Luck of the Devil

by Patricia Eimer

  “Can it.”

  “Fine,” he said and picked at his scarlet, inch-long nails. “But I’d like to state that once there was a time when a joke like that would have gotten me promoted.”

  “It was sort of funny,” Tolliver said.

  The corner of Lisa’s lip curled upwards in a half-smile. Seconds later, she chuckled, although she had the decency to cover her mouth with her hand.

  That’s all it took for Tolliver to break and let out a loud whoop of laughter.

  Matt and I shook with silent laughter, although mine ended when Dad’s hand nearly snapped my palm in half.

  Only Mom sat in silence.

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Hope said, her face an uncomely shade of red. Two tiny bumps formed on her forehead.

  “It’s—” Tolliver laughed harder and the rest of us started to crack up, as well. “The waitress almost had a stroke when you bitch-slapped Mal. You should have seen her face.”

  “It wasn’t that funny.”

  “Yes it was,” Dad said, finally succumbing to his own laughter.

  “You know what’s even funnier?” Hope said.

  “What?” Dad asked.

  “What’s funnier is watching Faith try to figure out how to drink her beer with no hands,” she said smugly. Leave it to Miss Bitch to bring up the obvious.

  “Oh.” Dad looked my right hand and glanced over to see that my left hand was intertwined with Matt’s. “That does seem to be a problem, doesn’t it?”

  “It does,” Matt agreed and squeezed my hand.

  “I guess someone needs to let her go.”

  “I guess someone would. Probably be more convenient if it was you,” Matt said.

  “And why is that?”

  “Faith’s left-handed,” he said.

  My father’s eyes narrowed.

  Two points to the nephilim.

  “She’s going to need two hands to eat,” Dad countered.

  “But not to drink her beer.”

  Tolliver stared at my father pointedly, waiting for Dad’s counterargument.

  However, Dad released my hand, reached for his beer, and took a long drink.

  Had the Devil just given in gracefully? That had never happened before.

  Tolliver turned his stare toward me, his eyes resembling those of a diabetic kid’s in a fudge factory without parental supervision. Apparently, he’d never seen Dad back down from a testosterone-fueled challenge before, either.

  Still holding Matt’s hand, I reached for my beer, wondering how much I had to drink until I was completely plastered. I practically gulped the stuff, willing to find out.

  “So, Matt,” Dad said with an easy grin. I knew that grin. It hid a potentially lethal line of questioning. “Faith tells me you’re broke from law school and stuck on a do-gooder kick.”

  I coughed and my eyes bugged out. I had never said any such thing, but I knew of a whole lot of other things I was going to say once I had my father alone.

  “Well, I did incur some expenses in law school, but I wouldn’t say I’m broke. I’ve managed to pay my rent every month without a problem. Haven’t I, Faith?” From the way he was acting, you’d think nothing had just happened between the two of them.

  “He’s a perfect tenant,” I growled and narrowed my eyes at my father.

  “And the do-gooder kick?” Dad asked.

  “If you consider labor law a do-gooder kick,” Matt said.

  “Fighting the good fight for the poor, oppressed working man? You don’t consider that a good thing?” Dad pressed.

  “Sometimes. It’s not always so cut-and-dried.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Look,” Lisa said. “Our food’s here. That was really fast. Doesn’t it look good? I’m really hungry. Aren’t you hungry, Faith?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, and took a long drink of beer. “Absolutely starving. So hungry I doubt there will be much talking. Too busy shoveling in food to even think about conversation.”

  “Me too,” she agreed.

  “Not I,” Malachi said, resting his chin on his manicured fingernails. “I’m not very hungry. I’d much rather find out about your new boyfriend. I’m sure he’s full of interesting ideas and concepts your father will love.”

  “Oh, Dad,” I said. “Did I mention I’m getting rid of my coffee machine?”

  His mouth was open, poised to guzzle his beer. The moment my words registered, an expression I can only describe as sheer panic set in. With too much care, he set down his glass. “Really?”

  I turned to smile triumphantly at Malachi, then returned my attention to Dad, ditching the smile. “Yep, decided to go ahead and take Hope’s advice and get a cappuccino machine. You know, the ones that only make one cup at a time and you have to push down really hard on a tiny lever to get it to work?”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” Malachi said, his voice venemous.

  Jen stopped at our table with another waitress and two trays of food. She eyed Hope and pointed, handing a plate to the other waitress. “This one goes to the blonde at the end of the table. And we’ve brought a refill of beer for everyone. Keep everyone nice and mellow.”

  “That sounds wonderful, dear,” Dad said. “Thank you. We won’t need anything else from you today but the check.”

  “I’ve got it right here,” she said, passing out our food quickly and placing the check in the center of the table. “I’ll take it whenever you’re ready.”

  Her shoulders slumped in obvious relief when the food was served. At this point, I doubted she cared whether she got a tip or not. She just didn’t want to clean up broken dishes and bloodstains if my sister and Mal got out of hand again.

  “Thanks, Jen.” My father patted her hand and her shoulders slumped some more, her eyes glazing as she fell under his spell. “Now, why don’t you take a fifteen-minute break and forget we were even in here? We’ll leave a nice tip, and you’ll remember how nice the group from the local chiropractor’s office was.”

  “Great,” she said, her eyes completely out of focus. She turned and wandered away.

  At least my mom was still blessedly silent. So far, that was the only thing that had gone right today. It was always an adventure with my family, and I’d be lucky if Matt even bothered to tell me good-bye before he made a mad dash for it.

  “So,” my father said a few minutes later, wiping his mouth on a napkin. He leaned back in his chair and finished his beer. “I guess we need to agree to some ground rules, don’t we, young man?”

  “Dad.” I dropped my sandwich. How old did he think I was? Fifteen? Wait, he didn’t have ground rules when I was fifteen. Why the Hell was he starting now?

  “Its fine, sweetheart,” Matt said and took a sip from his water. “Ground rules? I didn’t think you were a big ‘rules guy.’ Guess those rumors I heard about you weren’t true.”

  “Let’s not call them rules,” Dad said and crossed his arms. “Think of them more like a guiding philosophy.”

  “Really? I never saw you as much of a philosophy guy, either, but I’ll admit to being intrigued. I can’t think of anyone’s viewpoint I’d like to hear as much as yours.”

  “Well, it’s a really simple philosophy, actually,” Dad said. “Do you know that what the Devil doesn’t have blatantly thrown in his face, the Devil can ignore?”

  “I did not know that.”

  “And if the Devil can ignore it, well, he’s not forced to bind you to Hell, tie you to a boulder, and drop-kick you like an angelic soccer ball into my lake of fire. Then the Devil will not have to listen to the sweet tones of your tormented and agonizing end while taking afternoon tea.”

  “I see,” Matt said. “And what about handling things with discretion?”

  I wanted to strangle them both for being misogynistic assholes. Again.

  “Discretion means there’s no reason for the Devil to ever know about certain things, is there? And the world can go on as it should. You and Faith quite happy with each other, and I quite
happy with my delusions that she’s still six years old and believes boys have cooties.”

  “Your guidelines sound perfectly rational to me,” Matt agreed.

  “I thought they might,” Dad said, and offered Matt his hand.

  I crossed my arms and stared at the ceiling. “I think you’re both nutcases.”

  “I’m sure you have many interesting theories about my sanity, darling,” Dad said, his voice pleasant. He released Matt’s hand and pulled out his wallet, dropped a stack of twenties on the table, and stood. “But my guess is that Matt here needs to return to work protecting the little guy from the evils of corporate America.”

  “Worst system in the world.” Matt nodded. “Except for all the others, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dad agreed. He walked to the other side of the table and pulled out my mother’s seat for her. Taking her hand, he motioned for the rest of us to join him outside.

  “That didn’t seem to go too badly,” Matt whispered. If he thought it hadn’t gone too badly we might have a chance. “Your mom was really quiet, though. I guess she’s going to be harder to win over than your dad, huh?”

  “Eh, she’d have probably been more talkative, but Dad put a binding spell on her. It left her physically unable to say anything crazy that would scare you off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep, you take the crazy away from Roisin and there ain’t much there,” Malachi said, his red-slicked lips tugging into an evil grin.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Matt reached into his pocket for his keys and we walked across the parking lot to his car.

  “Not to sound like a bitch,” Hope said, and I couldn’t help scoffing. When did she not sound like a bitch? “But the thought of watching you two act lovey-dovey makes me want to hurl, so I’m going to catch a ride back with Tolliver and Lisa. Hopefully, they’ll keep their smooching to a minimum. Otherwise, I’m going to throw up my lunch.”

  “Me too,” Malachi said. “I’m sure you two don’t need a chaperone. Do you?”

  “Shut up,” I said and pushed his fake geisha body toward Lisa’s car.

  “So,” Matt said, resting his forehead against mine. “I think everything went rather well considering the—”

  A loud bang drowned out his words. The parking lot erupted in flames. A second explosion knocked both of us off our feet. Something slammed against the side of my head. Before I could react, my world faded to black.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Everything was fuzzy and everything hurt when I finally opened my eyes. I groaned, which only made it worse. A nuclear explosion might as well have gone off inside my skull. Shrapnel rattled inside my head like a Zumba class on hyper-speed.

  Then, when I peeled open my eyes, I was greeted by Mr. Nice Guy with the too-cool hair staring down at me. Of all the people to see first, it had to be him. “Jesus. What are you doing here? Oh shit, I’m dead, aren’t I? But if I was dead, you wouldn’t be here. You’re teaching school in South Carolina. Who’s watching your class? And what do you use on your hair to get it so… shiny?”

  “Shut up and lie still,” Jesus said, frowning while he finished strapping me onto a gurney. “You’re bruised up pretty badly, but except for the head wound, you’re not bleeding. I think you’re going to be okay but it’s best if you act like you’re hurt. And stay quiet already.”

  “But they blew up the car. Someone blew up Dad’s car. Where is everybody else? Oh crap, J, where is everyone else? Where’s Mom? She’s not like the rest of us.”

  “Listen to me,” he said, and tilted the backrest up. “Your mother is perfectly safe. There isn’t a scratch on her. And if anyone asks, she was still in the doorway of the restaurant and nowhere near the explosion. Do you understand me? Your father is going to be fine. My dad’s in the ambulance with him now, and I’m riding with your sister. Both of them are all right, although we have to let the mortals check them out so they don’t get suspicious. You’re still sleeping at night, aren’t you?”

  “Yes?” Why did Jesus care about whether or not I’d stopped sleeping? “Why would it matter? Just promise me everyone is safe.”

  “Everyone is safe. Even the nephilim walked out without a scratch on him. You’re the one who’s hurt the worst, and, trust me, it’s minor. Tolliver’s done worse to you playing Monopoly. Malachi is going to ride with you. It should be okay if they check your vital signs, but for both of our fathers’ sakes, keep quiet and try to act like you’re in shock.”

  “I am in shock.” And my head was killing me. I wasn’t in much pain otherwise, but I hated being tied down.

  “Good,” he said, and pressed his finger to my lips in warning. “Now, be in shock quietly while we try to keep your fool of a mother from exposing us. In fact, why don’t you rest now?”

  “Damn it,” I said when my eyelids drooped. I yawned loudly and felt my jaw crack.

  “You’re welcome.” Soft hands grabbed hold of mine when the gurney began to move, and I drifted off in a light doze. The Son of God had a wicked persuasion spell.

  I heard a familiar feminine Japanese voice whisper and felt a hand push the hair away from my forehead. “Keep breathing, and when these yahoos are done poking and prodding on you, I’ll take care of everything. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, even if you do keep threatening my coffee.”

  “Mal?”

  The hand on my forehead stilled. “Sleep,” his current voice whispered. “Sleep and let your body heal. You’ve got some nasty bruises and a knot on your forehead. I haven’t failed His Majesty before, and I am not about to start now by losing his youngest child.”

  “It hurts, Mal.” I whined when another, rougher hand touched my arm and slipped a blood pressure cuff onto my arm. I wanted to flinch away, closer to Mal, but I couldn’t because of the straps holding me down.

  “I know it does.” The voice sounded frightened, and I began to wonder if it really was Malachi holding my hand. He’d never sounded anything but completely arrogant in his own abilities. “The pain will stop soon, little one. I promise you’ll feel better before we even get to the hospital. It’s just a few bumps and bruises. You’re going to hurt for a bit, but everything is going to be just fine.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” a gruff voice interrupted, and I knew it had to be the paramedic with the rough hands. “Miss Bettincourt, can you hear me?”

  “Of course she can, jackass. She’s talking, isn’t she? Responding to me?”

  “Yes,” I said, and coughed, my lungs burning. It felt like I’d swallowed a piece of brimstone, and I wondered how much smoke I’d inhaled. Giving oxygen treatments in the peds unit made me claustrophobic—I couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of one. “I can hear you perfectly fine.”

  “Can you open your eyes for me?”

  “Yeah.” I opened my eyes a crack. The blinding white light made groan and clamp them shut. “No, it hurts.”

  “Can you tell me anywhere else it hurts?”

  “Everywhere,” I whimpered as a new heat traveled up my arm and spread throughout my body, burning its way through my veins. I tried to move away from it, but Malachi kept a tight hold on my hand. His warmth continued to pour into me, and the pain began to ebb.

  “Is there anywhere hurting more than everywhere else? Or doesn’t hurt?”

  “My head is killing me. It feels like someone exploded a mortar shell in there. And my ears have this weird buzzing sound in them.”

  “That’s to be expected,” the paramedic said, patting my hand gently. “You’ve got two huge bumps up there, so I can imagine. I do have to check your eyes out. Can you open them for me?”

  “Okay.” I opened my eyes a little, trying not to grimace at the brightness of the inside of the ambulance. My head hurt so badly, and the glare made it worse.

  “A little bit more,” he coaxed, and Malachi squeezed my hand. “I need to see if they’re dilated or if anything is wrong with them.”

>   I opened my eyes, and noticed Malachi still wore his disguise and the shoulder of his getup was torn. The skin underneath the tear was bruised as well. Dirt streaked his face, and angry red blisters had popped up all over his hands. He must really be worried if he hadn’t even taken time to heal his host body first. Those blisters had to hurt, and if he was pouring all of his life force into me, it would slow his own healing process.

  The paramedic shone a small penlight into my eyes and I blinked rapidly.

  “Good.” He clicked the light off. “Your pupils are responding normally. We’ll let the doctors check you out and go from there. Any idea what happened?”

  “Someone blew up the cars in the parking lot,” I said. “I don’t know why.”

  Malachi shifted nervously and scratched his arms. My skin tingled, and my wings and my tail pushed against me. Oh, shit.

  “Well, we’re almost to Mercy. I’m sure the police will want to talk to you after the doctor has given you the all-clear. Relax and rest for a bit.”

  “Mercy?” I tried to sit up, fighting against the straps. They wanted to take us to a Catholic hospital? Bad idea. Very bad idea. Religious institutions and demons were an epically bad idea. Unless they were going for demonic barbeque, that is. And not in the Demons Inviting You Over and Roasting a Pig sort of way, either.

  Malachi was starting to shrink, and the edges of his disguise grew thin. If you looked carefully you could see the gaps where the disguise ended, and he began.

  “We can’t go to Mercy,” I said hurriedly. “Can’t you arrange for us to be taken to North Allegheny?”

  “Mercy is the closest hospital. An ambulance is emergency transportation, young lady, not a chauffeured car.”

  “But my father will get better care at North Allegheny.”

  “Both hospitals are part of the same group. Your father will get excellent care here. And if the doctors here think he needs to be transferred, they’ll do it after he’s been stabilized.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll check on your father when we stop,” Malachi said.

  Not long after, the ambulanced did stop, and he jumped out of the back the minute it reached the emergency room doors.