by G A Chase
She tried not to stare into his eyes to determine if he was talking about her. “What profession are you in?”
“I’m in acquisitions.”
“As in hostile takeovers?”
He leaned back in his chair and looked her over in a way that made her skin crawl. “Not if I can help it.”
“You’re not very subtle.”
“If you were looking to be wined, dined, and swept off your feet, you’ve come to the wrong part of town.”
She bit into the slice of pizza, hoping the garlic sauce might prevent an unwanted kiss later. “I never said I was looking for romance, just a little pleasant conversation. You were the one who bet I wouldn’t last five minutes.”
“Fair enough. What do you do with your days?”
Oh, I keep an eye on the devil to make sure he doesn’t escape hell. “I’m a student at Loyola, studying human resources.”
“So that’s why you’re so focused on my approach. You’re not preparing a paper on sexual harassment, are you?”
She washed the strong flavor of the garlic out of her mouth with her sweet tea. If only I could do the same with the disgust you inspire. “Just observing the mating habits of the male of our species while he’s on the prowl.” No wonder I prefer women.
He tossed the crust of his pizza slice onto the metal tray. “Tell ya what. I’ll concede whatever time you have remaining on your five minutes. Dinner’s on me at Commander’s Palace anytime you say.”
“Grown tired of my company already? Or are you too horny for rational thought?”
He scratched the stubble on his chin. “Would it make me a cad to say the latter?”
“It would make you truthful. I can appreciate that. But I’m not letting you fuck me in some back alley. Take me to your place, or go back in the club and find yourself a whore.”
“And potentially miss out on seeing you dressed up for a fancy dinner? I wouldn’t dream of it.”
* * *
Sanguine woke up in Annie’s body. The sunrise from over the Mississippi streamed in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the old brick warehouse. She had only checked out of the night’s escapades a couple of times, and that was usually due more to Colin’s annoying grunts than his sexual aggression. He was a brutish lover but not as hostile as she’d expected from someone whose essence was partly Baron Malveaux. She tried sitting up without disturbing Colin. Annie’s legs felt like limp noodles. Sanguine had used the body as if it were her own. Poor doppelgänger Annie was going to be sore for days, even if the woman who provided the projection never noticed.
Sanguine could tell from Colin’s breathing that he wasn’t sleeping. Just like a guy to wait and see how a woman reacted to a night of sex before showing his hand. This isn’t some fucking game. She got out of bed, not bothering to wrap a blanket around her body. He’d already gotten what he wanted. It wasn’t as if she had anything left to hide. Having been raised a witch, she saw nudity as natural and not something to be embarrassed about.
He didn’t interrupt as she inspected his dwelling. A black-and-white photograph of a homeless man on a park bench in Jackson Square was prominently hung in front of the couch. Now, when and where did you pick that up? I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during that transaction. Though her bugs had kept an eye on him, they couldn’t know what he was doing every minute of the day, and even when they were watching, they didn’t always understand what they were seeing.
“It’s haunting,” she said.
“Even more so with you standing naked in front of it. I wonder how that vagrant would react knowing you were looking at him in such a vulnerable state.”
She didn’t favor him by turning to gaze at his naked body sprawled on the bed. “Are you referring to me or him as being exposed?”
“I suppose both of you. For two such opposite people, there’s a mutual expression of openness that’s hard to put into words.”
She hoped she hid her feelings better than the man in the photograph, whose face so clearly displayed a state of depression.
“I would have thought you’d go with something more upscale.”
“Why are you surprised I like the picture?” he asked.
She motioned to the condo. “This place must have cost a good-sized fortune. The photograph is nice, but you seem more like someone who would decorate to impress, not for your personal contemplation.”
He got out of the bed and moved in close. “You might be surprised to discover what attracts me.”
When his naked body made contact with hers, Sanguine considered turning Annie’s body back into a sex-bot, but she stuck with her plan. “Do you see yourself in the image?”
Sex the night before had been easier to ignore than his hands on her waist in the morning light.
“I think it represents all of us,” he said. “No one really feels like they belong.”
I belong. “Sounds like something a man who was trying to convince a woman of her lack of worth would say. If you think I’m going to become your submissive sugar baby, you’re dead wrong.”
“I didn’t mean to offend. When I bought the piece, I was at a low point in my life. I keep it here to remind me not to give up.”
Does that mean you’re still trying to escape? She couldn’t be sure he even knew he was in hell. “I have trouble envisioning you sinking to the point of that homeless man. What hardship could you possibly have endured that you think would compare to this wretched soul?”
“For someone who spent the night, you don’t seem to like me very much.”
She was letting her irritation get in the way of what she needed to know. “I wasn’t the one who just wanted to get it on without knowing each other’s name.”
“True. But I didn’t lie about my intentions. I’m beginning to wonder if I’m being set up. You’re not casing the joint for a theft, are you?”
I already own it all, you fool. “Just trying to get to know you better.”
“That would imply you expect more of a relationship than just the one night. I’ll confess that I would welcome that prospect.”
“You do owe me a fancy dinner. But don’t get any ideas that last night will happen again. Just because you seduced me once, that doesn’t entitle you to a free ride whenever you like.”
He finally took his hands off her body. “I think you’ve made your position clear. But we are naked now.”
“A situation I intend on rectifying. I have a class to get to.” She grabbed her clothes off the couch and started getting dressed.
“At least tell me your last name and how to reach you.”
Fat chance. “How do I know you’re not some kind of stalker out to take advantage of me once my back is turned?”
“So I’m just supposed to sit here and wait for your call? Even you must realize that’s not my style.”
“How you normally conduct your affairs isn’t my concern. I was curious about you, but if you keep up your aggressive pursuit, I’ll know all I need to know.”
37
Grateful to be back in her own body, Sanguine stripped off her goddess dress, flew out to the middle of Lake Pontchartrain, and dove in. Though she didn’t believe she had any hang-ups about sex, apparently doing it with the devil—even if it wasn’t her body—had crossed a line she didn’t know existed. The water felt good against her skin, but her wings made it hard to swim. Like a waterlogged bird, she flapped against the top of the water until she figured out how to ride above it like a swan. Kendell’s going to be pissed that I didn’t check in last night. I only hope Myles knows how to keep his mouth shut. She swam a gentle breaststroke while spreading her wings to dry in the sun.
Though there was work to do, she needed time to think. Even if she didn’t tell Kendell about the sex, her friend would still want an update on what Sanguine had learned from her evening with the devil. And so far, she had data but no answers.
She found it difficult taking off from the water, but once airborne, she was back in her eleme
nt. And as awkward as the dip in the lake had been, it had washed her discomfort away. The ickiness of having had sex with Colin—even if only mentally—no longer filled her with self-loathing.
What she really needed was someone to talk to. The temptation to keep on her current path toward the swamp carried with it the danger of going back in time. Her grandmother would understand, but she was dead, and traveling back to tell her about what had happened might too easily create a rift in time that Sanguine wouldn’t be able to bridge. I need someone who understands Colin but won’t tamper with this current reality.
Of course, being the only person in hell other than the devil himself kind of limited her options. As she wasn’t a part of one of the embassies, demanding a meeting with the voodoo loas in Guinee or Luther Noire in the World Trade Center was out, not that she wanted to talk to any of those dicks anyway. That left the guardians of the seven gates to hell. Though she could talk to Kendell, Myles, or the band, it was sure to be contentious, and she wasn’t looking for a fight. That reduced the possibilities to people in other dimensions. Mary was a lovely lady but not the easiest to entice out of her comfortable plantation home in her parallel reality. And now that Colin had passed her first gate to hell, she had no reason to cross over. Serephine and her brother, Antoine, were just children. That left only Fleurentine Laurette-Malveaux, deceased wife of Baron Malveaux.
Sanguine leaned her body to bank away from the swamp and back toward the city. The convent wasn’t just a set of buildings. The compound was both the repository of the third gate to hell and an interdimensional embassy, so time had a way of warping around it. Miss Fleur had died before Sanguine’s grandmother had built hell. If Sanguine could convince the nuns that her mission was worthy of their help, they could summon Fleurentine from the time she’d lived in their convent. Hopefully, the sisters would be less hostile than when Sanguine had petitioned them to help her save Kendell from danger. Appearing as an angel would have to be less offensive than barging in the front door as hell’s swamp witch.
But first she needed to find her dress. According to the Church, even angels should be clothed. Sanguine flew in low over the city to avoid being seen by Colin. Though it would be easy to glide in over the convent’s walls, pissing off the sisters wasn’t going to help her cause. Miss Fleur would be hidden away in the past, and only the Reverend Mother had the tools to call her forth.
Here goes nothing. Sanguine knocked on the solid wooden door, feeling like a trick-or-treater begging for candy from the ghosts of a haunted mansion. Hunching her wings only made her more self-conscious of the new appendages.
The door opened just wide enough for half of the nun’s face to show. “What now?”
“I’m here to see Miss Fleur. I need to talk to her about her ex-husband, the man we now know as Colin Malveaux.”
The door opened a smidge farther. “What’s with the wings?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was getting ready for Halloween?”
Though the woman didn’t laugh, Sanguine saw the cowl of her habit quiver. “You’d be the first dressed-up reveler to knock on our gate in a century. Wait here. I’ll talk to the Reverend Mother.”
With the gate once again closed, Sanguine summoned a horde of mosquitoes, hoping to get an update on Colin. To her surprise, they’d lost him.
* * *
Colin watched the traffic along Decatur from his bedroom window while he considered what he knew about the women who were toying with him. Since being supposedly released from hell, he’d only run across Kendell at the club, and only once had she favored him with a conversation. He felt pretty certain he’d only dealt with her in her physical form. He knew what her personality was really like, no matter how hard she might try to act out another role.
Sanguine, however, appeared just the opposite. “Are you out there somewhere, playing with me like a girl dangling food into a terrarium to make a lizard move, or are we playing hide-and-seek inside my cage?”
Out on the street, tourists and businesspeople took on their usual choreographed performance. If this was still hell, someone was using a lot of energy to project the deception, and energy was something Colin understood. Even though he doubted anyone was looking, he tried hard not to stare at the World Trade Center for some indication of its role in his reality. Even if they are using the power that I created to move these marionettes around my city, that wouldn’t explain how Kendell and Sanguine have been able to interact with me. Assuming this is still hell—and I haven’t simply lost my mind—neither of them should be able to project their spirits into this closed-off dimension.
Of the two women, Kendell’s presence was easier to explain. If her body was really just another of the walking and talking puppets, then she could use her voodoo powers to play her little mind games on him. That would require an object left in his realm—one linked to the curse. She must have left that golden guitar pick in Delphine’s shop. That’s the only explanation as to why my plan failed and I ended up here instead of following her back into the land of the living. Two can play at that voodoo game.
He waited for half an hour after Sanguine in the long-legged blonde’s body had left his loft. Then he exited the building. He hadn’t meant to piss her off, but he also wasn’t overly concerned about her feelings. Women who’d become angry after having sex often turned their backs on him—literally and figuratively. They had a way of returning once they’d cooled off. Intense hate could lead to fiery passion, but boredom never led anywhere. Her inattention worked in his favor, but he needed to be sure she wasn’t lurking about in any available body before proceeding.
The morning sun of the crisp October day felt good on his skin. After spending so much time in a post-hurricane, perpetual-night apocalypse, he had begun to fear he would grow gills and become the city’s swamp monster.
Though he’d committed the paper to memory, he pulled out his notes regarding the contents of the World Trade Center. He might only get one shot. Luther Noire wasn’t the type of guardian to allow a weakness in his system to remain once it was detected. Though Colin didn’t need the entire contents of the building, even sneaking a relatively small vault out of it would be a challenge.
He folded the page, stuck it back in his shirt pocket, and turned away from the business tower on the riverfront. Though he only had to walk a couple of blocks to Saint Louis Cathedral, he used the stroll to interact with as many people as possible. With each encounter, he grew bolder. Not a single person transitioned to the snarky swamp witch.
Baron Malveaux had donated money for the grand doors of the church. Colin ran his hand along the wood, wondering if the diocese had any idea of what he’d really purchased. As if they were automated doors just for him, the huge slabs of carved wood opened without needing to be pushed.
He stood in the vestibule, wondering who would emerge from the side office. It wouldn’t be Sanguine Delarosa—either in the flesh or as a spirit occupying another body. As an interdimensional embassy, the church would only allow a select few of its emissaries to talk to the damned.
Colin walked into the sanctuary, and the doors closed behind him. This wasn’t his domain, but as with the World Trade Center, he would never be denied entrance no matter the dimension he occupied.
He had met Brother Aramis enough times to recognize the man’s heavyset physique under black robes tied with a golden sash. Even with the cowl pulled over his head, the monk was recognizable.
“I’m here to cash in on my investment.”
The monk didn’t even bother lifting his hood. “Donations don’t work that way.”
“I’m not asking you to do anything for me—no absolutions or pardons from hell. In fact, what I want barely has anything to do with the Church at all. There’s something on your grounds that I need to access.”
The cowl moved, indicating the man’s nod of understanding. “You want to release the World Trade Center’s vaults.”
“Not all of them. As hell’s onetime devil and t
he former controller of the building, I have a right to the fail-safe.”
Brother Aramis appeared to float as he walked in the long robes that draped over his feet. “A member of one embassy, past or present, is allowed only entrance to other portals, not rights to their secrets.”
“The fail-safe doesn’t belong to you. It’s part of the World Trade Center’s security system. You are the one who doesn’t have any rights to it, just as you don’t have any justification for denying me access.”
The man finally lowered his cowl to reveal his bald head. “What makes you think I have access to the fail-safe?” He was clearly under the false impression that only Luther and the archbishop could operate the hidden device.
Because in this hell, I changed the rules when I controlled the World Trade Center. But the less you know, the better. Colin tried to maintain a calm exterior to hide his yearning for what lay beneath their feet. “All I need from you is to open the crypt. I’ll do the rest.”
The monk walked between the pews. “Before I let the devil into our basement, come sit with me for a moment. It’s not often I get to talk to someone who’s been to hell.”
Colin suspected the man was intentionally wasting time, but he didn’t see much choice. Perhaps humoring the cleric will soften him to my demand. “What shall we talk about?”
“I’m curious as to why you think you’ve been condemned.”
He sat on the uncomfortable wooden bench. “You expect me to confess my sins?”
The man let out a dry, raspy laugh. “Nope. Confession requires contrition. I expect your discussion of your transgressions will be closer to boasting.”
Probably true. “Where do you want me to start?”
“Most people begin with the small stuff and build up to the grand offense. Usually, those confessions are more of a legal nature than a moral one and carry with them a lot of justification regarding why the sinner killed, stole, or what have you. I find delving into the seven deadly sins more instructive.”