How to Lose a Demon in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  She felt Grace’s pain as acutely as her own and it was breaking her heart. Seraphim would have none of that, especially from that douche bag Michael. The mobster’s mother was just as evil, and she, too, would have her day of reckoning. It would not be a blessed day in the Grigorovich household when Seraphim Stregaria came a-calling, which would happen soon. It was about to get pretty damned ugly, truth be told. Damn Michael. Damn the man straight to Hell, and not in the way that he wanted.

  She’d called Hades earlier, but had gotten Ethelred and his platitudes about why a revolt in Hell right now could be a very bad thing. Not that Seraphim cared about the hierarchy of Hell when it was ranked against her granddaughter. Hades could fend quite well for himself. Even if he were deposed, he’d be fine. He could just hang out at her pad until he rallied his troops or whatever. Though, that would be a mess. Battle plans, armor, and war-demons hanging about everywhere . . . ? No, she really couldn’t have that. Her enchanted forest was already smothering her, and she was by herself. No, she couldn’t imagine her lovely little home packed to the gills with demons.

  What was truly smothering her was frustration at not being able to do more for her granddaughter. Thunder boomed overhead, and Seraphim schooled her thoughts. This plane responded to her moods, and she took a deep breath and brought the sunshine back.

  A new plan formed, and she knew just the necessary ingredients. First, there was a hooker. Not just any hooker, of course, but the one that Michael had strangled and left in a Dumpster. She knew that Grace wanted to raise her as a Bean Sidhe, but there were better options out there. To enact them, she needed a few rare ingredients only found in Haiti.

  Well, to be honest, the ingredients were available in other places than just Haiti, but it was more likely that Stregaria would be able to find them all together there. She needed Bresillet, Pomme Cajou, Calmador, and Pois Gratter. Hell, she’d be able to find them already ground up into a fine powder in Haiti if she played her cards right. And she usually did play her cards right. It was a gift.

  She needed the hooker first, though, and Seraphim did not fancy traipsing about through a landfill at this ungodly hour of the night. Not to mention that her shoes were new. Witchy, as she liked to say. Adorable little heels, purple-and-black spectator-style, she just loved them. She’d found them in the Pyramid Collection catalog, and she couldn’t imagine what they would look like and of course smell like when she got back.

  She briefly considered riding her broom, but that would be awfully obvious, and it wasn’t a two-seater. She’d need a sidecar. If she reanimated the corpse before rubbing it down with the secondary potion, she could maybe get it back to her lair, but zombies hated flying and were no good at it. Puked-up entrails from motion sickness were not Seraphim’s idea of a good time, either, especially since they were usually crawling with things she’d rather not consider.

  And, Seraphim didn’t want a zombie. She wanted something else. The girl’s soul had to be hanging around, crying for vengeance, and it could be given just that. Seraphim knew her own soul would be eager under the same circumstances.

  “Hades,” she called out, deciding to try again. He’d been gone for some time, but she fully expected an answer. In the old days, before his seventy-year vanishing trick, it wasn’t like him to just go away after sex like a normal man. He’d seemed to like hanging around for the afterglow or something. Maybe she should write her own gothic about Devil-shagging and give the dark bastard a heart. Wouldn’t that be funny? Better yet, she could make him fall in love with a mortal who didn’t have one. It was no less than he deserved. Even after their recent encounter, she was still mad at him for leaving her high and dry—not to mention gravid.

  Seraphim sighed heavily. Oh, how she missed Aurora. The loss of a child? Awful. It was the same pain that her beloved Grace was now feeling, though Seraphim had the comfort of knowing Aurora was safe, that she was in a better place, and preparing for another turn on the Great Wheel. Grace had no such comfort and she never would, no matter what happened. Even if she discovered Michael’s ruse, it would be a kind of forever death for the child. Such was the magick he’d used. Rotten, misbegotten son of a whore! Oh, Seraphim would show Michael and Nadja, all right.

  “Hades, I know you can hear me.”

  When still she received no reply, Seraphim stomped her foot in a fine fit. Sparks shot from the heel of her shoe and ignited, bursting forth into true flames and then a figure. Leave it to Hades to make an entrance.

  “Too much?” He’d appeared with tail, cape, and pitchfork. The little villain mustache was just overkill. Not to say it wasn’t sexy as all hell. It was.

  Seraphim pinched her fingers together with a small space in between. “Maybe a bit.”

  “You bellowed?”

  “I certainly did not ‘bellow.’ I called because I need your help.”

  “Again, woman? Don’t you know that’s why you’re the Baba Yaga? So that you can accomplish things on your own.”

  “I am the Baba Yaga, yes. But I don’t fancy zombie juice all over my new broom or shoes.”

  Hades shook his head. “You’re a difficult little baggage, just like your granddaughter.”

  “What’s the common denominator there? Aside from the obvious.”

  He eyed her. “Oh, no way are you blaming this on me.”

  “I wasn’t trying to blame anyone. Grace is a lovely and talented witch. You should be so lucky if any part of her is because of you.”

  Hades sighed. “Look, I’m kind of in the middle of something. What is it that you want?”

  “A dead hooker.”

  “You can’t get that by yourself? Wait—what are you going to do with a dead hooker?” Hades’ brow furrowed.

  “I want the one Michael killed.”

  “Honey, there’s about forty-two of those at least. I stopped counting a few years back.”

  Seraphim clarified. “The most recent one, I think. She’s a redheaded virago. Her soul burns as brightly as her hair.”

  “Oh, that dead hooker.” Hades looked thoughtful again, an expression that always brought a lump of dread to her stomach like a gallon of thick oatmeal. “What do I get out of it?”

  “What haven’t you had already?”

  Seraphim double-damned her tongue for running away with itself. This really wasn’t the best way to bargain with the Devil. She should have made him think that she had something he didn’t, something he’d have to have or suffer endless, eternal agonies. He’d always been a lot like a crow, lining his nest with shiny things, but as soon as he had them, they lost their glow and he was off in search of the next. Most people were like this, to her mind, but Hades in particular. Because he looked so damned good doing it, however, it was hard to deny him, with or without his deals, contracts, or fine print.

  “Your heart.”

  Seraphim’s mouth fell open like she was a largemouth bass with a hook in her cheek. It flopped around in a similar way. She couldn’t quite seem to flap it shut. It was like the tendon was severed and her jaw was surfing gravity, just like most other parts of her had been doing recently—at least, until she’d run into Hades again. She hadn’t been able to resist an urge to tighten certain things and lift others a little bit. Being a witch had to have some perks.

  “I’m immortal and all that, but it would still hurt to have you take it out of my chest,” she announced. “What would you do with it, anyway? Keep it in a jar on your fireplace to show company?”

  “You are ever the thickheaded lass, aren’t you? I just want you to say that you love me, Sera. That’s how I want your heart.”

  Seraphim tried to haggle. “Are you sure you wouldn’t just rather pull it beating from my chest? I think I’d like that better.”

  “Nope. That’s all you have left to give that I haven’t had.”

  “I don’t think I can do it,” she said.

  “You didn’t even try.” His cape deflated and his pitchfork disappeared. The tail still wandered about. She’d
bet it would be creeping up her leg in a minute.

  “Oh, but I did. See what a lost cause this is?” Seraphim shrugged as if she were a helpless child.

  Hades crossed his arms. “I guess you better try some more.”

  “Really, it just won’t work,” she said. “Besides, after I give that up, what would I have left to bargain with?”

  What she’d really meant to say was: After she admitted she loved him, then what would she do? She’d be alone with her feelings. That love could be just as heavy a burden as hatred. Sometimes more so. If she didn’t admit it to herself, she didn’t have to acknowledge its existence.

  “Think of Grace.”

  “You think of Grace, you sulfuric troglodyte. She’s your granddaughter, too.”

  “Why am I always the one giving, hmm? Always you’re asking for things. I saved your life, got you your dream job with kick-ass health benefits—as in, you’re freaking immortal—and this is the thanks I get? You should be dressing me in shiny armor and envisioning me on romance novel covers. But do you? No. Always the same surly attitude. A lot of women would give their right ovary to be in your shoes.” Hades looked like he was pouting but cast her a sly look from the corner of his eye. “Like Nadja.”

  Seraphim knew he meant to get a rise out of her. She happily obliged. “Like bloody hell she will!” She flung her arm back and was going to slap such nonsense out of his head when Hades caught her hand. At the same time, he pinned her other hand behind her back.

  “Now what?” she demanded.

  “Now I have all of the advantages. I won’t let you go until you admit it.”

  “I thought you had pressing business.”

  “I thought you wanted that dead hooker.” Hades arched a brow with a smug, superior look on that handsome face.

  “I’ll find another.”

  “Not as good as this one. Her name is Jill, I think. Yes, Jill. She’s a spicy piece who will really give Michael a run for his money.”

  “I don’t care.” But they both knew that was a lie.

  Seraphim stomped on Hades’ foot, but he didn’t let go. She tried to bite him, but he just laughed.

  “Come on, Seraphim, angel of my heart, just admit you love me. You do, you know.”

  “No. I do not.”

  “Why not? Do I smell? Am I ugly?” Hades made a show of checking his most delectable and devilish person. He knew very well that he didn’t smell, and he was hotter than sin. The damned man. No matter how immortal or devilish, he was still a man. A frustrating, irritating, sneaky man, but a sexy man. And she did love him.

  If not for Hades, she wouldn’t have survived the camp. Neither would hundreds of others. He’d openly defied the Pantheon of Gods to protect her and the others. It had only been one camp, only a few souls in the face of the sea who’d suffered, but even a Crown Prince of Hell couldn’t stand in the face of the Nazi death machine.

  At the time, she hadn’t understood why he couldn’t purge the evil from men’s hearts and take it out of the world. She’d been so naïve to think evil originated with the Devil instead of in the souls of men.

  But he’d defied the laws of the universe with his direct intervention and had been willing to trade his very existence for her. She’d tripped over her own feet and fallen in love with him and he’d become the Devil himself, but Seraphim’s love for him was branded on her soul.

  But there was no reason to tell him that. Nor was there any reason to tell him that every time she lay down with another man, even the most “cunning linguist” she ever met, she always saw his face. Hades, with his easy charm and chiseled features, was always the dark head dipping between her thighs. Nope, he was hard enough to deal with as it was.

  “You get your grand confession,” she complained, “and I’ll be left with exactly what you left me before. Nothing.”

  “I beg to differ. You’ll have a hooker.”

  “I hate you,” she said.

  His smile grew wider. “No, you don’t. You love me. Come on and say it.”

  “That’s like inviting a vampire in. There’s no way I’m just going to say that I l—No, won’t work. Not going to happen. Now, let me go.”

  “Seraphim—” he began.

  “What? You have to let go sometime. I mean, you have important business, like Infernal Insurrection or some such silliness.”

  “I love you.”

  “You’re full of goat shit,” Seraphim replied.

  “I’m hurt.”

  He was still smiling but leaning in closer, as if he was going to kiss her. Seraphim tried to squirm away. “Then why are you still grinning like the town fool?”

  “I’m bleeding on the inside.”

  Seraphim snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “What do I have to do to convince you, angel?” Hades asked, the smile on his face suddenly softening. “What would you like? Shall I break one of the Seven Seals of the Apocalypse like a Communion wafer? What would make you happy, my love? Rivers of blood and plagues of—”

  “Stop this nonsense for once. Get me the hooker and we can forget this insanity.”

  “I don’t want to forget,” Hades said.

  “Fine. I love you. Get me the hooker.” Seraphim struggled to keep her words monotone. Still, she couldn’t deny that a tremendous weight was lifted off her shoulders. But, it wasn’t like a Grand Confession or anything. He had to know she didn’t mean it. Not really.

  “More romantic words have never been spoken.” Hades produced the required body, and it dropped unceremoniously on Seraphim’s worktable. “A betrothal gift, perhaps?”

  She stared at him. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “We can keep a summerhouse in Texas. I’ve always liked Texas.”

  Seraphim eyed the heavens. “He’s lost it. Really, he has.” She glanced back at Hades. “I have some supplies I need to acquire, and I think you have a rebellion to quell.”

  “Not outright rebellion, no. But there is talk. I was thinking of retiring.”

  “Can you retire from being the Devil?” Seraphim was incredulous that he’d even suggested it.

  “I don’t know if anyone has tried. I guess we’ll find out. But not until I’ve cleaned all this up, of course.”

  Seraphim was unconvinced. “Why now? You haven’t even been in office a century.”

  He looked serious. “Honestly, because it wasn’t what I thought it would be. I love you, Seraphim. I want to be with you.”

  If she’d been made of anything less than steel, she would have cried. She turned away to find her broom. “And you said you weren’t going to rip my heart out of my chest.”

  “We’re not done here. But we’ll talk after you’ve raised Jill.”

  Damn him! Then Seraphim realized she’d have to get a more original curse. Something with more teeth. Hades was already damned, so this really wasn’t much of an oath. She also realized that she’d said it about ten times since seeing him again. It didn’t continually pack the same punch.

  “And I hate Texas!” she snapped, but he was gone. She hated that he always had the last word.

  He popped back. “You didn’t hate that weekend on Padre Island.” Then he disappeared again.

  If he was serious, which she doubted, she’d take the house on Padre.

  Sighing, Seraphim grabbed her broom and headed to Haiti. She liked Haiti. The children all knew her for what she was, though in Haiti they called her a loa, a type of guardian. So did the man she would see about the powder. They called him Papa, in reverence to Papa Legba, the spirit god that was said to possess him from time to time.

  Then she would be off to Ireland for the best shea butter available. One had to keep the flesh pliant to get the soul back in, and long enough at least to bind mortal flesh to demonic.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A Rabid Rabbit Assassination

  Grace was watching Caspian sleep after another wild romp between the sheets. They’d been rutting like rabbits on ambergris since he’d come topside
a week ago to answer her summons. What was with her? She’d never been quite this into anyone. It was amazing.

  Worse, this behavior was completely unacceptable—staring at him while he slept. For her, for him, for the masses that saw the Virgin Mary in a gordita, for the universe in general; she knew this was wrong for everyone. It was just that he looked so innocent when he slept; she was forced to recall the taste of him and the images that invoked. Such sweet innocence. The summer rain on her tongue, everything fresh and new. Was that one of his survival mechanisms? Was he like a chameleon; he could blend to match whatever she found most desirable? Or perhaps he mimicked that which she most lamented losing—her own innocence.

  His scent wasn’t pure at all. It was male, dominant and delicious. It made her tingle in all the right places. But his face made her soft. Black lashes against those tanned, sculpted cheeks. She wondered if he was tan from the glare of all that raging hellfire. Then she realized Hell was probably nothing like she thought.

  She wanted to see his wings again, touch them. Grace remembered that they were downy and black like a raven’s wings, not the hard, stretched skin like a bat’s that she’d thought demons would have. Even those rolling waves of flame had been stunning. Yes, man or demon, Caspian was a beautiful specimen.

  Grace ghosted her fingertips up to let his again-black hair curl around her finger. It still felt like silk, soft and shiny. It was hair that a woman would kill for, just like those decadent lashes. Yet, there was nothing feminine about him. He was all hard, caveman alpha dog.

  She wondered again what it was like to be him, how he perceived the world. If he was lonely. If it was an unknown ache that had hurt so long that he didn’t know anything else. She couldn’t get past his admission that he’d forgotten what it was like to be angry. Grace had thought he was subhuman because he was a demon, that he didn’t understand the workings of a human heart, but maybe he did. Maybe he comprehended more than any mortal.

  He’d been born to a human mother, she knew. What was that like? Had he always known that he was to become a demon because of his heritage? She wanted to ask him so many questions, but she also needed him to leave. It was the strangest thing. This wasn’t just about Michael and Nikoli anymore. She needed him to leave for her own peace of mind. She was starting to crave his touch. Sex with a mortal man was now going to always leave her wanting something more, which led to a different fear. This was supposed to be just a business transaction, these encounters. She wasn’t supposed to look forward to them. But she did.