by J. D. Brown
“I can’t read this,” he said with a growl, trying to draw patience from a dry well.
“That sigil Mr. Emerson drew? Turns out it’s a medallion worn by some friends of yours.”
“Friends?” Sam closed the folder and set it on the coffee table. He could always scan the documents into her laptop and have the contents read back to him, if Lyn didn’t tell him everything first. She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, practically disappearing behind it as she lowered to peer inside.
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ve yet to know what this sigil looks like. I’m blind, remember? So no, I truly do not know what you’re talking about.”
She straightened, popping into view from behind the refrigerator door like a gopher. “Seriously? You really can’t see ink on a page?”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “Seriously.”
She closed the fridge door and sighed. “Fine. The medallion is supposedly worn by the Dukes of Hell. A.k.a. Greater demons. A.k.a. your BFFs. Your dude-bros. Your hombres.”
Sam narrowed his gaze. Unfortunately for them, a Duke made perfect sense. Dukes were not known for their subtly. The blatant carving of the victims’ flesh matched what he knew of their behavior. But which Duke? Who sent it and how did they know Sam was bound to Lyn? “Any idea which Duke we’re talking about?”
Lyn tensed, and an ice-cold shard of fear pierced his chest. Sam squeezed his fists.
“No,” she said. “I was hoping you could tell me.”
“You ought to be more careful until this passes.” If it passes. He couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d panic and cause him to panic in turn. Sam needed to keep a cool, logical mind about this. If they were dealing with a Duke …
“So, takeout?” said Lyn.
“What?”
“I’m starving and all we have is ketchup.”
“There’s tuna salad in the—”
“Yeah, but you put celery in it.” Lyn pulled a rectangular device from her pocket and tapped the screen. “I’m getting Mongolian beef. Want anything?”
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and growled into his palm. He’d spent a week learning the finer points of human dietary nutrition only to discover that the Daughter who’d bound him was a glutton. She seemed determined to shave off as many years as possible from what was left of his pathetic existence with no concern at all for her own life.
“That junk will give you indigestion at best and an Escherichia coli infection at worst. Do you have any idea how fast an Escherichia coli infection can kill you?”
“You’re right, we need eggrolls. Glad I asked.” Lyn moved into the hallway as she pressed the cellular device to her ear.
Sam grumbled to himself. In an odd way, he was glad she didn’t take their situation too seriously. He would’ve had to worry about her blood pressure on top of everything else. Still, Lyn was without a doubt the oddest and most infuriating little human he had ever met. Considering her great-grandmother still lived, he expected more from a legendary Daughter of Eve.
He stayed in the living room, taking advantage of the quiet space to reflect.
Dukes of Hell.
There were several, and any of them would jump at the chance to knock Sam down a few pegs—or end him completely. He wasn’t very well-liked.
So which Duke was it? Who sent it; one of the Princes or Lucifer? More importantly, what could Sam do about it? Killing a Duke wasn’t easy and had severe consequences. In fact, a dead Duke would make things much, much worse.
Lyn woke to the chime of her cell phone. Bleary-eyed and feeling a lot like the walking dead, she slid her hand blindly around the empty space of her mattress. Realizing she had been searching for Johnny and that her beloved katana was still gone, Lyn sat upright, yawned, and then found her cell phone on the nightstand—next to a glass of water with a lime wedge. Was that the demon version of breakfast in bed? Lime water?
She checked her text messages and her eyes widened. Twenty-two missed messages from Angie lit the screen like the Fourth of July. Lyn read the first message: Hey r u ok? Then she skipped to the last message: Call me now or I’m coming over!!!!!!!1
Wow, seven exclamation points and a one. Must be important.
Lyn dialed Angie’s number. She tugged a pair of crumpled jeans over her legs while the line trilled.
“Hello?” Angie answered. “Oh my God, please tell me you’re alive!”
“Nope, sorry. This is the ghost of Evelyn Conway speaking to you from beyond the grave. Turns out all the good cell phone service is in the afterlife. Are you dying for better coverage? Switch to U.S. Ghoul-ular today and ask about our post-mortem contract.”
“So, you’re pre-caffeinated?”
“Yep.”
“Well, at least you’re not dead.”
“There’s that,” Lyn agreed while holding the phone between her shoulder and chin so she could pull her hair into a ponytail.
“Turn on the news,” said Angie. “They found another body matching the suicides’ M.O. It’s freaky. She looks just like you.”
“Either that’s reverse racism or you’re saying I look like a corpse. Either way, I’m offended.”
“Some bronzer wouldn’t hurt.”
Lyn snorted. “Remind me why we’re friends again?”
“Because society wouldn’t have you.”
“Good point.”
“Seriously though,” Angie whined. “Where were you last night? Why didn’t you answer any of my texts?”
Because sometimes you scare me. “Battery must’ve died, sorry. Anyway, I was home all night eating Chinese food with Sam.”
“Oh, Sam.”
Lyn cringed at her mistake.
“Wait a second, Sam the katana killer? I thought we hated him.”
“We totally hate him,” said Lyn. “I mostly ate by myself.”
“Was he too busy munching on your sashimi?”
“First of all, that’s Japanese. Second of all, goodbye Angie.”
Angie’s giggling cut out as Lyn hung up and shoved the phone into her pocket. Sam lay on the couch in the living room with the laptop propped open on his flat stomach, earphones plugged in. She wondered why the laptop didn’t melt from his touch. Or her couch. Or his clothes. Or anything else, for that matter. She chalked it up to one of life’s great mysteries and then knocked his feet aside while digging between the couch cushions.
“Looking for something?” asked Sam.
“The T.V. remote.”
“It’s next to the T.V.”
Lyn looked at him and scrunched her nose. “Why on earth is the T.V. remote next to the T.V.?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Barbarian.”
“Slob.”
“Disorganization is a sign of genius.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Eh.” Lyn grabbed the remote and turned on the local news channel. Sure enough, highlights of the latest Paradise mass-suicide victim scrolled past the screen.
Sam pulled off the earbuds and sat upright.
Angie wasn’t kidding; the poor dead girl could’ve been Lyn’s doppelganger. Her hair was curlier than Lyn’s, and she had a smattering of orange freckles over her cheekbones, but other than that they were practically twins.
“How can one city have so many gorgeous, young blondes?” She turned off the T.V. and tossed the remote against the couch.
“Sutton and Main,” said Sam, repeating the location where the body was found. “Do you know where that is?”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “It’s about six miles from here.”
Sam stood. “Let’s go.”
“Why?”
“You want proof of what we’re dealing with? Let’s go get it.”
“I’m sure the cops already took all the evidence and wiped the place clean.”
“Not if a demon is involved. They w
ouldn’t know what to look for.”
Dang, he’s right. Lyn rolled her eyes. “Fine. But we’re stopping by Dave’s Mocha on the way there.”
“Lyn,” Sam growled.
“Sam,” said Lyn. “You need my eyes. And my eyes need coffee. Relax, we’ll just swing by the drive-thru.”
Lyn sipped her double-shot caramel macchiato and wished it was a frappé. She also wished her hair was shorter. The ends curled into a frizzy mess and stuck to the sides of her sweaty neck. The humidity literally strangled her. Very slowly. With her own hair.
She stood just inside the alley off Sutton Avenue and Main Street, between a Quick Mart and a cigar store, watching as Sam examined the scene of the crime. The few pedestrians passing them on the sidewalk seemed too self-absorbed to question a strange man and a hot blonde poking around a crime scene.
Yellow police tape marked the spot, but they would’ve found it regardless. A horrible brown stain on the Quick Mart side of the pavement gave Lyn a pretty good idea of where the body was found. She swallowed another sip of java and prayed it would settle her stomach. Now wasn’t the time for a PTSD attack. Not that she had ever been diagnosed, but …
Sam stood very close to the brown stains. He crouched on his heels and stared at the pavement with an intensity that was unbecoming for a blind man. She snorted under her breath. He couldn’t even read—what did he expect to find?
“What are you looking for, a road flare?” She sniggered. She couldn’t help it. Interjecting sarcasm trumped letting her memories get to her.
“I’m looking for an imprint,” said Sam.
“Pretty sure the sigil was on her body. Which is not here.”
Sam looked at her and narrowed his gaze. The double vision of his pale blue human eyes layered over his intense demon eyes caused a flutter of nerves in her gut, and she looked away. Sam didn’t say anything. She watched from her periphery as he went back to looking at the scene.
Lyn chewed her lip. Gran would know what to look for. She remembered Gran’s stories of her glory days spent tracking and hunting demons. Once upon a time, Lyn thought she would follow in her great-grandmother’s footsteps and really make a difference in the world. But so far, Lyn had never purposely crossed paths with a demon. Every run-in she experienced was coincidental. She remembered the ichor in the room of her childhood home— No. I am not going there. She stuffed the memory in a proverbial box and buried it six feet under. Think of kittens. Besides, they were investigating the suicide of a human girl. There wouldn’t be any—
“There,” said Sam.
“Ichor?” Lyn squeaked.
“No. Look.” He waved his hand in a come-hither motion.
Lyn cringed. Kittens and puppy dogs. Baby yellow Labradoodles. She approached the police tape but didn’t care to cross over. “I’m looking.”
Sam rolled his eyes. He grabbed her shoulders, turned her slightly to the left, then pointed to a spot on the Quick Mart wall. “There.”
Lyn didn’t see anything. Except cement. And asphalt. Some dirty run-off from all the humidity. Maybe some glitter.
Wait, glitter? Did someone bang a— No; the shimmery stuff on the wall wasn’t like any kind of glitter Lyn had ever seen. An image flashed in and out of her vision in a fashion that was eerily similar to the double vision she experienced with Sam. Her Daughter of Eve senses tingled.
“What is that?” she whispered.
“That is an imprint,” said Sam. “Keep looking at it.”
She did, but only because it was kind of pretty in a macabre way. Onyx and ruby-colored light glimmered off the Quick Mart wall like some kind of otherworldly graffiti. Only it wasn’t light, more like the opposite of light. It didn’t reflect. Instead, the colors went inward. Like they were being sucked into a void. The more she looked at it, the more it came into focus, and Lyn realized there was a shape to it. The pretty colors formed lines and circles that connected in a geometrical pattern.
“Okay,” said Lyn. “What the fresh Hell am I looking at and how come you can see it too?”
“It’s a portal.”
“A what?” Gran had told her about portals. Greater demons used them to travel between Hell and Earth. Lesser demons often fell through by accident and got trapped here. Still, this was the first time Lyn had ever seen one.
“A portal,” Sam repeated. “It’s what we use to—”
“I know what a portal is,” said Lyn. “What is it doing here?”
Sam arched his brow. “I think that’s a bit obvious.”
“Not really,” said Lyn. “How do I know you didn’t put it there?”
“I didn’t.”
“But how do I know? I’m just supposed to believe you?”
“I wish you would.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Lyn,” Sam growled. “I didn’t do this.”
“But you could have.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Well … kittens and Labradoodles!” Lyn stomped her foot. She turned around and marched out of the alley onto the sidewalk bordering Main Street.
“Lyn.” Sam was beside her. He kept pace as she marched down the block. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re angry.”
“Gosh, you’re perceptive.”
“Lyn …” He grabbed her shoulder, and Lyn jumped. She was so jittery, she dropped her coffee and the lid flew off. Java flowed over the concrete.
“Oh no. My life-force. It’s draining away.”
“We’ll get another one.”
“Oh really?” Lyn snapped. “When are we going to do that, I wonder? Maybe after you invite the Duke over for a friendly game of darts in which I will, of course, be the beautiful blonde target. Or maybe you’ll skip the games and go straight to carving sigils in my flesh.”
“Lyn,” Sam grabbed both shoulders and shook her, “your life is the only thing keeping me alive. Until that changes, I will do everything in my power to protect you.”
“Uh-huh, great. But just so we’re both on the same page, what exactly do you plan on doing with the Duke?” She crossed her arms and waited for him to answer. Oh my God, I can’t believe we’re talking about a real Duke of Hell.
Sam hesitated. He dropped his hands and looked away. “I don’t know. Nothing.”
Lyn arched her brow. “Nothing? After what you said yesterday about me not wanting to do anything? You know this Duke is looking for me. You said so yourself. I’m being hunted, Sam, and you’re not going to do anything about it?”
“There’s nothing to do. We still don’t know which Duke it is, and it’s foolish to try and hunt a Duke of Hell anyway. Our best option is to lay low and ride it out.”
Lyn scoffed. “Ride it out? That’s your answer? Wait for it to go away on its own? This isn’t a flu virus, Sam.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Lyn narrowed her gaze. “I can’t deal with this right now. I have to go.”
Sam shook his head. “We should go home and stay there until this passes.”
Lyn laughed. “You’re joking, right? I have a job. Classes at the dojo and the Emersons’ case. How am I supposed to eat? How am I supposed to buy coffee? I don’t know how the economy works in Hell, but here on Earth humans work for a living. Oh and we kind of need to do this thing where we turn sunshine and fresh air into Vitamin D. Plus I am not missing my twenty-first birthday bash with Angie tomorrow.”
“You’re going to have to,” Sam growled. “It’s life or death, and I am not dying because of you.”
“It’s a little late for that don’t you think? Your dying is how we got stuck together.” Lyn turned and backtracked to her car.
“Where are you going?”
“To Gran’s.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“The Hell you will.” Lyn strategically unlocked the driver’s side door and only the driver’s side door. She got in, cranked up the music, and left Sam on the sidewalk.
Blocks sped past and she sighed as a bit of tension waned from her shoulders. Distance and a few 1990s Bangles hits could fix anything. She almost felt back to normal when she stopped for a red light and glimpsed at the rearview mirror. The sexy demon in the reflection scared the shit out of her and she jumped, hitting her head against Notre Dame’s roof.
“Jesus Christ!”
Sam grinned. “A valiant effort, but as I was saying, I’ll go with you.”
“How did do you do that?”
Sam leaned back in his seat and folded his hands behind his head. His mouth curved into a confident smirk. “Do what?”
She gestured with her hands as the traffic light turned green and the truck behind them beeped. “Pop into my car out of thin air!”
“Oh,” said Sam. “I quantum leaped.”
“Funny.” Lyn gripped the steering wheel and stepped on the accelerator. “Real freaking funny.”
8
Quantum Leap
I t took some convincing, but the almighty demon finally agreed to wait in the car while Lyn entered the psychiatric hospital with as much gusto as a deflated balloon. She wanted more coffee, but not badly enough to drink the watered-down dirt in the lobby vending machine. At the front desk, Gracie greeted her with a toothy smile.
“Hey there, baby girl. Back already?”
“Hi, Gracie. How’s she doing today?” Lyn signed-in and then grabbed a tootsie roll from the candy dish next to the activities clipboard.
“That sore throat from yesterday turned into a nasty cough. She’s in her room resting, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a visit. And don’t you dare give her that tootsie roll. Remember what happened last time.”
Lyn smiled. “Thanks, Gracie.”
“I mean it. Her insurance won’t cover another pair of dentures.”
“I know.” Lyn waved as she strolled through the cream-colored corridors. Four halls down, Gran’s bedroom came to view. Lyn knocked and then let herself inside. The tiny room held a prison-esk twin-sized bed and a simple writing desk, but the ward let her decorate to her heart’s content. The faded pink quilt and lacy bed duster were from home, as were the photographs that lined every inch of the four walls. Sepia-toned pictures of Lyn’s grandfather and his second wife, Betty, smiled down at her from across the top windowsill. Snapshots of Uncle Tommy and Aunt Ruby, with her little cousins Andrew and Aaron, danced across the small closet door, held in place with pieces of scotch tape. A black and white wedding portrait of Gran with her husband, James, dressed in his military uniform, stood in a tarnished brass frame on the desk facing the bed. Next to the frame was a wallet-sized printout of Lyn’s junior year high school photo.
