When Darkness Falls

by Susan Krinard, Tanith Lee, Evelyn Vaughn

  Damn it, she'd liked the forward part. It was the familiarity-with-the-dark-arts part that worried her.

  "What I still don't understand," he said, as if her ego weren't bruised enough, "is why you? Not that you aren't attractive."

  Attractive enough for a demon, anyway? But that was something. "Maybe whoever cursed me just thought I was… convenient."

  "No, that doesn't make sense." And yet Tomas seemed almost fluent with the idea. "If you're trying to land a big business deal, you don't take your client to a fast-food joint. Marcy, something about you makes you prime rib to a demon looking for sacrifices. But what… "

  Then he froze, eyes widening. "No!"

  She felt increasingly wary. "No what?"

  "You're not!"

  "Not… ?" But she couldn't pretend not to know what he meant. So much for keeping her own secrets. "Okay, fine. So I'm a virgin."

  That was the part of the curse she'd read about that she hadn't wanted to divulge.

  "Wouldn't Mr. Gilbert and Mrs. Roberts be surprised! They swore that your politeness and quiet ways meant you were hiding a wild side—may be even a killer!"

  "It's not that big a deal," insisted Marcy, uncomfortable. "More women abstain from sex than movies and TV would have you believe."

  "Well, sure," he agreed, though his gleaming eyes still indicated that it was a big deal. "I was raised Catholic, remember? My unmarried sisters are virgins."

  She widened her eyes, questioning that.

  He narrowed his. "They'd better be. But of course, not all Catholics are good Catholics. Depending—" he grinned "—on how you define good."

  "My choices had nothing to do with religion," Marcy insisted. "I just felt like waiting until I was ready. I didn't want to sleep around."

  "Around?" His grin widened.

  She folded her arms.

  "To sleep around, you need multiple partners. If you sleep here, and here, and here—" he pointed at random spots on the floor, making a circular pattern "—then you've slept around. You haven't even slept."

  "Well, maybe I would have if I'd known about this."

  He spread his arms. "Easy fix."

  "What?"

  And since she still was standing framed by the jamb of her apartment, and he was still right in front of her, he planted a hand on either side of her and she was effectively trapped. "I said," he murmured, leaning closer. Close enough that his breath warmed her cheek in a completely pleasant way. Close enough that his lips brushed hers as he whispered, "Easy. Fix."

  Then he kissed her.

  Tomas was teasing her, of course. She made it too easy. Who would have guessed prudish Marcy Bridges really was prudish Marcy Bridges?

  Besides, he kind of liked the harmless image of himself as a sexual predator.

  But then he trapped her against the door, and he pressed his lips to hers… and things got far less harmless. Her innocence suddenly became something bigger than a silly word—virgin—or even a reason for demons to be stalking her. Her innocence suddenly became something tenuous, and precious, and completely… her.

  Her lips seemed to tremble under his.

  He drew back quickly, ready to apologize—then saw the yearning in Marcy's wide eyes. Why was it she'd never felt ready?

  He leaned back in, using his bent arms to lever his face to her level, holding her gaze with his.

  She didn't look away.

  He nuzzled toward her ear, exhaling hot breath onto her neck, and kissed a tender, sweet spot on the side of her throat. She shuddered, but it seemed to be a good shudder. So he drew his mouth to hers again, inordinately pleased when she turned her head to meet him halfway, parting her lips for his.

  Now he kissed her in earnest. Her innocence. Her sweetness. Her tentative hunger. He relaxed his arms until he was leaning, full body, against her, sandwiching her against the door.

  Marcy shifted, languorous, beneath the weight of him. Her bare foot slid slightly up his jeans, then down, exploring the hardness of his leg. He murmured encouragement between one kiss and another, glad to have her use him for her education, more than happy to move on to advanced courses sooner than he'd ever expected.

  Damn. No wonder the demon wanted her. He could sell his soul for someone like her, himself.

  Then someone cleared his throat behind Tomas—and when he looked over his shoulder, he wondered if he'd damned himself after all. He was staring at three people: an older man whose wide mouth resembled Marcy's at its most prudish; an older woman whose willowy shape looked like Marcy's surely would in thirty years; and a younger woman about his age who, well, looked like Marcy. Just older with more makeup and a more sophisticated hairstyle and wardrobe.

  Tomas stared at them, still dazed from the kiss, as uncertain about their reality as he'd been about the demon's.

  Then Marcy, half-hidden behind him, said, "Hi, Daddy. Mom. Sharona."

  They were real.

  "Let me guess," said Sharona. "Tomas the maintenance guy?"

  Straightening so that he wasn't pressed so lewdly against the family's younger daughter—but moving slowly so that he wouldn't look too guilty—Tomas glanced from her to Marcy and back. Had Marcy described him to her sister?

  Marcy looked embarrassed. Interesting.

  "Hey," he said. "Sharona, right?"

  Actually, he'd never heard of the woman, but information was information. He went with the idea and offered a hand to her father. "Mr. Bridges. Mrs. Bridges."

  Okay, so he sounded as if he belonged on a sixties sitcom and should be wearing a letterman sweater. It still bought time.

  "Pleased to meet you," said Mrs. Bridges, forgiving him for making out with their daughter more quickly than her husband seemed to. She had a firm grip when she shook his hand. "Excuse my appearance. The elevator doesn't seem to be working."

  Mr. Bridges looked at the elevator, with its web of rope and the wedged crowbar, and his expression didn't soften. "You do maintenance work for a living?"

  "No," said Tomas. "I also manage the building."

  "You do?" asked Marcy, addressing him for the first time since the kiss. She was blushing. It was adorable.

  He shrugged. He'd never said he didn't.

  "So you're coming to lunch with us, right?" asked Sharona. "For Marcy's birthday?"

  Mrs. Bridges said, "Marcy, honey, you aren't wearing that, are you?"

  That meant Tomas's inside-out T-shirt and his drawstring shorts, which looked great on her, leaving her legs long and bare. Between the demon, and losing the priest, and kissing her, Tomas hadn't had the full opportunity to admire her legs in those shorts.

  Now seemed a bad time.

  Marcy looked at the apartment door behind her, and Tomas suspected he knew what she was thinking. She didn't want to go into that apartment. The demon might be behind any door. "Um… yes?"

  "You at least need shoes," insisted her mother. "What restaurant will let you in without shoes?"

  Tomas said, "I'll get them."

  "No!" protested Marcy.

  "Really. Just tell me where they are."

  "I'll go with you."

  Tomas glanced at her parents, who looked understandably dubious at this interchange. They could probably use some privacy anyway. "Fine. C'mon."

  When he unlocked her door with his passkey, he didn't miss Mr. Bridges's disapproval. Both Tomas and Marcy held their breath—but nothing greeted them through the doorway except an overly neat living room… and a whiff of brimstone.

  "What's that smell?" asked Mrs. Bridges.

  Marcy said, "Fumigation." Then she darted in, Tomas following and closing the door behind them.

  "Your family?" he demanded.

  "I forgot they were coming! It's been an unusual morning." Which was true, what with portals to Hell, curses…

  Tomas noticed a pink flush spreading across Marcy's cheeks, intrigued. Had the kissing been that life changing, too?

  Even he'd been shaken by it.

  Maybe Marcy saw something in his
eyes. "I'm not sleeping with you just to screw over the demon. So to speak."

  Had he actually asked her? "I thought you said you weren't saving it for any particular reason?"

  "Except to wait until I'm ready, and I've got to tell you, this whole day has not made me ready. Even before my parents showed up."

  "Look, I'm not suggesting anything." But as soon as he said that, Tomas found himself considering suggesting things after all. A lot of things. "We don't have to grab a quickie while your family's waiting in the hallway. But let's not forget, you seem to be on some kind of deadline. Even if I weren't fairly good at this—which, by the way, I am—I'd have to be a better first time than that… that thing."

  Something chuckled, deep and sadistic, from the bedroom and in their heads.

  Tomas said, "Please tell me your shoes aren't in the closet."

  Marcy would never, ever have imagined Tomas Martinez riding beside her in the cramped back seat of her parents' minivan, on their way to her birthday lunch. He looked completely out of place, from his coiled size to his black clothing to the spiky tattoo that circled his dark wrist. From the way Sharona kept turning to glance at them from the middle seat, and the way Dad kept catching her gaze in the rearview mirror, the family was taken aback as well.

  Then again, maybe it was the whispering that was catching their attention.

  "I am just saying," hissed Tomas into Marcy's ear, tickling, "your sister seems to be the kind of woman who notices people."

  He paused to grin forward at Sharona. Sharona grinned back.

  Marcy wished she were the kind of woman who noticed people, but clearly she wasn't. "So?"

  "So maybe she'll remember the person who cursed you, even if you don't."

  "You don't think she would have mentioned it?"

  Tomas narrowed his eyes at her sarcasm. But a man could only look so dangerous when strapped into the corner of a van's back seat with a shoulder belt. "I meant, she might know if anyone around you was into black magic."

  Mom called back, "We were thinking of going to that Indian place you like so much, Marcy. Is that all right with you?"

  "I love that place," agreed Marcy—then considered how her day had been going. Demons in her apartment. Demons in the elevator. Innocent priests vanishing into a puff of smoke. She could tell, when she met Tomas's gaze, that he was equally wary. "So much, that I've overdone it. Let's not go there."

  "How about the new steak house?" suggested Sharona, as eager to spend their father's money as ever.

  Marcy had wanted to try that one since it opened, so… not the steak house. "Let's go to that old Chinese restaurant," she suggested quickly. "The one in the strip mall."

  Mom said, "You're sure? I thought you had some trouble with them."

  Exactly. They'd made extra charges on her credit card. She glanced guiltily toward Tomas. "I'd really like to try them again."

  Tomas said, "The place by the laundry? They aren't so good. Their hot-and-sour soup is—yes," he finished, about-facing as he finally caught on. "I would like to go there, too."

  If they had to endanger a restaurant, why not one with lousy soup?

  Sharona glanced over her shoulder again, suspicious, but Dad said, "You're the birthday girl, Marcy."

  Tomas leaned in close again. "Sharona seems like the kind of person who picks up on things. What could it hurt to ask her?"

  Other than not wanting her big sister to think she was crazy? Or doomed? "We went to different colleges," Marcy protested. "She wouldn't remember anyone beyond… "

  Her stomach sank, and not from motion sickness.

  "High school," she whispered.

  Tomas ducked his head even closer to hers. "What?"

  Dad said over the traffic noise, "So, Marcy, I ran into Joe Pierson's son on the golf course the other day. Remember him?" Subtle.

  "High school," she repeated softly, ignoring her father. "This may not have anything to do with my birthday. It might have something to do with last night's high-school reunion."

  Tomas looked annoyed, as if she should have told him sooner. "Did anyone there seem… ?"

  "Magic?" she finished for him. "No. That, even I would have noticed." Even if she wasn't Sharona.

  Dad, in the driver's seat, said, "Good fellow, Biff Pierson."

  Tomas widened amused eyes and mouthed, Biff? Marcy ignored them both.

  The Chinese restaurant looked just as it always had—red and gold decorations, a mixture of booths and tables, a large aquarium by the door. There was only one exception.

  What looked like a salamander lurking in the corner.

  Marcy realized that what looked like dirt on the wall behind it was actually a sooty tail track. Nobody else, other than Tomas, seemed to notice the creature. So far, it was part of their reality, but hadn't intruded on anyone else's. Yet.

  Father Gregory's fate pretty much showed it could.

  So the salamander made her decidedly nervous for such a small mythical creature.

  As if to distract her from one disaster with another, Tomas said, "So, Sharona, what kind of guys did Marcy date in high school?"

  Sharona looked up from her Chinese astrology place mat with a snort. "You think Marcy dated in high school?"

  Tomas raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

  "I did so date," protested Marcy. "Not so very, very often as you did, of course, but… "

  Sharona stuck out her tongue. Something about being together brought out the child in them. Then she turned haughtily to Tomas. "When she did go out, it was usually with the leftovers. You know—the guys she felt sorry for because nobody else was dating them."

  What a mean thing to say—about those boys, not Marcy. "That's not true!"

  "Chess club," Sharona continued, warming to her topic. "Computer geeks. The one time she dated a guy on the baseball team, he was the shy one who was always on the bench."

  "Any gamers, maybe?" asked Tomas. "You know… Dungeons and Dragons types? Or maybe Goths?"

  Marcy said, "There's nothing wrong with people who play Dungeons and Dragons. And no," she insisted when both Sharona and Tomas looked expectant, "I didn't date any gamers… they never had the time anyway. I was just friends with a lot of them."

  Sharona took a long sip of green tea. "Really, Tomas, you're about the most interesting person she ever dated."

  Marcy picked up her little cup of tea, trying not to spill it. Please don't tell them we aren't dating, she thought, not even sure why it seemed so important. Please don't tell them that.

  Blessedly, Tomas let Sharona's assumption slide. "But a lot of guys had to be interested in her, even if she didn't date them," he pushed. "Even the strange ones."

  Sharona said, "That's so nice that you think that!"

  Marcy put down her tea untouched, deciding she didn't want to risk a bathroom run. Not knowing what might just lurk behind the stall doors. "It's nice that he thinks I attract weirdos?"

  "It's nice," clarified her sister, "that he's able to see how attractive you are, period. It's kind of subtle, Marce. A lot of guys aren't perceptive enough to really see you."

  Now Marcy blushed. She blushed even harder when she realized Tomas was studying her, intrigued.

  His smile, this time, was more quiet than usual. "It's amazing, what some people can look past."

  Against her will, she glanced toward the salamander smoldering in the far corner of the wall. But when she looked back at Tomas, his gaze hadn't moved off her.

  Something deep inside her shivered in a very pleasant way. This probably was not good. He wasn't really interested; he was only playing a role. Then there was that dangerous air he wore and his surprising grasp of black magic—something that she, having only studied the "harm none" practice of Wicca, preferred not to tamper with.

  But good golly, he was sexy. When his gaze slid off her at the approach of their blond waitress, the sensation was not unlike that of a towel sliding sensuously from her body.

  Casting desperately about for more reaso
ns not to risk her heart, here, Marcy thought, On top of everything else, he's just a building manager. But damn it, he was a really good building manager! Competent. Consistent. Clearly ready in any emergency. That had to count more than the prestige of other jobs held by men she'd dated.

  Except Tomas wasn't dating her.

  Thank goodness the soup was here.

  If someone had told Tomas that he'd be joining Marcy Bridges's birthday lunch with her caricature of a Middle American family in a mediocre Chinese restaurant… that might have seemed like a good definition of Hell.

  Therefore, it surprised him tremendously to realize, halfway through the egg rolls, that he was enjoying himself. Marcy's father was stiff enough to use as a display in a store, and her mother had a Junior League edge that still made him nervous, but both parents clearly loved their daughters. Sharona had a wicked sense of humor that made him wonder where Marcy had hidden hers. And Marcy herself…

  Well, Sharona was right. When you looked close, she really did have a subtle but distinct attractiveness to her. It was nowhere near as obvious as her great legs or her sexy mouth. It had more to do with how she held herself, how she quietly defended everyone, from a slow waitress to the D&D-playing nerds from high school that she hadn't even dated. It had more to do with how she looked at the world.

  It wasn't that Marcy didn't notice people, he saw now. She simply didn't notice their worse qualities.

  With that kind of vulnerability, he thought, she was lucky not to have been sacrificed to a more mundane evil long ago. Thank God for women who played it safe.

  "So, Tomas," said Mr. Bridges, well into the entree. Marcy's father didn't much like Tomas, but he wasn't getting in Tomas's face about it, so it wasn't a problem. "How did you get into doing… maintenance?"

  "Yes," said Marcy quickly, coming to his defense just as she did to everyone else's. "You're so good at it."

  Had he once thought she was meek, simply because she didn't confront people to stand up for herself? She sure stood up for everyone else! Funny, how Mr. Bridges's opinion of him became increasingly important, the more clearly Tomas saw the man's younger daughter.