The Demon Always Wins: Touched by a Demon, Book 1

by Jeanne Oates Estridge

  She plucked the soaked fabric of her pants away from her thigh. A pair of dry cotton scrubs hung on the back of her office door. Should she take the time to see him? There were never enough volunteers, especially doctors, but based on his car, he was probably an orthopedist or cardiologist, possibly a plastic surgeon. Such specialists were of limited value at a clinic designed to deliver front-line care to the poor.

  Kelsey wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “He has these shoulders.” Her hands sketched a pair of broad shoulders. “And his jaw…” She let out her breath in a sigh. “It reminds me of a Michelangelo sculpture I saw in Florence when I went there in high school.” Her eyes had a faraway look, envisioning this godlike creature. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he volunteered here?”

  A glimmer of how Dara felt when she first met Matt came back to her—that rush of oxytocin as you realize you’ve met The One. She looked at Kelsey’s enraptured face. Oh, what the heck. The clinic’s patients were used to long waits and slow service. She could spend a few minutes stroking Dr. Lamborghini’s ego, then ask him to come back another time. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill anyone. She hoped.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, laughing. “I get the picture. Ask Gabby to collect the patient information cards, please. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can. And send Javier to my office.”

  “Thank you.” Kelsey danced away.

  Belial stared out the rusted casement window to the rain-drenched asphalt of the clinic’s parking lot. Florida. He could almost feel mold growing on his skin. Hell might be hot, but at least it was a dry heat.

  “I hope you didn’t screw this up by jumping the gun at the gas station.” Satan’s voice on his cell phone was like the whine of a mosquito in his ear.

  Bad had apparently wasted no time sharing the hologram with the boss, along with his completely false interpretation. The look of relief on Dara’s face had been a trick of the light.

  “She’s met the man of her fantasies,” Belial said, “and now he’s here to help with her life’s work. Things are going exactly according to plan.”

  “If you’d waited till Bad had your identity ready, you might have consummated on day one.”

  And let Bad claim credit for the win? “Not a good idea. Her desire needs time to build.”

  Satan ignored that. “Have you read her dossier?”

  Belial had scoured the document DemSec provided, such as it was—a single page listing some dates—her birth, her parents’ deaths, her high school and college graduations, her wedding and subsequent widowhood. She’d founded the clinic just six months after the accident with the money from the insurance settlement. “I didn’t find much that was useful.”

  “Pay close attention to stuff about her grandparents.”

  Belial frowned. The only mention of her grandparents was to say they’d adopted her following her parents’ deaths while on a foreign mission. Before he could follow up, Satan was on to another topic. “It looks like she needs money.”

  The worn carpet, water-stained ceiling tiles and decrepit laptop computer all attested to a pervasive cash shortage, but how did Satan…? Belial’s eyes fell on the webcam built into the laptop. Cameras had become ubiquitous since his last Aboveworld mission. Once he was on staff here, he’d have to locate some device-free areas so he’d have room to maneuver.

  Behind him, the door opened. He caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window. The image in the glass was faint, but she seemed different than she had at the gas station—crisper, more in command. She cleared her throat and he held up one finger to let her know he’d be off the phone in a moment.

  To his surprise, her full lips flattened into a straight line. She was annoyed. At the gas station she was passive, like Job before her, but here she was irritated by a tiny inconvenience. Maybe there was more to her than he’d realized.

  “The problem with that approach is,” he told Satan, watching her face in the glass, “it doesn’t make a deep enough connection for what we’re trying to accomplish.”

  “So we start out shallow and worm our way in. I don’t want you—”

  Dara checked her watch and looked at the door. If he didn’t get off the phone soon, she’d walk out and leave him standing there.

  “Let me call you back,” he said.

  Satan grunted, and Belial punched the disconnect button. Mustering his most dazzling smile, he turned to face his foe.

  For just an instant, her eyes widened. Ah. She recognized him as the stranger from the gas station. Then her eyelids swept down to cover her reaction. She offered her hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Dr.…?”

  “Lyle, Ben Lyle.”

  She pulled her hand away as soon as courtesy allowed. She was treating him as though they’d never met. Well played. His interest notched up another point.

  “I’d like to volunteer,” he said. “I have dual credentials in family practice and endocrinology, if that would be of any use to you.”

  Her eyebrows lifted at that information. Grudgingly, he awarded points to DemSec. Clearly, they had engineered this identity to be exactly what the clinic needed.

  “How did you hear about us?” she asked.

  “I just returned from a volunteer stint in Angola.” He recited the cover story provided by DemSec. If she followed up, a paper trail would corroborate his statements. “I plan to set up my own practice here in Alexandria. In the meantime, I thought I might volunteer here.”

  She stared at him, pursing her lips. For a long moment, he thought she might actually refuse. Was Bad right? Had he started things off on the wrong note there at the gas station?

  “Do you have time to fill out an application?” she asked.

  He breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to rummage in a low file drawer, displaying a derriere like two perfect globes. He licked his lips.

  Then he realized what she’d said.

  “Application?” He pulled his gaze from her delicious backside. Demons didn’t fill out applications. Demons swayed people to their will with their overpowering beauty, luscious scents and hypnotic voices.

  “Application.” Her tone was brusque as she straightened and handed him a printed form. “We’ll have to verify your credentials and make sure your malpractice insurance is up to date.”

  Credentials? Malpractice insurance? What was wrong with this woman?

  She’d found him irresistible the other night, as did all human women. Even Joan of Arc, monomaniac that she was, had displayed an initial attraction to him—at least until the voices from the other side drowned him out. He’d think there was something wrong with the identity Bad had issued him, but the little dancer who escorted him to Dara’s office had reacted normally. He’d practically had to peel her loose.

  He stepped closer to ensure Dara was breathing in his scent. She inhaled and her eyes widened in alarm. She lifted her foot to step back, but before she could retreat, her shoulders relaxed. She set her foot back down. Much better. Another breath and she would be ready to yield to his sculptor’s touch. She gave him a drowsy smile and breathed in again. Excellent.

  Without warning, she sneezed, bringing up the crook of her elbow barely in time to cover the explosion. He took half a step back. She sneezed a second time. He offered her his handkerchief, but she waved it away, blotting her nose with a ragged tissue pulled from her pocket. She shook her head, like a dog coming out of water.

  “I don’t know what aftershave you’re wearing.” She grabbed another tissue from a box on the file cabinet and blew her nose. “But I think I’m allergic to it.”

  He drew himself upright. That was preposterous. Humans didn’t develop allergies to demon scent.

  She shook her head again—more a shudder than a shake—and tossed the sodden tissue into the wastepaper basket. A knock sounded on the doorframe and she turned. A dark-haired man in his early thirties stood in the doorway.

  “Javier.” Her relief couldn’t have been more evident. “Could you answer any questions
Dr. Lyle might have? I need to start triage.”

  “I’d like to come with you,” Belial said, “to observe the clinic in action and get a sense of how things work.” He creased the blank paper in his hands as a subtle reminder that he hadn’t committed yet.

  For a second, he thought she would refuse. Then she said, “Of course.” Her accompanying smile was so brief it was almost nonexistent.

  Application in hand, he followed her out the door, his eyes on her backside again. This was going to be more of a challenge than he’d thought, but that was all right.

  If it were easy, any demon could do it.

  Chapter 6

  Dara made her way to the front of the clinic, wet shoes squeaking with every step. Her pantsuit was damp and itchy and she would be wearing it for another four hours, thanks to the man at her side. If, in fact, he was a man.

  Argh. She’d spent the last seventeen years convincing herself demons weren’t real, that the things she’d seen as a youngster were smoke and mirrors and Granddad’s hype. She’d never forgiven him for Sarah. He’d spent months trying to draw the demon out of Dara’s friend. By the time Sarah’s parents took her to a doctor, her brain tumor had metastasized. She’d died a week before graduation.

  Much of what Nana and Granddad considered demon possession, modern science called mental illness or cancer. And what they called demon infestation was just people making selfish choices.

  Four years of dating a non-believer, followed by five years of marriage to him, had further eroded her belief in the supernatural. Over time, the church’s activities and beliefs had faded into a distant memory, refreshed only by strolls down Scrapbook Lane with Nana.

  When Dr. Lyle—if he was Dr. Lyle—shook her hand, warmth had traveled up her arm and across her throat, settling in her lips and making them tingle as though she’d been kissed. She’d all but snatched her hand away. And his scent. Sweet goodness, if sin came in a bottle, it would smell just like that.

  Thank heaven for her allergies. But why had it made her sneeze tonight, but not at the gas station? Then she remembered. Antihistamines. She’d taken them yesterday, but not tonight.

  So where did that leave her on the man versus demon question? His pheromones might trigger her desires in a way no other man ever had, but that didn’t make him a supernatural being bent on evil.

  She racked her brain, trying to recall methods to identify a demon. If you rubbed their skin with a mix of herbs Nana called demonweed, their flesh would erupt in blisters. You could obtain the same result with holy water. Granddad said Catholics were wrong about everything from the rosary to celibate clergy, but they knew how to fight demons. Unfortunately, Dara had neither demonweed nor holy water on hand.

  What she did have was work to be done.

  Beside the high, u-shaped counter known as The Pit, Dr. Wilson had already traded his suit jacket for a lab coat. Dara heaved a sigh of relief when she saw fourth-year medical student Andrew Walz standing next to him. Andrew’s red hair stood straight up, making him look like an exclamation point. His family belonged to Deliverance church. When she was a teenager, she’d taught his Sunday school class. She stopped to introduce Dr. Lyle.

  “Thinking about joining us, are you?” Beneath shaggy gray eyebrows, Dr. Wilson regarded Dr. Lyle with approval.

  “I am.” Dr. Lyle’s eyes appraised the old doctor as they shook hands. Dara tensed. Dr. Wilson had passed the point where he should still be seeing patients, but he kept up his license just so he could volunteer at the clinic. She didn’t have the heart to turn him away. Andrew would let her know if any of his work needed to be reviewed by another doctor, and Dr. Wilson could tutor Andrew in the soft skills needed to be a good physician. It was a solution where everyone won.

  Beyond the huge reception window, the waiting area was standing room only. It would take a miracle to see them all.

  “Big crowd,” Dr. Lyle said.

  Dara shrugged. “Average.”

  Agreeing with Dr. Lyle on any topic felt like she was letting him win. If he was a demon, she didn’t want to do that. After that stunt at the gas station, even if he wasn’t a demon, she didn’t want to cede him any territory.

  She scooped blue patient information cards from a plastic basket labeled “Triage” and skimmed through them. At the bottom of the stack was a card with the name “Viola Finch” in purple ink. On the line provided for patients to list their symptoms, the card read, “Stomach.” Aware of the man at her side watching her every move, Dara stifled a groan. Viola had seen every doctor at the clinic and none had been able to alleviate her heartburn. That was, at least in part, because she refused to follow treatment plans.

  Dara pulled out cards for half a dozen must-sees and handed them to the lead nurse. Then she opened the door to the lobby. Viola hovered right outside. An orange beret with a purple pompom covered her wiry gray hair. As soon as she saw Dara, her jaw jutted forward.

  “I come here to see a doctor.” Viola thumped her orthopedic cane on the tile floor.

  Dara nodded sympathetically. “Let’s see if we can make that happen. Tell me about your symptoms.”

  “You’re just a nurse.” Viola glared at her. “I want to see a doctor.”

  “As you can see, we’re pretty crowded tonight.” Dara kept her smile pinned firmly in place. She hated the lack of resources that made her turn away patients or delay care. “So we may not be able to see everyone. Why don’t you describe—”

  “I been here since four o’clock.” Viola’s pompom trembled with outrage. “Them people”—she pointed to a group along the wall—”just got here.”

  “That’s a long wait.” The clinic saw patients based on who was sickest, not who got there first, but Viola already knew that, so there was no point in repeating it. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Sorry don’t feed the bulldog.” Viola’s eyes blazed. “My stomach’s bothering me at night something terrible.”

  “And you’ve done the things Dr. Lawrence suggested?” Most of the treatments for nighttime heartburn involved lifestyle changes.

  Viola thumped her cane again. “They didn’t do me a bit of good.” A crafty look came over her face. “Tonight my breathing’s bad, too. And my chest hurts something terrible.” She wheezed and stuck out her chest.

  “You’re having chest pain?” Dara slipped the tips of her stethoscope into her ears. “Do you mind if I listen?”

  She pressed the diaphragm against Viola’s ribcage. Her heartbeat was as steady as the drip of the faucet in the staff bathroom.

  “I can take a look at her if you like.”

  The voice in Dara’s ear was as pleasing as a bow across cello strings. Gooseflesh rippled down her neck and shoulder at the feel of his warm breath on her skin.

  Dara’s jaw tightened as Dr. Lyle bathed Viola in the full wattage of his smile. Viola preened beneath his gaze. Modern medicine had become an assembly line, encouraging doctors to give each patient a fraction of their attention, but Dr. Lyle seemed one hundred percent focused on Viola. Would a demon do that? And if so, why?

  “If you’ll show me which room to use?” he said.

  “I appreciate the offer, but we need to verify your credentials before you can see patients here.” Even in her own ears, she sounded prissy. That annoyed her even more.

  “Are you gonna just let me suffer?” Viola’s voice grew louder, and her pompom quivered like sea oats in a high wind.

  Other patients in the lobby looked up from their magazines and cell phones. Viola wanted human attention more than she needed medical care. Dara’s eyes fell on Dr. Wilson standing next to the counter, chatting with Andrew.

  “Dr. Wilson.” She raised her voice to draw his attention. “Could you please take a look at this patient? You can use room two.”

  One of the student nurses escorted Viola into the room. Andrew guided Dr. Wilson after her. Dr. Lyle’s gaze followed his tottering progress.

  “How old is he?”

  Color wa
rmed her cheeks. “Seventy-nine.”

  Dr. Lyle blinked. “Seventy-nine?”

  She crossed her arms. “He takes continuing education classes. And tonight he’ll be a godsend. I’ve got six patients with flu symptoms. He can see all of them.” She hated the defensive note in her voice.

  “It must be very difficult to recruit enough volunteers in a town the size of Alexandria.” He sounded sympathetic.

  It felt so good to have someone finally understand the uphill battle she fought to keep this clinic running. The tension in her shoulders relaxed.

  Beside them, Javier cleared his throat. “Maybe now would be a good time to show you the rest of the clinic, Dr. Lyle? And then I can help you with the paperwork.”

  Dr. Lyle turned toward him and said something so softly that Dara couldn’t hear. Javier’s eyelids fluttered.

  “But I can’t do that now,” he said. “I have something in my office I need to attend to.” He turned and headed toward his office.

  What just happened?

  “You could pair me up with Dr. Wilson tonight,” Dr. Lyle said. He was back to the sympathetic, understanding tone he’d used with her before. “And then have Javier put me on the schedule for the rest of the week.”

  She started to nod but pulled herself up short. “After we verify your credentials and malpractice insurance.”

  “Of course.” He gave in so gracefully she wondered if she’d imagined his effort to sway her. “Are you sure Dr. Wilson is still competent?”

  “I would never allow him to see patients otherwise.”

  “Of course not,” Dr. Lyle said. “It’s a difficult balance. How do you make full use of your resources while still ensuring patient safety?”

  His tone was so honeyed, his face so sympathetic, that she shared her backup plan.