Luck of the Devil

by Patricia Eimer

  “Um, Tolly?” Lisa said, giving him a nervous glance. “Bring it back down to eleven; you’re starting to channel a B movie.”

  “What?” He looked down and shifted slightly, bringing his body back under his own command. “Sorry, I’ve got limited impulse control when it comes to that.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said dryly. “The rest of us manage.”

  “It’s the thought of angel flesh. It just makes my mouth water.”

  “Tolly.” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “Could we maybe not discuss this right now?”

  “I keep forgetting you’re still sensitive about those sorts of things.”

  “Hello, Chef Tolliver?” Hope snapped her fingers at him. “Can we focus on the problem before you start making a port wine reduction as part of the solution?”

  Malachi popped into sight. “What’s the problem? And why would he use a port wine reduction on it? I’ve found a nice, light sauce of chanterelles and sherry works much better on most dishes.”

  “I’ve got a stalker,” I said and pointed toward the pictures on my bed.

  “She’s got a demon hunter,” Tolliver corrected. “One who can apparently phase and is a bit of a voyeur.”

  “It happens,” Malachi said, and floated over to the pictures. “Finally managed to hook up with the nephilim next door?”

  I threw my hands into the air. “How did everyone else know about him before I did?”

  “I didn’t,” Hope said. “I had no idea till you told me.”

  “Me either,” Lisa said.

  “I didn’t realize it till I got a whiff of ‘Eau de Angel’ on you this evening,” Tolliver said. “And I’m really not sure I’m fond of the idea that you’re playing ball with the other team. Especially if it’s an Angale.”

  “So, what are you going to do about it?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Anything I do will make you like him that much more. I’m just going to sit back and watch it all fall apart, and you will see no interference from me.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Any time,” he said.

  “I knew from the day he moved in,” Malachi said. “I wanted to see how long it would take the rest of you to catch up. You’re incredibly incompetent about those sorts of things. Especially for the Master’s children.”

  “I can’t believe you just knew. How?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t hard. I floated through him once and knew everything about him.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “So why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t ask. Anyway, back to the demon hunter. It looks like he followed you on your date. Is that Paris? Nice way to pull out the stops and dazzle him with the Satan Spawn bit. I’m impressed.”

  “Yes, and apparently he’s been stalking her at the hospital, too,” Lisa said. “He has pictures of me murdering Harold.”

  “Let me see,” Malachi said.

  Hope pointed to the stack of photos on the bed, yawning.

  “Hmm, definitely taken straight-on. So it couldn’t have been some human with a paparazzi lens from the street. You don’t have any buildings across that look into Harold’s office, do you?”

  “No, the building across from us doesn’t have anyone on Harold’s floor. Plus, the stalker would be shooting through two layers of tinted glass. Surely that would distort the photos, right?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think it was someone across the street, either. My guess, given the phasing tonight, is that you have some sort of immortal tracking you. Most likely a nephilim either working with a demon, or one who’s stolen a demon’s powers and is harnessing them for personal gain.”

  “I told you there was something creepy going on,” Harold said, floating out of my closet dressed in his standard work uniform. “Nobody believes Handsy Harold. I’m just the man who clawed my way to the top of the pile to become the head surgeon in one of the most prestigious pediatric surgery centers in the world. But no, no. Harold is an idiot. Harold doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Turns out Harold was right, and you’ve got a crazy stalker.”

  “Okay.” I nodded at him apologetically. “You were right. I’ve got a stalker. And apparently he’s a bad one.”

  “I tried to tell you,” he said, preening slightly. “I mean, I didn’t know how bad he actually was, but I knew he wasn’t right in the head. But you didn’t listen.”

  Would he just let it go already? “You’re right. I should have listened to you about the stalker.”

  “Eh, as long as you’ve learned the error of your ways.”

  “Harold,” Tolliver said suddenly. “You said that you saw this creepy guy. Can you describe him?”

  “Of course. I even have pictures. Or had pictures. They were in my cell phone. Which is now in a million little pieces since you threw my body in the dumpster instead of giving it a proper burial.”

  “Crap.” I ran my hand through my hair, then tugged on the ends. “You said you can describe him, though?”

  “Of course I can. I’m very observant. It’s what makes me such a good doctor. But you wouldn’t know that now, being that the dead aren’t allowed to practice medicine. Even in the free clinics. Which is totally ridiculous, if you ask me. They’re terminally short-staffed and they don’t want a ghost to diagnose people? Prejudiced. The whole lot of them. Great bunch of Alivists.”

  “Alivists?” Hope asked.

  “People who are still living,” Harold said with a sniff. “Somehow they think they’re better than me because they still have a corporeal body. Hence, Alivists.”

  “Harold.” I hoped he’d get back on subject because I really didn’t want to think about the fact he was currently haunting the city’s free clinics. Once this was all over, we were really going to have to see about getting his paperwork fast-tracked. “The guy? What did he look like?”

  “Oh, five-ten, maybe one hundred and sixty pounds, wiry, brown hair. Cheap clothes. He stank like that stuff they always use in churches during Christmas.”

  “Frankincense?” Tolliver asked. “That’s weird.”

  “No,” Harold said. “What’s weird is, he’s been sort of yellow every time I see him. Sort of like a weasel that swallowed a flashlight.”

  “He glows?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Like a Christmas tree.”

  “What’s that mean?” Lisa asked. “Why does it matter if he glows?”

  “That means he’s a part of the Heavenly Order,” I said. Not good. So not good.

  “The what?”

  “The Heavenly Order,” I repeated. “The good-guy side of the equation.”

  “Oh, that’s bad, isn’t it? So what are we going to do?”

  “If it’s a member of the Heavenly Host, our best bet is to sit still,” Tolliver said. “They’ll get desperate to nab Faith and make a stupid move. Once that happens, we’ve got them.”

  “He’s right.” Malachi bounced, which I guessed was his version of a nod in agreement. “Our best bet is to stay here and keep tabs on Faith.”

  “So I’m a prisoner in my own apartment?”

  “No,” Tolliver said. “Don’t go anywhere alone. Always have one of us with you.”

  “Like I said, I’m a prisoner.”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “And we need to meet with Matt and find out if he knows anyone who might go rogue,” Hope said.

  “That’s a good idea,” Malachi said. “Right now, let me do a little digging and see what I can find out about things. Hope, I want you to rack your brain and try to think about anyone that Faith or the rest of you may have crossed at some point. Faith, you need to invite Angel Boy out for drinks so we can discuss this little matter. Tolliver?”

  “Huh?”

  “Later this morning, call your father and bring him up to speed on this whole business.”

  “No.” I pointed at my dread demon. “No Dad.”

  “Why not?” Malachi faced me, waves of disapproval pouring off his form.

  “Be
cause he’ll put me in Purgatory until it’s handled. And I hate Purgatory.”

  “I really think you’re making a mistake,” Tolliver said.

  “No Dad. Besides, we have three demons, a ghost, a former member of the Angale, and the two kick-ass daughters of Satan on our side. Surely we can take one nosy little stalker on. Can’t we?”

  “Probably,” Malachi said, and sighed heavily. “But your father’s not going to like it.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. Just that your father isn’t going to like it.”

  “My father doesn’t like a lot of things anymore. That’s what he gets for leaving his kingdom to live here.”

  “Now what?” Malachi said.

  Tolliver grabbed Lisa’s waist. “Go back to bed.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Hope said, walking out of my bedroom and back into the living room.

  “Is she staying here?” Tolliver whispered and motioned with his thumb to the couch.

  “Yeah, I told her it was okay.”

  “But why?” Lisa asked. “She’s got her own place upstairs.”

  “Apparently, Boris is driving her insane praying and she needs to hide for a bit.”

  “Well, it’s good to see he’s reverting back to his old ways.” Tolliver laid his head on Lisa’s shoulder, yawning. “Let’s go back to bed.”

  “His old ways?” Lisa asked.

  “Boris was an incubus,” I said.

  “Incubi have this special gift,” Tolliver said. “They irritate anyone who isn’t attracted to them. It helps them hunt prey by getting rid of the men in an area so they have their pick of the women.”

  Lisa’s eyes darkened. “Is that why some of the nurses at work have gotten so nasty toward me lately?”

  “A little bit,” I said. “But it’s not as bad for succubi because there usually isn’t a limited supply of men to hunt from. Men, traditionally, fall much easier than women do, and until very recently, we’ve always seen fewer women than men. So it was harder for incubi to hunt without first clearing the area.”

  “Okay. But if Boris was back to his old tricks, wouldn’t Hope be sleeping up there and not down here?”

  “No, because Boris can’t enthrall Hope as an incubus. Like your unholy sexual powers have no pull over me or Faith, my sweet.” Tolliver snuggled her closer. He kissed the side of her head, closing his eyes and inhaling as if her very essence sustained him.

  I tried not to gape, but it was so obvious—Tolliver was in love with Lisa. That’s why he changed her. If it were just attraction or the need for power, like I’d first suspected, he wouldn’t be nearly so affectionate. Tolliver toyed with, and tortured, the things that intrigued him. The only people who found him tolerable were those he actually adored. Which wasn’t many of us. And personally, I always suspected he was only decent to me and Hope because of Dad’s threats.

  “Are you okay?” Lisa asked me, leaning into his kisses.

  “I’m fine. Why?” I answered.

  “You got a bit pale there for a minute.”

  “No, it’s the stress of everything. It’s nothing, really. Just a little shaken up.” Oh shit, what a mess. And my life did not need any more messes right now. “Well, anyway, now that Hope has fallen out of love with Boris, everything he does irritates her because she won’t let herself fall back in love with him.”

  “But wouldn’t he have lost his abilities as an irritant once he fell up?”

  “You know, I have no idea,” Tolliver said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “I would have thought so. But who knows?”

  “Can we discuss it in a few hours?” I asked, yawning.

  “Sure,” Tolliver said.

  Lisa gave me a quick hug. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  “Except me,” Malachi said. He’d cleared the pictures off my bed.

  “Sorry.” I frowned at my demon. When dad had sent Malachi to look after me, he’d taken away his need for sleep. The dread demon had never said so, but I always got the impression he was a little put out over the whole mess. Not that I could blame him. Who doesn’t enjoy a good nap?

  After Lisa and Tolliver left, I shut the door and climbed into bed. “He’s in love with her, Malachi.”

  He floated at eye level, an eerie calm surrounding him. “Yep.”

  “He’s been in love with her for a while, before he turned her into a succubus.”

  “Right again.”

  “Is that why he turned her?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you knew?”

  “I know everything, and, yes, I knew he was turning her into a demon because he’s in love with her.”

  “But she’s not in love with him?”

  “He’s hoping that will change.”

  “Damn.”

  “Damn is indeed the word for it. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  “What about me?” Harold asked. Oh, Harold. I’d forgotten about him.

  “Come on, Ghost Boy,” Malachi said. “Let me introduce you to the joys of eternal insomnia. I’m sure there’s at least one infomercial on right about now.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  I had slept until noon, and Matt was already at work. He hadn’t stopped by this morning. Was it going to be awkward between us? What if he was pissed I sneaked out? And now I was chewing on a thumbnail and pacing. Forget Anne. My middle name was Neurotic.

  Hope took a sip of coffee and flipped through the television channels with her feet, still snuggled in her makeshift bed. “You have heard of that wonderful invention called treadmills, haven’t you?”

  I stopped pacing and tried to appear shocked. “Are those the funny-looking things at the gym? I wondered why those people seemed like they weren’t ever getting anywhere. Wait, I don’t go to the gym.”

  “Funny,” Hope said, and took another sip of coffee. “Why are you pacing around the living room and wringing your hands like an idiot?”

  “I’ve got to invite Matt over for a drink tonight and I don’t know how awkward things are going to be after my disappearing act last night.”

  “You don’t have to invite him. I mean, if he was really bad in bed and you’d like to forget about it, I understand. Trust me, been there, done that, got the T-shirt. But I’ll admit, if you can suck up your disgust for the guy for a bit, he could be helpful.”

  “He wasn’t bad in bed.”

  “Then what’s the problem? And don’t think we won’t be coming back to that not-bad-in-bed comment, young lady. I want details of what exactly defines ‘not bad.’”

  “What if it’s awkward between us? What if he’s pissed because I sneaked out?” My horns poked through my skin and I knew that meant my wings and tail weren’t far behind. I stopped in front of Hope and held out my hands, my despair rising. “What if he’s not pissed? What if he’s actually happy I sneaked out so he didn’t have to face me this morning?”

  “Okay, okay, whoa. Let’s back up the neurotic train a little bit and look at things like sane, rational adults.”

  “I’m not neurotic.”

  “Right, Faith. Did he act like he wasn’t enjoying it last night?”

  “No, but what if he was faking it?”

  “One, men don’t fake it. That’s only women. Two, this is only going to be awkward if you make it awkward. Three, he didn’t seem pissed when he stopped by this morning while you were asleep.”

  “He stopped by?” What? He had stopped by and she hadn’t told me?

  “It’s not like he had to go far.” Hope took a drink of coffee and pointed the remote at the TV, clicking through channels. “He came across the hall, which is what? A whole ten steps? Oh! ‘Real Housewives of Bentonville’ is on.”

  “And you didn’t wake me up?”

  “I told him you weren’t here, you had an early-morning appointment with Mom for breakfast, and that was why you slipped out when you did. Now shut up. I’m dying to see what happens when they put Anna Lynn and Bethany Sue in a room together and tell
them their boy toys were playing in Annie’s pool cabana.”

  “You lied to him? And you know that’s staged, right?”

  “Did you want me to tell him you were a chickenshit who bailed while he was asleep? And of course, I know it’s staged. That doesn’t make it any less hilarious.”

  “No, I didn’t want you to tell him I was a chickenshit, but you could have told me you talked to him before I turned myself into a neurotic mess.”

  “What would be the fun in that? And to keep you from looking like a chickenshit, I lied. You’re welcome.”

  I cocked my head and stared at the television screen. “What are they doing?”

  “They’re cat-fighting in a pigpen while slathered in peanut butter,” Hope said.

  I sat beside her on the couch, getting sucked into her show. “This is insane.”

  “It’s hilarious. Wait until Annie realizes that Emmanuel, the gardener she’s having an affair with, is actually Big Daddy’s son with the housekeeper.”

  “Who’s Big Daddy?”

  “Her 80-year-old husband.”

  “And how old is she?”

  Hope picked up one of her long curls and twirled it around her finger, inspecting it for split ends. “Twenty-four. By the way, I mentioned to Matt about the Angale and he’s going to make a few calls today to see what he can find out. He’ll tell us about it tonight over drinks.”

  Did I know nothing that went on inside my home? “Wait, wait, what? You asked him out for drinks?”

  “After work, seven o’clock, at Bridge City Bar on Carson Street. You know where that is, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s in walking distance.” Which was beside the point.

  “Oh good, I figured you’d know where we’re going.”

  I tore my focus off the two women battling amongst the pigs and focused on my sister. “Why did you tell him about it?”

  “Because he needed to know? And you were going to hedge because you don’t want to be a burden, and he’d be trying to figure it out tomorrow instead of today, when it would be the most help to us. Did Beth Anne shove Anna Lynn’s face in pig crap?”

  “Is Beth Anne the one in the pink? That is nasty. But it’s my place to tell him about the crazy demon hunter I’ve got after me.”

  “I’m not arguing with you on that.” She walked to the sink and dropped her coffee cup in it. “And you’re telling me. I’d seriously go demonic on someone for shoving my face in pig shit.”