3 Straight by the Rules

by Michelle Scott

She looked hurt. “I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Have a little faith.”

  “What you call faith, I call wishful thinking.”

  She shook her head. “No. Wishful thinking is empty dreaming. Faith is about trusting that the Master of the Universe knows what He’s doing.”

  I laughed harshly. “Spare me! I don’t think that Heaven’s propaganda is going to do Patrick any good.”

  “It’s not propaganda!”

  So we’d gone back to our opposing camps. It figured. From the way the two of us fought, you’d think we were related. Still, I admired Harmony’s calm assurance.

  I relented. “Okay, I’ll have a little faith. But only a little.” Then I grinned evilly. “Although, are you sure that you’ll have enough time to make that intercession, what with your busy schedule of sewing pillows and eating French fries and all?”

  She narrowed her eyes at me as she fought not to smile.

  When Ariel came back to the table, she stared at Harmony, her eyes huge. “What kind of thing are you?”

  Harmony and I exchanged surprised looks. I knew that my niece had a sensitivity to the otherworld, but I hadn’t realized her perception was strong enough to tell an angel from a human.

  Ari’s amazement only lasted a moment, however. When she glanced at her plate and saw that Harmony had eaten all of her French fries, she said, “Hey! I wasn’t finished with those.”

  “Well, thank you for sharing.” Harmony wiped her fingers on a napkin and stood. Before leaving, she patted Ariel’s head, getting a glower in return.

  Ari regarded her empty plate. “That thing has some nerve!”

  “She’s not so bad once you get to know her,” I said, smiling.

  Chapter Five

  Although I’d promised Harmony to have faith in her intercession, I couldn’t sit back and wait for something to happen. Instead, I spent Saturday morning investigating on my own.

  I had hunted for Patrick before. Several times, in fact. However, each search had ended in failure. My succubus, who could normally locate anyone with whom I’d made a connection, couldn’t find Patrick anywhere. She always started out eagerly, but soon she got confused, like a bloodhound who had lost the trail. We’d end up pacing up and down the same hallway in Hell, unsure where to go. This time, however, I had a new plan. It wasn’t one that I was keen on, but if it led me to Patrick, I was ready to try it.

  Getting to my destination, however, proved to be a problem. Although my succubus willingly brought me into Hell, she refused to lead me to the door with the red light bulb over it. “We don’t have to actually go inside,” I finally told her. “I just want to look at it.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please! One look. That’s all.”

  Reluctantly, she led me forward, and within a few minutes, we’d reached the door with the ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ sign on it. Without stopping to think, I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. My demon shrieked, furious that she’d been fooled, but it was too late. The door was open.

  A narrow stairway carved from rock descended at an alarming angle. A series of red light bulbs lit the entrance, but a few feet from the door, the passageway fell into darkness. The smell of sulfur wafted up, making me gag. From far, far below came the churning of heavy machinery, as if all the engines that created Hell were hard at work.

  As much as I wanted to rescue Patrick, I couldn’t force my feet down the steps. Fear tightened my chest, and the door handle felt greasy under my sweating palm. “Is he down there?” I whispered.

  My terrified succubus leaned forward, as if scenting the air. A moment later, she gave a quick mental shake of her head. No, Patrick was not below.

  “Are you sure?”

  When she remained adamant, I shut the door. Delilah had been right; doors marked with Authorized Personnel signs were not meant to be opened. “I think that’s enough exploring for one day.” Maybe having faith in the other side wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

  Giddy with relief, my demon guided me back home.

  That afternoon, anticipating my evening with William, I went to the salon for a head-to-toe makeover. When I returned home, Jasmine took one look at me and said, “Who’s coming over tonight?”

  “No one,” I said.

  My sister wasn’t fooled. She knew date-night prep work when she saw it. “New boyfriend?”

  “No.”

  She followed me into my bedroom. “Old boyfriend?”

  “Jas, please.” I considered the clothes in my closet. If I wore a dress, it might seem like I was trying too hard. On the other hand, I couldn’t show up in shorts and a tank top.

  “Ariel told me that you’re sending her to Kate’s tonight,” Jasmine said, “so something’s up.”

  Kate Popinjay was my on-call babysitter for Ariel and Grace. I depended on her quite a bit since succubi didn’t hold 9 – 5 jobs. “I want a night alone. Is that okay with you?”

  She sat on my bed next to Drinking Tea and rubbed his chin. “You should get out,” she said. “How long since you’ve been on a date?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’m worried about you is all,” she said.

  She was worried, all right, but not necessarily about me. Although I’d repeatedly told her that my one night with Tommy had been just that – one night – she wanted me safely paired up with someone. “I’m fine, Jas,” I promised.

  “Okay. Whatever.” She stood. “But just so you know, I’m visiting Tommy tonight, then I’m sleeping over at Mom and Dad’s, so I can help with the party tomorrow. You’ll have the place to yourself.”

  That was a relief. Now, if I could keep Corrine from downstairs or any other unwanted visitors at bay, I had a chance for a marvelous Friday evening.

  William was due to arrive at six. At five o’clock, I poured myself a large glass of chardonnay to calm my nerves and went to dress. I started with black jeans and an azure, Diane von Furstenberg off-the-shoulder blouse that I’d been saving for just the right occasion. Then I added a necklace and earrings. All the while, I kept my eye on the clock.

  As I nervously re-fluffed the pillows on the couch and straightened the magazines on the coffee table, I realized that the otherworld mouse hole that I’d discovered the day before had grown larger. Now, it was the size of a dog door. Worried, I crouched down for a better look. I almost put my head through it, but decided that was beyond stupid. Instead, I took a broom and stuck the handle through. Nothing happened.

  Then another idea struck me. I fetched my handheld mirror from the bathroom and put it through the entrance far enough to glimpse the reflection from the otherworld. I wasn’t surprised to see industrial carpeting, gray walls, and fluorescent lights reflected back at me. This portal was exactly the same as every other supernatural doorway. Except that it was growing.

  Having an otherworld doorway spontaneously appear in my apartment deeply disturbed me. If this kept up, my home would be overrun. I needed to ask William about it when he arrived.

  As I was checking on the chicken Florentine in the oven, I felt a shiver in the air that told me an otherworldly visitor had arrived. Trying hard to suppress my eager smile, I flipped my hair over my shoulder and turned to greet my guest.

  It was the wrong guest.

  Delilah stood in my kitchen doorway, a paper bag in her hands. She looked around warily, as if expecting a nasty surprise. “Something smells good,” she grudgingly admitted.

  “Thank you,” I told her.

  She looked over her shoulder at the flickering candles on the dining room table. “Are you expecting company?”

  “Yes, actually.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear it because you have an assignment in five minutes.” She didn’t look one bit sorry.

  I was horrified. “What? Now! Can’t it wait?”

  She shook her head. “Miss Spry said you are not to miss it.” I could sense Helen’s hot-eyed glare behind Delilah’s frown. “And she said to give you this, too.” S
he handed me the bag.

  It was the tea I had wanted for my father. I could smell the smoky aroma through the paper. Getting the tea didn’t soften my temper, however. “Are you sure you can’t change that appointment?”

  She glared at me. “I’d thought you’d be happy to go do your dirty work. Isn’t that what you succubi like to do?”

  “No, it isn’t what I like to do,” I said. “Helen forces me to.”

  Delilah blinked. “Forces you? You mean, you don’t want to sleep with all those men?”

  “I don’t sleep with men. Wait – have you been reading Wikipedia?”

  “Maybe.” She hesitated. “Yes.” She sat down on a kitchen chair that groaned under her bulk. “I thought that you and William had signed up for your jobs.”

  “I don’t know about William,” I said, “but I never wanted this. I hate working for Helen.”

  “Me, too.” Delilah twisted her silver bangles on her wrists. “I passed two months ago. Breast cancer. When I was alive, I wasn’t what you’d call a Christian lady, so I didn’t think I was good enough to get into Heaven. Which is why I ended up working for her.” Her eyes glistened.

  “Welcome to the club,” I said.

  She levered her body out of the chair. “I’m sorry, Lilith Straight. I had you figured all wrong. And I’m sorry, too, about what you’ll have to do tonight.”

  My stomach clenched. “What am I doing?”

  She handed me a slip of paper. “Dirty work.”

  As much as I wanted to defy Helen and brush off the assignment, I couldn’t. After all, I wanted to see my daughter one last time before Helen decimated me. And Helen would decimate me if I refused to follow her direct orders. So instead of keeping my date with William, I stomped to my bedroom to change out of my clothes and into something more appropriate.

  I arrived at the location wearing little more than a silk robe and a smile. And because I was nervous, the smile was as thin as the robe.

  The hotel banquet room bustled with wait staff who laid out stacks of china on buffet tables and lit cans of Sterno under chafing dishes. I snagged the attention of the bartender who was arranging bottles of liquor. “I’m the sushi model,” I said. “Do you know where I need to be?”

  He ogled me, taking in my long, bare legs and clingy silk robe before directing me to a bleached-blonde forty-something wearing a high-gloss lipstick that matched her scarlet nails. Her nametag read: Barb Silverstone, event coordinator. She carried a clipboard and shouted orders to a pair of waiters arranging canapés on silver platters.

  “You’re late,” she told me.

  “I didn’t have a lot of warning.” After Delilah had left, I’d quickly blown out the candles, turned off the oven, and left a note for William. The message was brief because I was afraid that Jasmine or Ariel would find it. All I’d written was: Sorry, duty calls. L. I hoped he understood.

  Barb frowned, taking in my face and hair. “Well, at least you’re pretty.”

  Because of my demon’s powers, I can alter my physical appearance, and I’d made myself taller and more willowy. My hair was shorter and blonder, and I’d added glittery, purple makeup that swooped like a fanciful Mardi Gras mask over my eyes.

  The coordinator ordered me to follow her, then strode across the room. As we approached an enormous ice sculpture of a bare-breasted mermaid, she slowed down. A scrawny waiter whose thinning hair had been dyed a flat black was attempting to chat up a young waitress as she arranged fresh fruit around the base of the sculpture. The fact that the woman was young enough to be his daughter didn’t stop the man from ogling her breasts and standing too close to her.

  Barb’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Milo!” She barked out the name like an insult.

  The man jumped guiltily, then smiled at the coordinator. “What is it, sugar bear?”

  “Leave that poor girl alone so she can do her job.”

  “Sorry, sugar bear. I just wanted to taste her grapes.” He took Barb’s hand and kissed her cheek while his eyes slid up and down my scantily-clad body.

  This man was my client, I realized. I would have tempted him right then, but my succubus reminded me that we hadn’t been given all of the tools yet.

  Despite Milo’s innocent smile, Barb continued to glare. “Watch yourself, or I’ll see you in divorce court,” she warned. Before walking away, she slapped his butt a little too hard for it to be affectionate.

  She led me over to a table that held an enormous platter of sushi and ordered me to disrobe. Worried, I glanced around the busy room. Get undressed in front of everyone? Was she kidding? Underneath my robe, I wore a skimpy bikini so, technically, I wouldn’t be naked. Still, I wasn’t eager to show that much skin to this many people. “Where’s my costume?”

  She frowned. “What costume?”

  “You know. The one I’m modeling in?” I had figured being a sushi model meant wearing a kimono as I walked among the guests and offered them sushi from a silver tray.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re modeling the sushi. Now take off that robe and lie down on the table, so I can set out the food.”

  My eyes traveled from the platter of sushi to the linen-covered table and back again. “You aren’t seriously thinking of using me as a sushi display, right?” Either this was a joke, or another of Delilah’s epic blunders.

  “Of course. That’s what sushi models do.”

  I backed away from the table. “No! No way.”

  Barb clapped her hands at me. “Chop, chop! You’re not getting paid to debate this.”

  My succubus needled me, a reminder that I did want to see Grace one last time before my evil overlord destroyed me for disobeying her orders. Helen and I had already faced off once this week. One more showdown like that, and I’d find myself locked in an iron maiden alongside Patrick. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Okay, semi-naked, covered in sushi… It wasn’t pleasant, but how bad could it be?

  I let the robe slip from my shoulders and reluctantly laid on the table which, thank goodness, was padded underneath the white cloth. Barb placed an enormous pair of lotus blossoms over my breasts and a broad, glossy banana leaf on top of my nether regions. Then she laid the cold, sticky rounds of sushi in a line along my shin bones and on my outstretched arms. As she worked, she said, “The rules are that the guests cannot talk to you, touch you, or otherwise maul you. And you are not to move or speak.”

  They might not be able to touch me, but they could look, and now that I was being piled with sushi, I was drawing stares from the wait staff. Their eyes crawled over me, making me squirm. Someone used their phone to snap a picture. I flushed in embarrassment as I wondered whose FaceBook page I’d be appearing on.

  When Barb laid the sushi onto my stomach and along my collarbones, I sucked in my breath. It was like being covered in leeches. My skin wanted to crawl away from my body. “This is the stupidest, grossest thing I’ve ever heard of,” I said. “No one’s going to eat sushi that’s been sitting on a stranger’s skin. Who came up with this idea anyway?”

  She glared at me. “I’ll have you know that nyotaimori is considered an art form. Japanese men do it all the time.”

  “Are you kidding me,” I said, outraged. “My father is Japanese! He would never think that eating sushi off a semi-naked woman was art.” I lifted my head and glared. “I’ll bet not a single person living in Japan has even heard of this. In fact, nyotaimori is probably a made-up word…”

  She shoved a spicy tuna roll into my mouth. “You are not to talk, remember?” Then she walked away, tucking the empty tray under her arm.

  Being partially naked and covered in sushi is bad. Being partially naked, covered in sushi and not being able to move is worse. Within minutes, my nose began to itch maddeningly. A fleck of something got into my eye, but as much as I tried, I couldn’t blink it away. My muscles started to cramp. First my right thigh, then my left winched tight until I gasped in pain. Breathe through it, I told myself. Breathe! My skin itched as the sushi began to dry o
ut. I would have cheated and scratched, but the palms of my outstretched hands were filled with shrimp tempura rolls. I was helpless and humiliated. No doubt Helen was punishing me for my temerity the day before. I swore that I could hear her laughing at me from the otherworld.

  As I listened to the hum of conversation, I wondered where on earth my client had disappeared to. My orders were to make him take a piece of sushi from me. When I’d first read my instructions, the temptation hadn’t sounded too bad. However, now that I knew the sushi was being displayed on my nearly-naked body and that Milo was a terrible lecher, I began to worry. Along with that piece of sushi, he might try to sample something else of mine.

  Although my client hadn’t stopped by for a gander, everyone else did. And while the men didn’t talk to me, they all got their messages across loud and clear. Some leaned over to sniff at my lotus blossoms and leer at my cleavage while others joked at how they wanted to peek beneath the banana leaf. Pretty soon, it wasn’t just the smell of sushi making me sick.

  A pair of college students ambled over. They both looked too young to be drinking, but from their giggles and lack of coordination, it was clear they’d been taking advantage of the open bar. After treating me to several double entendres, one of them said to his friend, “Man, your birthday party blows.”

  “I know, right?” The other kid poured a packet of soy sauce over one of the California rolls on my belly, and brown liquid dribbled into my navel. “My dad said he’d only invite a few of his employees tonight, but they’re overrunning the whole damn thing. He probably wants to write this party off as a business expense.” He ate part of the sushi then gave a disgusted, “Ack!” and spit the rest of it into the palm of his hand. “Let’s get out of here.” To my relief, the pair of them staggered off.

  Finally, my succubus nudged me. My client had reappeared. I could just see him from the corner of my eye. Unfortunately, Barb’s threat of divorce court must have worried him because he refused to come near me. He lingered a few feet away as he handed guests the glasses of white wine on his tray.