Luck of the Devil

by Patricia Eimer

  “I like it here.”

  “But it’s cold. Really, really cold. I don’t like the cold. And that white stuff… what do they call it?”

  “Cocaine?”

  “Snow?” Lisa suggested.

  “That’s it.” Tolliver pointed at her. “Snow. I don’t like snow.”

  “That was an unexpected, but pleasant, surprise for me now that you won’t visit in the winter.” The big sissy. A demon lord afraid of a little snow. If only Weight Watchers knew the Demon of Gluttony was such a wuss.

  “But what about the other?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “The other?”

  “You know, with the ball and the sticks and the ice and the weird face paint and the helmets?”

  “You mean hockey?” I turned to the sink and filled the teapot with water. Yeah, one of these days Weight Watchers was going to love talking to me about my brother. Especially when I told them he could melt fat with his mind and reduce the calories in anything with one glance. I grabbed three teacups from the cabinet.

  “Yes, hockey,” Tolliver said. Instead of answering, I stared at the burner and watched the flame flare to life. “You know how much of a fan Mr. White-Lights-and-Fluffy-Clouds is of professional sports. I have it on good authority He put money on Pittsburgh’s teams last year.”

  I turned to him, my attention piqued. “You can’t be serious. You’re trying to tell me the Alpha is placing sports bets?”

  “Why not?”

  “What bookie is going to take odds against Him? I mean, it’s pretty obvious He’s got an outside influence on the game.” I opened the cabinet over the stove and removed the box filled with chamomile tea bags. He had to be joking. Really, how would a bookie take that call? ‘Hello, excuse me? This is God and I’d like to place a small wager on Saturday’s Penguins game.’

  “That’s what the world of online gambling is for. He goes in, makes a bet, and boom. No one knows if the guy making the bet is the Alpha or just Joe Schmo on the street. It’s ingenious.” Tolliver sauntered to the island and took a handful of cookies from the jar. “And don’t make me any of that stuff. You know it wires me.”

  “You are messed up, and regardless of whether or not the Alpha is taking part in sports gambling, I like it here.” I returned one of the cups to the cabinet and finished setting up the tea.

  “It’s your pyre, being so close to where He spends time incognito. What happens if you run into each other? Just going to say hello? Ask about the weather where He’s from? Let me tell you, it’s cloudy with a high chance of harp music.”

  “I’ll deal with it when it comes. If it comes. Besides, every time we’ve met before He’s been very nice.” I turned back to the island and grabbed a cookie for myself before sliding onto one of the kitchen stools.

  “Well, just because He and Dad are chummy now doesn’t mean things won’t change in the future. And besides, if the Alpha is so great, why does He have a whole army full of psychotic nephilim with no other purpose than to kill us? Talk about passive-aggressive manifestations of sibling rivalry.” Tolliver began shoving cookies in his mouth. I tried not to gag. Ugh, had no one ever told him it was gross to talk with your mouth full?

  “The Angale aren’t all that effective at demon killing, so I don’t think He’s got much to do with them. I’m pretty sure if God wanted us dead, we’d be dead already. Now toddle on back to whatever plane you existed on before you came here to bug me and knock my neighbor down the stairs.”

  “Nah, I think I’ll stay. Lisa and I have some catching up to do.” He grinned at Lisa and licked his lips.

  Great, now I was going to be sick.

  “No demon-demon sex on this plane. Dad’s rules. Remember?”

  “We’ll move into another plane.” He reached for a cookie.

  I smacked his hand. “I don’t think Lisa’s up to it tonight. I mean, she did complete her first intentional soul extraction today. You could be a benevolent master and let her rest.”

  “Fine, take the night off and rest.” He pouted as the teakettle whistled. “I will return to Hell and come back tomorrow if it fits into my very busy schedule.”

  “Why don’t you come for lunch tomorrow?” I winked at Lisa, and slid off the stool to get our hot water. She had a day-shift rotation at the local community clinic and wouldn’t be home, anyway. And I knew Tolliver wouldn’t go searching for her. The sight of blood made him woozy. Like I said: total wuss.

  “Only if you’ll be serving cookies.”

  “There will be cookies.”

  “And no vegetables. You know how I feel about vegetables. Noxious things.”

  “No vegetables.”

  “Fine.” Tolliver nodded and snapped his fingers, disappearing from my living room with a quiet pop.

  “Well, that was close,” Lisa said.

  Tolliver popped back into the room.

  My mouth dropped open. What the Hell was he doing?

  “Don’t you think it’s weird your neighbor felt me push past him?”

  The cookie I was holding slipped out of my fingers and smashed on the floor.

  “And I’m sure I saw him react when Malachi spoke. They aren’t supposed to do that, are they?”

  “No, no they’re not.” I tried to stay calm but my insides were churning worse than the time I got a false-positive on an EPT pregnancy test in nursing school. Tolliver was right. Humans shouldn’t be able to detect our presence in any way unless we chose to make ourselves visible. If Matt had been able to feel Tolliver push past, that meant we were all in a very shaky position.

  “Huh, must be a coincidence.” Tolliver snapped his fingers and disappeared. Hopefully for good this time.

  “Most likely not,” I said to the space where he had been. Something was definitely not right about my neighbor.

  A deep voice sounded next to the stove. “That was what I thought, as well.”

  I spun around and stared at my former boss. The one who was supposed to be dead and stuffed inside the biological waste dumpster. “What are you doing here? You’re dead.”

  “Paperwork mix-up.” Harold floated through the island, spinning. “Apparently, no one was expecting me.”

  “And what are you doing here?”

  “Haunting you, of course,” he said. “What else am I supposed to do? You had me killed.”

  “I did not.” I waved my hand toward Lisa. “She killed you all on her own.”

  “I did,” she agreed. “Sorry, by the way. I didn’t actually mean to, you know, kill you.”

  “Eh, if you’ve got to go… ”

  “And you do,” I said. “Now. Because I’m not having a ghost hanging about here, too. My life is complicated enough as it is.”

  “You’re going to need me.” Harold floated to the cookie jar. “Are those macadamia nut? I used to love your macadamia nut cookies. Oh well, it’s not like I’d really enjoy them now, anyway.”

  “Yes, they are, and no, I’m not going to need you.”

  “Yes, you are,” Harold said. “Like I tried to tell Little Miss Murderer over there, you know, before she distracted me by taking off all her clothes and climbing in my lap, that guy who’s following you around is just creepy.”

  “What guy?” I looked between Harold’s ghost and Lisa. He’d asked me to come by his office to talk before I left tonight, but I’d gotten sidetracked. By the time I’d made it there, Lisa had already turned him into a mid-evening snack. Could it have been about something other than the HR complaint and the missing meds I’d reported this morning?

  “Never mind,” Harold huffed. “It’s pretty rude of you to send me to my eternal rest ahead of schedule and not even keep me entertained while they get my paperwork in order.”

  “Harold, what creepy guy?” I asked.

  He faded out, not bothering to answer me.

  Crap. My night kept getting better and better.

  Chapter Three

  “I ate all the cookies and broke all the china,” the radio on my alarm
clock blared at a little after 7:00 the next morning. “I killed all the puppies and made the man grow a—”

  “Tolliver.” I pulled the blankets over my head and rolled onto my stomach, trying to bury my head in the pillows. My brother was the only person I knew who would’ve tuned my radio to EVIL 110.2, Hell’s pirate radio station for demons on the mortal plane. The more important question was: when had the jerk been in my room? And why?

  “Damn it, I’m awake now.” I stared at the ceiling, all thoughts of going back to sleep destroyed. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching my arms over my head and letting my wings stretch as well. The left one brushed against my dresser and a perfume bottle wobbled. “And hungry.”

  I rubbed my eyes, stumbled to my closet, and grabbed a pair of gray sweatpants and a white cotton T-shirt from the top of my shelf. Screw fashionable, I was on vacation and I intended to spend it on the couch. Once I was dressed, I trudged into the hall and knocked on Lisa’s door. We could get breakfast together before she left for her shift.

  “Yeah?” Her voice was muffled and my guess was she’d buried her head in the pillows in an attempt to fall back to sleep.

  “Tolliver set my alarm.” I leaned my head against her door, yawning, and imagined what it would be like to sleep standing.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “You want to go for mocha and a cheese Danish?”

  “Are you going out anyway?”

  “Yes. We have nothing in the house but multigrain cereal from our attempt at healthy eating three months ago. And you know how I feel about good-for-you breakfasts.”

  “I know, I know. The lack of fat calories makes your wing feathers dull.”

  “Do you want me to just bring breakfast back and let you sleep?”

  “Would you mind?”

  “No. It’s not like you owe me for saving your ass last night. No, no, I’ll go out—alone—to get the coffee and Danishes. You rest up. Get your beauty sleep. I don’t mind. Please, allow me, a member of Hell’s royal family, to bring you, a succubus-in-training, breakfast in bed. No, no, really, it’s my pleasure.”

  “I love you.”

  I grabbed my purse and opened the door. The weather was nice, so I decided to walk the six blocks to our usual coffee spot. It would take me longer to drive, and phasing was too much of a hassle this morning.

  A few minutes later, I breathed in the heavenly aromas of fresh pastries and coffee.

  “Morning, Faith.” Stephen, the hunky blond co-owner/barista, waved from his spot behind the counter. He finished wiping off the top of the display case and dropped the white rag into the sink. His muscles shifted underneath the Pittsburgh Marathon T-shirt he wore, and I marveled at how he could own a bakery and not have an ounce of fat on his enormous frame. I’d be a blimp if I had his job. He must’ve found some way to convert sugar and chocolate into muscle and wasn’t letting anyone else in on his secret. “Lisa send you out for breakfast again?”

  “Yeah. You know how she is in the mornings. So what yummy, special goodness did your mom stock the case with this morning?”

  “Well, she’s got chocolate on the brain.” He wiped his hands on a dry towel and tossed it onto the worktable behind him before leaning across the counter on his elbows and smiling flirtatiously. “We’ve got pain de chocolate, braided rolls with chocolate between the layers, chocolate custard-filled donuts, and she’s working now on chocolate and raspberry tarts. The coffee special of the day is a Mayan Mocha with cinnamon and Mexican vanilla mixed with dark chocolate syrup. But if none of that suits your fancy, give me twenty minutes and I can whip up some melted chocolate we can take to my place.”

  My stomach growled loud enough for Stephen to hear. “Ooh, she does have chocolate on the brain. And no, you can’t leave the shop unattended to go finger paint with chocolate.”

  “You can’t blame me for trying. How about this? I think I’m running a fever. And I’ve got a horrible cough. Want to come make me feel better?”

  “You look fine. Besides, I’d hate to upset your groupies. I’ve got a horrible possessive streak.”

  “Screw the groupies.”

  “I’m sure that’s what they’re hoping for.” Women flocked to Churresco’s Coffee and Sweets for the first time to ogle the former Penguins player who worked the counter, but anyone with a lick of sense—or good sense about what they licked—kept coming back for his mom’s pastries. They were so good, people sold their souls for them. No, really—a local incubus had used them to lure women into his unholy embrace. Talk about a marketing ploy. “Now if you’re done being a smartass, I’ll take two of the pain de chocolate and two of your large special coffees.”

  “You’re going to have chocolate on the brain now, too.”

  “Maybe, but you know I never turn down your mother’s baking.”

  He tucked the pastries into a bag and added two cheese Danish, handing them to me with a sweet smile. “Here.”

  “But I didn’t order these.”

  “I know, but the lure of chocolate was just too much and drove those poor Danish right out of your head. You’ll want them later, and by the time you get hungry again, we’ll be closing up for the day.”

  “Thank you.”

  He came back with two large cups of coffee and handed them to me. “$7.50.”

  “Are you sure?” Not that I minded free food, but I knew Stephen and his mom worked hard for their profits. And I wasn’t about to find another bakery if they went under. A demoness needs her caffeine fix.

  “Yep, $7.50.”

  “But the coffees are $2.50 each, and the Danishes are a dollar.”

  “So it all comes out right with the tax.” How nice to meet a man who wanted to impress me just because he could, and not in an attempt to gain power. Unfortunately, I liked him too much to let it go anywhere. He definitely didn’t seem like the type who could handle meeting dear old Dad. I’d had enough of turning good guys into jabbering messes of mental anguish, thank you very much.

  I wagged my finger in his face. “If your mom finds out you’re giving away food for free, she’ll kick your ass.”

  “Not if it’s to you.” He leaned across the counter so we were almost nose-to-nose. “I’ll just tell her you finally succumbed to my charms and agreed to run away with me and give her a dozen grandchildren.”

  I laughed and pulled back from him a few inches. “No.”

  “No? How about a dirty weekend?” He winked and gave me an obvious once-over before I turned and started toward the door. Every time I came in, he asked me out, and every time I said no. You’d think one of us would have learned in the past three years. Then again, no one ever said hockey players were the brightest. And I was a sucker for baby blues.

  “No,” I said, opening the door to step outside.

  “Dinner?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “I’m wearing you down, Faith Bettincourt. One day soon you’ll be saying yes and before you know it, you’ll be chasing our sons around and confiscating their hockey sticks if they don’t do their homework.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.” I stepped onto the sidewalk, promptly smacking into someone. My coffees sloshed and fell, exploding all over my feet. Instinctively, my hands shot out, grabbing the person’s shirt.

  “Shit,” a familiar voice said.

  I looked up to see Matt, his sweaty T-shirt covered in coffee and the dregs from the bottom of the cup soaking into what looked like an expensive pair of running shoes.

  “Oh crap.” My stomach sank and I dug into the bag of pastries, trying to retrieve the napkins from the bottom to clean off his shirt. There was no way to get to them without taking out the pastries, but if I did, I knew I’d drop something. I handed him one of the cheese Danish and reached inside the bag for the napkins. “Here.”

  “Thanks?”

  I grabbed a wad of napkins and patted his drenched T-shirt. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He winced when I stepped closer.
>
  I froze at his reaction. He seemed nervous. Maybe he didn’t like me touching him? But he’d been nervous last night as well. Come to think of it, he was always sort of jumpy.

  I reached for him with the napkin again and he pulled farther away from me. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “But I broke your glasses last night and now your shirt is drenched.” I grabbed his shirt to hold him still, dabbing at the stains.

  “It’s okay.” He swallowed and stood still, allowing me to pat at his chest. “It’s just coffee. And I’m soaked from my run, anyway.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll take the Danish as payment.” He bit into the one I’d given him. Now that I wasn’t touching him, he seemed perfectly fine. Maybe he was one of those guys who had a really big personal space bubble? I definitely understood. I was constantly worried about someone getting too close and accidentally thwacking them with a wing.

  I stepped away, trying to avoid the few crumbs that fell off the pastry, and stumbled. He grabbed my arm, pulling me to him. My eyes widened when his touch sent electricity up my arm like it had last night.

  He looked at me curiously and let go.

  “I should get going.” I jerked my head feebly toward our apartment building. “I promised Lisa I’d bring back breakfast.”

  He made a face. “Did you have to buy for your brother, too?”

  I laughed. “No, thank God they don’t have sleepovers at our apartment. That would just be too gross.”

  “I can imagine. So was that a rule you set down before she moved in with you? Or did they start dating after you’d been roommates for while?”

  “Definitely after we’d been roommates for a while. It’s a sort of new thing for the two of them. Personally, I’m not sure it’s the best idea in the world—Tolliver and Lisa—but no one asked my opinion. At least they don’t shove it in my face too much.”

  “Huh.” He looked at me curiously, his green eyes narrowed. “Stay here.”

  “What?”

  “Stay here,” he said, and stepped into the coffee shop.

  I glanced around and shoved my hands in my sweat pants pockets. What was he doing?

  Two minutes later, he walked through the door with Stephen trailing him, scowling murderously. The smell of clashing testosterone stunk up the bakery’s doorway.