Down in the lobby, I steered my way around a cluster of people and waited my turn to speak with one of the clerks by the front desk. And waited. Although this was a spit in the bucket compared with waiting a few short lifetimes in the administrative offices of Pandemonium, I still found myself tapping my foot and blowing out an impatient sigh. I had an apartment to find, a job to get to, and a lover to corral. I didn't have time to waste while some ancient thing with blue hair argued over her pay-per-view fee.
Look at that. Mortal in the Big City for only two days, and already I was an expert in the New York Minute. Must have been osmosis.
Finally it was my turn. Wheeling my suitcase behind me, I shuffled up to the desk and plopped down the overstuffed shopping bag. Mental note: Buy another bag for my work-clothes. The same dashing young thing from two days ago smiled the same perfunctory smile at me.
I put the check-out form on the desk and slid it forward. "Heya, sweetie. I don't suppose you could extend my stay for another day?"
He took the paper and read it quickly. "I'll check, Ms. Harris, but we're pretty full. Friday nights are usually packed." Clackety-clacking on his hidden keyboard, he squinted at an equally hidden computer screen. "You mind a smoking room?"
After four millennia of Hell, smoking was second nature to me. "Whatever you've got is fine with me. A little carcinogen never killed anyone overnight."
A quick flutter of a grin, then back to the tight-lipped impassive look. More tapping, both from his fingers and my foot.
"Okay, Ms. Harris, I think I can squeeze you in for tonight. Three hundred seventy-nine for tonight."
"Maybe I'm crazy, but I think your rates multiplied faster than horny rabbits."
That earned me a chuckle. "Weekend rates are more expensive."
"I'm just glad you've got a room," I said with a relieved grin. "I packed up just in case, but I was still hoping."
"Looks like today's your lucky day. Credit card, please."
Feeling the blood drain from my face, I pasted my grin tighter. "Can't you just add it onto what you already have?"
"It doesn't work like that, I'm afraid. I have to run everything through again."
"Seems awfully inefficient, doesn't it?"
He shrugged, an apologetic smile on his lips. "I don't make the rules, Ms. Harris. Would you like me to book you the room, or not?"
With a sigh, I dug through my purse and removed the wallet. Hoping my luck would continue, I offered the clerk one of Caitlin's three credit cards. He took it and did more computer magic. After a few heartbeats, he frowned. Some clacking sounds, then a deeper frown.
"Ms. Harris, may I see some photo identification?"
Uh-oh. I pulled out Caitlin's State ID and slid it over the desk.
He picked it up, scrutinized it, then stared at my face. Then back to the photo on the identification card. Pursing his lips, he handed the ID back to me. "Well, this is a bit tricky, I'm afraid. Your credit card has been reported as stolen."
Crap on toast.
Okay, Jezebel. What would a wronged New Yorker do?
Spluttering from the indignity, I said, "That's ridiculous! Who reported that?"
"According to the creditor, you did."
"I never did anything of the sort!"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Harris. You should contact your creditor and get this straightened out. But I'm afraid I can't help you."
"Fine," I said with an exaggerated sigh. "Can I have my card back, please?"
"Er, I'm afraid I have to confiscate it."
Sniffing my disapproval, I wheeled my suitcase away from the counter and paused near the lobby door to replace the State ID in my wallet. Granted, I had enough cash to pay for the room tonight, but after what just happened, I couldn't stay here. Maybe I was a former creature of Lust, but I still had my pride.
Okay, this confirmed that Caitlin had cancelled her cards as well as closed her bank account.
Shit. I hated getting caught.
Look at the bright side, my little voice suggested. At least you got caught by the mortals. Imagine what would happen if it had been creatures of the Pit who'd found you out?
Yeah, that made me feel loads better. I was just completely broke, except for the eight hundred dollars I'd scored from two nights at Belles. I peeked in my wallet and did a quick count. There was more in there than I'd thought: Just shy of a thousand dollars.
Hmm. Okay, that should be enough to get some sort of an apartment, shouldn't it?
Now, how did I go about doing that? I tapped my chin. Paul had said something about reading the classifieds in the paper. So maybe there would be a section that advertised apartments for rent.
The clock on the wall said it was a quarter to ten. Surely I'd be able to find an apartment before noon. Right?
I stumbled out of a greasy spoon diner, barely able to keep my breakfast down. The eggs had been fabulous, the sausage a little frightening (and coming from a former demon, that's saying something), the toast sodden with butter. The coffee had been a sad, sad thing, but it wound up perking me up, more so than the tiny squeeze of orange juice in a glass about as tall as my pinky. The food had been marvelous, both in scent and in taste.
The thing that was making my stomach lurch was my scan of the real estate section from today's New York Times. Apparently, a thousand dollars wouldn't get me a closet to put my shoes.
Bless me six ways to Salvation, how the fuck did mortals afford to live in New York City?
Mental note: Acquire a sugar daddy.
I walked, I thought. If I worked my ass (and bra) off at Belles, I could score a lot of money. Especially if I started hooking. There was a couch in the dressing room. Screw that—there was a fucking suite in the VIP room, complete with shower and a whirlpool bath. I could slum at the club for a few days, save my money, squirrel everything away.
All I had to do was stay alive and off of the Evil radar for a few more days. Would Lillith return to Belles? Goth Girl had thwoked Jemma pretty good with that spiffy boot of hers; getting forced out of a human body usually laid up a demon for the better part of a month. And Lillith was proud enough to keep her information to herself; she wouldn't want to share her prize with any of the Underworld.
You're being stupid, my small voice scolded. Lillith made you. Daun made you. You have to run.
A lump the size of a kitten lodged in my throat. Even with my survival sense driving itself into a frenzy, I knew I wasn't going to run. I didn't want to leave Paul.
He's just one man, the voice whispered. You were with him for just one night. Leave him. Flee before Hell returns.
In my daze, I didn't know where I was heading. People and streets faded into a background color of sludge, city noise nothing more than a background hum, city smells blended into a sour haze of sweat and desperation.
You're so reluctant to leave Paul, my small voice said, so call him. Ask him for help. Have him find you a place to hole up. Ask to stay with him.
No. Definitely not. I didn't want him to think of me as weak.
As I crossed the street, my voice snorted. Since when do you care about what mortals think of you, Jezebel?
Since I first saw him at South Station. Since he gave me his number and offered his help. Since he opened his heart to me about his fiancee. Since he listened to me as I cried and held me when I shook. Since I felt him deep inside of me. Since I thought I was falling in love with him.
Oh, bullshit. You're in love with the idea of being in love. You're too new at being a human to try to understand the emotions raging inside of you.
Maybe. But I'm not calling him to cry about not having a place to live.
Fine, the voice said in a huff. Don't use the one resource you have. Be that stupid.
I'm not stupid.
No? You going to run?
My fingers flew to the shieldstone. No.
See that? You are stupid, my voice told me. You want to get caught.
No. I want to be with Paul.
Oh ple
ase, the voice said, rolling its mental eyes. Why? Because he's the first mortal to fuck you raw while you're playing at being human?
As I considered the voice's words, I paused beside a foul-smelling alley sandwiched between two storefronts.
You think you gave away your heart when you spread your legs?
It's not like that. He's different. I want to be with him.
The small voice broke into peals of laughter. I don't believe it. You, a Seducer, allowing yourself to be seduced by a mortal. You really do have a death wish.
"Hey," someone called, "rich girl."
Hearing the physical voice yanked me out of my silent conversation with myself. I turned to face the alley, where a pile of rags addressed me. "Yeah, thought it was you. Still want me calling you a bitch?"
I smiled at the diseased human. Even though looking at him festering beneath his clothing was enough to make me want to shower for a month, he'd successfully shut up my small voice. Blessed conscience, or whatever it was. If all mortals had such voices in their heads, it was no wonder that humans as a race were so completely fucked up. "Heya, sweetie. How's it going?"
The beggar shrugged, sending piles of rotting clothes upward. "No worries. You so generous yesterday, my thirst is all quenched." He motioned to a mostly empty holder of beer bottles. At the bottom of his mound of rags, empty bottles glittered in the late morning sun.
"As long as it's not milk."
"Hate that shit."
"I hear that."
"You gots any more generosity in you, rich girl?"
I held out my hands. "Wish I did. Just got kicked out today. Got to find me a place to live."
"Sucks to be on the street, rich girl. Share a drink with me?"
I took a few steps into the alley. My nostrils pinched as the stench of putrefying garbage washed over me. Grimacing, I stepped closer. The man offered me an unopened brown glass bottle. Eyes watering from the clashing odors of filth and pestilence, I said, "You sure?"
"Yeah man. Go ahead, share a drink with me."
"Thanks." I twisted off the cap, we clinked bottles, and I took a sip. Warm beer frothed in my mouth, and I swallowed it down before my gorge could suggest otherwise. Almost as nauseating as milk.
"Hell of a life, isn't it?"
I chuckled. "Yeah."
"See you still gots that pretty necklace, rich girl."
"Yeah." My throat dried up, so I took another sip of the nasty beer.
"You should sell that, get some money."
"Can't. It's precious."
"Yeah, I sees that. Hey, that guy there knows you?"
I turned, wondering if Paul had been following me. Blinding pain flared at the back of my head; something wet soaked my hair as I crumpled to the ground, falling over my shopping bag. My head throbbed in time to colors shooting before my eyes. Too stunned to move, I lay prone, surrounded by rotting boxes and cans of refuse.
Grime-covered hands grabbed at my neck. My chain pulled taut, snapped. My shoulder burned as my purse was brutally ripped away. The ground shifted as my shopping bag was pulled out from beneath me.
I tried to stand, but white stars blinded me, robbed me of my strength.
"This for you, rich girl."
A twenty-dollar bill fluttered to the ground by my face, followed by an empty beer bottle.
The beggar chortled as he walked out of the alley. I heard the squeak of the suitcase's wheels over the garbage-riddled concrete. When I could finally move without the world shifting with me, the man was long, long gone.
Along with my money, my suitcase, and my Shield Against Evil.
Chapter 22
Belles
"My God. Jezebel, what happened?"
I looked up from the doorway of Belles to see Roman hovering over me. At least, I thought it was Roman; he was kind of blurry. "Been a bad, bad morning." My voice cracked as I spoke.
He hunkered down. "You smell pretty bad, love. You drunk?"
"No, but the guy who hit me with his beer bottle was."
"Shit." He glanced at my head, which I cradled with one hand. "You should go to a doctor, get that checked."
"Can't. Guy stole my money. Can't pay for a doctor." I blew out a sigh, and that made my head pound worse. "Guy stole everything. Didn't know where else to go."
"Why didn't you call the police?"
Because the last thing I wanted was for human authorities to sniff into my identity and find the real Caitlin Harris in Salem, Massachusetts. "All I really want is a shower. Could I use the one in the VIP room?"
"Love, why don't you go home, get cleaned up?"
My lip trembled before I spoke. "I sort of don't have anywhere to go. I'm sort of screwed at the moment."
"Hmmm. Well, we can't have you loitering in front of the building. Bad for business and all that."
"You're not open yet."
"Figure of speech. Come on in, love. Let's get you cleaned up."
He helped me to my feet. I barely swooned. Points for me.
Frowning at me, Roman said, "Glad I decided to come here this morning, get some paperwork done. You'd have been hanging outside for a good couple hours otherwise."
I whispered through clenched teeth, "Guess this is my lucky day."
He unlocked the front glass doors, then escorted me inside. I leaned on him more than I would have liked. Me strong former demonic entity. Me no need puny flesh puppet for support. Yeah, right. My arm looped around his shoulder, he guided me upstairs to the VIP room. I must have looked like shit and smelled worse, because Roman didn't even cop a feel. For Dickhead to be a gentleman, I knew I was in trouble.
No, trouble didn't begin to describe what I was in. Shit Creek without a paddle, maybe.
He sat me down on a fake leather chair. "Be right back, love. I'm just going to get the water going in the shower."
I dropped my head between my knees and told myself not to be sick. I had a feeling I wasn't going to have a good meal in the immediate future, so I didn't want to vomit up my lovely breakfast. Well, lovely except for the sausage. That had looked like (and smelled like) humans after a go in the Pridelands, chopped into itsy-bitsy pieces and hung out to dry. Ropes of intestines, linked like sausages, roasting over the Lake of Fire…
My stomach lurched. Down, boy.
"Here we go. Some Tylenol, super strength." Roman dropped three capsules into one of my hands, then shoved a glass into the other. "Come on, love. Down the hatch."
I popped the medicine into my mouth and washed it down with tepid water.
"Slowly, love. No ralphing on the furniture, please."
"You're all heart," I whispered.
"Now, now. No insulting your guardian angel. Come on, Jezebel. Let's get you clean."
Roman helped me up, then walked me into a bathroom fit for the sultan of a small country. Marble floors and counters, mirrors everywhere there wasn't marble. He steered me past an enormous whirlpool bathtub, coming to a halt by a large stall shower. The water poured out, steaming up the glass door.
"There's towels and a bathrobe for you here," he said, motioning to a small pile on the toilet cover. "The robe'll be falling off you, but I don't have your size here. Shampoo and all that stuff's in the shower. You need any help getting undressed or cleaned up?"
Swaying on my feet, I shook my head. That made me dizzy, so I reached out, clutching for anything to keep me steady. Roman's shoulder did the trick nicely.
"You sure you don't need help?"
I thought I detected a hint of lust in his voice. I was probably misreading his signals; getting knocked upside the head could do that to a person. Still, I just wanted some quiet time in a long, hot shower. "I'm good. Thanks."
"Right," he said. "So I'll be just outside, listening for the heavy thump of your body hitting the floor." He left me alone. Imagine that: Dickhead really was being a gentleman. The world was going to Hell, no doubt about it.
I stripped and stepped into the steaming spray. I gingerly washed my hair, going slowly
over the tender knot where the beggar had clocked me. My head hurt like a bastard, and for all I knew, the shampoo was making the pain worse. But I'd rather have extended agony and clean hair than a throbbing head reeking of stale beer and garbage.
Then I lathered up and scrubbed every inch of skin. No matter how hard I rubbed, I still thought I stank of rotting food. I scoured my flesh, feeling the beggar tear away my shieldstone, hearing his taunting call. This for you, rich girl.
Disease infested scum-sucker. If I'd been thinking clearly, I'd have fried him where he stood. I'd have ripped his tongue from his mouth and fed it to him. I'd have torn off his dick and plugged up his ass. I'd…
Blinking in the hot stream of water, I realized the scope of the theft. The shieldstone was gone. I could use my power any time I wanted.
And then cancel the witch's spell. Which meant Hell would be able to hone in on my presence.
Crap.
I slammed my fist against the tiled wall. And that made my hand hurt worse than my head.
Double crap.
One thing about showers: They wash away your tears.
By the time I emerged from the shower, the capsules that Roman had given me started kicking in. My head no longer throbbed like it was going to explode. Instead, my brain felt swathed in cotton. Or maybe cotton candy. A definite improvement. They should bottle that stuff and sell it. Oh wait. They already did. Heh.
I frowned, pressing a hand against my forehead. My thoughts felt loose in my head, drifty. Just the medicine working, I told myself. Let it work. Drifting wasn't so bad.
After I toweled dry, I wrapped myself up in the huge robe. Stealing a glance at myself in the foggy mirrors, I thought I looked abysmally cute. All I needed was oversized bunny slippers to make it complete. Yuck. I stuck out my tongue. My reflection did the same. How unoriginal. I ran my tongue slowly over my lips, feeling the wet pressure against the sensitive flesh, watching my image mimic the movement.
I lifted my hand up and touched my saliva-slick lips, remembering His kiss. Nothing passionate. Nothing seductive. Just a kiss, a sad farewell. If only you were right.
Right about what? It was so hard to think.
Hell on Earth 1 - Hell's Belles Page 20