“Olivia?” I edged around the car but she wasn’t there. “Hello?” I peered through the windows but the Mustang was unoccupied. I turned around in a full circle and even looked underneath the car but she was gone. “Olivia!” I called doubtfully, wondering if I somehow lost the ability to see ghosts all of a sudden. “Make a sound or move something if you can hear me.” Nothing happened.
“Dara,” I murmured. She must have woken up. I checked my watch but it wasn’t even midnight yet. Did something happen at home? I wondered uneasily. She usually sleeps all morning if we let her. Crap! Maybe Prescott found her!
I jumped into the Mustang and squealed out of the parking light, only remembering to turn on my headlights when I was already halfway down the block. I went as fast as I dared, keeping watch for the HPD patrol cars, but I made it home without incident.
I pulled up to the curb in front of the house, relieved that Prescott’s black SUV was nowhere in sight. I shut off the car and got out, closing the door as quietly as I could, and crept to the front door, listening for any sign of a struggle inside. Everything seemed perfectly peaceful but I didn’t know what sort of spells Prescott had at his command. Maybe everyone’s in an enchanted sleep, I worried, fumbling for my door key. Maybe he’s already taken Dara away!
I opened the front door and carefully poked my head inside. There was a light coming from the kitchen and I eased inside, grimacing as the door latch clicked loudly behind me. The refrigerator door was open and the light inside outlined someone’s long bare legs. For a moment, I thought it was Susie scrounging for a midnight snack, and then I saw the tail sweeping slowly back and forth.
“Dara!” I whispered, hurrying over. Her tail reared back at my approach and then nudged her on the shoulder. Daraxandriel straightened and frowned at me, her glowing eyes bright in the darkness. She wore one of my t-shirts, which did a completely inadequate job of covering her buttocks.
“Peter Simon Collins,” she said, sounding irked. “Didst thou rouse me from my slumber?”
“Me?” I asked, surprised. “No, I’ve been out all night with, um – Well, never mind. What are you doing up? Where’s Lilith?” I added uneasily.
“She still sleeps,” Daraxandriel grumbled. “I awoke to the darkness and could not reclaim my repose.” She studied the contents of the refrigerator with a dissatisfied frown. “I bethought a morsel might soothe me and yet naught here appeals.”
“You’re looking for a snack? And Lilith’s not here,” I said thoughtfully to myself. This is my chance! “How about we go out for some fries?” I suggested casually.
“Fries?” She and her tail both perked up. “Dost thou know of a purveyor?”
“Whataburger’s open all night. Come on.” I held up my key fob like a lure and urged her towards the front door. She followed like an eager puppy following a trail of kibble. I got her outside and quietly closed and locked the door behind us. “Don’t make any noise,” I cautioned her. “We don’t want to wake anybody up.”
“Fret not, Peter Simon Collins,” she declared airily. “I do not desire to share my fries with others.” She walked towards the Mustang and the moonlight limned her in silvery light, highlighting the curves of her body and the ridges of her horns. Little Peter thoroughly enjoyed the view but my heart clenched in my chest.
“Oh, um, wait a minute,” I gulped. “You can’t go out like that.”
She stopped with her hand on the gate and frowned down at herself. “Thou didst declaim my demon appearance pleases you. Didst thou speak falsely?” she asked dangerously.
“No, absolutely not!” I stammered hastily and, I hoped, sincerely. “But Agent Prescott’s still looking for you. If he sees you like that –”
“Then he shall discover the full might and majesty of a true scion of Hell!” she declared, clenching her fist in a dramatic pose.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” I agreed hastily, “but then we wouldn’t be able to get any fries.”
Daraxandriel lowered her hand doubtfully and then she set her jaw defiantly. “Nay, I am done cowering behind mine other guise, Peter Simon Collins,” she stated flatly as her tail flicked back and forth menacingly. “An thy demon hunter strives to prevent us from procuring fries, he shall earn my wrath!” She stalked to the passenger door and stood there with her arms crossed. “Make haste!” she ordered.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. I could only hope that Mrs. Kendricks was still keeping Prescott occupied. “Could you at least wear something else? Whataburger has a no shirt, no shoes, no service policy.”
“I am wearing a shirt,” she pointed out.
“Well, true,” I agreed, clearing my throat, “but there’s an implicit no pants clause. They’re not going to let you inside.”
“They cannot gainsay me,” she insisted firmly. “I shall not be denied.”
“We’ll just do the drive-through,” I sighed, unlocking the Mustang. “One order of fries coming up.”
“Two,” Daraxandriel corrected me as she slipped into the passenger seat, wiggling around until she found a comfortable position for her tail. “Thou needs must make amends.”
“For what?”
“Thou didst promise me fries yesterday and yet failed to acquire them.”
“I did get them!” I protested. “You fell asleep before I got home.”
“Nay, do not think me swayed by such a feeble excuse,” she sniffed. “Thou art foresworn.”
“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes as I climbed in and started the car. “Two fries.” Round six was off to a shaky start.
24
Sin is a pervasive but strangely ill-defined concept. Depending on your particular religion, you probably have a long list of sins that you should avoid doing but the justification for that list isn’t always clear. There are the obvious ones, of course, like murder and adultery and theft, and a host of relatively minor infractions like lying and lusting in your heart, but then you get into some pretty obscure ones that really don’t make a lot of sense to me. Is my soul really at risk of eternal damnation if I eat a pork chop or get a tattoo?
Most people are familiar with the classic seven deadly sins – Wrath, Sloth, Gluttony, Envy, Lust, Pride, and Greed – but the interesting thing about them is that they’re all thoughts and emotions. They’re attitudes, not actions.
A crime is an act that causes harm to people and things. A sin is a thought that has the potential to become a crime. I guess that’s why some people are so obsessed with sin. They want to nip these aberrant feelings in the bud so that you’re never tempted to act on the underlying urges.
The problem is, the seven deadly sins are all based on natural human behaviors. Everyone gets a bit angry or lazy or hungry on occasion. When does a normal impulse become too much? At what point does a thought cross the line and become a sin?
“So,” I said casually, “what are you going to do after all this is over?”
Daraxandriel nibbled her fry all the way to the end before she answered. “I do not grasp thy meaning, Peter Simon Collins,” she said, plucking another fry from the container. The second box stood nearby awaiting its turn.
“After Agent Prescott is gone.” We sat at a rickety picnic table under the pavilion closest to the muddy shore of the Brazos River. We had Kimball Bend Park all to ourselves, with just the occasional rumble of a passing truck on the bridge breaking the silence. “What are you going to do? Go back to playing Lorecraft?”
She frowned as she chewed her way along another fry. Her eyes glowed dimly in the shadows cast by the angled roof overhead. “Nay,” she said finally. “I needs must return to my Dread Lord.”
“Why?” I asked, dismayed. That wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear.
“To beg His forbearance and plead that He lift Lilith’s curse.”
“Do you really think He would?” I said uneasily. “He doesn’t sound like the forgiving type.”
“Nay, His wrath is legendary,” she admitted. “Yet I cannot leave Lilith as she is. She is
my clutch-mate.”
“Would she do the same for you?”
Daraxandriel paused with a fry hovering an inch from her mouth. “She would,” she said quietly, but her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, “an it served her purposes.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because I wish to repay my debt to her. She took my curse upon herself willingly and suffers greatly for it.”
“She only did it to avoid getting punished for a problem she caused.”
“Her reasons matter not, Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel insisted. “I would see her whole again. Wouldst thou not do likewise for the waif?”
“Susie wouldn’t set me up to take the fall for her,” I argued. “Well, all right, maybe she would, but she wouldn’t have made a mistake in the first place.”
“Mayhap,” she mused. “She would be a demon to be reckoned with.”
“That’s a scary thought,” I muttered. Imagining Susie with horns and a tail took almost no effort whatsoever. “So suppose your Dread Lord does lift the curse? Then what?”
“Then I shall resume my duties.” She took two fries this time and made short work of them.
“Bargaining for souls?” I asked glumly. This conversation wasn’t going the way I’d planned at all.
“’Tis my purpose,” she said with a shrug. “What else is there?”
“Anything else! I mean, what’s the point in collecting souls anyway? What do you do with them?”
She blinked at me. “I deliver them to my Dread Lord.”
“And what does He do with them?”
Now she frowned. “I know not. He does not reveal His intentions to such as I.”
“So you go around ruining people’s lives – er, afterlives – and you don’t even know why?” I asked incredulously.
“’Tis my purpose,” she said again, but there was an uncertain note at the end.
“What would happen if you didn’t collect any souls?”
“Souls are the coin of passage,” she said, looking shocked. “How else would I return to the nether world?”
“But why do you want to go back there?” I asked doubtfully. “Do you like it there?”
“Nay, it is a bleak and forbidding place,” she said, shuddering at the thought. “Thy world is much more to my liking. It has Lorecraft. And fries.” She stuffed the remaining fries from the first carton into her mouth.
“So let me get this straight. You collect souls to bring to someone you’re afraid of in a place you don’t like for reasons you don’t understand.” She nodded hesitantly, still chewing. “And this sounds like a good idea to you?”
“What wouldst thou have me do elsewise, Peter Simon Collins?” she asked testily. “There is no place in thy world for such as I. Wouldst thou have me cower in thy room for all eternity, lest I be assailed by witches?”
“No, but maybe if you gave up on all this soul business they wouldn’t be after you.”
She scoffed around a fry from the second container. “Mine appearance alone is fearsome to humans and they destroy that which they fear. It is their nature.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” I insisted.
“I seek thy soul,” she reminded me. “Thou needs must look favorably upon me, lest thou wouldst decline thy contract out of hand.”
“Wait, are you saying you’re making me like you?” I asked doubtfully. “I thought you said you weren’t allowed to do that.”
Daraxandriel suddenly found something very interesting inside the fry box. “Nay,” she mumbled. “Such would invalidate the bargain.”
“Are you cheating?”
“Thou art stubborn, Peter Simon Collins!” she retorted with sudden heat. “Thou shouldst have signed with gratitude that night of prom. Melissa was thine for the asking!”
“I don’t want Melissa. I want you!”
“Thou dost not ken what thou declaims,” she shot back. “Thy infatuation is but a shadow of the ardor a succubus can unleash. Thy feeble heart would beat its last were I to inflict my full power upon thee!”
“Right,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This from the demon with zero souls to her name.”
“Dost thou doubt me, Peter Simon Collins?” she demanded, her eyes flaring brightly. “Look upon me and despair for thy soul!” She sat back on the bench and crossed her arms.
I looked her over dubiously, wondering what she was talking about. She looked exactly the same to me, although admittedly the swell of her breasts under her shirt was very distracting. Just enough moonlight leaked into the pavilion to cast glittering highlights on her horns and turn her spiky hair into ruddy flames.
Her angry glare did nothing to detract from the sensuous curve of her lips and of course her body was absolutely perfect. I didn’t even mind her body heat all that much anymore. In fact, it was going to be wonderful come winter when I could just wrap my arms around her toasty warmth, feeling her soft skin pressed against mine as we drifted off to sleep.
I watched as she reached out and claimed another fry, her tongue flicking out to lick off the salt. My own tongue was desperately dry and I swallowed with difficulty as I stared at her mouth, remembering the taste of her lips the last time we kissed. How long ago was that? I wondered bleakly. Too long. I wanted to kiss her again, right here, right now.
No, I wanted to do more than that. I wanted to take her in my arms and hold her body against mine. I wanted to run my hands down her back and feel the beat of her heart against my chest. I wanted to touch her all over, I wanted to hear the catch in her breath when I explored her forbidden regions, I wanted her to moan softly and beg for more.
Even that wasn’t enough. I wanted to grip her horns in my hands and guide her mouth where it needed to go. I wanted her to shudder beneath me as she clawed my back with her nails, screaming my name. I wanted to do everything on Justin’s list, starting with #1, and if I somehow survived, I wanted to do it all again and again and again.
I didn’t remember getting to my feet but I yanked and cursed at my belt, trying to get it undone. I nearly broke the zipper on my pants in my desperation but I finally got it open and I shoved them down to my knees along with my boxers. Little Peter tried to leap across the table at Daraxandriel but she was too far away and an animal growl erupted from my throat.
I couldn’t wait any longer. I tried to climb over the table to get to her but I couldn’t lift my legs high enough with my clothes tangled around my knees. I fell back onto the bench and wrestled with them, almost whimpering with the urgency of my need.
“Thy manhood is most impressive for one so young,” Daraxandriel observed, every syllable sending a shivery thrill through my body, “but my maidenhead demands a high price, Peter Simon Collins. Art thou willing to pay it?”
“Anything!” I gasped. “I’ll do anything for you!”
She snapped her fingers and a parchment appeared on the picnic table, dense with goat’s blood lettering and weighed down with the familiar wavy knife. “Thou knowst what thou must do.”
I snatched up the knife and jammed its point into the pad of my index finger, all the way down to the bone, but I scarcely registered the pain. I smudged my signature across the bottom and reached for her but she leaned back just out of range of my grasping fingers.
“Hast thou learned thy lesson, Peter Simon Collins?” she asked.
I blinked. Daraxandriel was still beautiful in her demonically exotic way but my desire for her suddenly tapered off to wishing she’d let me hold her hand at some point tonight. “Wha – what just happened?” I stammered.
“Thou didst doubt my power,” she told me archly.
My finger stung and I stared at the oozing wound on my fingertip. “Oh my God,” I breathed. I snatched the contract off the table and frantically read through the terms. “What have I done?” I could hardly recognize my strangled voice. “Your maidenhead for my soul and Melissa’s? And Susie’s and Mrs. Kendricks’ too?” The world spun around me and I felt sick to my stomach.
“Fret not,
Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel assured me. “This contract is worth less than ashes.” She snapped her fingers again and the parchment vaporized in my hands, leaving behind a waft of black smoke and the scent of burning matches. “Thou wert insensible from thy lust.”
My legs turned into noodles and I plopped down on the bench, only to discover from the scrape of rough wood on my butt that my pants were still down around my knees. I scrabbled to pull them back up but Little Peter refused to admit that Daraxandriel’s demonstration was over. He fought me every inch of the way but I finally got him put away where he couldn’t cause any trouble.
“Oh my God, how did you do that?” I groaned in despair, propping my head up in my hands. “I was ready to send everyone I know to Hell to have you.”
She raised and lowered one shoulder. “Such is the true power of a succubus,” she said quietly. “None can deny it without a potent ward.” She took another fry but she just stared at it glumly.
“And all demons can do it?”
She shrugged again. “We prey upon different desires, Peter Simon Collins. Others magnify anger or jealousy or greed and such. This is why witches and warlocks seek to destroy us upon sight. They fear for their souls and their sanity.” Her eyes flicked up to my face and fell away again. “And now thou dost fear me too,” she said sadly.
The thought of losing all control over myself again twisted my stomach into a painful knot. Valid contract or not, I never ever wanted to be in a situation like that again. Daraxandriel looked so forlorn sitting there, though, that I couldn’t admit that to her.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I insisted. “I know you just wanted me to understand you better.” She looked up at me hesitantly. “It doesn’t matter that you can do that to me, since I know you won’t do it again. I trust you.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Thy faith is misplaced, Peter Simon Collins. I am a demon, thou art human. We are at odds.”
“Do you really want to take my soul, Dara?” I asked her.
Soul Mates Page 31