Kiss & Hell

by Cassidy, Dakota

  Clyde kissed the top of her head. “Now it all makes a bit more sense. That’s why you sent Marcella away. If she heard no evil, she couldn’t speak it.”

  “Exactly. She has no idea about Vincent. Well, not entirely. She did come to tell me she’d heard something about him the other night. I figured if I could keep my mouth shut long enough for her to grill me and leave, this would be over before she finds anything else out. If Satan knew she was my one and only friend, he’d try to hurt her—because he does have the power to do that. I don’t want anyone hurt when he makes his next move. We’ll have enough trouble if he ever gets wind of the fact that you duped him.”

  “Trouble has a shitload of different meanings, don’tcha think, Clyde?” a surly voice asked from the dark interior of the bathroom.

  Both their heads popped up in surprise.

  “Uh, bad guy?” she asked, so not wanting to hear the answer.

  “Yep.”

  “How bad?”

  “Scale of one to ten?”

  “Sure.”

  “Twelve.”

  Hoo, shit.

  nineteen

  Delaney was powerless to move at the sight of the body attached to the voice. Clyde, however, stood up, taking the blanket with him and motioning to Delaney to put on the T-shirt he handed her. He tucked the blanket around his lean waist.

  The demon hopped on the edge of the bed with a wink, walking his dirty fingers along the bed toward Delaney’s leg with a cackle. “So what’re ya doin’ with my woman? You been stickin’ it to her?”

  Clyde was quicker than she’d ever have given him credit for. His hand snaked out, grabbing the demon’s fingers and wrenching them with a rough jerk. “Get—the—fuck—away—from—her—or I’ll kill you,” he growled low and deep.

  The demon’s hand exploded out of Clyde’s, roughly yanking his arm away, but his voice was sweeter than melted chocolate. “Aw, Clyde. Clyde, Clyde, Clyde. Play nice now, man. You had your shot at her, and I promise ya, I won’t tell that whack Lucifer what you did, switching our assignments like that, if you let me give it to her. Just once. You can watch if you want.” His pockmarked face stretched into a leering grin, revealing blackened teeth.

  Clyde dragged him to his feet, the muscles in his upper arms bulging when he shoved the demon up against the nearest wall, eliciting a harsh huff from him. “I said, get the fuck away from her, Clyve.”

  Delaney scrambled to the floor, her eyes never leaving Clyde’s back, strained from his grip on the key to this whole mess falling apart.

  They’d been made.

  The infamous Clyve Atwell had apparently found them—which meant Lucifer wouldn’t be far behind.

  The demon threw his head back and laughed until she could almost see he had no tonsils. “Or what, Clyde? You sorry piece of shit. You can’t take me with your level one skills. Shoulda paid better attention in class, man,” he taunted up into Clyde’s face, breaking the hold he had on him with a swift shove to Clyde’s chest. His dirty white T-shirt tore when Clyde lost his grip on him.

  “Oh, you two—what is it about trouble and it always finding you when you’re half naked?” yet another voice cooed.

  And it had a slight accent to it.

  It sang in Delaney’s ears like a symphony of sweet violins.

  Marcella.

  Delaney’s knees felt weak with relief, then weaker with terror. Marcella didn’t stand a chance against this scum. Her protective nature kicked into high gear. “Marcella,” she hissed, sending her a message with her eyes, begging her to stop. “Go shop, would you? Go home! Go do something other than get mixed up in this,” she ordered.

  Marcella sighed with obvious exasperation and it was directed at Delaney. “Have you no faith, mi amiga? Ju—” She paused, clenching her jaw to ward off the accent that she couldn’t always hide in times of stress. “You’re always so negative.”

  Inching closer to Marcella, and keeping an eye on an immobilized-by-surprise Clyve, Delaney pointed to her chest. “Me? Hell- loooooo,” she whispered near her friend’s ear, “who’s the one who uses duct tape—duct tape, I remind you—to capture demons? Are you fucking crazy showing up here? He’ll obliterate you! That means no more Pier 1. No more throw pillows. Get it?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Marcella stuck her tongue out at Delaney. “Negative, negative, negative,” she whisper-taunted back.

  Her finger flew up under Marcella’s nose. “You do that one more time and I’ll snatch it out of your head—got that, demona tor?”

  “And I’ll roast animal fat with your happy sticks, ghost transmitter.”

  “They’re not happy sticks—they’re smudge sticks, smart-ass.”

  “They look like rolled weed, and if you don’t back off and let me do my thing, D, I’m going to singe your eyebrows.” She clamped a warning hand on Delaney’s shoulder, squeezing it hard, imploring her with her eyes to clamp it. There was a message in those green orbs—Delaney just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was. Marcella rolled her shoulders, letting go of Delaney and sashaying over to the demon, swishing her perfect ass in her friend’s direction.

  Marcella cocked her head at him playfully, her smile cool, her green eyes, now glittering, almost black. “So you must be Clyve.” She pushed herself between the two men, who’d both remained silent—one stunned, one unsure what was next. She flicked an absent finger at Clyde, dismissing him as she stared the demon directly in the eye.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he spat, though his roaming, beady eyes appraised Marcella’s body with jeering approval.

  Her fingers traced the soiled collar of his T-shirt with flirta tiousness. “Ohhhh, such harsh words, so big and mean. Grrrrrrrrrrr. I like it.” She squirmed, wiggling her hips with a saucy shift.

  Clyve’s chin lifted, a hard knot pulsing there, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off Marcella. “I said, who the fuck are you?”

  Smiling wide, flashing her perfect white teeth, Marcella closed in on him with a wink. She cornered him, eyeing him like he was what was for lunch. Her lips moved dangerously close to the demon’s, so close Delaney cringed for her. Then she dragged a nail seductively over the stubble on his cheek, stopping at his lips, letting that digit tug at his lower lip with a playful tweak. “I’m the crazy Puerto Rican bitch that’s gonna make you squeal for your mama, pig,” she purred into his face, snapping her fingers together.

  When the pads of her fingers released, she let her hands drop to her shoulders, stroking the sleek skin of a very long, black snake that had appeared out of thin air. Its head reared up in Clyve’s face. “This is my friend. Pretty, sí?” Marcella wrapped her hand around the snake’s head and held it next to Clyve’s cheek, rubbing it with a sensuous glide over the surface of his skin. “He wants to be your friend, too, Clyve. Loooook,” she said with a malicious smile and a coy, schoolgirl tone, “I think he likes you—wanna play with him?”

  Clyve’s face went white. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

  With a jerk so quick Delaney almost couldn’t believe Marcella’d pulled it off her shoulders, she hurled the snake at Clyve, who skittered backward, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his Ad am’s apple bobbing in rapid glides while he tried to swallow.

  Marcella widened her stance, planting her hands on her jean-clad hips, watching with satisfaction as the snake gyrated at Clyve’s feet.

  Delaney’s amazement at this new feat Marcella had apparently acquired was mingled with a mondo shudder. Bleh on snakes. Fuck, where had she packed her prism and salt? There must be salt in this hotel room—maybe she could help Marcella. There wasn’t time to find out as the snake began to inch its way toward the demon, his tongue striking aimlessly in forked fury. She hated snakes—almost as much as it would seem Clyve did.

  The demon hopped from foot to foot, a look of angry terror streaking his bony features. His greasy ponytail flopped up and down from behind his head while his face turned a lovely shade of crimson. “I’ll fucking kill
you, you bitch!” he hollered with a high-pitched wail.

  Marcella pouted at him, her full, glossy lower lip distended while she toed the snake with a gentle nudge toward him. “You’re hurting my feelings, Clyve, calling me names. Though bitch is rather all-encompassing, don’t you think? Wise choice. And really, if you don’t like this snake, all you had to do was say so. I bet I can find one you will like. I aim to please.” She snapped her fingers again, this time letting them ball into a fist and plunging her hand toward the floor. A slithering swarm of coiled snakes, the color of garden hoses, appeared, hissing toward Clyve at a rapid pace.

  Infuriated, Clyve screamed a shriek of whistling fury, hurling a fireball from his fingertips in Marcella’s direction while he threw himself upward onto the small table in the room. Flames bounced off the wall behind Marcella and headed directly for her glossy, black head.

  “Duck!” Clyde roared, throwing his body on top of Delaney’s as they crashed to the floor.

  Delaney peeked out from under Clyde’s body to see Marcella roll her eyes at the demon’s effort like he’d just lobbed a beach ball at her.

  Dayum, who’d gotten her demon on all of a sudden? Since when did Marcella go all 666?

  Marcella flicked her wrist, letting her fingers splay apart; from their tips came a crackling bolt of light aimed directly at Clyve.

  The demon dove for the far side of the bed, the zigzagging current nailing the picture above the headboard and splitting it in half. Clyve recovered quickly, bellowing a “this is war” cry. He rose on his knees, his rotted teeth clenched together, and raised his fists skyward. Grimy palms fell open and out of them came flecks of color, becoming a metamorphosis of rats, twitching and scurrying across the floor in a million directions.

  Oh, no. Nuh-uh. No can do. She loved animals, but rats should always, in her humble opinion, be loved from afar—like, big afar. Delaney heaved upward as the ball of rats raced along the floor, forcing Clyde’s heavy weight off her. They jumped up together while Delaney made a beeline for his chest, throwing herself on him and wrapping her legs around his waist. Her ankles hooked behind his back and she wasn’t letting go.

  The first gust of wind made even Clyde and his thickly muscled thighs wobble. He gripped her to him with protective hands while swirls of bone-chilling air picked up speed. The room grew instantly arctic, small particles of ice forming on Clyde’s eyebrows.

  Marcella braced herself against the wind, turning her shoulder into it while she snapped her fingers once more. The velocity of sheer gale force pulled at the skin on her face, ripping through the room at warp speed.

  From somewhere distant, over Clyde’s shoulders Delaney heard someone call to the demon in a persecuted, nasally whine. “Clyyyyyyve! Clyve, what have you done, sweet baby boy? Oh, Clyve, you’re so naughty!”

  That this fuckwit had ever been anyone’s baby had never even been a consideration for Delaney. Yet, the wind instantly ceased, the rats and their squeaking screams disappearing with merely an echo left in place.

  Silence fell on the room—deafening in its suddenness.

  Marcella whirled her hair out of her face, eyeballing the confused Clyve with disdain. “Tsk, tsk, Clyve. You’ve been a bad muchacho. But I brought someone with me who can teach you a lesson.”

  A sturdy, dark silhouette shaped into a rotund woman with several chins. Long hair, the color of a silvery moon, draped down her back, swishing across her wide, thick shoulders when she shook her head. The housecoat she wore had large red and blue flowers on it, and in her chubby hand, she held a rolling pin.

  A big, wooden rolling pin.

  Her eyes held pity when she gazed upon her baby boy, sorrow and pity. “Oh, Clyve . . .” she murmured with a cluck of her tongue, wrinkling her nose.

  Clyve blanched from his place on the bed, sagging into it and cowering with fear. “Ma?” he said, weak and watery with a tremble he couldn’t conceal.

  “You’ve been so naughty, Clyve. Why are you so naughty? You promised you’d be good when I was gone, and look at you. Running rackets for the devil himself.” She crooked her pudgy finger at him in her direction. “Come here, Clyve.”

  Clyve skittered back on the bed, fear and awe interchangeable in his beady eyes.

  His mother moved closer, pity and sorrow turning to disappointment and anger. “I said, come here, Clyve. Now.”

  When it didn’t appear as though Clyve was going to bend to his mother’s will, she leaned forward, snatching his ear and dragging him to her.

  Clyve’s howl lingered long after their disappearance.

  Delaney dropped from Clyde’s embrace, speechless, her eyes wide when she caught Marcella’s gaze.

  “You know, sometimes, D, you just need to trust me,” she remarked with dry sarcasm.

  “I thought you were a level one demon,” Clyde pondered more to himself than anyone else.

  Marcella flapped a hand at them. “I am, but I’ve been practicing because whatever the frig’s going on with you and Delaney here made me think I might need to. It also helps to have a connection or two and to know a demon’s weakness. Clyve’s being snakes and his mother—not necessarily in that order. So I learned a thing or two—and don’t ask how, D. Just know there are ways around doing those things to poor innocents. So don’t go all moral and righteous on me. And now, you can thank me for saving your asses. Oh, and P.S., do you have any idea how freakin’ hard that snake thing was? Christ, Delaney—it took me four days just to conjure something that wasn’t cold and lifeless. If you only knew how many goldfish lives I’m responsible for. I’m exhausted here, guapa.”

  Delaney lunged at Marcella, hugging her hard and giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you. You’re the most awesome friend I’ve ever had. You’re like a demon queen. I’d be a puddle of shit without you. Now go home.”

  Marcella disentangled herself from Delaney, then smoothed her clothing. “Stop already. And I’m not going home. If I kept doing what you keep telling me to do, you’d be french-fried right now, and we couldn’t take care of the biz at hand.”

  “The business at hand?” Clyde asked, coming to put an arm around Delaney’s waist, rubbing her still frozen hands.

  Marcella eyed him, her green eyes glittering with bits of suspicion. “Yes, lover. I admit, I didn’t believe you, Clyde Atwell. I’m sure Delaney told you I thought you were full of shit. All that innocence and light was a little hard to believe, but we’re good now after what I heard.”

  Delaney crossed her arms over her chest. “Spill.”

  “It ain’t good.”

  “I don’t imagine it could be any worse than it already is.” Clyde’s comment was wry.

  “You”—Marcella pointed a finger at him—“are having a really bad week. Crazy bad. And Vincent’s only part of the problem here.”

  Clyde looked down at Delaney. “She knows about Vincent?”

  “She knows of him.”

  “Now I know all of him,” Marcella interrupted, “and believe me when I tell you, this info about him and Clyde was some seriously guarded shit. Three demon bar hot spots and a carefully placed threat to a green, just-fell-off-the-turnip-truck noob or so later, here I am.”

  “So you know he was my half brother . . .” Delaney choked on those words. That label, in connection with her, disgusted her on so many levels she could yark over it.

  Marcella squeezed Delaney’s forearm. “I do—they always say you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your family. Vincent lived up to that. I also know that he had a contract with Satan, originating with his father—this contract his father, Richard, signed was handed down to him—sort of an all-in-the-family deal. It had details, stipulations of which I’m still not entirely clear. The only thing I do know for sure is this—the heart that beats in Clyde’s body, wherever the frig his body is, was Vincent’s.”

  Confirmation her suspicions had been correct. Delaney’s nod was curt. “It’s what we figured. What I figured,
anyway. I’m betting it’s at Lang Memorial Hospital. We haven’t checked yet, and it’s too much to go into now, but that’s where Clyde had the heart transplant to begin with. I bet his body’s there.”

  Marcella cupped Delaney’s chin with cool fingers. “Wherever it is, D, we have to find it in order to set Clyde free. His soul’s in limbo. How he got to Hell leaves me beyond mind-fucked now that I know the kind of person he was. I only know he has to be cut from the ties that bind him here on Earth in order for him to find any peace and free himself of Satan. Maybe the paperwork got screwed up or maybe it’s because Clyde had Vincent’s heart, and a person’s heart, according to some tales of old, is the essence of your being. If that’s the case, essentially, because Vincent’s heart is still beating, his soul hasn’t been collected. If that’s the case, then you beat Satan by donating that prick’s heart—big—and I’m pretty damned sure he didn’t much like that. Basically, you stole from him. I still don’t get what went wrong with Clyde’s soul, but something did, and we have to make it right. That means we have to find Clyde’s body.”

  Terror, real and like a living entity, gripped Delaney’s insides, finally having confirmation of the suspicion she’d shared with Clyde earlier. “I knew it.” She glanced up at Clyde, whose lips were compressed into a thin line. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by donating Vincent’s organs and now . . .”

  “You didn’t know, D. How could you possibly know the extent of that kind of evil or that it would ever harm an innocent soul like Clyde? Now, no time for regrets, chica,” Marcella said, grazing Delaney’s cheek with her thumb.