by Sidney Ayers
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rafe.” With a turn of her heels, she stalked to her mother. Her graying dark blonde hair hung limp around her head, her ocean blue eyes wide and pleading. If there was one thing her mom was good at, it was the puppy-dog look.
“Quit the dramatic, Mom. I’ll do your hair.”
She crossed her arms and pouted. “Lucia…”
“Fine. I’ll do your makeup too.” She pointed a finger. “But that’s it.” Why did her mother have to care so much about her appearance? She didn’t need any help. She was fifty and didn’t look a day over forty. Lucy could only hope to be so lucky. She snuck a gaze to Rafe and Kalli, who whispered in the corner. Never mind that, she was that lucky… or maybe unlucky. She had yet to find out.
Rafael sat in the chair next to Lucy’s mother, amazed at the resemblance. Both women had beautiful dark blonde hair, delicate cheekbones and delightful clefts in their chins. The only thing besides age that set them apart was their eyes, each woman’s beautiful in its own unique way. Where Mrs. Gregory’s were the color of a placid ocean, Lucy’s were a mixture of lush greens and exotic amber—breathtaking. Her enchantment became too much. Even the presence of her mother did little to slake his desire. He needed to speak to the council, and he needed to speak to them soon—before winter officially rolled in. Kalli had mentioned the solstice. How could he have forgotten? Keeping himself isolated in Limbo had faded his knowledge of the Earth and its cosmic proportions. When the Earth ceased to revolve, the underworld would still exist. It was immortal, after all.
“Stop staring at them, Rafe,” Kalli said as she leaned in and snipped a few hairs. “You’re making her mother uncomfortable.”
Rafael grumbled. “I understand, but something’s amiss. Two Pure-Bloods within the same city limits?” He shook his head. “Not bloody likely.”
“What makes you think they’re Pure-Bloods?” Kalli ran a comb through his hair and snipped.
Not that he worried about how much she’d cut, it’d grow back in a matter of an hour, regardless. Such the luck for an immortal. Only the strongest of demons could change their appearances. Not that he wasn’t strong, he just happened to like his hair. And Lucy liked it too. What in the deities? Where had that come from? Stupid enchantment. He had to speak to the council. He’d waited too long.
“Do you have any other brilliant suggestions?”
“There haven’t been any Pure-Bloods in twenty-five years. The Infernati wiped them out.” She set the scissors down. “The last one was burned alive in her home.”
“Where?”
Kalli scratched beneath one of her rough locks. “Chicago.”
“That’s not far from here.” Rafael knew he grasped at straws, but his options dwindled.
“True, but Lucy’s mom had carnal relations with an incubus. What’s not to say that that incubus simply gave her his protection?”
Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair. “An incubus protecting his victim? You’re losing your touch.”
“It’s time you realized I had a touch to begin with.” She thrust him the mirror and turned him around to examine his back. “You like?”
With a quick nod, he swiveled the chair back to stare his friend in the eye. “Good job.” Sure, he and Kalli didn’t agree on things, but he still admired her. She was the best damned cleaner the Paladins had, and she was the best stylist they had too. There wasn’t anything the demoness couldn’t do. “I can’t take any more chances. I need to speak to the council.” Something didn’t add up.
“There is more than the possibility of the Pure-Bloods that concerns you,” Kalli leaned in to whisper. “I sense it.” Kalli’s lips spread into a devious grin. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?”
Was it that obvious? With that information, Kalli could bring him down. Not that she would. But— “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a Paladin. We’re immune to succubi.”
“All right then. Sorry I suggested it.” Kalli snickered. “Demons have needs too, you know.” She twirled a purple dreadlock in her finger. “Even me.”
Yes, he may have needs, but he wouldn’t let his needs fail the Paladins. Too much was at stake. “I don’t want to discuss your needs, Kalli.” Brushing snips of hair from his shoulders and chest, he rose from the chair and turned to lock gazes with Lucy.
Her hazel eyes glinted in disappointment and a small frown curved her lips. Perhaps Kalli hadn’t done that great of a job. “Wow,” she muttered. There was no masking the disappointment that cracked in her voice.
Kalli scrubbed her fingers through her thick mane. “I didn’t think it was that bad.” She snorted in laughter. “Never mind. I did too good of a job.” She knelt to the floor and scooped up some of his discarded hair. Swinging a dark lock in her fingers, she shook her head. “I forgot she said trim. She’ll be pleasantly surprised in a few hours when you have a full head of hair again.” She flung the hair to the floor.
“¡Ay caray! You chopped it off.” Gerardo pranced their way. Reaching down, he snagged a piece of snipped hair.
“¡Madre de Dios!” Gerardo waved his reddened hand frantically. What used to be Rafael’s hair crumbled in the effeminate man’s hand and blew away in a cloud of dust.
Rafael drew in a long breath of air. “See why you must ask for permission first, Gerardo?”
With a downturned gaze, Gerardo nodded. “Talk about ‘killer hair.’”
Apparently, Lucy’s smartass sense of humor was contagious. Didn’t surprise him one bloody bit. Tossing him a stern glare, Kalli reached down and grabbed Gerardo’s hand, drawing her fingertips over his singed palm. “Any better?”
“Wow, that’s awesome! What you got in those hands? Aloe vera?”
“Something like that,” Kalli muttered. “I’ll take care of the hair. Go handle the client who just walked in.”
He clapped his hands with excitement. “You’re a regular Florence Nightingale.” Gerardo turned and flashed a friendly smile and swished toward the desk to greet the customer. Rafael shuddered. Never in his four hundred and fifty-five years had he seen a man move his hips in such a way.
With a quick scrub of his recently shorn hair, Rafael shook his head. Humans were bizarre. Then again, here he was saddled with an impanzee. He sidled a gaze toward Squeaky, who sat snuggled in Serah’s arms. How bloody strange.
Squeaky, sensing the perusal, looked up. “Stop staring, buffoon, and get going.”
“I plan on it,” he grumbled. And the next business after the chest would be the assignment of a new familiar—preferably one whose voice didn’t grate on his eardrums.
“Plan on what?” Frankie asked, eyes glued to the tabloid in front of him. Flipping the page, he let out a loud chuckle. “Lucy, listen to this… ‘Child Compelled by Demon Eats Family Pet.’” More laughter erupted. “‘A ten-year-old boy from Jackson, Mississippi, grabbed Nibbles, the family guinea pig, and bit its head off.’” Frankie wrinkled his nose and cringed. “‘When questioned why he killed the pet, the little boy said, “The Golden Guy made me do it.”’ That’s crazy.”
“What’s the kid’s name? Ozzy Osbourne?” Gerardo asked, his head thrown back in laughter.
Rafael’s jaw twitched. They had no idea of the evil surrounding them… infecting them. The fact that they acted so glib regarding such a terrible incident irked him. “Human suffering is no laughing matter.”
“Human suffering?” Frankie asked, eyes wide in shock. “It’s entertainment. Most of it isn’t true.” He shook his head, mirth rolling from his smile. “I’m sure the kid didn’t really bite off a guinea pig’s head.”
Rafael narrowed his eyes into a scowl. “How do you know it isn’t?”
Frankie opened his mouth to speak, his eyes sparking.
“Frankie…” Lucy warned.
Frankie lowered his lids. “Fine, Lucy.”
Rafael shook his head. Impressive. Her commanding presence left him awed—again.
As she brushed a light-brown gooey substance onto h
er mother’s hair, Lucy flashed Rafael a gaze with just as much warning. It chilled him to the core. He didn’t like his reaction. He was through hemming and hawing. He’d go to the council now. Kalli was capable of protecting Lucy. She’d be in good hands.
“I have to leave for a few hours. I need to speak to the Fore—” He darted a gaze toward Lucy’s mother. Despite the bizarre ooze on her head, she sat tall and proud. He allowed his gaze to examine the younger woman. Like mother, like daughter. The only thing different besides their eyes was the effect Lucy had on him. Energy pulsed through him at the devious thought. He throbbed in a place he didn’t want to. His body tingled.
“Uhh… what I meant to say was I need to meet with my… ahh… boss.”
“Boss?” Lucy, although she tried—rather admirably—to control herself, snorted in laughter. She had a cute laugh, Rafael noted. And her voice, it melted him. More tempting than that of a siren who caused sailors trouble. Demons, every last one of them. Now he was affected all over again.
“Yes,” Kalli chimed in. “He has to present his report.” She pushed him toward the door. “Poor guy’s nervous as a cat in a rocking chair factory. Right?”
Rafael slanted his eyes into a penetrating glare. “Not on my life. I look forward to it.”
“I’m sure you do.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Good luck, Mr. Deleon.”
His heart plummeted. What had he done now? Women! He stopped trying to understand them. He had a hard enough time with demonesses and an even harder time with mortal women. Throw in a half mortal/half sex demon and he was even more clueless. “Thank you, Miss Gregory.” He turned to Lucy’s mother. “Mrs. Gregory, it was lovely to meet you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Deleon. I apologize that I confused you with the help. You’re a true gentleman.” She smiled. “We need more people like you in Connolly Park.”
“You’re welcome.” With that, he threw open the door and turned to Squeaky, motioning to him with his finger. “You. Come. Now.”
He would get this whole imp fiasco settled while he was at it, too.
Squeaky rolled his eyes as he pulled himself from Serah’s arms. “Someone needs a lesson in politeness.”
“Or humility,” Kalli said, sweeping up ashes that were once his hair. Thank goodness Lucy’s mother was too busy enjoying her daughter’s spa treatment to notice.
Rafael stood tall and flexed his arms. “Whatever. There’s too much at stake to be humble.” However, the more time he spent around Lucy, the more humble he became. And it scared the demon out of him—if that was possible.
“Such a party pooper,” Serah sighed out. With a quick pat she prodded the reluctant imp his way. “Go, Squeaky. You’re our only hope.”
Everyone—except him—broke out into laughter. What was wrong with them? Didn’t they realize the urgency of the situation?
“I’ve yet to understand this humor, but now isn’t the time.” Rafael grabbed the imp’s arm and led him to the door. “We’ll be back soon.”
Lucy’s eyes sparked as she set down the brush she’d been using to color her mother’s hair. “Is that a threat or a promise?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
He pushed open the door, the jangling of bells vibrating in his ear. With a quick yank, he pulled Squeaky out the door and walked out into the cold blowing snow. Rafael willed the mists to envelop them and carry them through the portals of Limbo back to the chest.
Chapter 10
The door slammed shut. What was his deal? She needed to get Rafe out of her system fast. She hadn’t been so turned on by a guy in… forever. Even as she stood over her mom and concentrated—scratch that—tried to concentrate on dying her hair, desire rippled its way through her body. She yearned and burned for him to touch her. Not good! Especially when her mother was sitting right in front of her.
“You’re our only hope?” Gerardo rolled his eyes. “Where are your Princess braids?”
Serah twirled a bouncy brunette curl in her finger. “I left them at home. Halloween was two months ago.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “And besides, Princess Leia wore buns in that movie.”
“Oh that’s right.” Gerardo grinned. “I still think she looked the best in that metal bikini. I might be gay, but I still appreciate the feminine form from time to time.”
That’s for certain. After all, hadn’t he and Frankie nearly gone at it with drawn claws for her in the catfight of the century? Where was that camera when they really needed it? She turned her attention back to her mother. She couldn’t believe how encouraging she’d become about her salon. It was like the flame of support had just been lit under her ass. Lucy had yearned for this for so long. Now that she had it, she was completely weirded out.
“Time to tune in to Timbuktu,” she said as she led her to the dryer area. Maybe making lame jokes would change her recent interest in her profession. Hah! This was her mother. Some people—cough—Rafe—thought she was a determined person. Well, they hadn’t met her mother.
It didn’t work. “I’m sorry I wasn’t so supportive, Lucy.”
Whoa! She called her Lucy. This was a leaf she didn’t want to turn. Maybe some other day, but not the day after she found out she was born to suck the life out of unsuspecting men.
“Thanks, Mom,” she said, frustration lacing her voice. Did this woman know when to stop?
Nope. She didn’t.
“I thought you’d be better off doing what your father loved.” She nibbled her lip. “But now I know. You should do what you love.” She traced her fingers over Lucy’s brand-new sterling silver dryer. “In a way it’s like surgery. You do have to cut things, after all.”
“Less blood, too,” Lucy added lamely. Awkward was the understatement of the century. What in the hell was going on?
Serah, attentive friend that she was, stepped in to help with her budding apprehension. “How’s the museum, Mrs. Gregory?”
Mom smiled and provided them with a long dissertation of all the renovations they planned for the Connolly Park Historical Museum. Not that there was much history to be found in the quaint little town, but the women of the historical society were dedicated to preserving Connolly Park’s not-so-vivid beginnings.
“Sounds fascinating,” Lucy mumbled. “I can’t wait to see that Red Brick of A-Line Road exhibit.” Lucy stifled her yawn.
Her mom huffed. “I absolutely hated that idea, but Mrs. Carlson insisted. I’d rather watch paint dry.” Her eyes brightened. “Mine will be much more interesting.”
Probably not by much, if she knew her Mom. “What’s yours?”
“Connolly Park’s bootlegging history.”
Wow! Her mom was becoming creative. The apocalypse must be near. Shock left Lucy speechless. Boggled, baffled, and bewildered. “Did we really have issues with Prohibition?” After all, it was Connolly Park, not Chicago.
“Capone did have a summer home on Lake Michigan,” Serah said with a grin. “At least that’s what I heard.”
Lucy laughed. “I’m sure he had a home for every season, if not more.”
“Makes me wish I lived back then. Good times. Flapper dresses, speakeasies, and gangsters.” Serah’s eyes twinkled in excitement.
“Capone died of syphilis. Good times, indeed.” Lucy patted Serah on the back.
Serah shook her head with exasperation. “Now look who’s party-pooping now.” She looked down at her watch. The same watch she had worn the night before. “Oh! I have to go. I have a client coming in at noon.”
Lucy caught a glimpse of her friend’s hand and cringed. Serah had been hurt! Lucy’s gut clenched. A long scar stretched horizontally across her hand. On each side of the scar, two perfect puncture wounds marred her porcelain skin.
Ouch! Scar? That meant the injury happened a long time ago.
“What happened to your hand?”
Serah looked down and shrugged. “Oh, that.” She waved her hand dismissively, pulling her sweater sleeves over her hands. “It happened before I mov
ed here.”
Noticing Serah’s lack of forthcoming information, Lucy prodded some more. “How come I’ve never seen it before?”
“I don’t know.” Serah bit her lip and wrung her hands. “Sorry, I don’t have time to discuss my childhood injuries. But, if you’re interested, we can compare scars later. I have an awesome one shaped like Djibouti on my ass. Bet you’re wondering why you never saw that one either.” A weak smile peeked from her lips. “Never sit on a rat trap.”
Lucy’s eyebrow jutted up. Regardless of her flippant dismissal, Serah was hiding something. They’d been friends since Serah moved to Connolly Park twenty years ago. But she’d give her friend the benefit of the doubt—for now. “I’ll heed your advice.” Lucy gave her friend a quick hug. “Be careful. If anything strange happens, call me ASAP.”
“Sure thing.” With a quick wave, she threw her coat on. “See you in a few. I’d stay if I could, but this client is huge.”
“No problema,” Lucy said in a pathetic attempt at a New Jersey accent. “See youse later.”
Too bad Squeaky, the Godfather of all chimps, wasn’t there to appreciate her mobster-speak. Not that she’d be winning any Oscars. Her performance was lacking. Then again, so was Squeaky’s.
Serah smiled and nodded as she pulled the door open, then stopped dead in her tracks. “My car! Duh!” She smacked her forehead. “It’s still at your place.”
Brilliant move, Sherlock. Taking the Rio sounded like such a great idea earlier. After all, Rafe said he couldn’t just poof them there because of the human cargo. Like they were illegal immigrants, or something. Lucy grabbed her purse from beneath the counter and pulled out the keys. “Here you go,” she said, throwing the keys to her friend. “If you crash it, I’ll kick your ass.”
“I’ll be gentle.” A deceptively sweet smile swept across her face. Gentle? Hah. Lucy had seen this woman drive. “You have my word.”
Then again, her word was as good as gold. Serah knew she was a woman of her word, too. “One dent, and I’ll flog you with a wet noodle.”
“Ooh! Sounds fun! You know I like my spaghetti kinky.” With that, she waved and scuttled out the door.
