Devil May Care

by Patricia Eimer

  Hope sniffled and my own eyes grew hot with fresh tears. I sniffed and wiped my eyes before I could make a mess of myself, keeping my eyes upturned and focused on the picture of Gabriel and Michael playing chess painted on the ceiling.

  “I want to spend every single moment of forever with you,” Tolliver continued. “I want to do all those big things with you, like having babies and buying a house, and the little things like arguing about whose turn it is to take out the trash. I want to finish each other’s crossword puzzles and interrupt each other to say the punch lines of jokes we’ve told each other a thousand times before. I want to be with you. For as long as you’ll let me.”

  “Okay,” Lisa said her voice watery.

  I heard a few more sniffles from the audience and a tear trickled down my cheek. What the Hell? I was wearing waterproof mascara at least.

  “Okay?” Tolliver repeated.

  “Okay,” Lisa said, her own voice sounding watery. “Tolliver, I want to be your wife for the rest of eternity. I love you. And I want all that other stuff you said, but for the most part I just want to be with you. More than anything else I’ve ever wanted in the world.”

  “Okay.” Tolliver nodded and looked at the Alpha, whose mouth was hanging open. My brother raised his eyebrows and the Alpha shook His head, trying to right Himself and get back into His role.

  “So,” the Alpha said, still looking a bit stunned at the vows they’d made to each other. “If there are any objections to this wedding they should be spoken now or all present should forever hold their peace. Eternally. For all time. No speaking up, ever again.”

  Nobody moved a muscle and the Alpha’s shoulders relaxed.

  “Okay, then.” He licked his lips. “By the authority invested in me by our mutual faith, and by the State of Pennsylvania, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  “My pleasure,” Tolliver said and caressed Lisa’s face before leaning in to kiss her. The choir started up again, and I peeked into the loft to see that it was empty. I should have known. It wasn’t like St. Bruno’s was going to have a very active choir group. It wasn’t like they needed one. Unless Jesus was planning on getting married sometime soon?

  …

  I limped back into my apartment building early the next morning and slipped my shoes off in the main floor entryway. I’ll say one thing for the DeMarcos clan—they sure knew how to throw a party. It was almost dawn, and I’d been one of the first to leave. Malachi had left me at the front door of my building and had changed back into his grim reaper form. He said something about doing guard duty outside and then floated off before I could ask any more questions.

  I stumbled up the stairs and cursed myself for not having pushed Dad to buy me a building with an elevator. Or not commandeering a first floor apartment. I slouched up the stairs, dragging myself up the final flight with my hands brushing across the steps as I went. When I reached the landing between mine and Matt’s apartments, I set my shoes on the ground and pointed at the door lock, zapping it.

  The door behind me creaked open and I froze. Awareness of Matt washed over me, some primal knowledge that he was there even if I couldn’t see him or smell him or even hear him, and I fought the urge to turn around and stare. I’d been avoiding him like a plague of missionaries, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop now. Couldn’t we give it a little more time? Six months? A year? Two might be nice.

  “Just getting back from Lisa and Tolliver’s wedding?” Matt asked, his voice rough with sleep.

  “Yeah.” I turned around to face him. He was dressed in a pair of shorts and a gray T-shirt. His iPhone was strapped to his arm and he was fidgeting with the earphones.

  “How was it?” He wouldn’t meet my gaze.

  “It was nice.” I gave him a brief smile. “Very sweet. Everyone missed you.”

  “I thought, all things considered, maybe it would be better if I gave it a pass. No use in making a scene, your Dad deciding to punch me in the face again or something,” Matt said, still not looking at me. “Tell them I said congratulations?”

  “I will.” I pointed to my door. “I guess I’ll see you around, huh?”

  “Sure.” He looked up at me and put his hands on his hips. Instead of waiting around for the situation between us to become tenser, I walked into my apartment.

  “Hey, Faith?” he called out before I could shut the door.

  “What?” I turned my head to look at him and my heart broke. He was adorable. Everything I’d never known I wanted in a man. But now he was off limits and I couldn’t help wishing that I’d savored having him more when I had the chance.

  He stepped across the hallway and pulled me into his arms, pressing his lips against my forehead. “You look amazing.”

  I closed my eyes, biting my lower lip.

  “And I meant what I promised you yesterday. I’m not giving up on us. Not without a fight.”

  “I know you won’t. That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea, though,” I said. “You have to know this will all end in tears one day.”

  “I don’t care about the end,” Matt said. “What I care about is right here and right now. With you.”

  “I love you, Matt, and whatever comes next, nothing will change that.” I slipped out of his arms and stepped into my apartment, closing the door behind me. I sank onto the floor and let my head rest against the door, trying to pretend I couldn’t feel his warmth radiating through it.

  I sighed and gave up trying to keep my tears in check, letting them run down my cheeks.

  “I’m never going to stop fighting for you,” he said, and then he was gone, taking all that heat with him.

  And even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t help clinging to the fact that Matt was the type of guy who didn’t back down from a fight. No matter how much the odds were stacked against him.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  No one writes a book alone. Absolutely no one. Meanwhile someone as scattered as me can barely get dressed on their own so the fact that this book is now out in the world is most likely a miracle cobbled together by my own personal team of angels.

  I could have never finished this book without the loving support of my family, who have always been my biggest cheerleaders, or my friends, who have willingly listened as I cried about how the plot just wasn’t working. There are too many of you to name who have held my hand and I don’t want to forget anyone so let’s just go with you know who you are and how much I owe you and leave it at that.

  I’d also like to thank the team at Entangled Publishing who helped make this book more than a random pile of scribbles: Libby Murphy and Danielle Poiesz, two of the most amazing editors I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with; Heather Riccio, Debbie Suzuki, and Jaime Arnold, the world’s most fabulous promotions team; and Liz Pelletier, the person who saved Faith Bettincourt from a life hidden under my bed as the heroine of a novel that was never submitted. This book literally would not exist without all of you.

  To all my other Entangled Sisters and the rest of the Goddesses at the Naked Hero, thank you for being the most amazing writer’s therapy group that anyone could ask for.

  To the readers and the bloggers and the people who send me emails telling me how much they enjoyed my books. I can’t believe you guys don’t have anything better to do than read my stuff. But I’ll always be eternally grateful that you don’t.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Patricia Eimer is a small town girl who was blessed with a large tree in the backyard that was a perfect spot for reading on summer days. Mixed with too much imagination it made her a bratty child but fated her to become a storyteller. After a stint of “thinking practically” in her twenties she earned degrees in Business and Economics and worked for a software firm in southwestern Germany, but her passion has always been a good book. She currently lives in eastern Pennsylvania with her two wonderful kids and a husband that learned the gourmet art of frozen pizzas to give her more time to write. When she’s not writing she can be foun
d fencing, training for triathlons, and arguing with her dogs about plot points. Most days the Beagle wins but the Dalmatian is in close second. She’s in a distant third.

  Keep reading for a sneak preview of

  BEFORE THE DEVIL KNOWS YOU’RE DEAD

  by Patricia Eimer

  Coming soon from Entangled Select...

  CHAPTER ONE

  A split second before the alarm in Room 527 started to blare I found myself staring at the world’s most annoying, know-it-all archangel as he made his way slowly up the long corridor toward me, trailing the tips of his huge white wings along the walls. He gave me a smug glare and grinned before slipping inside her room, stepping through the closed door instead of opening it. Instead of screaming for help I took off at a dead run down the hall of the ICU, cussing under my breath about stupid celestial beings and my own aversion to cardio exercise.

  Two other nurses bolted out of the rooms they were working in and came running from the other end of the hall while the attending physician on duty sprinted out of her office in front of me. I side-stepped around her and hunched my shoulders to keep from running into her back as we all raced toward the horrible shrieking wail of the alarm.

  I snapped my fingers and time stopped around me. I needed a bit more time if I was going to keep six-year-old Madeline Stavlinski—otherwise known as the transplant patient in Room 527—out of the clutches of the archangel. So rather than explain to my attending that I had to fend off the angel of death and her life-saving skills weren’t necessary at this time, I swung around her and rushed to Madeline’s room.

  Dr. Malan had both feet off the ground, stopped in mid-run. Her knees were going to hurt like a succubi’s after a busy night of soul collecting by the time she got off shift tomorrow morning. Long-term levitation was killer on the joints but that was so very much not my problem right now. I’d offer her a couple Tylenol for it later and then call it a wash.

  “Step away from the ankle biter, Mike.” I pointed my right hand like it was a handgun and I was some sort of strung out gangbanger trying to hold up a liquor store after too many rounds of first person shooter games.

  “Faith.” The Archangel stopped, his hand outstretched toward the girl. Icy blue eyes sparkled and golden energy crackled in a halo around the blond hair curling around his face, caressing his chin. “What are you doing here?”

  “I work here, moron. I’m a pediatric nurse, this is a children’s hospital. The two sort of go together like fish and freshly baked bread.”

  I pointed at the heart monitor still blaring away next to the bed. I zapped the machine with a jolt of demonic power and it reset itself. The little girl in the bed jerked and the machine began to beep in a nice, steady—quiet—rhythm.

  “You’re supposed to be off tonight,” Michael said, his voice high and whiny like a little girl who’d been told for the third time that she couldn’t have a puppy. “Two of the other reapers swore to me that you were off tonight. You don’t work Thursdays.”

  “I’m covering for another nurse. She called in sick. Now, what in the name of Dad are you doing in my hospital?”

  “Faith, there’s no need to get touchy. You and I both know that this is a normal part of life. It’s nothing for you to get upset about.”

  “Why are you on my ICU unit?” I asked, my voice steady, ignoring his “death is a normal part of life” shtick. “She doesn’t have a folder. A reaper would have come by to warn me if she had a folder.”

  “She’s on the potentials list.” Michael held up a light beige file folder and waved it at me. Madeline’s name was on it with her picture attached to the front for easy identification.

  “That means she might die,” I said, “but that folder is beige, not red. So, I repeat, more forcefully this time, why are you on my ICU?”

  “Look.” Michael stepped toward me, trying to angle himself between me and Madeline’s bed, and my finger shook as dark power raced down my arm. “I lost a soul tonight. I’m one shy, and trust me when I tell you that the AOD is not a tolerant guy when it comes to not meeting your quota. I need someone to make up the difference.”

  “What happened?” I asked, stunned that he had somehow managed to lose a soul. For all the television movies and books that talk about people being snatched from Death’s cold and greedy claws at the last moment, it rarely happened. The reapers were good at their jobs and it was a rare soul that slipped through.

  “Your sister-in-law pulled out a miracle on a pinch hit. Full cardiac arrest and she gives him a zap while the mortals are busy, and the little bugger perks right up. My folder goes from blood red to white like she’d dunked it into a vat of industrial strength bleach.

  “Heaven protect me from cranky ex-succubi,” he said. “She’s worse since she’s gotten knocked up. You know that, right? She’s become completely irrational about things.”

  “So?”

  “So?” Michael’s eyes bugged out and his face went purple. “I looked inside the folder to see when I could recoup my loss. I figured your girl Lisa’s temper tantrum wouldn’t matter in the end because I’d be back to get the kid in a few months. I could tell the boss we’d put the kid on the back burner and it would be no big deal. Right?”

  “No?” My smile grew wider at his obvious distress.

  “No. Turns out the rug rat is going to live a full and happy life—a writer of children’s books if you can believe that. He’s going to go teach kindergarten and write books that will be praised for their lush and realistic artwork. I can’t come back to collect him for another ninety-seven years.”

  He paced in a tight circle, tugging at his hair as he stomped. He stopped, stared down at Madeline, and his hands dropped onto the metal bed rail, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white. “There’s no way I can pass that off as a minor technical glitch. The soul is lost and I’m up for my quarter century performance review.”

  “So?”

  “So? It’s bad enough that your Uncle demoted me to running the angelic contingent of the Reaper Squads. If this review goes badly Valentin could promote Daniel into my position and knock me down to running the Hospitaller subteam. I’d be middle management, Faith, the equivalent of a human shift manager at McDonalds.”

  “Oh gee.” I laughed, making sure enough evil leaked out to let him know that I was amused more by his suffering and less by the living kid’s choice of career field. “I’d feel bad for you but it seems to me that the world needs more writers of kids’ books with realistic artwork.”

  “Faith…” He dropped his hands to his sides, clenching his fists.

  “Besides, what does your miserable career progression have to do with my transplant patient? She’s six—she can’t tutor you on how to ask if someone would like fries with their mortal coil shuffle.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny. Now let’s be serious. She’s high on the potentials list. She’s got what? A day. Maybe two? Why make her suffer? You can turn your back and I’ll take her soul and everyone will be happy. I’ve met my quota, save my performance evaluation, and she’s in a better place. It’s a win-win situation. Right?”

  “Not a chance.” I pointed at his folder and gave it a solid jolt of demonic power.

  The folder burst into blue-black flames and then crumpled into a neat pile of ash. “Oh look! No folder. You know what that means? No paperwork means no soul. Now go away, before I decide to keep zapping.”

  “That was pointless, Faith.” He crossed his arms over his slender, well-sculpted chest, and glared. “I’ll go back and get another copy of her file and then I’ll be back. If not today then the day her status turns red. You can’t stop the inevitable so why not give me the soul and save yourself the hassle?”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no?” Michael asked. “I need that soul.”

  “Too bad.” I leaned forward, lifting up on my toes so that we were nose to nose and then snaked my arms around his sides to grip the rails of her bed, penning him in between my arms. “You
can’t have her.”

  “Look, I know you’re protective of your patients.” He put his hands up, knocking my arms away from his sides, and air quoted around the word patients. “Look at this from my perspective. I need to take that soul and meet my quota. If our positions were switched I’d help you out.”

  “No you wouldn’t, and there’s no way in Hell’s fiery lake that I’ll ever need your help. I do my best not to associate with parasites.”

  “Parasite? I provide an essential service.”

  “Yeah? So do dung beetles.”

  “You know what?” Michael spat, his eyes filled with disgust. “Keep the brat if she means so much to you. I’ll come back and get her once the folder turns red and I’ll make sure to do it on a day where you have to watch. Once she’s formally on my list there’s nothing you can do but stand there and watch as I harvest the little twerp.”

  “Really?” I stepped forward and jammed my finger into his chest. “It seems to me Lisa managed to stop you. I could do the same.”

  “Her time has come. Let the child go, Faith. Let her find peace.”

  “It’s not her time.” I pictured the most remote, desolate island on Earth, a small spit of land near Antarctica, covered in snow and surrounded by icy water, and did my best to make it seem real in my mind. A window in reality slid open behind Michael, opening on the coldest part of that very remote bit of nowhere.

  “What’s one day? Twenty-four measly hours? What does it mean in the end?”

  “It’s everything.” I lifted my hand to his chest and gave him a solid jolt of dark power straight to the sternum.

  The archangel burst into flames and he let out a tortured scream. Dark power licked along his chiseled jaw and his hair caught fire. He swung his hands up and started to beat at the flames around his halo, screaming at me in Latin the entire time. My ancient religious languages were pretty rusty but I was pretty sure that the words he was shrieking weren’t part of the Holy Catechism.