Mel pressed her denim-clad knees together, willing them to stop shaking. No one was staring at her – it was Luce capturing all their attention. Her blood ran cold as the MC nodded to them. She closed her eyes as the opening notes of the Sarah McLachlan song rang out, but couldn't help smiling as Luce changed the words to leave everyone in no doubt that the broken man in the song was him. Every line was "I" and "me" and "my" – and as his voice soared effortlessly into the chorus, he made it clear that his angel was her.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she opened her eyes to the realisation that this was no performance. How could he bear to lay himself bare in front of hundreds of people? It didn't seem to matter how many people were watching – raw emotion radiated off him, engulfing her in its potency. Even Luce succumbed to the power of it, falling to his knees at the end of the second verse to wrap his arms around her as he delivered the chorus one more time.
He rose at the end of it, gathering her into his arms as he repeated the last two lines, but this time it was his angel in his arms and it was Heaven he wanted her to find there. He carried her down the steps back to their table, paying no attention to the cheering crowd.
Under the cover of the next contestant's spirited rendition of Nancy Sinatra's infamous boots, Luce leaned across the table to snarl at Patrick, "What in Hell were you thinking? You could have asked her before you put her through an ordeal like that! She's terrified of public speaking – and singing's one step further. Did you think a phobia like that would just vanish with a couple of beers?"
No. Patrick had had no idea what her greatest fear was, as he'd never seen her in a situation where she'd been forced to reveal it until now.
He quailed, turning terrified eyes on Mel. "I didn't know. Mel, I swear I didn't know. I thought you were just a bit nervous like most people are. I had no idea it ran deeper than that. You're so confident in everything else, I never thought that…"
Mel summoned a queasy smile. "It's all right," she began.
"No it isn't!" Luce interrupted. "You have the gall to have a go at me for not taking care of her and yet you do something bloody stupid like this. You're as much of a hypocrite as every other angel."
Mel grabbed his arm and yanked him down. "Luce, he didn't know. He didn't know. I never told him."
Patrick shoved back from the table. "I'll go get another round. Mel, d'you want another one?" He waved at her half-full glass.
"Just water, please," she said, not letting go of Luce until Patrick had vanished into the crowd.
"They think they're so perfect," Luce muttered. He eyed her beer. "Are you going to drink that?" When she shook her head, her half-pint disappeared down his throat.
"Patrick isn't perfect and he made a mistake that he apologised for. I understand that you're angry, Luce, but you can't blame him for not knowing. It's not something I like sharing. You only found out because…well, the lobsters. And then that awful presentation a few weeks ago. Hell, Luce, the whole point of tonight was to blow off some steam, not build up a new head of pressure. Just…let it go, please. You turned his mistake into a memory I'll treasure 'til the world ends. Please don't taint it. You have a magnificent singing voice and your performance is…mesmerising. Both as my sexy devil and a redeemed one."
Luce seemed to relax a little. He nodded slowly, but his expression didn't lighten. "I'll be right back," he said, slipping away.
Mel's gaze followed him through the crowd until she was certain he was headed in the opposite direction to the way Patrick had gone. She sighed and slumped in her seat. So much for a relaxing night. She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe away her worries. It felt like there was a storm brewing in her head. The sound of glasses clinking surprised her into opening her eyes.
"I brought your water, beer for us blokes and one of those fruit juice cocktails you liked so much in Sri Lanka. One with no alcohol, I swear." Patrick pointed at the obscenely pink pint glass between the golden ones. "Where's your devil gone?"
Mel shrugged and sniffed the pink concoction. "Little boys' room, perhaps. He didn't say."
"Well, these will have to be our last drinks. Last song, too. They're getting close to closing time." Patrick's eyes widened. "Oh, Mel, he's not in the loos at all. I think he's been bitten by the karaoke bug."
Mel followed his gaze to the stage. With his horns and tail out, Luce had somehow acquired an old-fashioned shirt, tailcoat and top hat. Luce caught her eye, grinned and swept off his hat as Mel recognised the opening bars of The Rolling Stones' Sympathy for the Devil.
She didn't know how he did it. With every bum-wiggle, thrust of his hips or wink, he had girls screaming his name. The lyrics only had him egging them on, detailing what she knew were only a tiny taste of his many sins, yet they loved him for it.
Off came the hat, then the coat, and the shirt soon followed, though he tossed them to the MC instead of into the crowd or at her. When he was down to just his pants, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and grinned at Mel.
She shook her head and mouthed an emphatic NO that he met with a wink, which sent the girl at the table behind Mel into hysterics. Mel remained resolute and it took him several seconds of tugging at his mysteriously jammed zipper before he gave up and kept his pants on, making up for their presence with even more erotic dance moves.
Luce's gyrations ceased as the music died away and he jumped off the stage to return to the table. He emptied his beer in three gulps, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I think I should take you home before someone else tries to," Mel murmured, jerking her head at the scrum of girls fighting their way from the foot of the stairs to their table.
Luce nodded and shrugged on his jacket, curling a possessive arm around Mel as they followed Patrick into the cool air outside.
A surprisingly smooth cab ride through the dark London streets ended at Patrick's flat. He followed Mel and Luce into the lift, mourning his upstaging. "Every time I go there now, all they'll remember is that I was the one who brought Lucifer, the man who stole the show." He shook his head sadly. "How was I to know you'd learned to be a secret rock star in your time on Earth?"
"You've forgotten your theology, saint," Luce said. "If you'd remembered, you'd know that I was a choirmaster in the Seraphim, one of the highest choirs of angels that did nothing but weave melodies for millennia. I used to conduct symphonies so complex they were outside the realms of human perception, long before humans were allowed into Heaven. And Melody…she'd inspire any man to sing." He tried to kiss her hand but missed. He managed on the third try. "Damn, I'm drunk."
"I haven't been this drunk since the sixties. Hell, I was in London then, too. Hasn't changed much. Still so bloody dull that you need to drink to keep sane." Luce stumbled out of the lift and leaned against a wall while they waited for Patrick to unlock the door.
"What were you doing in London? The 1960s, you mean, or an earlier century?" Mel asked, her hands braced behind Luce's back to ensure he only headed up the stairs without falling down them.
"Yes, the last ones. The ones where there were plenty of musicians who wanted to make it big and they'd sign over their souls for fame, fortune and immortality. We couldn't create the contracts fast enough – it was incredible. I tossed back a few drinks while I was waiting for the band to finish their set, and they seemed popular enough to get asked for a few encores, so I drank a few more. The place was packed and I fell to talking to a couple of other guys who said they were friends of the band. Turned out they had a band of their own, but it was more of a loose arrangement, jamming with whoever they could at their occasional gigs. One bloke's name was Keith and I think the other's name was Michael or something. Or were they the guys in the band who were playing? Don't remember. I was that pissed." Luce lurched around to grin at Mel. "Like now. You know I love you, don't you, Mel? Mel. Melody. Melody my sweet, sweet angel."
"Yes, I do. I love you too, Luce. But I'm not sure you should be telling me about buying musicians' souls. Th
at's the past, not the present, my love." She grabbed him before he swayed back down the stairs.
"No, didn't buy them. It was all in the contracts. They wanted stuff and that's what they were willing to offer. But not these two. Uh-uh." Luce grinned. "The more they drank, the more they told me about the woes of being a musician. So when they were as drunk as I was, I told them the Hell of being a musician was nothing compared to being the eternal Lord of Hell. The things I'd had to do to win souls, the things I'd seen humans do to each other, and how damn rude humans could be when they didn't want what I was offering. Or when they did and they didn't have the guts to admit it. As if the haughty humans were better than me. All I wanted was a bit of sympathy. And courtesy. And Meith and Kichael agreed with me! Couple of good blokes, really. One piped up that it gave him an idea for a song and he asked for some of my spare paper to write on. Contracts for their souls and they wanted to write on the back of them. I just laughed and let them, then took the papers home." Luce stumbled up the last step into Patrick's living room. "I didn't see them properly until the next morning. They'd scribbled all over those contracts, signed their names at the bottom and all, but not on the line where it was supposed to be. Hell no. At the bottom of what looked like song lyrics on the back of the contract. Damn poetry about being the devil. Good poetry, though. And I thought to myself, if they ever turn it into a half-decent song, I'd take that over their souls. Who needs a couple more mediocre musicians in Hell, anyway?" He collapsed on the sofa, humming the Stones song loudly.
Patrick pulled Mel into the kitchen and poured her a pint glass of water. "What is he babbling about? Did he just tell you he bought Keith Richards' and Mick Jagger's souls for a song?"
Mel sipped the water and smiled. "No. I mean, he might've tried – he's Lucifer, and there's no telling what he got up to when he was a demon – but you don't believe the devil would be so sentimental as to take a song over a soul?"
Patrick shrugged. "He sought redemption and signed over everything for the angel he loves, Mel. He even serenaded you in front of a whole pub full of strangers. He's plenty sentimental, all right."
She peeped around the corner. Lucifer was still stretched out on the couch, but humming had given way to snoring. "And he's passed out, too."
"Want to go into the lounge so we can let him sleep?"
Mel nodded silently, so Patrick grabbed the jug of filtered water and they headed for the lounge room. The moon shone through the casement windows, turning the warm-coloured room into stark shades of white, black and grey. Leached of colour, it felt cold.
Patrick clicked on the light and Mel reached for a golden-brown throw rug, wrapping it around her shoulders like a shawl. She sank into an armchair and pulled her knees up to her chest. Patrick sprawled across the sofa, propping his head up on a cushion so she could see his face.
"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked, starting intently at her.
"Yes."
"So explain to me why Lucifer was shouting at me for ruining your night."
Mel sighed, reminding herself that Patrick knew she wasn't perfect. It was still hard to admit to something so silly, though. "I suffer from glossophobia – I'm terrified of public speaking. Around three thousand years ago, I helped a Cretan king judge the guilt of his people when they were accused of crimes. When I proclaimed a woman's innocence, the king shouted that I was a liar. He'd set up the girl to take the fall instead of the real culprit, and he had the whole crowd convinced she was guilty. So he handed me and the innocent woman to a mob. An unarmed mob, but it didn't matter. There were so many of them, they tore us apart with their bare hands. It was a slow and very traumatic death. To this day, I'm reminded of that mob every time I speak to a group of people, or if I'm the centre of attention. My knees turn to jelly, my insides to ice and my tongue to stone. I can't speak and I can barely stand."
Patrick's expression shifted from anger to horror to pity. "And you never told me."
"No. You didn't need to know. No one did. I resolved then to only help with advice or as an individual needs me – I don't stand in judgement over humans. Never again."
His eyes narrowed. "Yet Lucifer knew."
Mel squeezed her eyes shut. "Yes. He…oh, take my hand. It's easier to both show and tell you." She fluttered her fingers at Patrick and his hands were warm and smooth as he clasped hers between them. The memory surfaced, as bright and clear as the day it happened, and she softly narrated, "There was a press conference at the HELL Corporation and I was sent to brief Luce with some essential, additional information. When I walked in, everyone turned to me – microphones, cameras, yammering faces…my knees buckled. And Luce…he helped me up and he held on to me until he dismissed the reporters. When we were alone, he asked if there was anything more he could do or if I'd be all right. He just knew and I didn't have to tell him."
Patrick's smile looked forced. "Good thing he wasn't a demon any more, then, or he'd have thrown you to the wolves. Instead, he turned you into a heroine."
"Oh, he was a demon, all right. It was just after I got back from Sri Lanka and he saw the photos. He said some strange things, too – that I'd saved him twice already. I don't think either of us expected I'd do it again." Mel managed a small smile. "At the time, I expected him to take advantage of my weakness somehow and use it against me, but he never did. At Heaven's gates, so many people came to see his triumphal re-entry. I dressed up – all in gold, wings out to their fullest extent, practically glowing – and all those angels were staring at me. Then Peter said something about how I'd saved Lucifer and conquered Hell and he bowed. And that's how it works – the name, the full glory and all of a sudden I've gone from the Melody Angel, a nameless angel who's nothing special, to Lady Muriel, one of the highest in Heaven, and everyone has to bow and scrape and obey and…oh, the worst part…pay attention to me. What kind of leader can't bear to give orders to their followers, Patrick?" She laughed nervously. "Truth is, the prophesied threat of Lucifer dragging me into Hell was only an excuse for me hiding on Earth all these centuries. If everyone knew me, I'd have to take on more authority and address more people and…all those things I can't stand. Instead, I've delegated to Raphael and let him be my spokesangel. It worked pretty well most of the time, except when it came to Luce. I've spent so long being invisible that Raphael seemed to think I needed to be."
Patrick laughed. "Oh, I could have told him he had nothing to worry about. You're not easily tempted."
The silence hung between them, filled with unsaid declarations of love that Patrick had never voiced. And never would.
"I'm sorry I'll never be powerful enough to support you like he can. A born angel and one of the highest at that – he's what you deserve. Your equal, which I'll never be. I was raised to adulthood as a slave and even after all this time, it still shows."
"Patrick. You were the first human to become a Hashmallim. Don't underestimate your own worth. What Lucifer was, he lost when he fell. He's the Lord of Hell, but as an angel, he presently ranks with the Elohim, alongside guardians, messengers and escorts." Mel unfolded herself from her armchair and crossed to the sofa to hug Patrick. "In the angelic hierarchy, you outrank him."
"But not for long," Patrick responded. "And not in your heart." The pain in his eyes broke her heart.
"If Luce wants to rise to his former position, he'll leave me far behind, for he won't have time for an Earth-bound angel when he's trying to regulate the rest of the universe. I'm partially responsible for him losing his high rank and it's only fitting that I help him regain it." Mel's heart still ached, but not just for Patrick now. For Luce's loss, too.
Patrick snorted softly. "You really mean it, don't you? If that's what he wanted, you'd work selflessly to restore him to his former glory, because you love him that much. You don't see him or yourself very clearly, then. That angel on the couch will never leave you. Pride and rank and position? He couldn't care less, as long as it's high enough for you, because he adores you. Loves you. He'd risk his very
soul for you because this world wouldn't be the same without you."
Mel shook her head fiercely, pulling away from him. "You can't know that. You can't. No one would choose a paltry personal relationship over the fate of a world. Luce never noticed me when he was an angel before and he'll rise above me again, just you wait." She wiped away tears, hoping he didn't notice.
"No, the only angel who's that selfless is you. The rest of us aren't that perfect. Our personal relationships – those we love – are so important to us that they matter more to us than the fate of one world…or even the whole universe. I know that angel in there radiates so much love for you that his soul glows with it. And I know exactly what it feels like, so I know there's no way in Hell he'd let anything stand in his way of happiness with you, now that he's found you. Why have a lonely, loveless life with nothing but power when he could have you?" Patrick grinned. "Not even the devil's that stupid."
Mel's phone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out. She answered the call on speaker so Patrick could hear, too. "Good morning, Koyane," she said.
"What time is it there? I waited as long as I could, as I didn't want to wake you up in case you wanted to sleep in on a Sunday morning."
Mel glanced at her watch. "It's just after three in the morning, but you didn't wake me. Patrick and I were still up."
"Three? Patrick? Are you in Ireland, then? Does that mean you're busy with a crisis there?" Koyane's voice sounded strained.
"No, Patrick, Luce and I have been searching for Persephone. She's not here, so we spent a pleasant evening in the pub here in London." Mel counted the seconds in her head. Koyane was very much immersed in the Japanese culture of his home and he was meticulous about observing all the necessary pleasantries before getting down to business.
"Persephone? She was here not long ago, asking for directions and accommodation. I can speak to a few people here to find out if she's still here. If you want her, I'll send her directly to you."
To Hell and Back Page 11