Chapter 2
From the diary of Maggie Mortis…
People suck.
Especially friends who say they’re trying to help, but all they’re really doing is hindering.
Don’t they understand how much shit is gonna go down? How can I protect them and Rafe if they’re… they’re following me around?
Too many have died because of me. It was bad enough letting Rafe into my life. Bad enough loving him. Bad enough betraying him. But now there’s Sarah, Margie, Mrs. P, and even that too polite Eltar. They keep multiplying, for fuck’s sake!
If they’d just leave me alone for a day, I could track Abatu, kill him, and save the world.
Sheesh!
* * *
“That’s Phil, my ex-boyfriend,” said Deb. “Poor guy. He wouldn’t go back into the grave and die again, so he mostly follows me around.” Deb turned toward the well-dressed corpse inching toward them. He had obviously been embalmed because his skin looked as fresh as a peach. But his eyes were rolled back into his head and his mouth was contorted. His fingers were curled into claws and his legs were stiff as petrified logs.
“How can he see where he walks?” whispered Sarah. She ducked behind Eltar.
“Zombies don’t really use their physical senses to get around. It’s kinda hit and miss,” said Deb. “Phil, I told you to wait in the car.”
“Uuuuuuuhhhh.”
“You don’t sleep with him or anything, do you?” Sarah’s hands crept around Eltar’s waist and she peeked at Zombie Phil. “Because that’s seriously sick.”
“First, his penis doesn’t work -- and no, I didn’t check myself. It says so in the necro books. Second, you’ve had demon penis so I hardly think you should judge anyone else’s tastes.”
Maggie sighed as she put away the moon scythes. “This night is getting shittier and shittier. Can you put away your pet so we can get this show on the road?”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Deb took Phil by one gnarled hand and dragged him toward a yellow VW bug. “You gotta stay in the car. We talked about this, honey, remember?”
“Uuuuuuuhhhh.”
When Deb disappeared, Maggie’s four friends surrounded her, their arms crossed and concern in their gazes.
“What the bloody hell are you doing?” asked Mrs. Pottersworth.
“Yeah,” chimed in Auren. “Why did you hire a necromancer?”
Maggie didn’t want to tell them. She didn’t want to drag them into the situation. It surprised her to realize that she liked having a family. She wasn’t a loner anymore. She wasn’t freed from the constraints of relationships. She wanted to be a friend, a sister, and yeah, even a wife.
And knowing that scared the living hell out of her.
“There’s no use lying to us,” said Sarah. “Or trying to hide what you’re doing. Just fess up.”
“Okay, okay,” grumbled Maggie. She couldn’t quite look anyone in the eyes. “I hired Deb to get in touch with someone. Someone who can help me destroy Abatu.”
“Who?” asked Auren sharply.
Maggie swallowed the knot in her throat. “My father. Abraham Mortis.”
The instant silence was weighted with shock.
“Are you insane?” asked Sarah, her voice strained. “You’re going to raise your dead father so you can figure out how to kill your immortal ancestor?”
“Not immortal,” corrected Maggie. “We’ve established that there is a way to kill demons.”
Mrs. Pottersworth narrowed her eyes. “You destroyed the vials.”
“Not the ones that Abatu kept.” Maggie looked over her shoulder, as if checking for the return of Deb. But what she was really doing was avoiding the gazes of her friends. She hated lying to them. But she couldn’t risk them or Rafe. Not again. Not ever.
“If only the High Council wasn’t in such disarray,” said Mrs. P. She sounded distressed.
“I don’t work for those motherfuckers anymore. Besides, they’ve got their own problems. If Meelena, who was probably the purest being among them, could fuck a demon and bear his children then they’re in a lot of trouble.” Maggie rubbed her bare arms against the chill in the wind. Odd. It shouldn’t be cold at this time of year. “And, oh yeah, I hope they all fucking die.”
“Sorry ’bout that,” said Deb as she rejoined them. If she heard Maggie’s forceful protest against the High Council, she refrained from offering an opinion. “So, are you guys ready or what?”
“I’m ready,” said Maggie. “These guys will wait in the car.”
The protests were immediate, loud, and vigorous, but Maggie shook her head. “I’m talking to my father alone.”
“I do better without an audience,” said Deb. “And sometimes, the dead are reluctant to show up for a bunch of people.”
“Fine,” said Auren as she sent Maggie a you-will-tell-us-everything-or-die look. “How long will this take?”
“It takes as long as it takes.” Deb hitched up her big-ass purse and turned to push through the gates.
“Maggie,” said Mrs. P, her voice way too sympathetic. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?”
“Nope.” Maggie followed Deb, leaving her friends to stare after her.
When she caught up to Deb, the girl was putting candles around the grave of her parents. Only her mother’s name was on the headstone. Her father lay beside his wife, unmarked perhaps, but not unknown.
“How did you know where he was buried?”
“I got the vibe.” Deb completed the five points of what was probably a pentagram and lit each votive. The smell of vanilla wafted to Maggie.
“So, what will happen? Will Dad pop out of his grave or what?”
“He decides the form he takes.”
Maggie watched the rest of Deb’s preparations. She recognized some of the magic and herbs, but necromancy was a different craft than the one Maggie had learned. She wasn’t sure she could handle talking to him no matter how he revealed himself, but she hoped Dad wouldn’t choose to speak through his corpse. Even though she had Rafe and the others to support her efforts and to offer their encouragement, no one could ever replace her father. He had always been her compass. He knew how to give advice, how to nudge her in the right direction, how to help her. She needed guidance in the worst way.
She needed her father.
Deb sat down in front of a candle. She pointed to the opposite side. “You sit there. If I’m successful, you’ll be able to speak directly to your father. It’s very rare that entities choose me as the vessel. Most dead people are attached to their earthly forms and like to reappear in them -- one way or another.
“Keep your questions simple. Ask the ones you most want to know first because timing is always iffy. You might have five minutes or less. I’ve never been able to hold a spirit here longer than an hour. Phil is the exception, of course. Then again, it’s really his re-animated body following me around.”
“I got it,” said Maggie, biting back her smile. She had a lot of problems, damn it, but at least being followed by a dead guy wasn’t one of ’em. “The second Dad appears, I start talking and I don’t stop until he’s gone.”
Deb nodded.
Maggie sat cross-legged where Deb indicated. She watched the girl put her palms together in a prayerful gesture then she said, “O God, O Goddess, I invoke thy powers on behalf of thy worthy children. Hear our prayers and grant us thy mercy.”
A sparkling gold light leapt from the candle in front of Deb to each votive. The lines crossed until a pentagram glowed. Feeling as if she’d been electrified, Maggie felt the hair rise on her arms and neck. Powerful magic vibrated in the air.
Even regular human beings could, with study and practice, create and use simple spells. But Deb was harnessing raw power; she not only knew magic, she had the talent to wield it.
Maggie’s heart crawled to her throat and beat wildly. She felt breathless and uncertain. If Abraham Mortis appeared even as a shadow of himself, he’d be pis
sed that she’d called him.
The wind kicked up, rustling dead leaves and dry grass. Once again, Maggie felt a chill in the air, which twisted around her and caused her flesh to prickle.
“With the blessings of our God and our Goddess, we call the beloved parent of Margaret Eleanor Mortis,” intoned Deb. “Please accept our offering.”
Deb threw silver powder into the middle of the pentagram. The purple petals of lavender followed and then drops of what Maggie assumed was holy water.
Within moments, a white wisp emitted from the grave. It wafted upward, hovering about three feet off the ground. Slowly, a face formed along with a neck and the barest hint of shoulders. When the figure had completed its manifestation, Maggie swallowed the hard knot clogging her throat. Oh, holy hell!
“Hello, daughter,” said the ghost, smiling.
Tears slipped down Maggie’s cheeks. “Mom?”
“I assume you were trying to call your father,” said Mom. “He was lucky enough to spend more time with you.” Her mother’s ghostly gaze looked her over. “Your hair is so short. I used to love brushing your pretty, long hair.”
Maggie rubbed her spiked locks. “It’s better for the job.”
“I know. Darling, I’ve watched over you. What a life you’ve had… and that Rafe… isn’t he yum on a bun?”
“Mom!” Maggie’s chuckle reversed into a sob. “I miss you. And I miss Dad. H-how is he?”
Her mother’s ghostly gaze flickered. “Tell me what you want, Maggie.”
“I want to find Abatu. I have the means to kill him.”
“You want to save the world?” asked her mother. “Or you want revenge for all the evil he has wrought on you and yours?”
“Both,” said Maggie. She grimaced. “But mostly the second thing you said.”
“I thought as much.” Her mother sighed. “Abatu seeks conquest and power. He has no conscience and no morality. I will tell you what you need to know because he must be stopped.”
“Am I really related to him?”
“Yes. Your father can trace his bloodline directly to Abatu. You have demon blood. It’s why you’re so good at what you do.”
The freezing wind blew again. Maggie’s mother shimmered then steadied again into a floating, pale form. “Abatu is in hiding, protecting himself while his loyal generals assemble demon armies. If this assault is successful, he will take Hell, Earth, and the Otherworld in one fell swoop.”
“And Heaven?”
“Where do you think he is hiding? And where do you think he wishes to rule from?”
Astonished didn’t begin to describe Maggie’s reaction. One of the most powerful demons in all the planes of existence was hiding in Heaven. And there, where good and love and light reigned supreme, he was going to rule all creatures. “I didn’t think our God and Goddess would allow him to hang out in the holy kingdom.”
“Life is about balance. Good and evil are two sides of the eternal coin. Sometimes the scales tip toward one or the other.”
“So no matter what we do or don’t do, the scales will eventually tip the other direction?”
“It is the actions of the Universe’s children that tip the scales.” Maggie’s mother smiled. “Your actions will tip the scales.”
Maggie nodded. Her father had once told her that she wouldn’t win every battle. The important thing was to keep showing up with the intention of winning. Fight your hardest, fight your very best, Maggie. Never focus on the outcome. It’s standing for good and for right that makes the difference.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asked softly.
“Oh, baby,” said her mother. “I wish you hadn’t asked.” Her expression turned sorrowful. “Abatu called Abe’s soul and trapped him… in one of the prisms you made.”
Horror clawed at Maggie. “No!”
“When you find Abatu, you will find your father.” Her mother started to fade.
“Mom! I love you!”
“I love you, too,” came a low whisper, “and congratulations on your engagement.”
* * *
“Did you pick out the dress?” asked Rafe. He was lying on the bed wearing only a pair of faded jeans. In his hands was a well-worn novel by Robert Ludlum. Her sexy demon wore no shirt, allowing Maggie to feast on his magnificent abs.
“Hell, no,” she said, tossing the magazines onto the bed. “We’re going to Vegas, that’s what we’re doing. Mrs. P started talking about china patterns, for God’s sake!”
Rafe chuckled as he nabbed a magazine and thumbed through it.
After the graveyard visit, Mrs. P insisted on stopping at a 24-hour Wal-Mart and picking up the magazines. Then they went to Denny’s and ate pancakes and actually discussed wedding stuff. Maggie hated every fucking second of it. Not only did she not want a traditional wedding (yuck, yuck, ptooey), but she also had other plans to make. She had to figure out how to get into Heaven, how to track down Abatu, and how to rescue her father. It killed her to know that his soul was suffering in a device designed for demons.
“This one is nice,” said Raphael. He held up the magazine. The dress looked like something Cinderella would wear to the ball, all big and fluffy and diamond-speckled.
“You like that gown?” she asked as she took off her weapons.
“Don’t you?”
Maggie took off her boots then wiggled out of her demon-hunting suit. Still in her black lace bra and panties, she crawled onto the bed and snuggled next to Rafe. As she stroked the hard muscles of his stomach, she looked at the picture again, then at her fiancé. “If you like that frou-frou shit I guess I could wear it.”
Rafe’s blue eyes twinkled. “You must love me, Maggie, if you would even think about showing up to our wedding dressed in frou-frou shit.”
She lightly punched his shoulder. Then, feeling vulnerable and guilty and in love, she sat up and cupped his face. “I would do anything for you.”
His eyes went dark and he leaned forward to capture her lips. Electric heat raced through her, and she slid onto his lap. Pressing her sex against the lengthening bulge in his jeans, Maggie broke their kiss long enough to unclip her bra and throw it to the floor.
Rafe cupped her breasts, bringing one succulent peak to his mouth. He tugged the nipple between his teeth, flicking the aching tip with his tongue. Maggie moaned, her hands drifting down to stroke at the juncture where her pussy met his jean-clad hard-on.
Rafe seemed to be in a lazy lovemaking mood, which suited Maggie just fine. She wanted to relish every moment in case… well, in case nothing. He would forgive her. He would understand her reasons. Maybe he’d be pissed off for a while, but he wouldn’t leave her. And even if he did -- her breath caught in her throat -- then he would be alive. That was the important thing. If he was walking around and breathing, wasn’t that worth sacrificing his trust?
I would do anything for you, Raphael.
Her heart kicked up a frantic beat, caught between the unfurling lust heating her inside out and the adrenaline-spiked guilt threatening to cool her ardor. Goddamn it. As despair jabbed her, she pushed aside all her worries and focused on Rafe and on how he made her feel.
Right now, there would be only love.
She would think about all the rest tomorrow.
Maggie unbuttoned his jeans and freed his cock. Her fingers stroked his thick shaft and brushed against something. “What the --?”
She looked down. Rafe wore a penis-and-ball strap. A large metal ring encircled the base of his cock; attached to it was a leather strap that stretched under his scrotum and up to a second ring. Both rings were bound at the top by another strap.
“What is this?” she asked.
“Maybe you need to take a closer look.”
Maggie grinned as she helped Rafe wiggle off his jeans. She knelt between his legs and bent down to suck the tip of his cock. She ran her tongue down the shaft, licking at the flesh bound by the metal ring.
“Lower,” he moaned. “Take my balls.”
She licked
his scrotum, wiggling her tongue under the strap. As her tongue glided down, she felt something square and hard. What the hell kind of sex aid was this thing? Maggie lifted Rafe’s sac and stared at the object dangling from the larger metal circle.
Oh holy Goddess.
The platinum band with its rectangular blue stone was… her engagement ring.
Chapter 3
From the diary of Maggie Mortis…
I never thought I would marry. Hell, I never thought I would fall in love. Love strengthens me and humbles me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, not even Damian, who held my heart for so very long. A heart he didn’t want. Because of him, I have Raphael. That was his final gift to me.
I wish I felt like I deserved him.
* * *
Maggie lifted Rafe’s scrotum higher and looked closely at the beautiful ring. The large rectangular gem was deep blue. Purple glinted within it. “Demon sapphire! You made me a demon sapphire?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze met his and she felt an insane need to weep. Demon sapphires were the rarest of all gems on all planes of existence. Only a demon could make one and since most of them were selfish bastards and the process to create such a stone was arduous, not many of these gems existed.
“Take it off!” she demanded. She felt almost giddy. And heaven knew she was acting way too girly. But it was her ring and she wanted to wear it.
“Ah,” said Rafe. “I’m afraid you can’t have it until my cock is a little less… er, happy.”
Maggie laughed. “I can help you with that.”
She sucked him, tickling the underside of the mushroomed head with her tongue. She traced each bulging vein of his cock, her fingers slipping under his scrotum to tug on her engagement ring.
Rafe groaned, his hands fisting into the covers.
She was merciless in her efforts to make him come, alternating between sucking mouth and stroking fingers.
“Maggie!”
She took him down to the first ring as he pulsed hotly in her mouth; his come geysered down her throat. She drank the warm salty essence and licked him clean.
Diary of a Demon Hunter 4: Doubly Dying Page 2