by Sidney Ayers
“Maybe it’s hair dye from earlier.” Serah threw her head back in laughter. “And stop calling it my box. It weirds me out.”
“Whatever. Let me see this chest so I can set sail with Captain Morgan. It’s been a long day.”
Serah shrugged. “Fine by me, if I can stow away.”
“The captain says, ‘Aye aye. The more the merrier.’” Lucy hunched over the chest and rubbed her fingers across the lid. Tingly, but not as tingly as before. Wiping two hundred years of dirt and dust from the chest, she had her first look. Along with the fading inscription, weird symbols dotted the lid. Then she discovered a title etched deep into the sturdy oaken chest. A box with a title? Strange, indeed. Almost as strange as the hieroglyphics decorated all over the lid.
“Arca Inferorum.” Lucy said. Now if that wasn’t a title to try and scare someone away, she didn’t know what was.
“Arca what?” Serah’s blank expression filled her face. “What’s that mean?”
“It means Chest of the…” Lucy thought long and hard about the last word, and then Dante’s Inferno came blazing back at her. “Damned.”
“Damned?”
Lucy nodded. “Yes, damned. It was probably designed by some over-devout monk wanting to scare mankind into repenting for their sins. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a ‘Made in Rome’ stamp on the bottom.”
Serah wasn’t amused. “Whatever. Just read the inscription.”
Lucy wiped away more grime and traced her fingertip over the words. Stronger tingles zipped through her body. “It must be equipped with a security system. Every time I touch it, I get zapped.”
“Doesn’t happen to me,” Serah replied nonchalantly.
“Guess it’s my electric personality.” She leaned over the chest and began translating the inscription.
“At the beginning of the total eclipse of the winter moon, shall this chest be opened only by one of demon blood. They shall call forth the legions of the underworld. By the power of this one demon will Earth be theirs.”
Lucy shook her head. “Yep, it’s a hoax. I hope you get your money back.”
“Oh my God!” Serah exclaimed, oblivious to Lucy’s words.
Bemusement filled Lucy. Her gaze narrowed. “Oh my God, what?”
“There’s supposed to be a total lunar eclipse tomorrow night!” Giddy laughter burst from her lips. “This will be so cool!”
It was as if they were kids again and this was their first sleepover. Only they weren’t kids. Lucy was pushing thirty and Serah wasn’t far behind.
Rolling her eyes, Lucy shook her head. Here comes another one of Serah’s harebrained ideas.
“Even if what the inscription says is real, what part of ‘Only by one of demon blood’ do you not understand?”
“There’s a demon inside me,” Serah replied.
Oh brother, Serah and her demons. “But you usually shut the bitch up with chocolate.”
“Even so, wouldn’t it be fun to at least try and open it?”
“Whatever,” Lucy replied with a shrug. “If you want to wait until tomorrow for me to translate the inscription better, that’s fine.”
“Demons in a box, how cool.”
“Yeah, cool. Too bad demons don’t exist.”
Chapter 2
“Your father would be disappointed in you.” Her mother’s admonishing voice echoed on her eardrum. “Richard Fenton is a nice young man. Why won’t you go out with him?” Her loud huff boomed in Lucy’s ear. “It’s bad enough you dropped out of med school. For what? Doing hair?”
Adjusting the cordless phone, Lucy sucked in a deep breath. This wasn’t the time or the place. “We’ll talk later. I’m working on Mrs. Carlson’s perm.” The noxious odor of chemicals wafted to her nose, sending her head spinning. Permanents weren’t her favorite treatment, with all their disgusting odors. They did pay the bills, though.
“Fine, darling.” There was no tone of affection in the endearment. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
Was that tonight? Too late to cancel now.
“Bye.” She hung up the phone and slammed it on the counter with a little more force than intended.
“Such anger!” Mrs. Carlson clucked her tongue and shook her head. “My Josh is lucky you left him.”
Lucy turned her attention back to Mrs. Carlson. She sat high and mighty in the chair, staring down her long aquiline nose at her. Clearly, she’d allowed being the mayor’s wife to go to her head. Either that or she still hadn’t forgiven her for “breaking her baby’s heart.”
Then again, neither had Mom.
So what that Joshua Carlson attended an Ivy League med school. So what that he was gorgeous. So he had brains and a body. But he was boring as hell. Every time he opened his mouth, Lucy wanted to fall asleep. As for breaking Josh’s heart, the breakup was mutual. Too bad Mrs. Carlson and her meddlesome mother couldn’t seem to realize it.
She’d chalk up Josh Carlson—and Rich Fenton, for that matter—to the never-ending list of her failures that her mother would never let her live down.
“I’m sure he is, Mrs. Carlson. Isn’t he engaged to Larissa Harding?” Lucy flashed her favorite pasted-on smile. “She’s so lovely.” She was smart, pretty, and just as boring as Josh. They were perfect for each other and the mundane life of matrimony. Squirting more solution on each wound-up rod, she gritted her teeth. Lucy loved her job, but with people like Mrs. Gunderson with her fucked-up phalanges and Mrs. Carlson and her holier-than-thou attitude, her patience was fleeting.
“Maybe Larissa will come here for her updo. Imagine that! It could’ve been you.” The snide remark, meant to cut, had the opposite effect, but Lucy managed to control her laughter, anyway.
“Who’d style my hair then?”
Mrs. Carlson rolled her eyes. “One of these days, you’re going to have what you did to my son happen to you. When it does, don’t come back crying.”
Lucy could only smile and nod in agreement. After all, she was always right. Even after her son’s numerous pleadings to leave Lucy alone, she wouldn’t let things go. After five years, she still hadn’t given up.
“I probably will.”
Mrs. Carlson narrowed her gaze. “Are you patronizing me?”
“Me? Never!” She squeezed the last bit of solution on her tightly wound rods. If only she’d rolled them tighter. She grabbed some cotton and wrapped it around Mrs. Carlson’s wound-up hair and affixed a plastic cap over her head. “Time to let the perm set.”
Turning the minute minder to twenty minutes, Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. She was free! Well, almost.
The door swung open. “Hey, chica!” Gerardo Martinez flounced into the shop, his pink feathered shirt blowing with the breeze. Bright magenta leather clung tightly to his legs. It always amazed Lucy how he could walk in those things. The camera around his neck swung with each sway of his hips.
Yep! Lucy liked surrounding herself with gay men. They had a lot in common. And it wasn’t an extreme attraction to Gerard Butler, either. But boy, could they do hair!
“I got the photos developed.” He held up a black leather portfolio in triumph.
“Do you really think you have a shot at Model America?”
“Hell yeah.” He sashayed and placed a hand on his hip. “I know how to work it. Naomi Campbell ain’t got nada on me.”
“Better not let Naomi hear that, or you may end up in the hospital with a case of cell phone abuse.”
“Puh-lease! She only does that to her assistants.” Gerardo took off his camera, sat it on the counter, and ran his fingers through his dark slicked-back hair. “Do you want to see the money shot, or what?”
Lucy fought the chuckle that formed deep in her chest. “Money shot? I don’t want to go there. But if you want my honest opinion, I’ll have a peek.”
“You have to try out!” Gerardo sauntered around the counter and plopped the portfolio down. Kicking Serah’s chest with his dainty boot, he yelped. “What the hell?”
Lucy
picked up the heavy box and lugged it to the chair. Her fingers tingled again and she dropped it.
Arrgh! Serah and her security-enabled chest. If she had a choice, she would’ve shoved it up her skinny little ass.
Despite the film of dust and dirt, it was one of Serah’s more unusual finds. Along with the strange inscription and title, the symbols on its surface were expertly carved. Barbed vines and ivy wrapped their way around the edges of the entire box. On the center of the box sat a solitary outline of a handprint with a pentagram carved inside it.
“This box is creepy,” Gerardo said, gazing down at Serah’s box. “My mamá showed me something similar when we still lived in Mexico. ‘Muy malvado,’ she would say. Very evil.”
She rolled her eyes. Yep, definitely designed to get everyone to church. “It’s a bunch of crap. I already told Serah to get her money back.”
“It isn’t crap,” Gerardo said, his Latino accent getting thicker. “Mamá’s told me stories you wouldn’t believe. She never lied.”
“Whatever, Gerardo.” Brushing a strand of dishwater blonde hair from her forehead, Lucy took a quick glance in the mirror. Dark circles lined her eyes and her cheeks were sunken. She needed a nap. But for some reason, she couldn’t sleep. “Let’s check out your headshot.”
“You’re gonna love it!” He clapped his hands with giddy excitement. Ripping open the portfolio, he pulled out his photo and held it up with pride.
Lucy’s eyes boggled. Gerardo lay across a lavender-and-green speckled tarp with his violet pleather clad legs kicked high in the air. His tight green-and-purple striped chest jutted out like a peacock, feathers included. What was the deal with feathers? And here Frankie had called himself the flamer.
“Nice,” she managed through a chuckle. “But I think GQ wants something a little less showy.”
Gerardo shrugged. “I can do dull and boring, too.” Pulling out some more photos, he thrust them at her. Gerardo had each pose mastered. Wearing a black Armani suit, with his arms crossed, he lounged against a silver Maserati.
“Where’d you find the fancy ride?”
He held his head high, a wide smile spread across his face. “Photoshop, baby. Here’s yours.” He pulled out another 8x10 and slid it across the desk.
Lucy glanced down at the picture. She stared back from the photo, her eyes vacant and mouth wide in with surprise. Her dirty blonde hair hung limp around her head. It looked like she’d been picked up after a hard night of hitting the bottle. “What the hell?”
“Watch your language!” Mrs. Carlson admonished from beneath the dryer.
Ignoring the old bat, Lucy tossed the picture back at Gerardo. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” She grabbed up a bottle of water and took a swig.
“You’re beautiful. It shows your natural element! You should send it to the TV show.”
She choked and snorted, water flying out her nose. Clearing her throat, she shook her head. “So I’m supposed to send this photo in and say, ‘Hey, I want to be a model. Here’s my Nick Nolte?’ I don’t think so.”
Gerardo picked up the photo and shoved it back into the portfolio. “Whatever. I’ll just take another picture.”
“Let’s not and say we did, okay?” Modeling wasn’t her thing, anyway. “Enough with the pictures, Ger. Your haircut will be here any minute.”
Gerardo nodded and sauntered toward his station. “Where’s Frankie? He owes me fifty.”
“I gave him the day off.”
Gerardo rolled his eyes. “That’s nice of you.”
“It’s the least I could do, after Mrs. Gunderson’s paraffin foot bath.”
Gerardo’s eyes widened as he scanned the shop. “What happened to Suzie?”
“She called in again.” Lucy snorted. “Then Frankie called to say he ran into her at the tanner. So Suzie is no more.” Didn’t anyone ever warn her about the dangers of UV rays? Oh well, it wasn’t her skin Suzie pumped full of carcinogens. Got melanoma?
“Sucks to be Suzie,” Gerardo murmured. “You gonna hire someone to replace her?”
“We haven’t been that busy lately.” Then again, losing Suzie was probably a blessing. One less person to pay.
“What? Who’s going to take care of the pedicures?”
Lucy flashed a devious smile. “Why, you and Frankie, of course.”
He huffed. “Gee, thanks.” Pouting, he crossed his arms and turned his back. Can’t please them all.
Sucking in a deep breath, she turned her attention back to the chest. Although Gerardo said it was evil, even with its strange electromagnetic shield and bizarre etchings and carvings, Lucy didn’t get that vibe at all. Weird? Yeah. Mysterious? You bet. Evil? Nah. She usually had a good sixth sense about those things. She looked forward to Serah’s little escapade tonight—lunar eclipse and all.
Filled with an odd curiosity, Lucy wandered over to the chest. Running her fingers across the engravings and inscription, she allowed the tingles to travel up her fingers and into her body. She moved to the handprint in the center of the chest. Amazed at the perfect fit, she closed her eyes. It was as if the imprint molded to her hand. Warmth spread throughout her entire body, right to the pit of her stomach, then moving lower.
Oh dear.
The doorbells chimed, ending her semi-orgasmic encounter with Serah’s… erm… chest. Ripping her hand from the box, she turned toward the door.
Speak of the devil. In pranced Serah, holding two department store bags in each hand, while two others were stuffed under her arms. “Hey! Check out my new shoes!” She wiggled her red polka dot patent leather kitten-heeled slide as if she were Cinderella admiring her new glass slippers. How the hell could she wear shoes like that in the dead of winter?
Lucy raised her eyebrow in bemused wonder. Here, just the night before, she’d complained about destroying her most recent antique store purchase. Wasn’t there anything thing else she did besides shop? Not a discriminatory shopper either. Lucy turned a covert eye to her chest and back to the gaudy designer shoes. Old, new, weird, ugly. Serah would buy anything.
Red wasn’t her color, but it went well with Serah’s bouncy brunette curls. “Cute, if you like fire engine red polka dots.”
“Cool, because I bought you a pair… in purple.” She dropped all her bags, except the one in her left hand, on the floor. Rummaging inside the bag, she pulled out a shoebox and ripped it open. “Look!”
“You shouldn’t have,” Lucy said, taking the box from her. She really shouldn’t have. They’d come in handy, along with the other two hundred or so other pairs of shoes she’d bought Lucy over the years.
Gerardo attacked her other bags, oohing and ahhing at their contents. Some might think it odd, but Lucy wasn’t into the fashion and style thing. She’d much rather be stuck in a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers than some of those torture devices those divas try to pass off as shoes. For someone who was on her feet all day, some of those shoes made no sense. She didn’t want to end up with feet like Mrs. Gunderson, anyway.
Lucy turned a surreptitious gaze back to the chest. What was the deal with it? She grumbled beneath her breath. She was almost as excited as Serah—if not more. Maybe it was contagious? Whatever it was or whatever it held, it was now a distraction. And Serah had to take it with her.
“Hey, Serah. Gerardo’s scared of your box.” Lucy just couldn’t resist. “You need to take it with you when you leave.”
Serah rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Are we still on for tonight?” Her eyes twinkled with childish delight.
“Yeah, sure.” Lucy wouldn’t let her know she was excited to open the box. Perhaps it was excitement about holding the episode over Serah’s head after nothing happened. Yes, that was it. It had to be. Hell in a box? How absurd!
***
“I should sue you!” Mrs. Carlson shrieked. “My hair is ruined!” Fuming, she glared at the mirror. “I look like a giant mushroom!”
Lucy had nothing to say. She truly did look like a giant mushroom. Like she’d
just stepped from the 1970s where the people wore their afros with pride. A big puff of gray frizzy hair burst from her head. If this had been a comedy, Lucy would’ve been rolling on the floor laughing. But it wasn’t a comedy. It was her life.
“It’s not so bad, Mrs. Carlson,” she lied. This was the worst hair disaster ever. Even worse than giving the sheriff’s wife pink highlights. And it couldn’t have happened to a worse person.
Mrs. Carlson spun around and glared at her, her gray eyes blazing. “You did this on purpose! I’m ruined.”
Lucy sighed as she remembered those people who say, “Cheer up. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back.” Maybe if it was a bad cut or something minor. The fact that it involved Mrs. Carlson meant they were on the verge of World War Three.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. C. No charge. I’ll fix it, I promise.”
Gerardo glanced up from his twelve-year-old’s haircut. “Holy shi… shiitake!” The kid’s mother looked up from her magazine in the waiting area and scowled.
There went his raise. She turned her attention back to Mrs. Carlson. “How about we wash it and go from there. In a few days, if the curl doesn’t loosen, I’ll straighten it.”
“I have a charity auction tonight, you witch.” She snarled like a pit bull ready to attack a jogger’s leg. Spittle formed at the sides of her mouth.
Lucy cringed.
She offered her everything under the sun, from pedicures, to facials, to a body wrap. The woman wouldn’t budge. What a huge stick in the mud. Then again, she refused the mud bath too. Lucy turned to Gerardo who just sat in his chair in bemusement. Fat lot of help he was.
She tempted pulling her hair as she racked her brain for answers. On purpose? Lucy couldn’t believe it! She who came in every other week for some silly reason? She who harped nonstop about breaking her soon-to-be married son’s heart? Lucy wasn’t even as fine of a catch as the richer-than-sin Larissa Harding. Why did she hold such a grudge? And here Lucy thought Larissa was a blessing in disguise and would get Mrs. Carlson off her ass. But she never counted on the mother of her ex-boyfriend having the memory of an elephant.
“Help me out here, Mrs. C. What can I do to make it better?” If that wasn’t a loaded question, she didn’t know what was.
