The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  Wow. I don't even know what to say. I wonder, does she have any idea how lucky she is to have a mother who cares about her? Who is still a part of her life? This chick is kind of a brat. What the heck does Russ see in her, anyway?

  Oh, right. The double D's.

  “So how long are you gonna be around?” she wants to know.

  “You mean this afternoon?”

  “No. Like, how long are you visiting for?”

  “Oh. I'm not sure. Actually, I was thinking of staying.” I only say that to see how she reacts.

  It's about what I expected. Her pert little nose wrinkles in disapproval. “What? Like, living here? Permanently?”

  So help me God, if she says like one more time, my ears are going to start bleeding. I just know it.

  “It is my house,” I politely point out.

  “Really?” For some reason, this seems to surprise her. “Now that's weird. Russ told me he owned this place.”

  Ah. That explains a lot.

  “Half,” I inform her. “Our parents left it to both of us. Equally.”

  “Oh-h. Well, I guess that makes sense.” She's caught somewhere between a frown and a full-on pout. “Um...I don't know if he told you, but before all this happened, we were talking about moving in together. Like, here. 'Cause, you know, my apartment's kind of small and everything. It's gonna be a little awkward having a third party around, don't you think?”

  What's absurd is that I know she's referring to me as the third party, and not herself. Mentally I count to ten while reminding myself that she's just been through a traumatic experience.

  “Nothing's set in stone. I still haven't made my mind up yet.” There. My good deed for the day – refraining from telling this airhead where she can stick it. It's hard to believe she's older than me. I feel like I'm carrying on a conversation with a thirteen-year-old.

  She goes back to tapping the screen in her hand. After a moment, she grudgingly allows, “I guess it could be okay. Like, at least I'd have someone to hang out with when Russ isn't around.”

  How big of her, to grant me permission to remain in my own home.

  “Do you think they'll come back for me?”

  Her question is so random, for a moment I'm not sure what she's talking about. “Do I think who...oh. You mean the aliens?”

  “Yeah.” Looking up from the phone, she peers at me anxiously, and once again I'm flooded with an overwhelming sense of pity. This poor girl doesn't know up from down right now. Like me, she's struggling to keep things normal, when the world around us has eclipsed into madness.

  “I don't think they'd have any reason to,” I tell her reassuringly.

  “I could get hypnotized. That might help me remember.”

  “It might.” Although God only knows what madness that would dredge up. “Or it might make things worse.”

  “That's what I was thinking.” Her eyes drift off into space. “You know, I'm not sure I want to remember. I have this feeling...I'm not sure why, but I feel like whatever happened, it was something bad. I mean, really bad. I don't think I want to know. Not now. Someday, maybe.”

  As much as I want to find the missing pieces of the puzzle, to put together the whole picture, I know I can't do it through her. She's far too fragile. Wherever Skylar was, whatever happened in those days during her absence, it's something that needs to remain buried behind the wall of her subconscious.

  “You want my advice?” I offer. “It's probably best to put this whole thing behind you. Pack it up and stow it away, just forget about it and go on with your life. If you ask me, nothing good can come from trying to unearth repressed memories. They're repressed for a reason.”

  “I agree.” From the top of the staircase, Russ chimes in as he jogs down the steps. Judging from the way he's dressed – track pants and a sweatshirt that says Don't Go Bacon My Heart – he isn't planning on heading out today.

  “You know, Phil's going to can your ass if you keep missing work,” I warn him.

  “Nah, it's all good. Can't do much with a fucked-up hand anyway.” Squeezing into the recliner beside Skylar, he wraps an arm around her and hugs her. And the way she looks at him...well, I guess I kind of get why he's so crazy about her. She's looking at him with an almost starstruck expression. Like he hung the moon itself as a gift just for her.

  There's someone for everyone, I suppose.

  “I'm not ready to let you out of my sight,” he tells her. To which she responds with an aww and then they proceed to dive in with the tongue wrestling like I'm not even there.

  Oh, man...ick.

  I could point out that she was out of his sight the whole time he was taking his shower, but something tells me neither of them are going to be listening. So instead of hanging around while things get progressively more awkward, I tactfully excuse myself to my room. Obviously those two want to be left alone so they can swallow each other's faces. I'm just hoping they keep it downstairs because I do not want to hear whatever goes on in Russell's bedroom.

  I try to find something on Netflix to watch, but nothing piques my interest. Having rested very little last night, I could easily take a nap, but I really need to get out of the habit of staying up all night and sleeping the day away. Instead, I run myself a hot bath and immerse myself, relaxing and reflecting on the day's events.

  By the time I've finished drying my hair and getting dressed, I feel revitalized. The question now is, what should I do today? If I were planning on staying, I could take my resume into town and hit up a few places in person. The gray sweater dress and over-the-knee black boots I'm wearing are nice enough for a job search, if I add a belt and a stylish necklace maybe.

  Only, hadn't I pretty much decided that it would be better if I left?

  Drumming my fingers on the dresser, I gaze into the mirror while trying to determine what to do. On the one hand, as Skylar so eloquently pointed out, it might be awkward for me to be here if she's serious about moving in with Russ.

  On the other hand, screw her. It isn't her place to make me feel like an intruder in my own home.

  And of course, there's Max...

  Maybe it just wasn't meant to be, I reason. How can I even think of trying to cultivate a relationship with Max when I have this whole demon deal hanging over my head? The timing couldn't be worse. Maybe someday down the road, sure, but for now...

  As much as I hate to admit it, for the time being at least, Locryn Price owns my ass.

  My eyes flicker to a movement in the mirror, and I catch the reflection a split second before I spin around, my heart slamming against my chest at the sight of him.

  Speak of the devil and he doth appear.

  Stretched out along the seat of my bay window, ankles crossed and hands laced casually behind his head, smiling like the world's most smug Cheshire cat.

  “Well, hello there, lover. Did you miss me?”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Seventeen

  Strangely enough, the first thing I notice is his scarlet silk shirt.

  The color shouldn't surprise me, but in my defense I've never seen him in anything other than black. The crimson shirt and gray slacks are a startling contrast. I'm struck speechless for a moment because hot damn, if I thought he was breathtaking before...

  Homina homina.

  “You haven't been gone long enough to be missed,” I hiss in a whisper, when I remember how to talk. “How'd you get in here anyway? You scared the hell out of me.”

  “Same way I got out. Through the door.”

  I can hear Skylar giggling downstairs, so obviously no one has noticed his presence. “Ever hear of knocking?” I grumble.

  “Now why didn't I think of that?” Even his sarcasm comes off sounding charming, somehow. “But I don't know, Russ would have been so delighted to see me, he probably would have asked me in for coffee, and then I'd feel obligated to invite him over for coffee, and it would just turn into this whole back-and-forth reciprocation type thing that never ends...”

&nb
sp; “What do you want?” As if I didn't know.

  “I've come to collect you. If I'm not mistaken, your attendance is mandatory for a certain upcoming social event. Might want to pack a bag for this one.”

  “Why? Are we going somewhere?” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how wretchedly stupid they sound.

  “Well, we could stay here and put on quite the performance for your brother and his duck-lipped slag, if you're into that sort of thing.” His lewd grin stretches wider. “Are you into that sort of thing? I wouldn't have pegged you as the exhibitionist type, but then again I've always heard it's the squeaky clean preacher's daughters you have to watch out for.”

  “You're disgusting! Do you know that?”

  “Now, now. While I appreciate the flattery, it really isn't necessary. As I told you before, I'm a sure thing.”

  I glare at him. He thinks he's so funny.

  “Clock's ticking, love. You might want to hurry.”

  Shooting him one last dirty look, I pull my overnight bag out of the closet and hastily start filling it with essentials. “How long will we be gone?”

  “Just a day or two. Maybe three. Depends on how...entertaining I find you.”

  “You know what? You're not disgusting. You're motherfucking revolting!”

  “Such a sweet little mouth you have! Oh, and don't forget your shave gel, darling. I like my women the way I like my whiskey...smooth and easy going down.”

  “Ha! Keep dreaming,” I retort, stuffing a pair of rolled-up jeans into the bag. “Nobody's going down on anybody. That wasn't part of the bargain.”

  “No? Well, I'm always open to renegotiation.”

  “How very generous of you,” I snap over my shoulder as I head into the bathroom. I'm so nervous, my shaking hands manage to drop my toothbrush twice. So it's to be sooner rather than later. Just as well. The quicker we get this done and over with, the better. Or at least, that's my mantra. I mean, it's not as if I want this. It's not as if I'm looking forward to it in any capacity.

  It's not as if the mere idea of seeing Locryn Price naked is making my knees weak and my insides quivery.

  No, it's not that at all.

  I stalk back into my room to find him standing, hands in his pockets, gazing critically at the protection pentacle above my bed. Wrinkling his brow, he glances over at me with a look of disdain.

  “What exactly was this supposed to accomplish?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think Max should stick to driving an ambulance and leave the art to Monet.” Lowering his head, Loc closes his eyes for a moment before raising them to glare at the pentacle contemptuously. Never taking his eyes off it, he chants something under his breath, and to my amazement the paint begins to run down the wall like chalk melting in the rain.

  I guess I shouldn't be surprised. But damn, how does he do that?

  “What am I supposed to tell Russ?” I ask, still staring at the wall in fascination.

  “Why do you have to tell him anything?”

  “Uh...maybe because he'll have an aneurysm if I just disappear!”

  “Certainly wouldn't want that to happen, would we?” Shooting me a snarky look, Loc takes the overnight bag from my hands and slings the strap over his shoulder. “You can send him a text later, if it makes you feel better.”

  “I don't have my phone.”

  “Ah, that's right...you gave it to that lumbering oaf, didn't you?”

  I don't bother asking how he knows that Owen has my phone. It's doubtful I'd get a straight answer anyway.

  “Ready to go?” Pressing a hand against the small of my back, he nudges me in the direction of the door.

  But my feet don't seem to want to move. They're rooted to the floor in panic, as if my body senses what my brain is too dense to figure out.

  This won't end well. This CAN'T end well.

  “Can we...wait a minute. Wait. I just need to...just give me a second, okay?”

  He looks down at me, his expression inexplicably softening. Reaching out a hand, he brushes my hair back with a touch as gentle as a butterfly.

  “I have no intention of hurting you, Jude. You do know that, don't you?”

  “No, I don't know that,” I whisper, closing my eyes. Does he really expect me to believe him?

  “I'm not a fiend, darling.” Pausing to brush his lips against my temple, he amends, “I'm different – yes, I'll give you that. I know what I am. I don't deny it. And I know what you think me capable of. But you must believe that I would never hurt you. You'll be safe with me, Judith Sterling. I give you my word. And my word is my bond.”

  “You...swear?”

  “I'll protect you with my life. I swear it. Now let's-”

  “What the FUCK!”

  Startled, I swivel my head just in time to catch the blur of Russ charging at Loc, his one good hand clenched in a fist and face contorted in rage. Yet before he can reach us, he is suddenly thrown backward through the air, slamming into the wall like a limp rag doll.

  Only no one laid a finger on him.

  Gasping, I take an automatic step forward, but a strong grip on my forearm prevents me from going any farther. Poor Russ, his expression is a mixture of bewilderment and blind fury. He's struggling to break free, but it's as if unseen hands are holding him pinned in place.

  Shocked, I look over at Loc to find that he has his free arm outstretched, two fingers pointed menacingly at my brother.

  “Stop! What are you doing – don't hurt him!”

  “Hurt him? Oh, please.” His voice is lilting with delight. He's enjoying himself. “Does he look hurt to you? Other than his escalating blood pressure, he's fine. I'm just ensuring that we can leave without any unnecessary delays.”

  “Let him go, Loc!”

  “I will. Once we're gone.”

  “I'm gonna rip your fucking heart out, you piece of shit!” Russell's face is turning a bright shade of purple, he's so mad.

  “Russ!” I hear Skylar's voice as she comes running up the stairs. “What are you hollering about? What's going on?” She freezes in the doorway to gape open-mouthed at his peculiar posture, then turns her head to give us a baffled look.

  “Sky...run...get the hell out of here!” he shouts, jerking his pinioned arms in a vain attempt to free himself from what appears to be nothing.

  “What...what's...” Skylar takes a step back, her eyes glued to Locryn. She's staring at him as if he's someone she recognizes, but can't quite place.

  Naturally, he can't resist toying with her. “Well, look who's here! The forty-watt version of Hannah Montana. And how was your trip into outer space? Did the aliens give you a desperately needed check-up from the neck up?”

  Her mouth falls open even wider.

  “Let's just go,” I urge him, catching my brother's eye long enough to give him an apologetic look. I'm hoping he can read into it, can understand that what I'm trying to say is, I have no choice. Please forgive me.

  He wrestles harder against the invisible force. “Jude, what are you doing? NO!”

  “It's okay. I have to go.”

  “Go – what are you talking about? Go where? You don't have to go anywhere! What's he told you? Don't listen to him – whatever he's said, it's a lie, don't believe it!”

  “I'll be home soon,” I promise. “Don't worry. I'll be fine.”

  “That's right.” Loc pats him loftily on the cheek as we're leaving. “Because I'll be taking extra special care of dear little sister. What can I say? She offered her honor, and soon I'll be honoring her offer.”

  “You're dead, motherfucker! You hear me? You touch her and you're dead! You're fucking DEAD!”

  “Cheers, mate.” Escorting me into the hallway, he leans in to murmur, “Bit high-strung, isn't he? Does he take in a lot of caffeine?”

  The scream and the crash come out of nowhere, and it takes a moment to process what's happened. Skylar – can you believe it? – has grabbed my bedside lamp and swung it across the back of
Locryn's head, smashing the ceramic base to smithereens. Her high-pitched screeching would almost be comical, if not for the circumstances.

  “Take your hands off her, you...you Martian freak! I have an orange belt in jujitsu and I am not afraid to use it!”

  I have to say, in that moment I'm pretty damn proud of the girl.

  Her bravado, however, is wasted on Loc. He merely brushes the shattered bits of ceramic off his silk shirt and turns to glare at her in annoyance, muttering, “Really?” Then, with a casual flick of his hand, he sends her sliding backward on her heels, pulled by the same unseen force that is holding my brother prisoner.

  The last thing I see before the door slams shut of its own accord is the dumbfounded expression on poor Skylar's face. And although I'm trying very hard to tune it out, I can still hear my brother's frantic pleas.

  “Don't do this, Jude! Please, please come back – don't let him do this!”

  Stony-faced, I follow Loc outside to a black Rolls Royce that is waiting for us, idling in the dirt driveway. The windows are very darkly tinted so I can't see who, if anyone, is inside.

  “How long are you going to keep them like that?” Stopping a few feet away from the limo, I turn to confront Loc. I'm not going anywhere with him until he assures me that Russ and Skylar will be okay.

  “Just long enough to prevent them from trying to follow us. What did you think? I told you I wouldn't hurt them. Dear brother's mad as a hornet and will be for a while, but he'll get over it.” Shaking his head, Loc chuckles to himself. “Bloody hell at the theatrics! You'd think I was hauling you off to the gallows to be hanged. What a fuss.”

  I pull my attention away from him to gawk at the towering, bone-thin man who has just appeared from the opposite side of the car. Tipping his cap, he opens the door for me. I can't see his eyes behind those dark sunglasses, but the skeletal grin that stretches across his face is both frightening and unpleasantly familiar.

  What have I gotten myself into? I inch closer to Loc as he hands the man my bag without a word. I keep my distance from the walking cadaver until he's disappeared, then quickly dive into the car before I have a chance to chicken out. The seat is white leather, soft and luxuriously comfy, and there is a flat screen TV and a mini bar. Best of all, there is a partition between us and the driver, so at least I don't have to be reminded of his presence.