The_Demons_Wife_ARC

by Rick Hautala

  He didn’t walk out and close the door behind him. He was…gone.

  A feeling of serenity—and a new resolve—filled her as she turned back to the mirror to finish with her makeup. Her eyes sparkled, and her long, red curls billowed around her face and flowed down her back like a fire-fall.

  Not bad, she thought. Who really needs a fancy white dress, anyway?

  She gave herself one final, satisfied look in the large mirror in the bedroom, and then went downstairs to join Samael and Michael, who were waiting for her in the sunroom. They had been talking about something quite intensely, but they stopped abruptly when she entered the room.

  “Amazing…absolutely amazing,” Samael said, his voice tinged with awe as he got up from his chair, walked over to Claire, and gave her a hug. He kissed her on the mouth, but only for a few seconds. She broke it off, feeling funny, making out in front of an angel. He stepped back and, raising his left arm, glanced at his wristwatch.

  “We ought to get going,” he said.

  Claire was suddenly dizzy with anticipation. As she walked out of the house between Samael and Michael, she felt like her feet were hovering a few inches above the ground. Her head felt like a helium balloon tethered to a string, bouncing in the air.

  Samael opened the car door for her and waited until she was settled before closing it. As he walked around the front of the car to get to the driver’s side, he stopped and looked at her through the windshield. His smile gleamed in the sun, but still, his eyes looked strangely dark. He brought both of his hands up to his mouth and sent her a huge kiss.

  Claire laughed and bounced in her seat like a little child, positive she had never been happier in her life.

  Michael got into the back seat behind her, and then Samael got into the car and started it up. As they pulled away, the tires chirping on the asphalt, Claire looked longingly out the side window as the house and then the yard slowly slipped past her. It suddenly hit her—This is real! She was about to marry a demon and live in a house suitable for a princess…with servants and everything.

  What am I doing? She thought and then said out loud, “What am I doing?”

  When Samael said, “Huh?” instead of saying something like, Oh, nothing, she repeated herself.

  “What am I doing?”

  Samael glanced at her before pulling out of the driveway onto the road. She looked at him and—as always—was entranced by the contours of his gorgeous face. He stepped on the gas, and the car purred with smooth, quiet power. Once they were underway, he answered her.

  “I’ll tell you what you’re doing,” he said with a big grin. “You’re doing the best thing you’ve ever done in your life.”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard Michael in the back seat whisper, “In more ways than one.”

  ~ * ~

  The scene at City Hall was about as romantic as a dentist’s office. A crowd of people, most of them in jeans and flannels, were waiting to register their cars, renew their licenses, get dump permits, and other mundane tasks. Claire felt conspicuous, carrying the small bouquet they had picked up along the way at Skilling’s Greenhouse.

  People couldn’t help but gawk at her, but more people stared at Michael, who presented quite an image, dressed as he was in white from head to foot and wearing silver sunglasses. Claire chuckled to herself, wondering what anyone there would have said or done if they had known the truth.

  After filling out the necessary paperwork, which didn’t take as long as Claire had expected it to, she was growing increasingly irritated because Sally still hadn’t shown up. She, Samael, and Michael took seats off to one side while they waited for the Justice of the Peace to call them in to perform the ceremony.

  Typical Sally, Claire thought. Never on time for anything!

  Or maybe she was being a no-show on purpose for whatever reason…jealousy or simply to make the point that she didn’t approve.

  “You think you should call her?” Samael asked when he caught Claire looking around, glancing at the front door for the umpteenth time.

  Claire considered and then shook her head.

  “No…She said she’d be here, and she’ll be here.” She took a deep breath. “And if she doesn’t make it in time, we…we’ll ask someone else…someone here—” She indicated the people waiting in line with a wide sweep of her hand.

  “I think you should call,” Samael said, “just to be sure.”

  Claire was determined not to let Sally ruin her big day by being predictably herself, but after a few more minutes of waiting, she pulled her cell phone from her small handbag and hit the speed dial. She tried not to fume as she listened to the phone ringing—

  Once…

  Twice…

  Three…and then four times…

  When the phone clicked over to message, Claire cut the call and put the phone back into her purse without a word.

  “Maybe she’s on her way and when she saw it was you calling, she didn’t bother to answer,” Samael said, but Claire was suddenly sure that Sally was not on her way. She sighed, a little sad… and hurt…that Sally would be so petty as to not show up for her wedding.

  But that wouldn’t change a thing.

  She glanced at Michael, who was standing a short distance away from them. His arms were crossed, and he was leaning against the wall with his feet planted squarely in front of him. Claire noticed that people were still casting sidelong glances at him, like he was someone famous they should recognize but didn’t. They certainly didn’t want to approach him.

  “This isn’t like her,” Claire said, more to herself than Samael. “She wouldn’t let me down like this.”

  “I’m really sorry,” Samael said.

  Claire had no idea what to do next. Her impulse was to get up and leave…go over to the apartment and make sure Sally was all right. She should have been here by now.

  Unless something’s happened …

  Something…but what?

  Claire’s mind filled with several scenarios.

  None of them were good.

  “I’m ready for you now,” a woman said, speaking so suddenly that Claire let out a surprised cry that drew the attention of people sitting nearby.

  An elderly woman, wearing a conservative dark blue skirt and jacket with a white blouse walked over to Claire and Samael. She had a small book in her hand and a folder with the papers they had just signed.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Claire shook her head as if in denial and said, “No…It’s all right…I’m just a—a little keyed up.”

  “That’s perfectly understandable,” the woman said before she turned and led them to a closed door that she opened with a pass card. She stepped to one side to allow them to file into the small office. Then she shut the door and, still smiling broadly, walked over to the desk on one side of the room. A different door opened, and another woman—this one much younger and more stylishly dressed—entered.

  “Well then,” she said. “We’re here for a happy occasion.” She held her hand out for each of them to shake. “My name’s Barbara Moody. This is my assistant, Debbie Powers. And you are—?”

  Claire started to answer, but Barbara looked at the sheet of paper she was holding and read aloud, “Ms. Claire McMullen and Samael—” Her mouth twitched like she had a nervous tick. “Pierson…Mr. Samael Pierson.”

  Claire glanced at Samael when she suddenly realized she didn’t know his last name—if demons even have last names—Was this something he had made up for the occasion?

  Pierson…Claire Pierson…Yeah, I can get used to that…

  “So,” Barbara said, “if you have the rings—”

  A sudden jolt hit Claire when she realized they had never bought wedding rings. How could she have forgotten such a simple thing? But then Samael reached into his jacket pocket and said, “Got ‘em right here.” He held out two matching jeweler’s boxes and snapped open the tops. The rings glistened brightly as he held them o
ut for her to see.

  Would’ve been nice if you had told me, she thought.

  “Where did you get—” she started to say, but then she realized she had to play along with it and ended by saying, “I knew I could count on you, dear.”

  The ceremony itself was brief and somehow anticlimactic. Throughout her life growing up, Claire had always imagined that her wedding day would be like something out of a fairy tale, with flowers and elegant lace dresses…scores if not hundreds of friends in St. Andrew’s, the big Catholic church she had attended back in Houlton.

  And here she was, standing in some city bureaucrat’s office, exchanging vows with someone whose last name she hadn’t even known until a few moments ago.

  I am definitely out of my mind, she kept thinking as she repeated what the Justice of the Peace told her to say. The words came out of her mouth as if someone else was speaking them.

  “Then with the power vested in me by the State of Maine, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Barbara said. And then, to Samael, she said, “You may kiss the bride.”

  Claire wasn’t ready for it when Samael swept her into his arms and leaned her backwards. She let out a squeal before he planted a firm, passionate kiss on her mouth. Automatically, she slipped her tongue into his mouth, but she caught herself and made the kiss much shorter than she wanted it to be.

  Besides, Michael was watching, and who knew where he was looking with those reflective sunglasses.

  “Congratulations,” Barbara said, extending her hand first to Claire and then to Samael to shake. Claire noticed the sidelong glances the woman kept shooting in Michael’s direction, and it was no wonder. He did look stunning dressed all in white and with a beam of sunlight pouring through the office window, lighting him in glorious silhouette.

  The assistant, Debbie, cheerfully signed as Claire’s witness and then, thanking them for adding something quite unusual and interesting to her day, went back out into the lobby to go to work.

  Michael produced a digital camera from his jacket pocket—another surprise for Claire because she hadn’t thought of that, either—and began taking snapshots of the bride and groom. After all the handshakes, hugs, and photos, while Claire and Samael waited for the official documents to be signed and sealed, Claire turned to her demon husband.

  “First thing we have to do is go to the apartment and check up on Sally.”

  She and Samael were walking toward the door with Michael trailing a few steps behind. Claire had the distinct impression he was acting more as a bodyguard than best man or friend. The only concern was: How conspicuous is he? Nearly everyone who saw him stopped and stared in amazement.

  They walked down the steps of City Hall and over to Samael’s car. Although it was in a tow-away zone, it was still there. Not even a parking ticket under the windshield wiper blade. Claire decided to take it as a wedding present.

  “The apartment’s not far,” Claire said. “We can walk if you’d like.”

  Samael looked up the street and then shot a quick glance at Michael as if to ask, What do you think?

  Michael raised his shades, his silver eyes glinting in the sun like quicksilver as he scanned the area.

  “The trouble is,” he said softly as he stepped closer to them, “we don’t know what the opposition is going to do next.”

  His words sent a dash of chills racing up Claire’s back. In spite of the warm, sunny day, she shivered.

  “You make this sound like…like The Godfather or something,” she said tightly. “It’s like there’s a rival mob family that’s going to attack us soon, and it’s time for us to ‘go to the mattresses.’”

  It was a poor joke, and even she didn’t laugh…not after she saw the hard, neutral expression on both Samael’s and Michael’s faces.

  “How serious is this, really?” she asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them.

  Neither Samael nor Michael spoke for an unnervingly long time. In that time, the tension inside Claire wound up to an almost unbearable pitch.

  “Samael?” She took hold of his arm above the elbow and shook him. He stared straight back at her, but for the longest time he still didn’t say a word.

  “Samael!”

  “There’s no way of knowing,” he finally said.

  As if they had reached a decision, they started walking up the street toward Congress Street. Claire had the peculiar feeling they were somehow isolated or protected from the mundane reality going on all around them, like they were in a transparent bubble. Cars and trucks and busses whizzed by, belching exhaust fumes into the air. Pedestrians streamed by in all directions, everyone focused on their own immediate goals. No conversation. No human contact. Overhead, seagulls whirled in wide spirals above the city, their harsh cries almost—but not quite—lost in the hubbub below.

  Claire took Samael’s arm and hugged it. He smiled absently at her, his eyes active…alert and focused on every passerby. Even though she was worried about Sally and the unknown dangers she and her husband still faced, she felt suddenly confident. She chuckled to herself as “Stand by Your Man” began playing in her head.

  As they neared the apartment, Michael slowed his pace until he had dropped back more than fifty feet behind them. Then, without a word, he veered off down the alleyway that Claire knew ran behind her old apartment building.

  “Oh, God,” she said, and Samael snapped his head up and looked at her with an expression of utter panic.

  “Where?”

  Confused for a moment by his reaction—his overreaction—she looked at him. Then she understood.

  “No. No. It’s not Him,” she said, her voice strained. “It’s just… it feels so weird coming back here. Like another life.”

  They walked up to the front door, and as she looked up the façade of the building, a powerful feeling of nostalgia swept over her like a fog bank. Her mind filled with memories of first moving in here more than six years ago. All of her dreams and hopes, her disappointments and fears welled up inside her. Although she knew it was because she was emotional after the wedding—which already felt like a dream or the memory of a dream—a gnawing worry settled over her heart.

  She opened her purse and took out the key ring. She hadn’t given her keys to the apartment back to Sally yet, but as she prepared to open the door and go inside, she suddenly felt like an intruder.

  “Maybe call first?” Samael suggested.

  Claire nodded and took her cell phone from her purse and hit the speed dial for Sally’s number.

  The phone rang four times until it went to message.

  “Still not answering,” Claire said, suddenly fearing the worst.

  “Well, then…” Samael said.

  Before she moved, though, she looked up and down the sidewalk.

  “Where’d Michael go?” she asked, but Samael shook his head and didn’t answer her. She slipped the key into the front-door lock, turned it, and—holding her breath until her chest hurt—pushed the door open.

  ~ * ~

  The old familiar smell of the entryway—a combination of floor wax, disinfectant, and wet dog—assailed her nostrils as she swung the door open, stepped inside, and then shut it behind them. The tightness in her stomach intensified as they started up the stairway to the third-floor landing. The old wooden stairs creaked underfoot, the only break in the silence that enveloped them. Claire felt like she had somehow slipped into an alternate reality where she was part of—but also frighteningly distant from—what she had taken all her life to be “reality.”

  It’s like I’m dead…and I’m a ghost wandering through what used to be my life, she thought with a shiver. They reached the third-floor landing and started down the long hallway to the door to what was…that is used to be—

  In another life.

  —her apartment.

  She slipped the apartment key into the lock and turned it. The bolt made a rough grinding sound as it turned, but before she twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, she hesitated.r />
  She couldn’t get over the unsettling feeling that something was seriously wrong, and she knew—when she opened that door, she would find out just how wrong it was.

  She couldn’t say what it was or how she knew—not yet, but the building, even the air seemed…

  “Too quiet,” she whispered.

  “Huh?” Samael asked.

  She turned to him again, searching for strength and security in his face.

  “This place…It’s never been this quiet. Someone is always blasting their TV or music way too loud, or the Andrews’ dog is barking.” She looked around. “This is…weird.”

  She sucked in a quick breath, held it, and opened the door.

  “Sally?” she called out.

  As she waited for a reply, her eyes took in the sight before her.

  “Are we in the right place?” she whispered to Samael.

  At first glance, it sure seemed they had made a mistake. Claire and Sally had never been the best of housekeepers, but the entryway and kitchen looked like a tornado had ripped through it. It wasn’t just a matter of dirty dishes and laundry piled up. Everything—chairs and tables, pots and pans, clothes and household items were strewn everywhere. Broken dishes and uprooted plants were scattered on the upended furniture. The refrigerator door was open, its contents spilled out onto the floor. The milk had long since curdled, and spoiled fruits and vegetables and containers of leftovers were furred with mold and crawling with flies and other insects. The smell of rotting vegetables mixed with a powerful jolt of rotten eggs made Claire gag as she looked down at a wide puddle of some dark liquid that had spilled across the floor, forming a rough letter C.

  Is that blood? Claire wondered as her pulse kicked into high gear. Then she noticed the upended bottle of Pepsi lying in the debris at the base of the counter by the sink.

  “My God,” Claire whispered, awestruck. She took shallow sips of air and waved her hand in front of her face to avoid breathing the stench too deeply.

  Even on a cold March day like this, flies were buzzing about and crawling across the garbage strewn on the floor.