Only waitresses in roadside diners and hookers past their prime wear that color of eye shadow,” groused Angelica.
“Jealous much.” He blinked at her, mostly to give her to full effect of his false lashes.
“Did you kill a couple of spiders and glue them to your eyes?”
“Ouch.” He put a hand to his heart in mock pain. “Who pissed in your Post Toasties?”
“Maybe the demon who’s after our four monkeys.”
Graddie looked at Angel. She sat in the office chair with her feet propped on the desk. He leaned a hip against it, frowning. “That’s all you came up with? We always have a demonic rival.”
“Not like this one. His name is Drak. He was a demon with high hopes of ruling hell until Abatu came along and stomped his candy ass.”
“Abatu? As in the demon ancestor of your family, the very one your Mom killed while he was hiding out in heaven?” Graddie shuddered. “I can’t believe something that evil could even enter the pearly gates.”
“There are no gates. Besides, the balance was off-kilter thanks to the Otherworld High Council’s mismanagement. Putting so-called neutral beings in charge of good and evil turned out to be a really stupid idea.” Angel shrugged. “Not our issue. Our issue is Drak, who’s been spending his Abatu-free years crawling out of the pits and maiming his way back to the top.”
“Why does he want the monkeys?”
“Duh. If he gets the gifts before I do, he’ll use them so chaos can reign forever.”
“That would really suck.” Graddie sighed. “Can’t we get anyone to pay us for this gig?”
“What? Saving the world isn’t enough payment for you?”
“The electric company doesn’t take heroism as payment for a bill that’s three months overdue.”
As if on cue, the lights flickered. Angel and Graddie looked at each other, eyes wide. Then the whole office went dark. The buzzing of the electric appliances, from the computer to the coffee maker, silenced.
In the quiet darkness, Graddie said, “Told you so.”
Chapter 2
Emily sat at the dining room table eating yet another Lean Cuisine. She’d already taken a shower and tucked herself into Tim’s faded high school football jersey. Her nightly routine was simple. Put on freshly washed jersey. Eat. Brush teeth. Pick book. Make tea. Go to bed.
Sitting on the table just inches from the plastic tray was her colorful friend. As she ate sesame chicken, she stared at the monkey. Hmm. What was that saying? See no evil. Yeah. Whatever.
She put down her fork and turned the statue around. Those strands of color were an odd addition. Were they part of the original paint job? Or had someone added them later?
Abandoning her dinner, she took the monkey to the couch and sat down to study the colors. With the tip of her forefinger, she traced the red line. Electricity jolted through her. The statue tumbled to the floor as she fell backward onto the couch.
My God. Her heart pounded as heat poured through her. Her skin was so sensitized that the velvety fabric of the sofa brushing her nake
d thighs offered tiny trills of pleasure. Her nipples hardened, her breasts filled with the ache to know a man’s touch.
What was going on?
She swore she felt a mouth graze the quivering flesh of her inner thigh. Her breath stalled as she looked down. No one was there. Sheesh. Who had she’d been expecting?
The sensation repeated on the other thigh.
Gasping, she reached down and touched the places kissed by ghostly lips. She hadn’t dated, much less taken a lover in the five years since she’d lost Tim. Any time she felt frisky, she took care of it herself. But this …this was different.
The press of a mouth against her panties, pushing so enticingly against her made her moan. Maybe her loneliness had forced her imagination into overdrive. Or maybe she was finally going crazy.
All the same, she didn’t want to give up the sensations. She took off her shirt and wiggled off her panties. Then she closed her eyes and let her mind slip fully into the fantasy.
Hands coasted over her stomach, drifting across her ribs, and then up to torment her breasts. She imagined Tim as fingers found her nipples, rolled them into tight buds. She shuddered and pressed her restless hands against the couch. There was no one to touch or hold; yet somehow she felt the tender weight of a man above her. Felt him drag his lips over her neck, the light rasp of a tongue tasting the spot under her ear. The kiss was unexpected. His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she could almost feel his desperation, his need.
Her arms lifted to touch the lover that was not there. Yet, her hands stroked the muscled contours of a man’s back. His tight buttocks flexed under her palms. She let her hands wander as she pressed closer, moaning.
His hard length nestled against her wet heat, nudging her entrance.
“Please,” she murmured. “Please.”
His cock inched into her. Emily moaned. She hadn’t felt the velvety-smooth penetration in a long time. How could she have forgotten how good sex felt?
When her imaginary lover was sheathed fully, she wrapped her legs around his waist and met his slow, measured thrusts.
The light hair on his chest abraded her nipples and caused sensations to ripple all the way to the warmth building so deliciously between her thighs.
Emily felt the pleasure rise sharply. She panted, her nails digging into his ass. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh!” She went over the edge, flying into sparkling bliss. As she rode the crest, she heard him groan. He stilled suddenly, his harsh breath on her neck as he spasmed inside her.
The next moment, he vanished along with the fullness of him inside her.
Emily took a few minutes, grieving the loss of him—of Tim—before she opened her eyes. She’d felt him as if he’d been real. As if he’d been alive. And while the fantasy had been transcendently fulfilling, the reality left her empty. She was lying on the couch, her body naked, and very much alone. Slowly, she sat up. Sweat beaded the valley between her breasts and she felt a little sore between the thighs.
After spending a few minutes recovering in the shades of gray room, she needed to see in color again. Yearned for it. So, she scooped up the monkey and nearly wept at the only color she’d seen in five years. She turned it over in her hands and noticed something different. She frowned as she traced the back. The red line had disappeared.
***
Angel knew someone was following her.
To get out of the stifling heat and quiet of the dark office, she’d taken a walk. Grady had sashayed down to Dusky’s to flirt with the bartender. Their building wasn’t far from the recently refurbished downtown. Even though it was past closing hours for the shops, the window displays were lit, as were the wrought iron street lamps. Well-trimmed trees sprouted from perfect dirt squares, which alternated with big pots of multi-colored flowers.
She stopped at a shop window, using its reflection to see who or what might be trailing her. Nothing moved. When she focused on the actual display, she grimaced. Lingerie-draped mannequins showed off Lady Delilah’s Sensual Delights—a store that Graddie frequented. Angel, not so much. She was a practical girl, all the way down to her underwear.
Everything was so quiet. This town, the Earthly plane, the Otherworld …they were all just too damned still. It made her itchy. She knew she was standing helpless in that awful silence before the thunder roared and the sky cracked open.
Demon hunting gigs had dropped off sharply about six months ago. Her parents had supposedly retired from the game the minute Angel opened Demon Hunters, Inc. She smiled. Her mother would never stop kicking demon ass.
She turned away from the shop. Forget waiting. She’d draw out the one following her. She needed some action, and kicking Graddie’s butt at the gym was getting boring. She purposely slowed as she passed a dark alley, and then suddenly turned and ran into it. She knew it was dead end, which meant her tracker wouldn’t have anywhere to go. She positioned herself between the brick wall and a foul-smelling Dumpster.
She didn’t hear footsteps or the rough breathing of someone running. No, it was pure darkness that entered the alley and overtook it. The miasma was so thick that it nearly suffocated her. Her body felt frozen; she couldn’t breathe.
“Angelica Mortis,” hissed a terrifying voice. “Thy destiny is upon you. Thou art a daughter of heaven and hell. Thou art the fated ruler of all worlds. Thou art my mate and forever mine.”
What the fuck?
She opened her mouth, but no words would come out. The edges of her vision darkened and she knew she was going to pass out. She slid to the ground, her breathing erratic. For a split second, she wondered if she were dying.
A bright light exploded a few feet away. The miasma shattered, and a frustrated scream echoed as the evil released its hold on her.
Her heart pounded furiously, and she gulped air. Her body trembled and she was shocked to realize that tears dribbled down her cheeks.
“Angelica Mortis,” said a deep, silky voice. She looked up at the man towering over her. He was dressed in ass-kicking boots, tight leather pants and a loose white shirt. His dark hair was short and spiked and three silver hoops glittered in his right ear. He held a gleaming silver staff; at its top, a round crystal glowed with white light. The guy leaned down and held out his free hand.
Her pride was damaged, but she was too shaken up to refuse his help. She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. “Who the hell are you?” she managed in a cracked voice.
“I’m the guy who just saved your life. You’re welcome, by the way.” He looked her over with one eyebrow raised. “Quite frankly, I’m disappointed. I expected more from the daughter of Maggie Mortis.”
Oh, no he didn’t. She made her smile tremble as she gazed soulfully at him. Then she kicked him in the kneecap. He stumbled, and she punched him hard in the solar plexus. He flew backward, and she grabbed his fancy staff right out of his hand.
He lay stunned against the opposite wall. Well, she was the daughter of a demon. She had über strength. She stood above the stranger and clanged the staff on the concrete. “I asked you a question, asshole.”
He grinned. “I’m Roc. Your new Guardian.”
“Tell me another one. Guardians are minions of the High Council, which hasn’t existed for twenty-five years.”
“Hey, I’m not a minion.” He climbed to his feet and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “The balance between Light and Dark has been teetering for too long. Now, the scales are weighted for the Dark. The Otherworld High Council has been resurrected as a last hope to restore the balance.”
Angel wasn’t sure what to make of this news. She had never dealt with the Council during her lifetime; hell, she’d only been to the Otherworld a handful of times. Mom was gonna be pissed. She’d been instrumental in dissembling the Council, which had been corrupted by its own power. So far, the four planes of existence had done okay without the bureaucracy of so-called neutral beings.
“I’m not ruled by the High Council. Go back to the Otherworld and t
ell them to kiss my ass.”
“Tempting offer,” he said. “It is a delectable ass.”
Angel’s mouth dropped open. God, he was an unrepentant bastard.
“Drak has conquered hell.”
Roc kept dropping information bombs so fast that she barely had time to process ‘em. Drak had already become the High King? Shit. She needed to get the demon gifts—fast.
“Drak is gathering his army to march on the Earthly plane,” said Roc, his eyes flashing with anger. “But first, he wants to woo his queen.”
“Fabulous. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“You are.”
Angel rolled her eyes. “I call bullshit.”
***
Emily awoke suddenly, her body soaked with sweat and her heart pounding. The digital clock on her nightstand blinked 2:01 a.m. She sat up and snapped on the tiny lamp.
Nightmares were nothing new. She often dreamed of the accident. But unlike her waking life, her dreams, terrifying or not, were always in color. Her last image of Tim was his bloodied face, his gaze filled with pain. Those horrors had faded, but watching the light go out of her fiancé’s eyes was not a memory she would ever forget.
This nightmare had been different. She ran through a cemetery, fear keeping a constant tempo with her heartbeat. The full moon glinted off a marble crypt, and she headed toward it. Relief filled her as she darted through the doorway. She knew somehow that her unknown attacker could not enter here.
Candles in wall sconces offered dim light in the small, empty building. Against the back wall was a golden altar. Incense sticks lodged around the top emitted thin trails of fragrant smoke. Two fat red candles sat on either side of an empty space.
The idol was missing.
Suddenly, Tim—perfect and handsome, not bloody and gruesome—appeared. He pointed to the space, and said, “Put your treasure here, Em. Then we’ll be together again.”
Emily swung her legs off the bed and wiggled her toes against the shag carpet. It had all seemed so real. Was her subconscious trying to tell her something important? She couldn’t begin to decipher all the symbols. Or was it …literal? She nearly discarded the thought, but hesitated. If she interpreted the nightmare literally then she had some sort of object that would fit into that alcove. And the crypt existed. And if she did as Tim asked, she would see him again.
