Still, every time she pictured his outraged face when she’d told him he could take the bus, she laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks. Her laughter had an edge of hysteria, but it was laughter nonetheless.
Back at the clinic, she stopped by Javier’s office to let him know Ben wouldn’t be in that night. Javier’s shoulders sagged. “I’d better start making calls and see if I can get someone else to fill in.”
She continued on down the hall. Behind her, Kelsey muttered, “What do you think she did to him?”
“Should we send out the cadaver-sniffing dogs?” Javier asked.
Kelsey giggled.
All at once, Dara had had it up to here with the clinic. For five years she’d given it every ounce of her attention and every penny of her money and every minute of her life, and what did she have to show for it? Nothing. For the past three and a half weeks, she’d fought an uphill battle against the forces of Satan alone. No one else in the clinic knew a battle was being waged, but that didn’t excuse them. A little support wasn’t too much to ask.
She walked into Tia’s office, where the nurse practitioner was processing referrals.
“Can you cover tonight?”
Tia cocked her head. “Of course, sugar. Aren’t you feeling well?”
If Dara said she wasn’t sick, Tia would want to know why she wanted to take off. And the explanation would take more energy than she had to spare right now.
“Upset stomach and a headache,” she lied.
Chapter 26
“What have you done to yourself?” Bad gawked at Belial’s worse-for-wear body as he limped into DemSec.
The trip down the rings on the Ducati had been a nightmare. As he’d anticipated, insects battered him all the way down, nicking the modified flesh of his identity. In Ring Three, Cerberus chased the bike. Every time Belial managed to kick one set of teeth away from his ankle, another of the hound’s three heads lunged in and chomped down. That had gone on for two solid miles. By the time he reached the entrance to Ring Four and Cerberus trotted away, slobbering in triumph, Belial’s ankle was in ribbons.
“Why am I not healing?”
“What do you mean?
Belial checked himself in a floor-length mirror. His face was almost repaired. The wounds on his ankle were already closing up. He gestured toward the mirror. “This happened five hours ago. Why is it just now mending?”
Bad stroked his chin as he examined the almost-healed injuries. “Were you around people? People who didn’t know you’re a demon?”
Belial thought of all the individuals he’d come into contact with that afternoon, from the woman at the bus stop to his overweight seatmate, not to mention all the other riders.
“Nonstop,” he said.
“That’s why. The genes we spliced in were designed to help maintain your demonimity.”
Belial snorted. “If that’s the case, then why did the target recognize me?” If that hadn’t happened, he’d be done with this mission by now and enjoying his new office.
“That’s a head-scratcher.” Bad rubbed the back of his head, making his fedora bob up and down. “We’re still trying to figure that out. We reviewed the footage a few times, but nothing jumped out at us.” He wandered back to his desk, where an oversized monitor displayed a halted image of a video game. The game appeared to revolve around guns, sleek cars and large-breasted women.
Belial tried to control his temper. “I want this identity fixed.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“Then why does she continue to resist me?”
“Operator error?”
Belial clenched his fists. His pulse pounded in his ears. After the frustrations of the day, the other demon’s casual dismissal was just too much. Not one single other demon was prepared to help with this mission. All they had to offer were jibes and sabotage.
Behind Bad’s glasses, his dark eyes went wide. “Bel, your eyes have gone goat. Are you pissed about something?”
“Yes, I’m pissed,” Belial snarled, glad of an excuse to vent some of the rage pounding in his veins. “I’m pissed that you gave me unproven technology and it screwed up the most important mission I’ve ever undertaken.”
He expected Bad to shrink back from his fury, but the other demon came out from behind his desk and to peer into Belial’s eyes.
“That’s it.” Bad punched him in the arm. Belial gave him a look that should have shriveled him where he stood, but he didn’t even notice. “That’s how she made you. With her grandparents, it’s a given that she can spot angry demons. You got pissed, and your eyes went goat. That’s how she knew you were a demon.”
That first night in the clinic, when Dara had refused his offer to volunteer, he’d been furious. But why had the identity allowed so much of his true nature to come through? That had been the point of developing the hybrids—because they were much less susceptible to identification.
“It’s your gene-splicing,” Belial said. “You gave me a faulty identity.” It didn’t help the state of the mission, but at least the blame for the screw-up did not lie on his doorstep.
Bad shook his head. “It’s not the identity, Bel. We’ve done thousands of hours of road tests and we’ve never seen bleed-through before. It’s you. Your demontude is so strong it overwhelms the presets.”
“What in Hell’s name is ‘demontude’?”
“It’s like attitude. You know, how you carry yourself, demonically. It gets stronger the longer you live la vida diablo.”
That was bullshit, but the boss, with his bias toward technology over agency, would probably buy it.
“Why doesn’t she see through Lilith?”
“The only alterations Lilith gets are to keep her looking hot.”
Belial was outraged. “Why did she get to skip all this identity crap?”
“The boss didn’t put in an order for it,” Bad said. “He never does for the she-demons.”
Suddenly, Belial was bone-tired. All he wanted was to get the upgrade and get back to Dara. Then he could finish this damned mission and be done with it.
“Do you have a phone for me?”
“Sure.” Bad pulled a phone from a drawer and tossed it at Belial. Then he drew a needle the size of a railroad spike from another drawer. “This serum will splice in a little more human genome to tone down your demontude.”
More? Belial was already so human it took him five hours to heal, but maybe if he was more human Dara would distrust him less.
Bad jammed the needle into his arm like he was throwing a dart. Belial yelped.
“Stop jerking,” Bad said.
“That hurts,” Belial said.
“When did you turn into such a wuss?” Bad depressed the plunger and the serum burned its way into Belial’s system. “You used to be the toughest demon down here.”
When the vial was empty, Bad peered into his eyes. “You should probably stay below for a couple of hours, till we see how you react to the new splice.”
“What am I supposed to do for the next two hours while we’re waiting to see if you screwed up again?”
Bad didn’t take offense. He looked at Belial with an expression that almost looked like sympathy. “Didn’t you know? The boss wanted to see you as soon as you got back.”
In the vestibule to Satan’s office, Andras was typing the agenda for the next leadership meeting. There was some good news. At least he’d be away for that.
“The boss asked to see me,” Belial said. “Is he here?”
“Lake of Fire,” she squawked. With a ruffle of feathers, she returned to her screen.
Not that again.
The stone road was scorching beneath the soles of his Burberry deck shoes as he made his way to the lake. His footsteps echoed off the cavernous ceiling. He’d left the Ducati outside his personal quarters in Ring Eight.
What would Dara think if she saw him now? He smiled a humorless smile. Probably not much different than what she already thought. The image of her f
ace, softened by compassion when she was working with a patient, furious when she accused him of visiting insects on her clinic, heavy-lidded and sensual on the rare occasions she dropped her defenses, danced before his eyes. What a beautiful woman she was.
Then he imagined a different expression on her face, one of soul-destroyed devastation after he convinced her to betray her deepest beliefs. He shook his head to banish the image from his mind. There was no point in dwelling on it; it was what it was.
He found the boss sitting at a picnic table, consuming a plate of griot ti-malice, a Haitian dish of pork and plantains guaranteed to burn the taste buds from your tongue. Even from two feet away, the spices made Belial’s eyes burn. Satan motioned for him to sit down.
“What happened after she tossed the phone?”
Belial could see no advantage in lying. Even though the boss didn’t have video evidence, Dara would probably tell Lilith what happened, and Lilith would tattle to Satan.
“She kicked me out of the car. I wound up taking the bus home.”
Satan chuckled and inhaled a mouthful of peppery sauce. He choked, coughing until Belial had to pound him on his bony back. When he was able to catch his breath, Satan wiped the moisture from his eyes with the curve of his fore-talon.
“Why are you telling her so much about operations down here?” he asked.
Because it was the only topic Belial had found so far that would keep her talking to him.
“Recruiting tool,” he said. “That’s how you recruited me, by making this organization sound more interesting than where I was working before.”
It was a startup, Sataniel, as Satan was called back then, had told him during guard duty one night. Guard duty was one of the most boring jobs in Heaven—who would attack the Almighty? Sataniel had called his new venture “a ground-floor opportunity.” And, though Belial had known what a jerk Sataniel was, he had believed him. “I’m doing the same thing with her.”
“What’s your next step?” Satan raised his skinny eyebrows. “Do you even have a plan? Because it feels like you’re winging this.”
“The same plan I’ve used since time immemorial—wealth, fornication and corruption.”
“You’ve said that from the beginning, but all I’ve seen so far is you spending my wealth and getting no fornication, much less corruption, for my money. I’m starting to wonder why I picked you for this mission. I need someone in there who can think on his feet. Lilith has made more progress than you have.”
Belial managed to hold on to his temper. Without Lilith’s “progress,” he’d be a lot further along.
“Yes, but Lilith isn’t likely to be able to deliver on the next step, is she? It’s not like she can seduce Dara.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Satan shrugged. “You know what they say—every straight woman is just a six-pack away from being a lesbian.”
Belial’s mouth fell open. “You think Lilith can seduce her?”
Satan’s eyelids drifted to half-mast. He was picturing the scene in his head. In detail. Belial fought to keep his disgust with the boss from showing. After a moment, with obvious reluctance, Satan let go of his fantasy. “That woman is so straight not even Sappho couldn’t turn her head.”
“Then pull Lilith out of there. She’s getting in my way, complicating things.”
Satan pursed his lips as he considered that. After a moment, he shook his head. “She’s shaking things up. If it weren’t for her, there wouldn’t be any progress on this mission at all.”
Belial thought about Dara’s fury over the “plagues” being visited on the clinic.
“She’s making progress, all right, but it’s negative progress. You’ve admitted she’s unlikely to corrupt the target. Get her out of my way so I can do my job.”
Satan shoveled another bite into his mouth. He spoke around the food. “The old woman has made the target so paranoid she’s likely to see any change in her environment as suspect. If her new best friend disappears, she’ll blame you.”
Although that was true, Belial couldn’t resist saying, “At least she won’t be blaming me for whatever mischief Lilith has planned next.”
Satan slammed his fist down on the slate picnic table, making Belial jump. Cracks appeared in the tabletop, radiating out from the spot where Satan’s fist made contact.
“Stop making excuses. Stop blaming everyone but yourself.” His voice assumed a whiny, singsong quality. “It’s Lilith’s fault for interfering. It’s Bad’s fault for giving me a flawed identity. It’s Mammon’s fault for not giving me enough money.” Oily smoke poured from Satan’s horns.
“From the beginning, you’ve treated this mission like a junket. Your focus was on the car and the motorcycle and the beach house to amuse yourself, when you should have been using them as weapons in the first head-to-head conflict we’ve had with the Enemy in four thousand years.”
Satan rose from the table and reached into the picnic basket, bringing out a red-eyed rat with a forked tail. He carried the squirming animal over to the shore of the lake and hurled it into the roiling waters. The rat squealed and tried to scramble back across the surface. The lake sucked it down, only to belch it back up a moment later with its skin gone. Its muscles and organs gleamed in the low light as it scrabbled toward the shore, still screaming.
It slipped beneath the surface a second time. What came back up was a skeleton, but the bones still writhed in agony until finally the rat’s carcass disappeared for the last time.
“Full-sized demons take a lot longer, of course.” Satan plucked a splinter from the shattered table and used it to pick a bit of food from his teeth. “Two or three days. With no hope of escape.”
Belial was shaken, but showing fear would be a huge mistake. He assumed the ultra-patient voice Dara used when talking to Viola. “Do you feel better now?”
For a moment, he thought Satan’s head would explode.
“Not everything’s a joke, demon,” Satan said. “I’m not willing to piss away this opportunity because you didn’t take it seriously.”
Belial drew himself up in unrighteous anger. “Since when have I ever failed to take my responsibilities seriously? For that matter, when have I ever failed to deliver? And don’t bring up Joan of Arc again, because I’ve heard everything I want to on that bitch. One failure in ten thousand years, and we knew she was a long shot from the beginning.”
Furious, he snapped a slab from the broken table top and hurled it into the Lake of Fire. Acid splashed back onto the shore. He jumped out of the way, but a few stray drops splattered Satan.
“Gaaah!” Satan’s pupils went rectangular.
Thrall crept over Belial’s limbs. It was stronger than it had been the last time. He battered against it without success. Was this the end? Was he really to die over a spat with the boss? A foolish, wasted end to a foolish, wasted existence. Sweat poured down Satan’s forehead as Belial’s left foot took a dragging step toward the shoreline. He fought with all his might, but his right foot followed.
Step by step, inch by inch, he trudged toward the lake, struggling to throw off the force that commanded his limbs. Finally, as Belial was about to plunge his foot into the lake, Satan’s hold wavered. A tiny crack in his concentration.
That was all Belial needed. He slammed against the invisible bonds and broke free. The lake was so close his arms and face burned from the proximity. He sucked in a lungful of sulfurous air, fighting the urge to cough. His shirt was soaked with sweat. He’d won this round, but barely. Satan had been practicing, as Belial had taunted him to do at poker night.
“Dara Strong is different from Joan of Arc, in any event.” Belial stepped back from the shoreline and continued as though he’d wandered down to the water under his own power. “She was disaffected before I ever came on the scene. I’m not sure what the Enemy is trying to achieve, but I can tell you this: that woman has more anger in her than I’ve ever seen in a woman before. Before tossing me out on the road, she physically attacked me at the car
dealership.
“All she needs is a little push to topple her over to our side. And whether everyone gets out of my way and lets me work, or does everything in their power to stop me, I’m going to make that happen.”
At last he allowed himself to make eye contact.
Satan glared back at him, smoke pouring from his horns. Deliberately, he looked out over the lake where the rat’s body had disappeared and Belial’s had almost followed.
“See that you do, demon. See that you do.”
Chapter 27
The last two days of the week were not good days. The patient loads were heavy, made heavier by being short a doctor. Dara’s staff was barely speaking to her. She made it a point to avoid the kitchen at midday, when everyone came in to retrieve the lunches they once again brought from home and sullenly heated in the microwave.
The only bright spot was the patient whose life they’d possibly saved. On Thursday night, an obese, middle-aged man appeared at the reception window and showed Gabby one of the clinic’s business cards. He said someone had given it to him and suggested he come to the clinic. She fit him into the walk-in schedule. After a brief exam, Dr. Bell had sent him straight over to Bermuda General in an ambulance. He’d had a heart attack in the ER, but with lifesaving equipment instantly available, the doctors there had minimized the impact.
It felt like a vindication of her decision to keep the clinic open.
Now it was nine o’clock on Saturday night and she already had her pajamas on. A bag of popcorn perfumed the air with the aroma of movie night. Her favorite film, Ghost, was cued up in the DVD player. In the long, sleepless nights following Matt’s death, she had watched it over and over, wondering if Matt was out there, somewhere beyond her consciousness, hovering and trying to take care of her. After a while, she’d reached the conclusion that he’d moved on to his reward and no one was interested in taking care of her. The movie was a good reminder that, save for Nana, she was on her own.
The Demon Always Wins: Touched by a Demon, Book 1 Page 17
