The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  “But while you’re willing to admit that you intended to kill him, you’re going to tell me you didn’t, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And you can prove you didn’t kill him…how?”

  Samael let loose a low, rumbling laugh that sounded to Claire like distant thunder.

  “You already know I didn’t do it,” he said.

  The casualness in his voice astounded Claire. She hoped Samael knew what he was doing. He was one cool customer, that’s for sure…He’d already said enough to get himself arrested.

  Then again, he was a demon.

  Even a detective as slick as Trudeau probably wasn’t going to trip up a demon.

  Probably…

  “How’s that again?” Trudeau asked. He was still leaning forward in his chair, the cup of coffee untouched.

  “You already checked the time stamp on the security camera, and you know that I left more than an hour before Mr. LaPierre jumped from his balcony. The time of that event is well-established because more than a few neighbors heard his scream and the thump he made when he hit that pavement.”

  Trudeau looked at him for a long time and then—finally—picked up the coffee cup and took a sip.

  “Mmm, it’s good,” he said, savoring the taste after he swallowed.

  “Jamaican Blue Mountain. Nothing but the best,” Samael replied.

  But of course, Claire thought wryly.

  Samael and Trudeau talked a while longer, the detective asking, probing from several directions, trying to get Samael to reveal what he and LaPierre had talked about, but Samael was too wary to fall into his trap, and he evaded every question about that night with aplomb. For her part, Claire was concerned that Samael would trip up on something—a tiny detail that only a detective would notice—and that would be that. Eventually she relaxed and, the visit ended with pleasant but pointless conversation. After an hour or so, Trudeau thanked Samael and left.

  Samael and Claire saw him to the door.

  Then…finally…they had the house to themselves.

  Chapter

  9

  Quitting Time

  The tour of the rest of the house took the better part of three hours and left Claire absolutely breathless. There was no denying the beauty and grandeur of Samael’s estate. Each spacious room looked to Claire like it came from the pages of a magazine. The living room ran the entire length of the house on the west side. It looked out on the vast lawn and bordering woods and the ocean beyond. The furniture was antique but comfortable…inviting. The kitchen was state-of-the-art with granite counters, stainless steel appliances, even a ten-burner chef’s stove with three ovens. And everywhere she looked, there were paintings on the wall—gorgeous paintings, some of which she recognized, including a Pontbriand and two Weigles. She didn’t have to ask if any of them were originals.

  Upstairs, the master bedroom and bath were beyond her wildest imaginings. The bed alone was close to the size of her entire bedroom back at the apartment. The bathroom had a shower with twelve independent shower heads. Next to the shower was a Jacuzzi that could hold at least half a dozen people.

  “Do you swim laps in that to stay fit?” she asked, smiling.

  “Cannibal soup,” he said, but when he laughed, there was something in his laugh that unsettled her. As they continued their tour of the house, she couldn’t help but wonder how many women over the years—over the centuries—he might have entertained here.

  She certainly wasn’t the first…of anything…for him.

  And what was she doing in a ritzy house like this with a man—No, a demon.

  —like him?

  She thought about the amazing diamond ring he had bought for her and that they planned to pick up tomorrow.

  She wondered if she could pull off being the lady of the manor.

  Could she ever order servants around with Samael’s cool assurance without feeling guilty and apologetic?

  The idea that a “County” girl shouldn’t aspire to such riches nagged at her. She thought she knew her place in the world, and it certainly never involved living in a house like this…not one where the living room had more square footage than her entire apartment.

  But who says I don’t deserve this? She asked herself. Who makes the rules, anyway?

  “So…” Samael said once they had finished their inspection of the upstairs and were on their way back down the wide flight of stairs to the foyer. “There’s still the finished-off attic and the basement.”

  “I’m exhausted. Let’s at least take a break.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “But it…it’s gorgeous beyond words.” She was dazzled in spite of the doubts still plaguing her. “It’ll take a while for all of it to sink in.”

  “I understand,” Samael said. He grinned as he said this and appeared satisfied that she was suitably impressed.

  “You want to go home now, don’t you?”

  Claire looked down at her feet and said nothing. She didn’t dare look at him because she was still embarrassed about how inadequate she felt. This was going to take some time getting used to.

  “I can tell,” he said. “You’re tense. You’ve been tense ever since we got here because—”

  “Because maybe a detective and two cops showed up, for starters?”

  “Ahh—” Samael waved his hand dismissively. “Screw them. I was thinking more because of all of…this.” He indicated his house with a wide sweep of his hand. “It’ll probably take a bit, but you’ll adapt.”

  Claire looked at the daylight spilling in through the windows to her right. There weren’t even any dust motes, spinning in the beam of sunlight, and she realized that throughout the tour, she had never once seen or heard even a hint of any of the staff, however many there were.

  “Where are the people?” she asked.

  Samael appeared to be confused by her question, but then he smiled and said, “Oh, you mean the help?”

  “Yes. The…help,” Claire said.

  The words sounded so pretentious to her…as if she was some high-class woman or something, not the daughter of an oil delivery man and a kindergarten teacher from Fort Kent, Maine.

  Is “people” the right word to use?...What do you call maids and servants these days?…Probably still maids and servants…

  So far, she had only seen Michelle, and she hadn’t been introduced or spoken to the woman. She hadn’t noticed anything obviously demonic about her, but Claire wondered if she would ever be able to tell human from demon.

  “They’re quite good at staying out of sight unless they’re needed,” Samael said…as if that explained it all. Claire couldn’t help but think it might be easy for them to “disappear” because they were probably lesser demons who could become invisible. She shivered, wondering if any of them were invisible now, in the foyer, watching and listening unseen to them now.

  She wasn’t sure she could ever get used to always wondering who or what might be close by, invisible to her, if no one else in the house.

  “So?” Samael said. “Would you like to go back to your place now?”

  “I…” She shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “I was thinking, now that that bothersome detective is out of the way, we might relax and enjoy ourselves. You saw the home theater. Are there any movies you’ve been wanting to see?”

  “I dunno,” Claire said, shifting her gaze away and wishing she could sound even the tiniest bit decisive. She wasn’t used to feeling like this, but the truth was, Samael was right. This house and all it represented was intimidating, not least because of how she assumed he had gotten it by doing Evil—with a capital E—things.

  Get over yourself, she thought. Relax and enjoy yourself for as long as this—whatever it is—lasts…Enjoy his company and sharing a bed with him…Take it for all it’s worth…Just don’t give anything away…Especially not your soul.

  “Yeah. Okay. Let’s watch a movie…what have you got?”

  “How abo
ut the new DiCaprio?”

  “That’s still in the theaters,” Claire said, not surprised that he knew she was a fan of Leo’s. She didn’t recall ever mentioning it to him…but she might have.

  “No, I have the next one,” Samael said.

  “How did you—?” But she knew it was futile to ask.

  Just go with it…

  “Come on, then,” Samael said, hooking her arm with his. They turned in unison and headed down the hallway, past the dining room and den, and down into the basement to the home theater.

  ~ * ~

  Claire thought the movie, what she saw of it, anyway, was excellent, but she was going to have to ask Samael to play it again for her…or maybe—like old times—she and Sally would go to the theater to see it when it came out because also, like old times, Claire and Samael got very comfortable on the couch.

  And that tail of his…!

  ~ * ~

  Claire spent the rest of the day and night at Samael’s. Sometime around eleven o’clock that night, she called Sally to let her know that she wouldn’t be home and not to worry.

  “What makes you think I’m worried?” Sally asked.

  “Because I know you do. You pretend not to, but you do.”

  “Well I don’t. Oh, and by the way, have you seen Mittens?”

  Claire’s stomach tightened as she remembered that ball of fur and flesh in the shower.

  “No, I…I haven’t been home.”

  “I’m starting to get worried she might not come back.”

  “Don’t worry,” Claire said, almost choking on the lie. “I’m sure she’s all right.”

  Sally harrumphed, but then, when she pressed Claire to tell her where she was, what she was doing, and why she wouldn’t be back that night, Claire became evasive. Sally was no fool, and she guessed correctly that she was with “that dickhead we met last weekend.” Claire lost her temper and told her to mind her own damned business—a bit harsh, perhaps. After Claire hung up, she felt terrible, and she wondered if spending so much time with Samael was making her act uncharacteristically less caring…more callous toward her friend.

  She wondered if this could be the slippery slope of evil.

  “You’ll hardly know you’re damned.”

  She shivered as Samael’s words echoed in her memory.

  Claire’s mother had drilled it into her head that evil never announced itself. It had a way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it and, once you finally realized what was happening, it was too late to turn back.

  But thinking about Sally, she knew they had been drifting apart as friends long before she met Samael. Of course they were still friends, and they certainly cared about each other, but Claire was beginning to see Sally as being stuck in a certain mindset…wallowing in immaturity. Especially since she met Samael, she realized that life wasn’t about working to support your weekends of partying and trying to meet Mr. Right.

  There was much more to it than that.

  With such thoughts tumbling around in her head, at the end of a long day, she and Samael made their way up to the bedroom.

  ~ * ~

  As usual, Claire awoke shortly before dawn and leaped out of bed, thinking she had to get back to her place to get ready for work.

  “Are you sure you want to go today?” Samael asked sleepily.

  Claire wasn’t convinced he really slept but decided not to ask.

  “Either I do or I get fired.”

  “Uh-huh. And would that be such a bad thing?”

  “Getting fired? You bet your ass.”

  “There are worse things,” Samael said.

  That drew Claire up short. Not because she didn’t want to quit her job. Far from it. For years, she had fantasized she would win the lottery, walk into Marty’s office, tell him to stuff it, and maybe spill hot coffee into his lap for emphasis. But she would never do something like that. It simply wasn’t her style.

  That didn’t mean she didn’t think about it…or wish she could muster the courage to do it.

  “I have to…I need the money.”

  Samael grunted and rolled over onto his side. The cotton bed sheets rustled as they shifted, exposing the bright red tip of his tail. Claire experienced a rush of warmth in her lower belly.

  “I said it before, and I’ll say it again—” He sat up, reclining on his elbow so the sheets draped loosely around him, contoured to his body. “I’m absolutely, totally serious. I’m rich, Claire…richer than you can ever imagine. I can take care of all your expenses with my pocket change.”

  “But what if I want to pay my own way…a pride thing.”

  He sat up in bed and looked earnestly at her.

  “I can…I want to take care of you.”

  Claire cast her gaze to the floor and couldn’t help but notice that she was standing barefoot in a carpet so plush and luxurious it was probably worth more than she earned in a year. She sighed and shook her head, thinking how insane she’d be to say yes or no to him.

  “For how long?” she asked, her voice a rasping whisper.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…how long will you take care of me? Until you get tired of me? Until I get old and fat and ugly? Or only until you find another woman…someone…more interesting?”

  Or only as long as it takes for you to claim my soul for your Master.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, throwing the bed sheets aside, exposing the full length of his naked body. The sheets fluttered to the floor like a silk parachute, and Claire had a brief impression of a magician waving his cape to distract and bewilder the audience.

  Seeing him standing there—naked—Claire couldn’t help but feel a powerful urge to go to him and embrace him and let him possess her body, if not her soul. When her vision cleared, he was down on one knee with his hands extended to her like a sinner, imploring to a saint.

  “Claire…I swear I will love you and care for you until death does us part.”

  “You…you really mean it, don’t you?” she said. Tears filled her eyes.

  Samael stared at her, his gold-flecked eyes gleaming brightly.

  “I do,” he said, his voice twisted with barely contained emotion. “I—”

  His voice caught, and the surprised expression that crossed his face looked genuinely painful, as if he had the worst case of heartburn in history.

  “I swear to God, I love you.”

  When he said the word “God,” any doubts Claire had instantly evaporated. The Devil…or any demon…could say whatever he, she, or it wanted to in order to seduce someone to Evil, but there was no way…no way a demon could say God’s name if he were lying and trying to corrupt someone.

  Claire was trembling as she approached him, no longer caring that she was naked in front of him. She reached down and took his hands and raised him to his feet. He towered over her, and she let herself be engulfed by the strength and warmth of his embrace. Moving slowly and in perfect harmony, they went back to the bed and collapsed onto it in a writhing mass. It wasn’t long before they were making love, and Claire could no longer distinguish when she ended and he began.

  They were one.

  ~ * ~

  Sometime later—time became meaningless, Claire thought, whenever they were together—they were lying side by side, their bodies slick with sweat and limp with exhaustion.

  “You never said it,” Samael said, his voice soothing in the semidarkness.

  “Said what?”

  “That you love me.”

  Claire didn’t respond immediately. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath along with her thoughts.

  “I meant it, you know,” Samael said. “For I don’t know how long, I’ve dedicated myself to Evil. But now I…I have no idea what’s happened to me. I feel pity and compassion for a man I wanted to damn to Hell, and I find myself wanting…wanting to get back something I willingly gave up millennia ago.”

  “And that is…?” Claire asked. She was p
ositive she already knew the answer, but she was determined to hear him say it out loud.

  “I want my soul back,” Samael said.

  The first time he said it, his voice was low and hesitant, but when he said it again—

  “I want my soul back.”

  —there was iron determination and strength in his voice.

  The third time he said it—

  “I want my soul back.”

  —he clenched hands into fists and punched the mattress hard enough to frighten Claire.

  She was amazed that this was happening, but any lingering doubts vanished. She took a tiny sip of breath and held it until her head started to spin. Then, in absolute disbelief, she listened to her own voice like it was someone else’s when she said, “Yes, Samael. I love you, too…and want to marry you.”

  Marry a demon, a voice inside her head cried out. Are you fucking crazy?…Are you genuinely in love…or has he cast a spell on you?

  Either way, you’re probably going straight to Hell.

  In the end, none of it mattered because this was her life, and come Hell or high water, she was going to do whatever she wanted to do…whatever she felt compelled to do. If it was done for love, then it couldn’t be bad. And one thing she was absolutely certain of—she couldn’t and she wouldn’t even consider living a day without Samael in her life.

  If she had just sold her soul, he’d been right: She hardly knew it.

  All she felt was contentment like she had never known it before.

  ~ * ~

  “So what do you say we get dressed and go out for breakfast?”

  “It’s not lunch time? It seems like we’ve been in bed forever.”

  Claire’s stomach was grumbling. One thing she knew for sure: it was already too late to get to work on time or to call in sick. She debated calling the office now and making some lame excuse about her alarm clock not going off, but she decided—to Hell with that.