by Ali Cross
And what a godmother she was. Sitting in the California sunshine, dressed in fresh whites and yellows, Lucy reminded me of the goddess Calypso, all dark and glorious, beautiful and alive. She was easily as stunning as any First Order demon—only more so because of the warmth radiating from her like spun sugar. She caught me staring and her eyes crinkled with humor. I looked away, feeling the weight of the constant embarrassment that marked my time in the human world.
Lucy busted up laughing. “Ready to go home?” She twirled the ice in the bottom of her glass with the straw.
“No.” The word landed like a bomb on the table between us. Or maybe that was me hitting the unsteady bistro table with my fist. The glass fractured and wouldn’t go back to its unbroken state no matter how much I wished for it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, hiding my freakishly undamaged hand in my lap. “Sorry.”
But the laughter still danced in Lucy’s eyes. She called over the waiter to request our bill. “So sorry, sugar,” she said, gesturing to the spider cracks radiating out from the fist-sized divot. “Girl’s got boyfriend trouble.” She flashed the waiter one of her glorious smiles and leaned on the arm of her chair just enough to add emphasis to her words with her cleavage. “Add it to our bill?”
The five-foot-nothing waiter blushed. “Oh. Oh! No worries, I’ll uh . . . I’ll take care of it.” He didn’t move though. Just stood there staring, mouth hanging open, drool pooling at the corner of his lips. Lucy shook herself as if a shiver had run down her spine. The waiter blinked.
“Thanks, sugar. That’s ever so sweet of you.” Lucy reached up and slid a hand around the waiter’s neck, bringing his face down to place a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a dream.” When she let go, he stumbled back a little. His face lit up and he hurried into the restaurant.
Lucy and I cracked up and I laughed like I never have in my life. Even after Lucy paid with cash she pulled from inside her bra—even though she had a perfectly good wallet tucked inside her rhinestone-studded bag—fits of giggles still washed over me. It’s like the door that locked away the part of my brain reserved for laughter had been forced open and now I couldn’t close it.
We drove up the mountain, the wind ripping through my hair, the trunk filled with bags and bags of clothes, shoes, and accessories of every variety. Sitting beside Lucy, who was singing her heart out to some old song, I felt deliciously warm and alive for the first time ever. I wished I could capture the moment and replay it every day. Every minute of every day.
Because then we pulled up to the estate and I keyed in the code (666, so predictable), and my sentence in my very own hell began.
The evening crowd poured out of their cars and headed to the party already underway in the backyard.
“Damn,” Lucy said, pulling off her shades. She ran her fingers through her hair, and checked herself in the visor mirror. She shimmied out of her blouse and capris—heels on all the while—to reveal a sparkling silver bikini.
“You workin’ tonight?” I asked, dread settling like a stone in my stomach.
“You betcha, baby.” She didn’t even have the shame to feel bad about it. “See ya later?” But she was too busy sliding out of the car and slathering coconut oil over her skin to notice the emphatic shake of my head.
“Not if I can help it.”
Lucy leaned into the car and kissed my cheek, her eyes shining, and ran as quick as she could in her stilettos—remarkably fast, considering—in the direction of the party.
While Enrique helped guests out of their cars, I grabbed my packages and hustled into the house before he spotted me.
I dropped the bags in my room before turning to close and lock the door, then threw myself onto my bed. I might have drifted to sleep but for a wave of aching cold that crept into my bones. Father was near.
I sat up, fear surging through me. Unguarded, the spark had grown to fill my soul with warmth—I fought to tamp it down. The room darkened as my father’s Shadow entered, crowding into every corner and crevice.
My body begged me to fall to my knees, or to run and hide. I forced myself to stay sitting, though I gripped the fabric of Aaron’s coat as if my life depended on it.
Desolation, Father said, his voice travelling into my mind. Probing. Searching. It is time.
“Time for what?” I whispered, the words barely audible as they scraped through my suddenly dusty throat.
But instead of an answer, Father flooded my mind with images—a Remembering that was not my own.
The pixie-face of a girl, spiked blonde hair, freckles spotting her tear-stained cheeks. With trembling hands she pulls a tiny brass key from a chain around her neck and uses it in the credenza in an elegant, white room.
There’s so much white my brain tries to name the place Heaven, but I know it’s nothing of the sort. It’s this girl’s personal hell—I can feel it.
She pulls a heavy, dark-brown bottle from the cabinet and hugs it to her chest. After closing the door, she struggles with turning the key in the lock as her whole body shakes with—what? Need?
And then I understand.
This is want. Greed. Gluttony.
This is Sin.
The girl stumbles up the stairs and throws herself into a room filled with heavy blackness, where the light from the lamp struggles against the reaching dark. Even sound is swallowed by the darkness.
My breath catches in my throat as I see the extent to which this girl has recreated Hell.
She checks the window blinds, the light-cancelling kind that don’t let even a sliver of sunlight through, and switches off the light. She sinks down in a corner, the Shadows of demons caressing her as she pulls the stopper off the bottle and takes her first hit.
The details filtered down to me like a dossier of despair—
Miriam Carr. Sixteen.
Alcoholic.
In my sophomore class at St. Mary’s Academy. Daughter of California’s Governor, Ethan Carr.
Suicidal.
Bring her to me.
chapter five
I shivered uncontrollably, despite the afghan I clutched around my shoulders. The setting sun cast dramatic colors of warmth through my window, but I couldn’t shake the presence of Hell under my skin. I closed my eyes, trying to find the golden spark and coax it back to life. I didn’t know what it was, but I needed it, needed something to survive this place and the outrageous demands of my father.
I didn’t know what I was—but a murderer? Because that’s what Father expected—for me to help Miriam make that final leap from life to death. Scratch that. Not just any death, but an eternity of desperation and need.
Shouldn’t it feel right, if this was my destiny?
I doubted I would ever solve the mystery of myself, the impossibility of the warmth that hid inside, my need to resist the demon that pressed my limits and threatened to burst forth.
I didn’t know why I couldn’t just embrace it. Become, like Akaros had commanded so many times. All I knew was that whenever I considered it, I just . . . couldn’t. Something always held me back. If it didn’t sound crazy, I’d say it was the spark that restrained me. Like a whisper, it promised there was more. Just . . . more. Not this. Not Hell.
But where could I possibly belong if not there? Not Heaven, certainly. And the human world was so full of Sin; it was really like a carnival version of Hell. Except for Lucy. Lucy was in a league of her own. A simple sinner, with a pure heart.
I reached for the golden warmth in the center of my soul. But as always, it hovered just beyond my grasp.
A light tap at the door jerked me out of my introspection, but before I could tell whoever it was to go away—in no uncertain terms—James walked in.
“Hey! That door was locked.” I jumped to my feet, pulling the blanket even tighter around me. Adrenaline surged through my veins—I’d fight to keep my privacy, to keep my fortress sacred.
James held up a key and quirked an eyebrow.
There was no point in arguing with him. I’d known all along t
he lock on my door was only a pretense—it would never offer any real safety.
I sighed and sank back on the bed. “What do you want, James?” I pushed all my frustration into those words, hoping he’d take the hint and shove off. I should have realized there’s little James liked more than a challenge.
He sauntered over, and I fought hard to still the thrill of attraction that zipped through my veins. I didn’t want to want him, but I couldn’t help myself. And I hated it.
Hated the way I wanted to throw myself into his arms.
Hated the way I couldn’t seem to keep my eyes off his lips.
His chest.
And . . . other parts of his anatomy.
Hated the way he knew it.
The walk from the door to my bed seemed to take forever, like time had slowed and he was on some sort of catwalk of hotness. He had this whole Spike thing going on—I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d watched every episode of Buffy just for research purposes. Except, he didn’t come off as a poser—you’d think Spike was modeled after James, not the other way around. Platinum blond messy-spiked hair, slim jeans that he filled out in just the right way, black tee that he wore as if just begging me to rip it off.
The spark might not have given me the warmth I needed, but James offered a different kind of heat.
When he finally sat down beside me, his arm slipping easily around my waist, my breath whooshed out in an embarrassing rush. Apparently I’d been holding it in. Always classy.
He leaned into me, gently pressing his face behind my ear. My body responded with an almost-painful shiver of desire. James followed with his hands, pulling my face toward his while lowering me down to the bed. James could chase the cold away, chase everything away. James could make me warm.
A whole flock of hummingbirds flew around in my stomach. I felt like throwing up—or letting James do every little thing he wanted. And I’d like it.
A lot.
His lips landed on mine, lightly at first. A touch. A pause. His breath caressed my lips and then he bit my lower lip oh so gently, until I pressed into him, begging to feel him against every inch of me.
He groaned, a soft rumble of desire that left me quaking and reaching for him. He crushed his lips against mine and my world exploded with sensation.
The salty sweet taste of his mouth.
The musky bite of cologne, clean laundry, and guy.
The feel of his lips, yielding, soft. The way they demanded more and more from mine.
But then my fingers brushed against Aaron’s coat, and I remembered.
This wasn’t love.
This was conquest. Bragging rights.
This was Sin.
And I didn’t want to belong to Father. Didn’t want to give him what he wanted, to give him control over me.
With Herculean effort I pushed James away and sat up.
“No,” I said, wiping a hand across my mouth. “No.” I stood up and pulled Aaron’s jacket on. I could barely keep my balance, but I took a few stumbling steps away from the bed.
James lay back, propping himself up on his elbows. He didn’t look too put out by my rejection.
“Come on, princess.” He nodded toward the space beside him that I’d just vacated. He laughed, a low seductive sound that made me burn with want.
I walked across the room on wobbly legs and pulled open the door. I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just gestured with my hand in the universal get-the-hell-out-of-here sign.
James took his time. He stood. Ran his hands through his hair. Walked toward me. When he reached me, he ran his thumb across my jaw and looked at me sideways, his face a study of calculated desire and frustration.
Except James was a professional charmer. I had no way of knowing if his frustration was real or affected. Was it me he wanted? Or was I just another would-be notch on his belt? My body told me he wanted me, needed me. But my heart knew it wasn’t true. Not really.
James was Father’s.
Which meant he’d never be mine.
“Daniel wants you downstairs,” James said, finally revealing the real reason he’d come to my room. He knew I’d have a hard time going down to the party as it was—let alone with his taste and smell all over me.
I balled my fists and glowered. He just chuckled and walked out. And didn’t even look back.
chapter six
It took me an hour to get myself together and then choose the perfect I’m-not-going-to-enjoy-this outfit—an all-black ensemble of skinny jeans, black tee and Doc Martens.
In Hell I managed to largely stay away from people—they were so clingy and demanding, so selfish and hungry for whatever they thought you could give them. And the people at Daniel’s parties were no different. They thought they were living, but they were on a one-way train to Hell. No transfers. No connections. No redemptions.
I plucked a canapé from the tray of a passing waitress and caught Daniel’s eyes from across the lawn. The corner of his lips tugged downward and his expression darkened. Apparently he didn’t approve of my outfit. I heard the whisper of his thoughts skirting the edge of my awareness—After all I’ve done for her, this is how she presents herself?—but I tamped down on the urge to embrace my shadow-self and shut his thoughts out. I didn’t want anything that part of me had to offer. After a lifetime of resisting Akaros’ teachings, the last thing I wanted was to Become. Now. Because of Daniel.
I concentrated on finding any place I could look that wouldn’t get me into trouble. I was the only female at this party not flaunting everything she had. Even so, if I could get by without attracting stray hands or greedy lips, it’d be a miracle. I walked around the perimeter of the party, hoping for the least amount of involvement.
This part of Daniel’s estate boasted a swimming pool and two hot-tubs—both of which were occupied. Tables, chairs and loungers dotted the pool-side, plus a couple cabanas, with their cheery yellow stripes. Past the border of the elegant landscaping, a small golf course graced the grounds, with a shining white gazebo nestled against the trees in the distance.
My senses quivered with overload—the laughter, the talking, the vying for attention. I could practically hear them screaming, “Look at me!” Too much everything, with absolutely no point. My stomach clenched with nausea, and I tossed the uneaten appetizer into the shrubbery.
Women wearing barely-there bikinis draped themselves over the men, while others passed around tiny silver plates with carefully laid lines of white powder.
Lucy extracted herself from a pair of grabbing hands when she saw me.
“What’cha doin’ here, baby?” she asked, followed by a giggle as another man lurched past and slapped her butt.
“Just doing my rounds,” I said. Lucy grimaced. It bugged her that Daniel insisted I come to these things. Even though she didn’t have a problem with her line of work, she didn’t approve of me being involved. Of course, she had no idea I came from Hell.
She sidled up to me, the smell of coconut oil heavy, her dark body glistening. She put her arm around me and leaned in close, casting her gaze in Daniel’s direction.
“You just stand up ta him, ya hear? He might be family, but he ain’t got no right parading you around like he does.”
“I don’t do anything I don’t want to,” I said, maybe a bit defensively. She pursed her lips. I could never hide much from Lucy—except, of course, the truth. A man in navy blue pinstripe slacks, his jacket discarded somewhere, stepped up beside her and slipped his arm around her waist.
Lucy put a hand on his chest and smiled. Slow. Seductive. She craned her neck and pointed one long, perfectly manicured fingernail in my direction.
“Well, if you change your mind, baby, you come find me, ya hear? I know a thing or two about tellin’ a man where to go—and your uncle don’t scare me.” I didn’t believe that for a second—I’d seen Daniel in action before, and he’d fit right into Father’s inner circle.
“You got it, Luc,” I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
Lucy’s care sent a wave of something like hope singing through my veins. Except, what did I have to hope for? I’d be happy to just go back to Hell and my quiet life of solitude.
Hope, a human emotion, only prolonged the inevitable. I knew not everyone wound up in Hell, but these days Father claimed an easy majority. People might have hope, but they didn’t know what to do with it. Most of them ended up running out of the precious commodity long before they finished their life.
I folded my arms across my chest as if they could make me invisible, and walked toward the patio doors, hoping Daniel wouldn’t notice my escape.
“Desi! Come visit with our guests.” His words carried over the low murmur of voices from the shaded recesses of a nearby cabana. Three more seconds and I would have been free. If it weren’t for a very pointed talking-to that Father gave me the last time I came to live with Daniel, I’d have ignored him altogether. But Father had been explicit—I was to obey Daniel as if he were Father himself.
I squared my shoulders and turned back to the party.
Daniel lounged in a cushy garden chair in the shade. A handful of businessmen grouped around him, and for a moment I felt as though I’d stepped into Father’s throne room.
Daniel patted his lap, indicating that I should come and sit with him. I raised my chin and opted for the ground instead. I’d rather be his dog than his doll, anyway. Daniel gripped my shoulder tightly before letting his hand rest there, but I didn’t flinch. I’d be a good little puppy, but I wouldn’t let him think he could get to me, hurt me, or scare me.
Even though in a weird way, he did.
I settled into the zone I used to survive when I sat next to Father. Even breaths. In and out. Eyes straight ahead—in this case I focused on the man’s knees directly across from me.