“No. No, I-I mean, it’s my job. You’re an Angel now and I’m your mentor.” My throat is so thick I can barely get the words through. “You’re not going to have a whole lot of time with Hope, though, while you’re working. Are you even sure Mr. Griffith is okay—”
“I’m her new Guardian Angel. She asked for one and he’s already approved. And I’ll find enough time.” He turns away. He probably can’t bring himself to see what he’s doing to me. At least some part of him still cares.
“We can get through this, Josh,” I say, reaching for his arm. “It isn’t about another girl. It’s about us. Please look at me.”
He rips his arm away and won’t turn around. “Maybe sometime. But I need a break for awhile. At least until you’ve finished wasting your time being mad at your brother for making his own choices.”
There’s physical pain in my chest. If I make a sound, it’ll be a sob. I won’t let him see me like this; see how much he’s hurt me. I have to go.
So I run. I leave the room and Josh and everything I thought I had and I head for the gates, morphing into jeans and a T-shirt so I look like a distraught soul who’s just died. Hopefully Shona’s not working here today and no one will recognize me. And no one will try to stop me or befriend me since no one’s been assigned to me.
I sit in the cloud by the corner of the gates. Mist flows up and over my lap, obscuring my lower half as I finally let it all out. I cry for what must be hours, until I’m empty. There’s nothing left to fill me up, so I sit, watching the souls meet their greeters, and review what Josh said.
I can’t even be mad at Hope. She probably doesn’t know Josh has a girlfriend—had a girlfriend.
A girl about my age has just come up, screaming and crying and tearing at the collar of her shirt. Shona said that means she probably died in a way that had to do with her neck. By choking, strangulation, or having her throat slit. It’s amazing how many people are murdered in a given day. The unforgiveable sin. Maybe humanity isn’t worth saving. Maybe I was too ready to believe Josh didn’t have a choice when he was working for Lucifer when all the time he did, just like how he keeps telling me Noah has a choice. Maybe people like Josh, people who make the wrong choices, the easy choices, don’t want to change when it comes down to it.
Picturing Josh makes me start to cry again. What am I thinking? He’s worth saving. He did the hard thing and told me the truth. How can I fault him for that?
If I can’t fault him and I can’t fault her, who’s left but myself?
A young man in Angel robes soothes the girl, and she lets her hands fall away from her neck. Whatever happened to her, the physical signs are gone now. Just the memories remain. Or maybe she blocked it all out, like I did when I came here. Blocked out the image of Josh driving the car into me.
And just like the car that killed me, I never saw this coming.
Chapter 11
Keira
“So you’re a Demon?”
Noah’s finally decided to say something after sitting on his unmade bed, staring at me for at least fifteen minutes.
I’m on the floor surrounded by dirty, male laundry, my back against the door with a tiny basketball hoop hanging over my head. I was told to wait here for Lucifer to return.
“Yup.” I pick up the nearest hoodie by the tip of its sleeve, trying my best not to make contact with more than my fingernails, and then drop it farther away.
“And you have to do whatever Lucifer says?”
I raise my head, resigning myself to the conversation he’s intent on having. My whole purpose in playing with him in the first place was to report back to Josh and keep Lucifer from finding out about my immediate failure as a “distraction.” But that blew up in my face when Lucifer crashed the party. Now he’s with Josh and I’m babysitting.
I need to play nice with Lucifer’s new prize though. I’m in enough trouble for sticking my nose where he didn’t invite it. “Yup.”
He relaxes, leaning back on his elbows and laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You know I would’ve done anything you asked back at the gym, right? Man, I thought you were seriously into me. Then I found out you were only there because Lucifer sent you to lure me out to the car, and, I have to admit, I wasn’t happy about being punked like that. But in, like, what—seventy years?—I’m going to have to do shit like that, too.”
“Hold on. Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “I wasn’t there just to get you into a car. Lucifer could’ve approached you anywhere.”
“Oh yeah? Then why were you there?” He rolls off the bed, muscles moving beneath his skin, and I’m reminded why I was so interested when I first saw him.
I stand to meet him. “Maybe I like watching you sweat.” I run a finger down his arm, and he stares at me like an arsonist stares at a match. “Or maybe I was there because I had another job altogether.”
“That would be quite a coincidence,” he says. His voice is husky, much more mature than most sixteen-year-olds.
“Coincidences do happen.”
“I should’ve made the deal more specific,” he says, closing the remaining breath between us.
“Why? What else could you want?” I ask, surprised. Lucifer named all the typical stuff: girls, money, power, etc.
“What if I don’t want regular girls? What if I want you?”
Noah just got a whole lot more interesting. “Then I’d say you’re a smart guy.”
“And what if I want you to take me somewhere far away?” he asks, leaning down.
“I’d love to, but I’ve been told to wait here. Maybe if you ask Lucifer, he’ll let me, though.” I lift my arms and hook my hands behind his neck before pulling him down to kiss me.
Noah lifts me by the waist, and I enjoy the feeling of both feet dangling below me as he backs me into the door, making the small, plastic hoop shake. I explore his mouth with my tongue as he presses into me with his entire body, running one hand up my shirt and cupping my face with the other.
My skirt rides up to my hip as I wrap one leg around him. We’re a tangle of limbs and skin and heat and I’ve almost forgotten the real reason I’m still here when Lucifer clears his throat from behind Noah.
I crash to the floor like a cookie he was caught stealing.
“I see you’re enjoying yourself already,” Lucifer says, ignoring my presence and focusing solely on Noah.
“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, taking a step back.
“Of course not. I don’t blame you for wanting Keira. Many men have found their way into Hell because of her. But if you don’t mind, I need to borrow her for awhile.” Lucifer adjusts his collar.
“Wait a minute,” Noah says, regaining some composure. “Can’t you get someone else?”
“Ah. You’re horny,” Lucifer says. “Okay. Who’s the sexiest woman you can think of?”
Noah’s mouth snaps closed for a moment. “That’s not… Can you take another Demon so Keira can stay?”
Lucifer snaps and a girl with long, brown hair and glasses appears in Noah’s bedroom dressed in a bikini. Of course I know it isn’t a real girl, just a creation of Lucifer’s made to emulate one. But to Noah, she’s the real thing, and he’s struck speechless.
“You’ll enjoy Emily Roberts’ company, I believe,” Lucifer says. “Keira can come back when I’m done with her.”
I bristle at this. I’ve gotten used to Lucifer treating me like bait he can dangle to get a dog to behave, but this time, I feel more like a piece of meat than ever before. Maybe because he’s about to torture me and then offer me to this kid like I have no feelings at all.
Noah swallows, eyes floating between Emily and me. Typical. Some part of me is disappointed in him. Probably just my pride. I’m hotter than this girl.
“Send Emily home,” he says, and I can’t help but drop my mouth open. “Maybe you didn’t hear what I asked for. We made a deal and I intend to get what I want. I’ll wait for Keira.” He meets my eyes, face flus
hed.
That’s more like it.
Lucifer’s fingers sear into my flesh as he yanks me up by the arm. In a moment I’m stumbling in his throne room, right between his leather recliner and the giant, flat-screen TV.
“So you failed your assignment in record time and thought you could hide it from me? On top of that, Josh admits to finding out about my plans—a fact I would have preferred you come to me with immediately. But no, you decide to snoop around on your own first just to save your own skin.” He sits and crosses his legs, tapping his foot up and down in front of me.
“I was trying to get on Josh’s good side. If I did what he wanted I thought maybe he’d think I was on his side and then he’d—”
“Make love to you?” Lucifer laughs. “Josh has no interest in trash like you. Why would he, when he has Grace? Luckily, I was able to salvage the situation. You will continue to play his new girlfriend, Hope.”
I try to minimize my trembling by hugging myself. “But…he didn’t want me,” I say.
“He’s agreed to break up with Grace for awhile and pretend to be with you.”
What? Just like that? Big brave Angel of goodness, he is. “That’s impressive, Lucifer.” I try a smile. Maybe he’ll let me off the hook now that it’s working out?
His eyes burn with Hellfire and I shrink back as he uncrosses his legs and leans toward me. “I spoil you too much, don’t I, Mrs. Campbell?”
No—not this. He hasn’t called me by that name in nearly a century, and I know what it means. I back away instinctively, even though I know there’s nowhere to run.
“You don’t like that name? No, of course you don’t. Remind me again how you died?” He stands and beckons me closer.
I don’t dare disobey, so I edge closer, willing the words to come out like they mean nothing to me. “I drowned.”
Lucifer tsks softly and puts an arm around me. I press my eyes closed, trying to gather myself for what’s coming next. “In a washbasin, isn’t that right?”
I nod, not trusting my voice not to waiver.
“Isn’t that unusual?” Lucifer asks. “How does one die while standing over a washbasin? Typically once you feel the water enter your lungs and you gulp for air, unable to get any…well, once that happens, a person usually tries to get out of the water. How hard is it to lift your head from a basin? Unless… Ah! Something or someone must have held your head under.” An electric shock issues from Lucifer’s finger and jolts my eyes open.
We’re standing in my old bedroom, before the porcelain basin set on its claw-footed stand in front of the gilded mirror. Everything is gaudy and overdone, trimmed in gold and lace, velvet and satin, flowers and paisleys. It makes me ill.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, tightening his hold.
“Of course you are,” I say, my throat constricted. “Please, Lucifer,” I look into his eyes and let him see my pain reflected there. “Please don’t make me watch it again.”
“Oh, my dear,” he says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
I let my body relax. If he weren’t holding me up, I’m sure I’d be a puddle. “Thank you.”
“You’re going to relive it,” he says, his teeth glowing white in the gas-lit room.
The smile melts from my face as Lucifer’s words sink in. I panic, wanting to run, but his grasp is like iron.
“Let’s set the mood, shall we?” he asks, as though we’re standing in the moonlight reliving some romantic memory. “You secured your place by my side by making some very interesting choices. First, you escaped the rural Virginia town in which you were born. Then you seduced the richest man you could find in the big city of Philadelphia. Not an easy task for a girl with African blood back then. But then you were trapped in a loveless marriage. So what is it that you did next? Help me out, Keira, don’t be shy. That’s not like you.”
When I realized all Maxwell Campbell felt for me was lust, it was too late. I picture his face, so clearly infatuated with me, but only physically. He was happy with me in his bed, though, and at least I had the money I desired. But I wanted more. Lucifer knows all of this—but he delights in making me say it.
“Come on, Keira. You wanted more than the wealth he promised…” Lucifer prompted.
“I wanted love, too,” I say softly.
“So you looked for it by bedding everything young and attractive in a fifty-mile radius, littering the city with jaded men.” He stretches out a hand as though showing me a street lined with bodies. “Soon you figured out that no one was interested in more than your body. But did you stop? No. You continued on your quest, punishing men by framing them for various crimes they never committed.”
They used me. They deserved what they got.
“You even found one of your favorites in bed with the mayor’s daughter and accused him of raping her. He was run out of town.” Lucifer tsks.
I refuse to feel guilty. She could have spoken up and saved him if she cared. He deserved to learn how it feels to be scorned. Still I remain silent, wondering at what point I’ll be forced to relive my death.
“What’s the matter, Keira? Why so quiet?” He takes me by the shoulders and shakes me. I whimper, anticipating what’s to come.
I’d beg some more, but I know it won’t do any good. I just have to take it. It’ll be over eventually. It always is. So why am I so scared?
“Very well, then. I’ll continue.” Lucifer turns me around and there’s Maxwell, sleeping in the four-poster, handlebar mustache twitching in fitful sleep. The scent of his tobacco nearly chokes me, it’s so strong, and even now the opium pipe on my dresser calls to me with the promise of its comforting haze. “Chances are you would have died within the year from drug addiction, anyway. But you found a much more entertaining way to go.” He chuckles again.
I realize he’s no longer holding me and so I turn. Lucifer’s gone, and I meet my reflection in the mirror above the basin. It’s me, on the night of my death.
Stray tendrils of hair spray out from beneath my bonnet, and dark streaks of makeup are smeared beneath my eyes. The basin is full of water in anticipation of my return home from my latest tryst. Maxwell always slept through my absences, so why bother freshening up before coming home?
I seem to be in control of my movements. Maybe I can do things differently this time and change the outcome? Of course, I’ll still be dead, but I don’t have to play the part like the same naïve child I was when it happened.
I strip, just like I did on that night. No need to stay in such uncomfortable clothing no matter what I choose to do next. After I slip on my gauzy nightgown, I pause, staring at my brute of a husband snoring in the bed.
I remember my plan. Take the vial hidden in my dresser drawer, climb in beside Max, and let the contents of the poison trickle into his mouth. It would only take a minute and I’d be the widow, Mrs. Campbell.
But I know now that the vial’s contents are gone, replaced with rosewater. I know that when he wakes, choking on the contents, eyes bulging and nails scratching at the sheets and my gown, he’ll be faking, waiting to see what I’ll do. And when I think it’s finally over and go to the basin to wash up, he’ll come up behind me.
I wipe a tear from my eye. Where did it come from? I didn’t cry then, so why am I crying now? This isn’t real. Maxwell already killed me and sent me to Hell.
Anger flows through my body. So what if he killed me because I’d planned on murdering him first? I’ve suffered hundreds of years for it. I’ve paid my dues.
Instead of going for the harmless vial, this time I snatch a letter opener from the rolltop desk and stalk toward Maxwell. I plunge it toward his heart with a cry of anger, but his hand catches my wrist halfway to his chest. He squeezes and twists, forcing me to drop the weapon on the bed, then with a roar throws me onto the floor at his feet where I lay stunned. I no longer have my Demon super-strength. I’m a helpless little girl and I hate it. I hate him. I hate that the bastard never served a day for his crime.
I stru
ggle to my feet, but his palm catches the side of my face and I go down again, smarting.
“You’ve gone too far,” he says above me, his face glowing scarlet in the flickering light. He kicks out and catches me in the stomach. I grasp my middle with one hand and half drag, half crawl my way away from him. He steps easily behind me, hovering over me like a storm cloud ready to release its lightning.
I scramble at the foot of the bed, dragging myself upright again. He waits behind me, breath on my neck, then spins me around so that his face is in mine, hot breath making me gag. “You are a pathetic excuse for a woman. You run around like a whore. Now I see why your parents were so desperate to get rid of you.”
“You’re a disgusting old man who couldn’t attract a bee to sting you without giving it your money.”
“You’re a lovely vase, Keira. Pretty to look at with nothing inside.” He spits in my face and I long to wipe away his words and saliva, but he’s holding me too tight, shaking me. “I’m going to have to replace you.”
I scream and kick as he forces me backward until I knock into the table, rocking the washbasin and splashing water over the sides. It’s happening again, just like before. I no longer have control over my own body. I feel myself writhe like an animal—just as I did back then—snarling and trying to bite at his face. But he pinches my cheeks between his fingers, pushing right into the bone and forcing my head away from him.
“I should’ve bought you from your parents instead of marrying you,” he says in his rage. “I could’ve chained you to the bed and cut out your evil tongue.”
“I’m not for sale! I never was!” I scream, my body still struggling, trying desperately to hurt him in some way. Any way. “My mother is a free woman.”
“Free to prey on men, just like you? Look at yourself, Keira. Look.” He whips me around and forces my head up so I’m staring in the mirror, beaten and more frazzled than when I came in. And he’s there behind me, his sallow, wrinkled face leering at mine.
“See what you are?” he hisses. “A harlot. Nothing more. Now say good-bye to the only face you ever cared about.”
Soul Corrupted Page 6
