1 Straight to Hell

by Michelle Scott

  When William drew back, affronted and perplexed, I snickered. I couldn’t help it. Knowing that there was one woman in the world who wasn’t head-over-heels for him made me want to sing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As William and I walked outside, I couldn’t resist making a dig. “She’s just not that into you.”

  “She’s distracted, that’s all,” he said, trying to sound indifferent. He wasn’t fooling me, though. I knew that his ego had been badly bruised. “You don’t understand how difficult our job can be because you’ve been given only the easy cases. But most of the time, temptation is more complicated than it appears.”

  If you say so, I thought, but held my tongue.

  “Where’s the doorway,” I asked. Now that my demon had fled, I’d never find it.

  “I suggest we drive. If I try to take you to heaven by using the otherworld corridors, Miss Spry will catch us for certain.”

  Good point.

  Deciding that Jas owed me for all the times she’d borrowed my car without asking, I found the key I knew she kept hidden in a magnetic box under the back bumper and unlocked the doors. “Why did you offer to help out Jasmine?” I blew on my fingers to warm them before touching the icy steering wheel.

  William shrugged and said nothing, but I was still doing a slow burn over how he’d used me and refused to let him off that easy. “Spill it,” I said, backing out of the parking space. “Is Jasmine a succubus? Is that it?”

  His lips twitched in a partial smile. “I don’t find her particularly alluring.”

  Yeah, right. “So what’s the story,” I pressed.

  He leaned over and, without my consent, turned on the heater, directing the vents his way. “You said that this Tommy is her spiritual advisor?”

  “Yes.” I gave him a pointed look from the corner of my eye and then dialed down the heater, which was still blowing cold air. “But he’s not a church-going man. He’s not your Reverend Lathers or whomever.”

  “Landers,” he corrected. He took a pair of gloves from the pocket of his coat. “And I don’t care what kind of religion this chaste, young man practices, I felt sorry for your sister, that’s all.”

  The answer didn’t sit right with me. After all, I’d never seen William Darcy act charitably toward anyone. But when I replayed his response in my head, I realized that he’d accented the word ‘chaste.’ “You don’t care about the religious part, do you,” I said. “What bothers you is that he’s celibate. You’re upset because Tommy is placing his religion ahead of his lechery.”

  William put on his gloves and flexed his fingers. His face was set like granite.

  “Tommy’s a vegan, too,” I continued. “And he doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, or gamble.” William continued his stony silence, so I decided to press a little harder. After the humiliation he just put me through, I loved having the knife to his throat. “He calls himself an ascetic and claims that deprivation brings him closer to God.” At this, William flinched, and I felt a flush of triumph. Direct hit.

  I decided it was time to shove that knife in up to its hilt. “I think your father and Reverend Landers would have really admired him.”

  I’d been out for blood, and boy, did I draw it. William turned on me like I was his enemy. “Do you know what’s wrong with people who act so pious? They’re frauds, that’s what. They may pretend to be virtuous, but inside, they’re completely corrupt.”

  “Not Tommy,” I argued. Then, thinking of all the things he’d done – starting with making cookies and ending with giving me rent money – I added, “He’s a saint.”

  “A saint! No earthly man is a saint.” The street lights slid over William’s features, and I could see how furious I’d made him. I’d been so focused on wounding him, that I’d forgotten I still needed him to show me the way to heaven. I had to take this down a notch.

  “I meant he’s a good guy, that’s all,” I said soothingly. “That he’s genuine.”

  “I’ll bet,” William muttered. “I’m sure that he’s completely incorruptible.” He looked out the window, brooding. “Turn here,” he said finally.

  I did. William guided me down several residential streets before we finally pulled into a church parking lot. It was an old-fashioned place of worship with an archetypal peaked roof and steeple. “Seriously?” I said, disappointed that yet another cliché was proving true.

  “There are many doors to heaven,” William said as he got out of the car, “but this is the only one I know of.”

  I followed him across the parking lot, around the side of the building, and into a courtyard in the back. A few birdbaths, capped in snow, stood under some stunted, ornamental trees. An enormous concrete sundial with a bronze gnomon dominated the center of the garden. And at the very back, was an old wooden door.

  Unconnected to any building, the door stood like a stage prop. I could clearly see both sides of it from where I stood. “Are you sure this is it?”

  William nodded. “Yes.”

  I braced myself and put a hand on the doorknob, but before I could turn it, William stopped me. “Don’t forget to give my regards to Reverend Landers.”

  I waved at him over my shoulder, then opened the door.

  The snowy garden, the dark church and the sound of cars passing by had disappeared. In their places was a sprawling field of gently waving grass. Brilliant meadow flowers polka-dotted the green. Birdsong came from the little birds clinging to the taller stems. The sun shown, but on the horizon, dark clouds threatened.

  A few paces away stood a log cabin. The windows were nothing more than roughly-hewn squares in the walls, but there was a covered porch. And sitting there on the porch, a fiddle on his shoulder, was an olive-skinned, bearded, young man with long hair.

  He played beautifully. The music was fluid, the tune peaceful. His fingers moved effortlessly, and he tapped his bare foot in time to the music. Then, suddenly, he stopped and looked at me. “Any requests?”

  “Um…Amazing Grace?” Outside of Christmas carols, it was the only remotely religious song I knew.

  He played the song with such feeling that tears rose to my eyes. Forgetting myself, I came onto the porch and sat down next to him on a wooden barrel. “That was lovely,” I said when he finished.

  “Why thank you, Ma’am.” He set the fiddle aside. “So what can I do for you?”

  With his torn jeans and rock-n-roll t-shirt, this man looked and dressed like the cashier at the party store near my townhouse. He looked young, but his eyes were old. Really old. Like they’d been around long enough to see the Big Bang blow our chunk of rock into orbit around the sun.

  I found myself tongue-tied. Prayer had never been my forte. Even those desperate, mumbling bargains that most people instinctively make when stressed (like, “Please, God, if you let me lose twenty pounds before my next class reunion, I swear I’ll be a nicer person”) have been beyond me.

  So, despite my previous urgency, I opted for small talk. “Nice place you have here.”

  “Doesn’t any of this look familiar to you?”

  In fact, it did. But I couldn’t recall where I’d seen it before. Then, it came to me with a vivid jolt: the prairie, the cabin, the man with the fiddle. “Little House on the Prairie?”

  He grinned.

  That series of books had been my mainstay in elementary school when I’d been trying to deal with my dad’s new wife, baby Jasmine, and a hundred other things. I’d lay in bed at night, imagining Laura Engels Wilder’s little cabin, her sisters, and her fiddle-playing pa. I’d never actually been to a prairie, but these images became my safe places where I hid when life grew too hard. Recognizing my safe place made something loosen in my chest, and I felt a little better. “Okay. The reason why I’m here is kind of a long story.”

  “Well, I’ve got time.” He smiled kindly and leaned back in his seat.

  I stared at my folded hands, unable to meet those sympathetic eyes. “Well, it seems that I’ve gotten into a mess.” I waited, hop
ing he would finish the story for me, but when the silence stretched out too long, I blurted out, “I’m a succubus, but I don’t want to be! I keep getting these terrible assignments, and I have to leave my daughter. I’ve tried to get out of it, but no matter what I do, they won’t leave me alone. I need you to fix it.”

  “So you must have met Helen. Miss Spry?” I nodded. His smile deepened. “The next time you see her, say ‘hi’ from me, will you,” he said, sounding neighborly.

  “Sure.” Whatever. I made a mental note: Tell Miss Spry, ‘hi’ from Jesus. Feeling safer and a little more reassured, I edged closer to him. “So can you help me?”

  “Well, maybe. What are you offering in return?”

  This surprised me so much that I finally looked him in the eyes. I had not been prepared to bargain. “Um, I don’t know.” I tried to think of something valuable. “My car?” By the way, despite its mechanical problem, my car wasn’t just any bit of trash. It was a Lexus, last year’s model, and something I had won in the divorce. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have put it up on the auction block, but this was my future and my daughter’s life we were discussing.

  An amused light danced in his eyes. “Do you see any roads out here?”

  Good point. “Okay. How about hours of community service? By the way, I want you to know that I did take in Ariel. And she’s not even my relation.”

  He nodded as if he knew the whole story already. Which, if he really was God, I suppose he did.

  “How about if I take the girls to church?”

  “Better,” he said, tuning his fiddle. “But if you’re expecting me to go up against Miss Spry, you’ll have to do more than that.”

  “So tell me, already.” I was growing frustrated. “What do you want?”

  So he told me. But when I heard his conditions, my heart sank. This was not going to be easy.

  “For starters, I want you to sell everything you own, give the money to charity and move to the inner city.”

  “Everything?” My brain was clicking away like mad, calculating what this would involve. Would that include the eventual insurance settlement for the house? Was I suppose to try to sell the house? And if so, did I need to fix it up first because, as smoke-damaged as it was, it was in no condition to sell. Plus, I’d take a beating in this market, for sure. And move to the inner city? Did that mean that was Grace would attend Detroit public schools? Ted would hunt me down and shoot me if I tried that.

  “Everything,” he confirmed.

  “What about my car?”

  “Yes, sell that too. You’ll have to start taking public transportation.”

  I groaned. This was going to be much harder than I’d ever imagined. But still, for Grace’s sake – not to mention my own – it had to be done. “Okay,” I said.

  “And, yes, I want you to start taking your daughter to a place of worship. Your father’s church is fine, but it can be a synagogue, temple, mosque, ashram, whatever. I want her mixing with some of my people. And when she gets older, you need to encourage her to get a medical degree. Nursing, doctoring, it doesn’t matter.” His brown eyes were serious.

  “Why,” I asked cautiously.

  “So she can go to Somalia. Or maybe Kazakhstan. Someplace that desperately needs help. It’s her choice as long as she serves.”

  “Oh, come on,” I protested. Why was it that every supernatural being I met wanted to tell me what to do. “Shouldn’t she be allowed to make her own decisions?”

  “I’m not finished yet.” Now his eyes were really somber. “I want you working at one of the homeless shelters downtown…”

  Was he kidding? I could only imagine what went on in those places. I’d be eaten alive.

  “I want you to know that none of this was my fault,” I argued. Thunder rumbled. I hadn’t realized how the sky was darkening. “It was Sarah Goodswain who made this deal, not me. And she did it because your people were going to hang her for being a witch.”

  The creases in his face grew deeper. Suddenly, he looked much older. “Who are you talking about?”

  “The Mathers,” I said. “Cotton and what’s his name. Increase. They were ministers.”

  “Those weren’t my people.” He picked up his fiddle again.

  I thought about William. “What about Reverend Landers? Do you know him?”

  “I know everyone. But a lot of people who claim to be working for me are actually in league with Miss Spry. Whether they realize it or not.”

  The Mathers were in league with Miss Spry? I wanted to argue that he was lying, but as I thought it through, it made perfect sense. Miss Spry would have convinced the Mathers that God wanted them to hang a witch. In turn, the innocent, young girl would willingly strike a deal with the Devil. The twisted situation had the old hag’s fingerprints all over it.

  “So why didn’t you force them to stop?”

  “Force them?” He smiled wryly. “How did you feel when you forced Ariel to do what you wanted her to? I want people to make their own choices. And so do you. After all, didn’t you just tell me that Grace should be allowed to decide her own future? And aren’t you fighting Miss Spry because she’s stolen your own free will?” He winked at me. I wanted to say something scathingly bitter in return, but I couldn’t think of a thing, so I sulked instead.

  “Helen is very good at creating disasters, then sticking me with the blame.” He played a sour note on his fiddle. “Her propaganda machine is in fine, working order.”

  “She says the same thing about you.”

  He smiled sadly.

  I could see that he wasn’t going to budge in his offer, and if I really wanted him to help me, it would be at the expense of my home, my car, my money, my daughter and my own safety. It wasn’t much of a bargain, in my opinion. But, on the other hand, it would mean that I’d get to keep my family. No more flying off to do Miss Spry’s bidding. And the curse would finally be broken. It was a hard bargain, to be sure, but somehow I’d been expecting it all along.

  “Okay, I agree to your conditions.” I stuck out my hand. “Deal.”

  He ignored my outstretched fingers. “One last thing. I want you to reconcile with your ex-husband.”

  “Oh hell no!” I was on my feet in an instant. It had started to rain now, fat drops pelting the grasses and making them quiver. The birds had fallen silent. “I came here for help,” I said.

  “And I’ve offered it.”

  “You have no clue about what you’re asking. Do you have any idea what that asshole put me through?”

  “I have some,” he said drily.

  “I don’t think you do.” He didn’t look angry, but I was pissed. “I put Ted through dental school, did you know that? Yeah, and because I was the only one working, it was me who took out a loan for him to buy his way into a practice. A loan I’m still required to pay off, by the way. Yet after all of that, he cheated on me.” Behind me, thunder rumbled again, closer this time.

  “I’m asking you to love, Lilith Straight. That’s all. And part of love is forgiveness and reconciliation.”

  “I can’t do it,” I said. “I just can’t.”

  “Love is hard,” he agreed. “Much harder than hate.”

  Angry tears formed at the corner of my eyes. “I’ve had a really shitty year and this isn’t helping a bit!”

  “I know what kind of year you’ve had,” he said softly.

  “So why didn’t you do something about it, then? Wave your magic wand or whatever?” My lifelong rage at God was back in a flash, and with it a crash of lightening that shook the ground and made the porch tremble. I didn’t care if he did look like Pa Engels, or that he was fiddling on the porch of my childhood dream home. “Why did you stand there and let it happen?”

  “That’s the same thing Sarah Goodswain asked me after she’d been locked up.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “That one event down on earth is interconnected to every other event. It’s like a web. And once I started plucking strings, the e
ntire thing would come apart. And I’m not ready for it to come apart. Not just yet.”

  “That’s a really crappy answer.”

  He smiled. “That’s what she said. Though not in so many words.”

  “Did you offer her a deal?”

  “Not really. I told I’d take care of things, but she had to have faith.”

  Now I was furious. A jagged line of lightening cut the sky in half, and a second later, thunder roared once more. The wind swept across the prairie, flattening the grass in waves. “That’s terrible! Do you have any idea what they did to those women?”

  “If you recall, I spent a lifetime down there,” he said. “And it didn’t end well for me, either.” A shadow crossed over his face. “Humans hurt each other better than Miss Spry ever could.”

  I couldn’t tell which was worse. The shame of crawling to him for help, or the disappointment from not getting what I wanted. “So you won’t help me?”

  “I won’t back down on my conditions, no. If you really want me to defeat Miss Spry, then you need to trust me, Lilith. You need to have faith.”

  Faith. What was faith against the likes of Miss Spry? “To me, faith is nothing more than wishful thinking,” I said. “And I’m too much of a realist for that.”

  He smiled sadly. “Then I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  At least I’d tried. “Okay then,” I said. “I guess I’ll be going.” Although I didn’t like the idea of choosing hate over love, at least if I stuck with Miss Spry, I’d get to live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood. After I went back and turned the demon loose on my insurance agent, that was.

  “If you ever change your mind, let me know. The offer is always good.” He returned to his fiddle, playing a melody I first thought was a hymn but then recognized as a Coldplay song.

  When I reached to the old, wooden door and placed my hand on the knob, I realized that I’d made the exact same decision that Sarah Goodswain had all those years before. And just like Sarah, I was in Miss Spry’s clutches.

  The fierce thunderstorm had abated. The wind had died down, and the lightening had stopped. All that remained was dense line of clouds obscuring the sun. Well, that and a feeling of despair that made my heart feel a hundred pounds heavier.