by Noree Cosper
“And they decided to start paying Marge,” I said. “Mostly because she didn’t want to do anything that didn’t concern her demon anyway. So, now they have an employee.”
“You’re not getting paid then?”
“And be on the same level as Marge?” I threw my head back and laughed. “I have enough of a nest egg.”
Mostly from antiques I’d liberated from demons and sold over five centuries, but it ensured I didn’t have to find work.
Lucy finished her second drink and grabbed Tres’s arm. “Let’s dance.”
Tres merely laughed as she led him to the dance floor. Adrian stood up with the shake of his head and disappeared into the crowd toward the bathroom. Esais held his full shot glass, still watching the boy behind the bar who had served us our drinks. The boy appeared to be in his mid-twenties and thin, as if he hadn’t had a good meal in a month. He leaned against the bar, watching the dancers. The holes in the elbows of his shirt didn’t match the artful slashes in the upper sleeves.
“That’s your type?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.
He blinked at me. “What?”
“If you’re interested, you should go talk to him.”
“I, no . . .” He shook his head and laughed. His gaze traveled back to the boy. “There’s something different about him. I can sense it.”
I narrowed my eyes and studied the boy through my second sight. The world shifted to gray and the landscape was outshone by the rainbow of colors drifting from the dancers. I focused on the boy, blinking at the torrent of colors swirling about him. The aura was a representation of the human soul, and his was a state of desolation. The inky black of despair, livid blue of fear, and a muddy red anger mixed with the azure of loneliness and the burnt sienna of hunger. He didn’t have anyone in the world looking out for him. I swallowed the ache in my throat. I’d had several times in my life where I’d been in the same position, lost and alone. Only my need to destroy Allegra had kept me on my path. His aura formed a halo that swirled around his head like gold dust caught in sunlight.
Hmm, I hadn’t seen something like that in quite a while. I let my gaze pass over the blur of drunken auras until it came to rest on Lucy as she swayed wait with the music. She burned bright and blazing with pleasure. Her aura peaked into two spikes at her crown with a red sparkle.
“Well?” Esais asked.
I turned back to him and kept from wincing at the bright golden white light that surrounded his aura. It almost obscured the winged figure that stood behind him. The angel seemed to have grown since the last time I checked, almost as if it had gotten closer. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I let my vision returned to normal and rubbed my eyes.
“You should talk to him,” I said. “He’s not tainted or anything, but he’s special. And he could use a friend.”
“Are you trying to play matchmaker?” he asked, crossing his arms.
I chuckled. “Not anymore. He’s in need, and you have a way with people.”
He flushed and ran a hand through his hair. I pushed him in the direction of the boy. He glanced back at me with a smile before approaching. I turned back to find myself alone in a sea of strangers. Tres was back at the bar, several seats away, chatting with a young redheaded woman. She batted her eyelashes at him and laughed. He would be lost for the night. Lucy and Adrian were on the dance floor, moving to the music. I chuckled at how Adrian’s stiff movements contrasted to Lucy’s wild gyrations. She was all head shaking and flinging hair. I frowned. I really needed to talk to her about the bartender, but she would brush me off if I interrupted her. I would have to find a chance tomorrow when she was in a serious mood.
The music beckoned me to the dance floor. Everyone was occupied, and it was time I had some fun of my own. The tense muscles in my shoulders relaxed as I undulated my hips to the quick tempo and let my mind wander.
An angel had gifted Esais with power of telepathy, the same as a spirit had granted me the ability to see souls and other entities. Mine was useful in hunting demons. Actually, all three of the brothers had gifts from different spirits. Lucy and the young bartender were something else. Nephilim. My son might have been one if he had survived long enough. I scrunched my eyes closed and swallowed hard.
No point in dwelling on what could have been. There’s only what is.
The music filled my ears, pounding in rhythm to my pulse. Fingertips brushed my upper arm, and I spun around. Adrian caught my swinging arm at the wrist. We stared at each other, frozen for a few seconds before he raised our arms. The people around us blurred as he twirled me. We stopped as he pulled me against him. His fingers slid down my arm and over my hips as we began to move to the song. I rested my arm on his shoulder and my gaze locked in his with my heart racing a mile a minute. One corner of his lip lifted.
What about John?
There went my head again, acting the voice of reason. The beat shifted as the song changed, and I pulled away from him. He gave me a mock bow, and I curtseyed with a smirk. I slipped through the crowd and grabbed my coat on the way out. I had spent enough time enjoying myself. Marge’s time grew shorter and someone needed to kick her out of her stubbornness. One of us would be going to sleep with a few more bruises tonight.
Chapter 2
The keys jangled in my hand as I opened the door to our office and slipped in. Adrian had complained how easily the keys could be lost. He claimed his new system would eliminate the need for any kind of key access. His project was still unfinished. So, for now, we used the keys.
Adrian. My heart sped up at the thought of his name. What had that been about tonight? Sure, he had stopped resenting me for living while his family died, and had been less antagonistic in the past three months, but I had proven myself against Ose in Texas. I had risked my sanity to rescue Adrian and his brothers from that devil. Over the last few months, Adrian had come to accept me, even found me useful, but I doubted it went any further than that. And what about John? Despite my misgivings, I’d slept with him. Would this change our long friendship? Was he expecting more? I really didn’t know since we hadn’t seen one another since we parted ways in Texas. I shook my head. I needed to stop mulling over this. A good workout would distract me and help me think with a clearer mind.
I kneeled in the corner of the entry hall and ran my finger over the spiral of writing carved into the floor. The angular symbols started tiny in the center and grew larger until the edge of the spiral was the size of a sunflower seed. Each corner of every room held a similar symbol. I chuckled softly. Jonah had blanched at the amount of quicksilver I’d use to paint these devil’s traps. He’s always had a thing for money and rare alchemical ingredients, and quicksilver was one of the rarest. Most people thought it was another word for mercury, but it wasn’t. It held tremendous magical potency. This would make damn sure that no demon or devil stepped foot here.
I passed by the glass doors and walls on either side of me that led into two large rooms. When this building thrived, the left had been a diner. We’d kept the kitchen and added a few tables. You never knew when we would have to work through several days, and to have food onsite was just brilliant. The right had been some sort of store. Tres had gutted the place and turned it into an infirmary with Adrian’s help. I walked past the elevator to the stairwell. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with that tiny deathtrap, even on my best of days.
When I opened the door to the fourth floor, the thudding of a foot hitting leather and a woman’s grunt greeted me. Marge had become predictable in the past month. If she wasn’t out roaming the streets in search of her demon, she came here. I slipped into the office we were using as a makeshift changing room and dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. The main room had been cleared of the cubicles of the previous occupants and navy blue mats spread over the carpet. Marge worked over one of the three punching bags that hung from the ceiling in the left corner of the room. Along the wall were weight benches and other contraptions that looked as if they belonged in a torture chamb
er. I grabbed the bag and steadied it as Marge landed a solid kick. The impact vibrated up my arms. She hopped back, her hands held in a defensive position and her mouth open as she panted. Her eyes narrowed as she leveled a “Go to Hell” glare at me.
“What the fuck was that?” Marge asked. “She made me go to that shithole, just to say no?”
“She said maybe,” I said.
“So, this was all some game to her.”
“You were being a bitch. Do you expect everyone to take your abuse?”
Marge sneered and slammed her foot into the side of the bag. “Fuck it. I’ll do it on my own.”
“How long do you have left?” I asked. “Five years?”
A hard kick thudded against the bag.
“When your contract is up, the demons don’t kill you. They use your body for whatever they want; they ride you, and there’s no way to stop them. Banish them, and your soul goes to Hell with them.”
A shock reverberated through my hands and to the rest of my body.
“That is if you manage to live that long. If you die before your contract is up, your soul is claimed.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
I ground my teeth together. Marge constantly grated on me, but I didn’t want to see her lost. Unfortunately, it seemed that all she understood was violence. I shoved the bag forward. It caught Marge in the side, and she stumbled back with a grunt.
“Fine,” I said. “Reason doesn’t work on you. Let’s talk in a language you do speak.”
I leapt forward, aiming a punch to her gut. She sidestepped and brought her arms up, spreading her legs. “You wanna fight?”
“If you win, you can go and do whatever it is you want with your last years. If I win, we go to Lucy tomorrow.”
She smirked. “Let’s do this.”
“Prepare to have . . . what is the term? ‘To have your ass kicked?’” I said.
Marge snorted. “Whatever, Old Lady. Just make sure you don’t hurt your back or anything.”
Marge walked to the comer of the closest mat. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she brought her fists up. I took my place at the opposite corner and pulled my arms up. I felt more comfortable with a weapon in my hand, but this was just a sparring match. Luckily, Eskrima taught a variety of methods, including barehanded. Marge specialized in Taekwondo, focusing mainly on kicks. I had to watch out for her deadly feet.
We stared at each other across the empty space between us, waiting to see who would break and make the first attack. Marge let out a breath of air with a small yell and charged me. She leapt into the air and thrust her foot at my chest. I stepped to the side and lowered my shoulder a little. My arm wrapped around the thigh of her extended leg, and I pushed forward. She flipped backwards and landed on the ground.
Without wasting a breath, she rolled up to one knee. Her other leg swung around and caught me in the weak point in the back of my knee. Her momentum knocked my feet out from under me, and I landed flat on my back. She stood up, with her fists raised and a grin on her face.
“Getting slow in your old age,” she said.
I rolled away from and rose to a crouching position. I lunged at her, staying low, with my elbow pointed out. I connected with her abdomen, and she doubled over with an oomph.
“You waste time gloating,” I said. “It makes you slower than these old bones.”
She straightened, and we circled each other, scanning for the slightest muscle twitch or twist of foot. Now was my chance. I could take her down if I was fast enough. She wouldn’t expect an offensive strike from me. I hopped in, hooked my foot around her left ankle, and jerked. She tumbled backwards, her shoulder slamming into the mat as she hit the ground. I was on her before she could recover, jamming my knee into her throat.
“Dead,” I said.
She glared at me but laid her hand flat on the mat in our symbol for submission. I stood up and held my hand out. She pushed herself up and stood, her eyes never meeting mine.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as I headed to the door. “Around the bright and early time of noon.”
Chapter 3
A few moments after I knocked, Lucy flung the door of her hotel room inward. Her hair was a mess with one large tangle lifting the left side several inches away from her face. The eyeliner from the previous night had smudged, giving her two rings like a raccoon. She blinked at us with bleary eyes.
“Oh, hey.” She stepped back to let us in. “Welcome.”
I whistled as I stepped into the living room. Clothes draped across the back of the peach couch, a blanket lay in a pile on the Persian rug that covered the wood floor, and her leather jacket was tossed over one of the chairs. A movie blared from the television.
“Star Wars?” Marge raised an eyebrow.
“I like it, and I needed something to play while I took a nap.” Lucy smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Let’s start with some coffee and breakfast.”
“We’re here for a reading,” Marge said.
“Oh, I know, dearie, but I need a bit of a pick me up,” Lucy said in her crisp English accent that enunciated the consonants.
I sat on the couch, pushing some of the clothes to the side. “Coffee would be wonderful. Cappuccino if they have it.”
“You think they have one to your standards?” Lucy asked.
“It’s a five star hotel. What else would your money go to?”
She smirked as she walked to telephone. “Silk sheets and a maid service.”
I waved Marge to sit down. Her eyes narrowed, traveling from me to Lucy. I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow, and mouthed the word “patience”. She sighed, crossed her arms, and began tapping her foot again.
“Well, that’s done,” Lucy said. “They should be prompt.”
“Let’s hope so,” Marge said.
Lucy sat, turned the volume of the television up, and grabbed a small wooden pipe and lighter. Her crossed feet rested on a stack of magazines on the coffee table as she leaned back, grinning as she watched the movie. She lit the substance in the pipe and inhaled deeply. She blew out a puff of white smoke, and the room filled with a pungent smell, like burning sage.
“Seriously, pot?” Marge crossed her arms.
Lucy held the pipe out. “Want some?”
Marge glared at me. “What the hell?”
Lucy smirked. “It helps me focus.”
“If you start babbling in tongues, I’m leaving.”
I sighed. Lucy was always a wild one who preferred the base pleasures of life. Even all the years I had known her, she still hadn’t matured. There was a knock on the door. Lucy sprang up and let the bellhop push in a small cart with a coffee pot and two cups. My cappuccino was set separate. I picked it up and took a sip. The warm liquid filled my mouth, and the heady aroma erased the lingering smell of burnt herb.
“Now, let’s get down to business,” she said once she had a cup of coffee in her hand. “Gabby, can you clear the table?”
I scooped up the magazines and set them on a different the table near the wet bar. I threw the empty beer bottles in the small trash bin. Lucy pushed the coffee table to the center of the floor and sat on the floor facing the couch, pulling out her tarot deck. She motioned Marge to sit across from her as she began to shuffle.
The backs of the cards had two rows of symbols. The ones on the left gleamed in white and consisted mostly of connections of lines, triangles, and circles. The row on the right was red and looked more like tribal scrawling. The edges were rounded but held circles. I recognized four of the white symbols from the Hermetic spells I sometimes performed. They were four of the archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Rafael, and Uriel. I stared at the red symbols, especially the one that stuck out the most to me. It looked like a backwards C that had been pressed inward and leaned against a triangle with the point down. In the center of the top curve of the C was a large dot. I knew the symbol for the Throne of Lust well. I’d done almost everything in my power to learn about that pa
rticular part of Hell since the demon who cursed me was from there.
“New deck?” I asked.
“Mmmhmm, I drew them myself.” Lucy glanced up at Marge. “You need to shuffle. Keep your thoughts on the question you want to ask the cards.”
Marge cut the deck in half and flicked her thumb on the edges so that both stacks of cards mixed together. She repeated this a few more times and pushed the cards to the middle of the table. Lucy took the deck and dealt out ten cards face down. The first and second formed a cross in the center of the table. The third was placed below them, the fourth to the left, the fifth above, and the sixth to the right. Cards seven through ten were placed in a vertical line to the right with the seventh on the bottom.
“This is the Celtic Cross,” Lucy said. “It’s one of the most popular spreads. I like to use this for first timers because it gives me an overall view of the situation at hand.”
“So get on with it,” Marge said.
Lucy gave a half snort, half sigh and flipped over the first card. It depicted a dark-haired woman in a red Grecian style robe. In her right hand, she held a sword, pointing up, and in her left, she held a set of scales. The card was upside down, facing Lucy.
“Justice,” Lucy said. “This card’s position represents what is currently influencing you. I’m getting a sense of injustice that you feel.”
Marge snorted. “No shit. My mom sold my soul to a demon.”
“This doesn’t only imply what happened to you. This is the whole situation. The reverse of Justice could also mean vengeance. You have to be careful not to lose yourself; it’s what they want.”
Marge glared at her. “Right, because the contract on my soul is nothing. How about you just find my demon so I don’t end up as one of Hell’s bitches.”
“You don’t need a contract to end up in Hell. People have been doing that all on their own for centuries.” Lucy flipped over the next card. “This represents the obstacles you face.”
