1 Straight to Hell

by Michelle Scott

“Yes,” my demon continued. “You were right about the lipstick I was wearing. The color was all wrong for me. And I’ve been trying that granola you recommended.”

  A smile slowly spread over his face. He was eating this up. My demon was doing her job, and doing it well.

  I, however, was revolted. I wanted to seduce my ex-husband, but not like this. Change the topic, I told my demon. Talk about something else.

  She ignored me.

  “I miss having you around to help me out. I have so many problems, and I need someone with a little knowhow to set me straight.” My demon was in full glamour mode now, making my voice grow far more throaty. The heat I’d felt with Harold the funeral director was once more starting to burn. “I need an intelligent man like you.”

  Ted’s pupils had enlarged, and his lips were slightly parted. He was in my demon’s power now. I also realized that this had nothing to do with granola or my lipstick. No, he was seduced because I was giving him what he craved: my admiration.

  “Ah, Lil. I’ve missed you too.” One of his perfectly-manicured hands slid across the desk.

  I stroked his fingers. “You always know what to do. I should take your advice more often.” I couldn’t bear to listen to myself. Stop it, I shouted to my demon. That’s quite enough! But instead, I heard myself say, “Baby, you know what I really need?” I pouted. “What this silly little girl really needs?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Advice on what kind of French horn to buy. And who Grace should take lessons from. Because I can’t figure it out.” I leaned over the desk and caressed his cheek. “It would make me feel so much better.”

  “Of course. Right away! Tonight, in fact. I’ll do some research online and make a list of what instruments are the best. And by the weekend, I’ll have that horn to Grace.” He was already typing a note to himself on his PDA. “And she can start lessons next week. Do Thursdays work?”

  As I left his office, I tried to sort out my feelings. I felt dirty, for sure. Using the demon to pander to Ted’s God complex sickened me. But then again, I certainly was successful. I never would have gotten away with that kind of fake flattery if I’d tried it as plain, old Lilith. And, to trump it all, knowing that I’d successfully manipulated my ex-husband gave me a thrill. So, truth be told, when I’d finished my work, I ended up feeling one thing and one thing only: powerful.

  William and Mr. Clerk had been right. Being a succubus had its perks.

  I made it home before the girls did and so was waiting in the kitchen when they walked in the front door. Despite the shopping trip and my visit to Ted, I hadn’t forgotten about the voodoo doll that was still in the garbage can outside.

  Ariel was doing a pretty good imitation of someone, saying in a loud, nasal voice, “I’ve told you kids that you are to sit three to a seat. And no eating on the bus! And no singing! And, Ben, do not light your farts on fire.”

  Grace was giggling madly.

  There is one upside to Ariel, and that’s the way she treats my daughter. Though she hates me and ignores Jas, she lavishes Grace with a gruff affection. Yes, they argue – sometimes viciously – but overall, Ariel is a pretty good surrogate big sister.

  But as happy as I was that the girls were having fun, I wasn’t about to be distracted. So I called them into the kitchen and said, “Grace, go grab a snack and watch some TV. Ariel, I need to speak with you.”

  Of course, they both knew the drill. Grace meekly snatched an apple from the counter and scampered upstairs. Ariel glared at me and stood in the doorway. “What now?”

  I patted the chair next to mine. “Come sit here.”

  She did, though very unwillingly, sighing and dragging herself forward as if meeting a hanging judge. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “What?”

  I’d practiced my speech all afternoon. “I found something in your room,” I began.

  “You were spying!” She was up and out of the chair in a heartbeat. “You were looking through my personal things. You don’t have the right to go through my stuff. I don’t go through your stuff.”

  A lie, of course, since I’d discovered pieces of my jewelry in her desk drawers. But I didn’t let her tirade distract me. Very calmly, I said, “Sit down, please, Ari. This is something that was on your pillow.”

  “Oh.” Still guarded, she resumed her seat. “What was it?”

  “A voodoo doll.”

  The thing about Ari is that she always gives herself away, but she does it so quickly that if you blink, you’ll miss it. So I kept my eyes on her face and, sure enough, there was a flicker of fear. But almost instantly, it was replaced by her normal, sardonic sneer. “Don’t pee your pants, Auntie Lil. That was an art project. It’s called a kachina doll.”

  “Really? So if I call your art teacher right now, she’ll tell me that you were making a kachina doll with pins sticking in it.”

  Ariel crossed her arms over her chest. “Go ahead. Call her.”

  So I did. And, as expected, I got the school’s answering machine telling me that the office staff had left for the day. But I played along, asking for Ari’s art teacher while the receiver buzzed in my ear. Then I went through the charade of talking to the teacher and saying, “Uh huh,” and “I see”, meanwhile keeping an eye on my niece. Ari bit her lips and nervously picked at a stray thread on her t-shirt.

  See, although Ariel is way savvier than your typical eleven-year-old (after all, she grew up watching Tanya plunge hypodermics into her arms and been locked in a closet while her mother entertained her boyfriends) , at the end of the day, she’s still an immature kid, and she doesn’t know everything.

  “Okay,” I said, hanging up the already-dead phone, “I think you’re not quite telling me the truth.”

  Ariel pressed her lips together in a pout. “Okay, I did make the kachina doll like I said. But then I brought it home, and I worked on it a little. You know, with the pins.”

  I knelt by her and put my hand on her knee. “Whom did you want to hurt?” When she said nothing, I prompted. “Your teacher?”

  Her eyes widened. “Hell, no. I like Mrs. Wallace.”

  “Is someone at school bullying you?”

  She stuck out her chin. “If they were, I’d bust their lip open.”

  Good point. I hardly dared ask my next question, but knew I had to. “Me?”

  She looked away and shook her head.

  Drinking Tea came into the room and, purring, threaded his way through the legs of Ariel’s chair. She snatched him up and buried her face in his fur.

  “Ari, honey, if someone’s hurting you so much that you want to fight back with a doll like that, then I need to know. Otherwise, I can’t help you.”

  She peeked at me from over the top of the cat’s furry spine. Her wary eyes broke my heart. I wanted her to trust me, and I was pretty sure that she wanted to trust me, too. But I also knew that she didn’t dare.

  “Can I go now?”

  “No, you can’t go now. Not until we talk this thing out.” I tried to touch her arm, but she jerked away. “You can tell me anything, Ari. Anything at all.” But from the way her face was set, I knew that she wasn’t about to budge. No amount of punishment or threats would make her tell me what was wrong.

  Then I had a thought: the inner-demon had worked so well on my ex, why not try it on my niece?

  I gave myself a moment to channel the demon and let it take over. And take over it did, and with such an easy transition that I almost didn’t notice it. Trying not to dwell on this disturbing idea, I stood up and said, “Never mind. I know I shouldn’t worry so much. I’m sure you’ve got it under control.”

  Ordinarily, Ari would suspect this as a trick and not let her guard down. But this time, she just looked puzzled.

  “I know you’re way more grown up than I give you credit for,” I said.

  “I’m not a baby,” Ari said, but her protest was perfunctory. I could feel her resistance melting under my demon’s gaze.

  “Of course you’re
not,” I assured her. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she let it lay there. “You’re tough. You’re practically an adult.”

  She nodded, her gaze slightly unfocused. Like Ted, she was in my power; I could feel it. It was like having a wild horse eating from my hand, and I couldn’t resist taking her for a test ride. “Ari, we’re having broiled fish and peas for dinner.” I immediately tensed, thinking that even a seducer demon like myself couldn’t deliver a line like that without a fight.

  But there were no gagging noises. No screams of outrage or demands for pizza. Ariel merely blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

  Amazing. “And I bought you a new dress,” I lied. “A pink one with matching hair ribbons. Would you go put it on for me.”

  “Sure, Aunt Lilly.” She stood up.

  This was not my Ariel, the hellion. The crazy, wild child. No, this was a much better girl, and for the first time since she moved in, I was thrilled to have her in my home. “Ari, forget about the dress right now. How about cleaning the bathroom?”

  “Okay.” She fetched the cleaners from under the kitchen sink and then went upstairs and began disinfecting the toilet. I stood outside the bathroom door watching agog, as she moved on to the sink, the shower, and the floor.

  Knowing that I could finally control this little wildcat gave me a heady rush of power. Why stop at Ari, I thought? I could get Grace to do what I wanted, too! I could make her stop hiding candy in her room and start taking better care of herself. I could get the girls to do chores, eat vegetables, turn off the TV, and clean out Tea’s litter box every day instead of every six months. And Jasmine! I’d start with making her find a job and then move on to getting her out of the house. I’d make her more responsible. Less immature.

  Grace came out of her room and stood beside me. “Wow, Ari’s cleaning the bathroom?”

  I put my arm around her. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Grace shrugged. “I guess so.” She watched a moment later, then said, “What’s for dinner?”

  “Fish and peas,” Ariel said, still sounding dazed.

  “Oh, gross. Can’t we have pizza,” Grace asked.

  “They’re good for you,” Ari said. “Isn’t that right, Aunt Lilith?”

  “That’s right,” I said, but when I looked into her empty eyes, I felt a wave of uneasiness. I tried to remind myself that I was doing this for her own good, but my conscience refused to believe it.

  Chapter Seven

  Although I was uneasy about using the demon on Ariel, I had no problem turning it loose on my stepsister.

  The next day, after I’d made sure the girls got onto the bus and then checked their bedroom for contraband, I woke Jas so she could track down a job lead. Usually, if I needed to wake her early, I would blast Barry Manilow through her computer speakers until she woke up. But today, all I had to do was have my demon ask her. Jas got up without screaming, swearing or throwing her shoes at my head. Then she showered, dressed and left. She even thanked me for getting her the interview.

  Life was good.

  It was time to consider the washing machine problem. Over the past few days, I’d been hand-washing bras and panties to keep us in clean underwear, but things were reaching a critical level. We’d re-used our bath towels so often that they all smelled of mildew, and Grace had now worn the same pair of jeans three days in a row. Something had to be done.

  I loathed the idea of dragging all of our dirty laundry to the Laundromat and back, but I still didn’t have the money for a new washing machine. Although I’d been compulsively checking the substitute teachers’ website hoping to find an available spot, nothing had turned up. Not a single teacher in any of the local districts was out sick or on leave. My cash resources were drying up at a frightening rate. In fact, I was getting so desperate that I’d filled out a few on-line applications to places like Wal-Mart and Sears.

  As I was digging under the couch cushions for lost quarters to use at the Laundromat, it hit me. This was ridiculous. For months, I’d been living under the shadow of my empty checking account, and I was done with being poor. Seducing my way into a designer wardrobe had been frivolous, but feeding my family was a necessity. Like William and Mr. Clerk said, being a succubus should have its advantages.

  I left the apartment and returned several hours later with two bags of groceries in my arms, and a receipt for a new washing machine tucked into my purse. By the time I’d finished putting away the groceries, the delivery men had arrived with my washer.

  “You were lucky that they had an open slot this morning,” one of the men said as he maneuvered the bulky box into my kitchen. “We usually have a two-day wait.” He studied the old washer. “Who’s going to install this for you?”

  “Aren’t you going to do it?”

  He shook his head. “That wasn’t on the job order, but I can schedule you for next week. Let me phone it in.” Without waiting for me to respond, he took his phone from his pocket and called his office.

  “If you want to use that washer today, you’d better seduce him quickly.” William leaned against the doorway to the living room.

  I gave him a cross look. I didn’t care if he was drop-dead gorgeous, and I’d been thinking about him almost nonstop since we’d had coffee. There were still boundaries. “Don’t you knock before you come into a lady’s house?”

  “No one’s ever complained before,” he said, giving me a killer smile.

  I turned my back on him just as the delivery man hung up his phone. “We’ve got an opening next Wednesday.”

  “How about right now,” I asked. I nudged my demon who smiled at him.

  He gave me an uncertain smile in return. “Well, I’d love to, but I really can’t. I have a delivery at noon. How about three o’clock?”

  It wasn’t now, but it was better than the following Wednesday. “Three would be perfect.”

  William cleared his throat. “I think now would be better.” His demon was in full glamour mode.

  I was about to protest that I could wait until three o’clock, but the delivery man was already nodding. “Okay. Now is fine.” And in a few minutes, he was carting out the old washer.

  “You never want to pass up an opportunity,” William said quietly. “As a rule, our demons’ effects don’t last very long. If you don’t catch your victims at the moment of crisis, they may start having second thoughts. Then you’re in trouble.”

  “That’s good to know,” I said.

  When the new washer was up and running, and the delivery men had left, William said, “Does this mean you’ve lost your doubts about what’s right and wrong?”

  “I haven’t lost anything,” I said. “There was no food. I couldn’t let my family starve, could I?”

  He looked amused. “And the washing machine?”

  “What was I supposed to do? Beat our dirty clothes against a rock?”

  “Don’t be so defensive. I’m not criticizing you. In fact, I approve.” He offered some mocking applause. “Welcome to the dark side, Lilith Straight. I think you’ll find Hell a very rewarding place.”

  The idea that I was somehow cementing my place in Hell tweaked my conscience enough to make it squeak. What you’re doing is wrong, it said. You’re crossing lines you don’t want to cross. Irritated, I told it to shut the hell up. I was done feeling guilty.

  “So what brings you here,” I asked him. “Another assignment?” Maybe one we could do together, I hoped.

  “I have a present for you.” He led me into the living room and had me sit on the couch. Then, reaching behind him like a magician performing a trick, he pulled a plain, cardboard box out of the air and set it on my lap.

  I opened the box and let out a gasp when I saw what was inside. Pictures, trinkets, and a few pieces of jewelry. “Is this my mom’s stuff?” I hadn’t yet been to my mother’s apartment. It was on my to-do list, but I couldn’t bear the thought of sifting through her belongings. It was too personal.

  “Miss Spry doesn’t like loose ends, so she ordered Mr.
Clerk to clean out Carrie’s apartment immediately after her death. But I managed to rescue a few things.”

  I pulled out a strange assortment of objects: a pair of lacy gloves; a small, wooden flute; an old Brownie camera. Junk. But sentimental junk that I was glad to have. “Thank you, William.” Already, I was tearing up. “That was very kind.”

  “I didn’t do it to be kind.” His voice was laced with contempt. “I did it because I knew Carrie would have wanted you to have these things.” He picked up a tacky brooch in the shape of a peacock and then tossed it back into the box. “She was a wonderful woman, your mother, and I at least owed her this one, little favor.”

  “Well, thank you anyway.”

  I dug a little deeper and unearthed a squatty piece of pottery that had been patchily painted with blue glaze. “I made this for her!” I was instantly brought back to third grade when I’d struggled to make the pinch pot for Mother’s Day. I hadn’t seen Carrie until the following Thanksgiving, but I’d still given her the project. She’d sworn she loved it.

  I continually wiped my eyes on my sleeve as I came across other things I’d given her over the years: pictures that I’d drawn, a poem I wrote, even a Christmas ornament made from gold-painted macaroni with my picture in the center. She’d saved everything.

  “Look at this.” William reached into the box and drew out a small photo album. Inside were pictures of Carrie. Not the sedates ones that Jas and I had used for the display board at the funeral, but crazy, candid shots of my mother with a drink in one hand and a man in the other. I recognized actors and musicians and even, to my amazement, the signature white hair and big glasses of a particularly famous artist who had painted soup cans.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from the picture. “I used to think that her stories about hanging out with celebrities were just that. Stories.”

  “She was a spitfire. And a good friend.” William’s scorn had melted away. He gently touched one of the pictures. “I’ll miss her terribly.”

  “Me, too.” I started to cry in earnest, and William put his arm around my shoulders, gently pulling me against his chest. This was what I’d been missing over the past few days: someone to grieve with. Jasmine and the girls had supported me, but none of them truly empathized with my loss. Even Simon didn’t mourn Carrie like I had been. But William understood.