Luck of the Devil

by Patricia Eimer

  “My evil clutches, huh?”

  “And it’s right back to Biloxi with me and straight into Brenda’s arms.”

  “Wait. Hold up, who’s Brenda?”

  We stepped into the elevator and he pulled me close. “Brenda would be the woman my mother is determined I should mate with.”

  My lips tugged into a grimace. “I thought you were joking. You mean your mother is actually picking out your girlfriends for you? Does she wear a cheerleading uniform so she can stand by the end of the bed and—”

  His hand covered my mouth. “Let’s not finish that thought or I’ll need years of inpatient therapy to get over that mental picture.”

  When he uncovered my mouth, I smirked at him. “Does she have a signal in her room or something? Does it sound like a submarine warning system? ‘Meep, meep, meep, conception taking place! Conception taking place! Get out the bean dip and the beer to celebrate!’”

  “Ugh.” He shuddered, shooting me a bitter scowl. “You’ve got a really twisted mind. You know that, right?”

  “Daughter of the Devil,” I said, pointing to myself. We exited the elevator and walked across the park, toward the pathway that allowed visitors to wander along beside the Seine.

  He draped his arm over my shoulder and kissed the top of my head. “How could I forget?”

  “Okay, so if we get caught, she’s going to want you to come home?”

  “Want? My mother doesn’t simply want things. She determines something is going to happen, and she connives, schemes, and outright bullies others until she gets her way. And she’s not above using violence if she thinks that’s the only solution.”

  “I bet she was just the life of the PTO meetings, wasn’t she?”

  “She was PTO president for twelve years at my elementary school.”

  “Twelve years?”

  “They were so terrified of her they just kept letting her run unopposed even though she didn’t have a kid in the school.”

  “Damn.”

  “Mother is a formidable woman.”

  “I will keep that in mind. Next question: Biloxi?”

  “Biloxi.”

  “The Angelic version of the Militia Movement is headquartered in Biloxi? As in Mississippi?”

  “The Devil’s oldest female child ran a cult in Idaho. It’s discreet and no one bothers us down there. Besides, if you were looking for an army of insane, immortal beings intent on overthrowing the Devil and wresting control of the Earthly realms from God, would you think of Biloxi?”

  “I would now. But before? I’d think somewhere a little more, more—”

  “Metropolitan? People would notice them in a big city.”

  “Point taken. But I’d have thought something a little more centrally located. Of all the things you could have told me, that wasn’t in my top million guesses.”

  “Don’t say anything, okay?” He stopped and turned to face me, tilting my chin with his index finger so we looked each other in the eye. “We’re not on good terms, but they’re still family. If your father and God find out where they are, I can’t imagine they’re going to ignore the possibilities.”

  “The Angale are in Bismark, North Dakota?” I widened my eyes and tried to appear slightly addlebrained. “I would have never expected them somewhere so cold. Or was that Bentonville?”

  “Thanks.” We wandered along the Seine in silence, his arm around me.

  “Can I ask what the problem with Brenda is, though? I mean, besides the arranged marriage?”

  “Oh.” He swallowed and focused elsewhere, his cheeks turning a deep red. “It’s… ”

  “What?”

  “Well, she’s a seconder. And they’re known to go a bit nuts over the length of a couple centuries.”

  “A seconder?”

  “It’s what we call someone who’s the child of two nephilim.”

  “A crossbreed? Those really exist? I’ve heard about them but I’ve never actually seen one. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, should I? Until an hour ago, I didn’t know the Angale existed, and now I’m wandering Paris with one. I’m probably a bottle of wine and a brick of cheese away from a full break with my previous view of reality.”

  “So you don’t have crossbreeds?”

  I wrinkled my nose and pulled away from him. “That would be disgusting.”

  “Disgusting?”

  “We’re raised to see each other as family―cousins, you could say. If two nephilim mated, it would be like incest.” Ugh, mating with another demon. Seriously was not about to happen. Even I wasn’t that desperate. Especially with Mr. Hands-on and his love of snuggling walking beside me.

  “And what about demon-nephilim purebreds?”

  “They happen, of course. I mean, Hope isn’t the only nephilim to marry a minor demon, but it isn’t common, either. Most of us just lead normal, mortal lives. Is that what you are, though? A purebred? Your mother was a nephilim and your father was an angel?”

  “Yeah.” He looked at me and shifted his shoulders slightly.

  “Okay, so your mother thought that because you’re a purebred, or whatever it’s called, and this Brenda was a seconder, that the two of you should get married?”

  “Pretty much. She claimed it would help strengthen that family’s bloodline and allow stronger soldiers to be bred from the union. And that’s why I decided hiding next door to the daughter of the Devil was preferable to hanging around Biloxi.”

  “Can’t say I blame you.” We walked up a set of white marble steps and found ourselves standing in the main courtyard of the Louvre. “I bet you’d be willing to be roommates with Hope before going home again.”

  “I don’t know if I’d go that far,” he said. “But I might have to consider it. Speaking of your sister, though?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I overheard a little bit of your argument this afternoon.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything.”

  “It wasn’t like Hope was worried about whether or not she let the whole building know how she was feeling.”

  “I might have heard what she said about you and your ex-husband.”

  “Boyfriend,” I corrected. Sadness weighed on me, taking me back to a time I didn’t want to revisit. “We didn’t make it up the aisle before… well, before.”

  “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want, but if you ever want to, I’m here. That’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “Not particularly, but thanks.” I shifted from underneath his arm and grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the Louvre and toward the Boulevard Saint-Michel. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I know this place that makes amazing crêpes. You’ll love it.”

  “Sure, I could use something sweet after the shock you just put me through. Don’t they say sugar restores your equilibrium?”

  “Something like that.”

  Matt stopped. “Is that your dad?”

  “Where?” Shit. I spun around, trying to sense my father in the crowd. I felt the tug of a few random immortals, minor demons probably, in the neighborhood. But not my father’s presence.

  “In the fountain.” He tilted his head and I followed his gaze to a statue.

  I had to laugh. “Yeah, that’s him.”

  “But isn’t he supposed to be under the guy with the sword in his hand?”

  “Well, theologically, yes, he would be the one on the ground getting his ass kicked.”

  “But that sculpture of St. Michael is him. It’s a picture-perfect likeness.”

  I led him away from the fountain and further into the thriving warren of streets that housed Paris’s student population.

  “I know. Apparently, he decided to have some fun and did the whole Pretend to be an Angelic Vision thing. The next thing you know, his face is chiseled into the marble as St. Michael.”
r />   “What did God say?”

  “Meh, He had a good laugh about it. Especially since Michael is still technically in the sculpture.” I pointed to the fountain, prepared to be amused by his reaction.

  “No.” Matt’s lips quirked upward in a smile. “You’re not saying that the sculptor turned your father into St. Michael and St. Michael into… ”

  “Everyone has a laugh about it now. But at the time, certain people may have been upset about how they appeared. I’m not saying St. Michael is vain, but it wasn’t one of his happiest moments, let me tell you.”

  “And what about the whole defeat of your father? The Archangel Michael is supposed to have defeated Satan in the name of Heaven.”

  “And?”

  “But you’re saying that’s not what really happened.”

  “No, no, I’m not saying that. Michael beats my father at things constantly, very competitive for an archangel. Great chess player, too.”

  “Saint Michael plays chess?”

  I caught the scent of crêpes and began angling him toward a vendor two streets over whose wares had caught my nose’s attention.

  “He taught me, and I’m the current reigning demonic champion.”

  “My whole world is flawed,” Matt muttered. We turned onto a street full of restaurants and bakeries. I sniffed lightly, trying to find the smells of the shop that had caught my attention. Ah, there it was, third bakery on the left. “Everything I’ve ever known is a lie.”

  “No it’s not. Look, everything you’ve been told has happened, in some way. It just may not have happened in quite as gory or heroic of a manner as everyone describes it. Isn’t that the way of everything, though? You can’t tell me it wasn’t a letdown the first time you went into court and you realized it wasn’t just like television. Can you?”

  “No.” He stepped into the line at the crêpes stand. “It’s just I was taught certain things and they were indisputable truth.”

  “Like?”

  “You’re evil.”

  I pressed my palm to my chest and feigned shock. “Am I?”

  “Demonic nephilim are crazed, soul-sucking monsters whose only purpose in life is to bring humanity to ruin. And the females are the worst. But you’re not. You’re just sort of here. Working as a nurse. Being nice. You have normal friends—well, almost normal friends—and you play chess. No one told me the Devil’s youngest daughter played chess.”

  “Look, not everything you’ve been taught is accurate.”

  “I know that,” Matt said with a huff.

  I tried not to smile.

  “Why do you think I bailed on them the first chance I got? I just didn’t think it would be so completely wrong, either.”

  Another disillusioned young man, welcome to my life. “I tend to do that to people.”

  “Okay.” Matt nodded. “This is too weird for me. By miles. So why don’t we play a game of pretend? Just so I can keep my sanity a bit longer.”

  “Pretend?”

  “Hi, my name is Matt Andrews, I live next door to you, and I’m a labor lawyer. And you are?” He stuck out his hand for me to shake.

  “Hello, Matt.” I smiled before shaking his hand. “My name is Faith and I’m a pediatric nurse. It seems we’ve found ourselves in Paris together. I have no idea how that happened.”

  “Neither do I. But since it seems like a great bit of luck, I say we should enjoy it. What do you say?”

  “That sounds lovely,” I said, watching the couple in front of us take their order and wander away. We approached the counter. “I’ll have a Nutella and banana crêpe.”

  “And I’ll have the strawberry.” Matt nodded at the man working the counter before turning back to me. “So, Faith, may I have the pleasure of your company this fine Parisian evening?”

  “You may,” I said.

  The man behind the counter finished making our crêpes and slid them across the counter. I stepped out of the line and waved my fingers slightly in his direction. “Come on.”

  “Aren’t we going to pay for these?”

  “Another one of the superpowers. People always forget that I haven’t paid for things.”

  “Convenient,” Matt said. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for our next date.”

  “Who said there’s going to be a next date?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Hours later, we crossed the Pont Neuf Bridge, meandering back toward the Louvre. I watched the sunrise turn the city sky a dusky pink color, lightening to peach and then a radiant gold as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  “We should probably be going home soon if either of us is going to be human in the morning. It’s already eleven there and we’ve fit in an additional five hours today with the time change.”

  “Ready to be zapped back, then?” I asked. We stood in the middle of the Louvre’s main square, which was growing brighter as the sun rose. The streetlights flickered off, and the glass pyramid went dark.

  “Not especially.”

  “Come on, then.” I pulled him into the dark, open walkway that led underneath the Richelieu Wing. I closed my eyes and focused my attention on the hallway between our apartments.

  He laced his fingers with mine and brushed his lips across my knuckles. “Come to my place tonight.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My place.” He leaned down to kiss me gently, letting the solid current flash between the two of us. “Come stay at my place tonight, Faith.”

  I shivered and bit my lower lip. It sounded like a perfect suggestion, except for one minor issue. “You do realize my father has a habit of

  ‘popping in’ to my place, right?”

  “Your point is?”

  “Well, he is the Devil.”

  “He’ll get over it,” Matt said, kissing me again.

  “Okay.” I nodded and closed my eyes, focusing on Matt’s bedroom instead of the hallway. Once the white walls were firmly focused in my mind, I tightened my grip on Matt and pulled us through.

  “You’re right,” he said.

  I opened my eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “It definitely gets better each time.” He pulled me tight against him, pressing our bodies flush, and crushed our lips together.

  Panting, I pulled away and dragged my lower lip through my teeth. “Didn’t make you sick?”

  “Nope, in fact this might be my new favorite way to travel. Much more convenient.” He yanked the tie of my dress free and the fabric separated, leaving me exposed in the front. Stepping back, his eyes roamed over me, and I wanted to pull my dress closed again.

  “Absolutely gorgeous.” He pushed the material off my shoulders and let it slip to the ground. “Stunning.”

  My body grew hot under his gaze. “It’s good to know you approve.”

  “Oh, I more than approve.” Electricity sparked across my skin, and I wondered how I could have ever mistaken him for human. The power crackled when he trailed his hands up the curve of my hips, and the lights around us dimmed. He claimed my mouth and bit gently on my lower lip. I gasped and he slipped his tongue inside my mouth, tangling it with mine in a seductive give and take.

  I tugged at the buttons on his shirt, trying to find a way to make my fingers work long enough to get them undone. “Forget about the shirt,” Matt muttered as he let go of me and grabbed each side of the collar, ripped it open, and sent buttons flying.

  Apparently, nephilim weren’t big fans of clothing.

  Another rip and my bra hung in two limp, useless pieces. Pushing them off my arms, I leaned forward and pressed myself against him.

  The longer we touched, the hotter his skin grew. Curious, I opened my eyes. His faint golden glow mingled with the black sheen radiating from me. I took a half-step away and tried to clear my head enough to rein in my powers.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t hide from me. Let me see you.”

  “You do see me.” I stood on my tiptoes, circling my arms around his neck, stalling for time. I was a demon, not a
swimsuit model.

  “Let me see all of you.” He hooked his thumbs around the silky material of my panties, tugging forcefully and tearing them off.

  “Oh, that,” I said, embarrassed.

  “Yes,” he said. His wings unfurled in a riot of creamy white feathers and curved into graceful arches behind his head. They widened to their broadest point at the tips of his shoulders before narrowing down to a single feather’s width behind his knees. Soft, golden light emanated from his skin, covering him like the light of a sunrise and flickering like a candle’s flame. “That.”

  He had shown me all of himself and, in return, wanted to see all of me. His power sizzled in the air and I fought not to draw it in, not to claim it for myself. Instead of protesting, I closed my eyes and let down my defenses, allowing my body to return to its natural state. My scalp tingled as my horns broke through the skin, until they extended completely.

  I stared at him, watching for any signs of repulsion before I’d go further.

  “More,” was all he said.

  My tail slid free and descended until it curled around my ankles, its tip flicking back and forth in nervous anticipation.

  He crossed his arms and tapped his finger on his forearm. “And the wings.”

  I sucked in a deep breath, and as I exhaled, released my wings. Blue-black and compact, they barely crested over the tops of my shoulders, and tapered at my tailbone. Lisa had always deemed them cute, but Tolliver had been more honest in his assessment: they were midget wings. Nothing like Matt’s.

  “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly. His hand traced the edge of my wing, sending electric shivers through my entire body.

  “They aren’t the most impressive pair in the world.”

  “They’re perfect.” He cradled my face in his hands and drew me into another searing kiss. His wings stretched forward, shrouding us both. The intimacy of being inside such a personal space—his space—drove a little thrill through me. I reached for the button of his pants and unbuttoned them, while he carefully maneuvered us backward toward what I hoped was his bed. I pushed at the waistband of his pants and his boxers and they slipped down his hips. He kicked them off and pressed himself against me from mouth to toes. “You’re perfect.”

  “I think you’re—”