My Way to Hell

by Dakota Cassidy

  Marcella’s lips fastened together to ward off a snarl.

  “Tell me, are you miserable on that plane riddled with wishywashy souls?”

  “As if you care.”

  Holding up his hand, he curled his fingers around something imaginary. “This is my ‘care cup.’” He gasped when he looked down with an exaggerated pair of wide eyes. “And look, it’s empty. So, how’s our friend Delaney? Still full of homespun sugary goodness?”

  No thanks to you. A ripple of more fear slithered up her spine. If he wanted backsies, he could still seek vengeance on Delaney and, without the gift, she’d have no recourse. “Delaney’s not your concern.”

  Satan ignored the implied warning in her words and shot her a jovial grin. “So what’s new? How’s life treating you? Does it utterly and completely suck living out your eternity roaming endlessly with all those whimpering losers?”

  Rolling with his jab at her spectral state, Marcella sought calm. He hadn’t been her target, but who better than El Diablo to get the inside scoop? “I need a moment of your time.”

  He bobbed his head with a cheerfully knowing glance. “Yeaahhh,” he rasped. “I guess you’re here to beg for your hellbound privileges? Can’t say as I blame you, cupcake. You’re a hot mess.” His lean fingers swept the length of her dress.

  Marcella’s chin lifted just like in days of old. In defiance, and without warning, she felt the surge of hatred rise up to lie solidly in her chest. “Please, you puke. The day I beg you for anything is the day we’re all doing triple axels in Hell.”

  Lucifer mock shivered with a shake of his reed-thin shoulders. “I love it when you’re spicy hot! It’s ssspunky. That you don’t want to revisit the shelter of my protective wings breaks my wee little heart. I haz a sad.” He let his lower lip tremble before it fell back into his vile grin. “So what brings you to the Bin if not the longing for my loving arms?”

  “First, a question?” Caution was the better part of valor, and testing the waters was not only wise but imperative before she got herself into something far worse than she was already in.

  Lucifer arched a pointy eyebrow in anticipation.

  She purred at him, smoldering her eyes and throwing on her flirtatious pout. “Let’s say I wanted to come back and serve—what’s the skinny on that?”

  His beady eyes glowed with loathing. “You’d be wearing cute, rhinestoned leotards with frilly skirts on them and sharpening your figure skates. But even if you wanted to, or better still, I allowed you to, you couldn’t come back. That pathetic simpleton Uriel interfered—he had the last word. That means you’re his, lollipop. Too bad, so sad.”

  Note to ghostly self—when you have some extra time on your hands and you’re not crying over something ridiculous like a commercial for that show Intervention, find out who in all of fuck Uriel is. Marcella grinned in response. His statement meant there was nuthin’ to lose. “With that settled, I want to know what you know about Armando Villanueva.”

  “Who?”

  Satan’s apparently genuine surprise startled her, but there wasn’t much he loved to do more than toy with someone who was at their lowest. She wasn’t falling for it. “Stupid doesn’t suit you.”

  “Oh, never mistake me for stupid, Marcella. You’ve done that once before, and now look. Anyhoodles, I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

  “You know exactly who I mean. He’s the filthy prick I killed. You know, the one I became a demon because of?”

  “Marcella, Marcella. Grudge, grudge. Sooo unhealthy, fruit cup. You know that’s not entirely how you ended up under my command . . .”

  Her eyes went hard as granite. If he dared to speak the name, she’d—what, Marcella? You are one loose cannon, here, chica. You got nuthin’ but your mouth working in your favor. So shut it. Reason settled back in, voiding her irrational response. “Where is Armando?”

  He paused for a moment, reaching into the pocket of his bomber jacket and pulling out his iPhone. “Refresh me. There are so many of you fallen, it’s like corralling greased cats.”

  “Dark, Hispanic, bottom-feeder, died in 1934.”

  “Sold his soul before or after death?”

  She gritted her teeth. “Before.”

  “Oh, right, right. Well, my iPhone app tells me he’s inactive. Pity, too. He was one evil dude, according to his stats. Could have been a brilliant protégé.”

  “I have a problem.”

  “The first among which is your dress,” he responded dryly, shooting her a wink.

  Enough with the damned dress, already. “He’s not inactive. I locked his soul in a box. That box is officially open. Where is the fuck?”

  “Considering a tearful reconciliation?”

  “With candles and chilled champagne. Surely you can see my anticipation? Where—is—he?”

  Lucifer waved a disinterested hand. “I have no idea where Armando is. If he’s no longer inactive, he hasn’t come forth to say as much. I don’t mind telling you, I’m very disheartened that he hasn’t. It’s downright painful when my babies desert me.”

  “Which means he’s rogue . . .” she baited with a satisfied tilt upward of her lips. There was nothing Lucifer liked less than a demon gone rogue—especially a demon as vile and willing to do anything as Armando had been. The very notion that someone might try to usurp his throne, no matter how ludicrous, made Satan a cranky-pants.

  Yet his reaction was composed. Clucking his tongue, he tsktsked with a forlorn sigh. “You know how much I despise that, don’t you, Marcella? It makes me so uptight and tense. Hits me right here.” He reached behind him and thumped the middle of his back. “So do dish. How did Armando get out of this box?”

  Shit. Cornered. “Someone let him out.”

  “Who, sugarplum?”

  “A kid,” someone cackled from behind the curtain of swinging beads. “Name’s Carlos. Don’t know what that freak Armando wants with him, Boss. Just heard the rumor.”

  Suck-ass demons.

  Marcella fought an outward cringe and the urge to bitch-slap the fuckwit. She’d hoped never to mention Carlos’s name, thus keeping him out of Hell’s potential clutches and off the radar.

  Lucifer peered over his shoulder, aiming a malicious eye at his cackling minion. He went from glacially cool to maniacally hot in the course of a nanosecond. “Yooou!” he roared. “Better have some answers for me as to how Armando’s been left unaccounted for—or the pit will seem like Candy Land.”

  Silently, she saw Lucifer flip through his iPhone again. “Carlos . . . there’s no Carlos on my roster. Not to be collected or wooed to the dark side.” His face was placidly blank, then evilly menacing when it became clear he’d realized Armando might have something he wanted. “So,” he purred, low and grumbly, “whatever do you think Armando wants with this boy? What does he have that Armando wants? I’m ever so curious.”

  And it was the kind of sick curiosity that made Marcella’s knees tremble and her mouth go dry. “I don’t know.”

  Satan cocked his head to the left and pouted his lips. “Ah, this isn’t really about your dearly departed, heinously murdered husband. This is about a little boy. So interesting. I’m all atwitter.”

  “Leave the little boy alone.”

  The expression on his face said his interest was growing. “Relax, girlie. Don’t get all hinky on me. I didn’t even know he existed until mere moments ago.”

  “Good, then forget you heard his name,” she hissed, displaying her hatred for him with a flash of her green eyes.

  “Come now. I can’t do that. What kind of supreme ruler would I be if I didn’t investigate? If he’s of interest to Armando, and you’re in the mix, I feel some bloodshed coming on, and I want in!”

  Her temper, the one that usually created nothing but trouble, went ahead and created trouble. “You fucking pathetic bastard. You leave that little boy alone or I’ll—”

  “What, Marcella? Do battle with me by using your very scary floating skillz?”

/>   “Fuck. You.”

  Satan tilted his head, placing one finger under her chin and thrusting her higher in the air. His glance was thoughtful. “How did I ever underestimate you in all the years you served me, cookie? You’re so full of vim and vigor. It’s stimulating. I’d venture to say it’s even invigorating, though sadly classless. I should have paid closer attention to your potential for growth. But alas, you slipped through the cracks.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It happens. Despite myth, I really can’t be everywhere.”

  Her lips thinned, her jaw tightened so hard it trembled. She had no power against Lucifer. But by all that was sacred, she’d find a way to keep him from Carlos. “Leave the little boy alone. Do whatever you want to me. Take me back as your minion and I’ll serve you in the pit, but leave him the fuck alone.”

  Dragging a finger along the tops of her breasts, now spilling from her torn dress, he smiled with insidious knowing. “Haven’t you done this before? You offer up your soul for a loved one, live a tortured half-demon life, flying on the down-low, and all the while mourning your losses? Blah, blah, blah. Boooring. What is it about you and self-sacrifice that go hand in hand? Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?”

  Ignoring the bait he dangled in front of her face, Marcella spat out, “Leave him alone.”

  His sigh was playful, disdainful when he dropped her. “Oh, Marcella. Always with the blame. I think I’ve mentioned once or twice that I’m rather put upon. I can’t tell you the things I’m accused of. If I were able to create the kind of constant havoc people declare I wreak, I’d be due for a very long vacation in a room with lots of padding. Even I have my limits. However, I’m pleased to inform you, this thing with that child has nothing to do with me. Do I get a cookie for being a good boy now?”

  Moving in closer, she jammed her face in his. “Everything ultimately comes down to you, you fuckwit. You call the shots—you can fix this.”

  “Uh-uh-uh.” He shook a chastising finger under her nose. “No name-calling. It’s unpleasant and only makes for bad feelings between us. We have enough of those, don’t we, honeybunch? Now, to set the record straight. I know nothing of this Carlos, and I have no idea why he’s been targeted by Armando. I set my minions free to do my bidding. How they do it, why, or when is completely up to them. I pride myself on being an equal opportunity employer and an exceptional delegator when it comes to doling out workloads.”

  He was lying. He had to be. Next to nothing escaped him. “Then find out, because the next motherfucker who scares the living shit out of this kid is on my hit list,” she ground out. Big words there, Marcella. What the fuck is it about you that just won’t allow you to get a grip on your mouth and back down when the backing’s good?

  Satan gave another mock shiver and winked at her. “Ohhh, how imposing. I just know everyone in the bowels of my kingdom of evil has left a puddle beneath their wee webbed feet because Marcella Acosta’s made a threat. Scary, scary you.” He punctuated the last word with a bony finger between her eyes.

  Frustration, infinite anger, pure rage surged through her body. Launching herself at him, she screamed, “If there’s ever a way, ever the slightest, remotest opportunity, I’ll find a way to make you pay!”

  He yawned, using one clawed finger to swat her away, sending her to the ground with a hard jolt to her limbs. “Yeahhh. Like that threat hasn’t been made a thousand times before you by far more competent foes. And look who’s still standing. Scurry on now. You’re no longer my concern. Surely you have a house to haunt.” His giggle was low, taunting, shrieking through her ears as he set his minions on her like a pack of dogs with nothing more than a nod of his head.

  They dragged her to the front of the bar and chucked her out of it like day-old bread—which was when levitation wasn’t as much annoying as it was handy.

  Marcella’s mind raced. Satan was a lying, thieving scumbag. Yet, he’d looked none too pleased that Armando was loose, not to mention completely unaware. So if Satan didn’t want Carlos, and the rumor in Hell was that Armando did, what the frig was the connection between Armando and a little boy?

  She had to get the information to Kellen. Maybe he’d heard from Catalina and they could piece something together.

  Catalina barreled into the store while Kellen fought images of Marcella in his head. Summoning her via his visuals would only ruffle her already ruffled feathers. Her upset earlier made it clear she needed space. He wanted to give that to her. He was gritting his teeth trying to give that to her while determined to figure out a way to keep her here. Catalina stormed toward him, her work boots making clunky, wet footprints and dragging sodden leaves in behind her.

  Facing him, she crossed her arms over her chest. “So, how big are your feet?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “Just answer it,” Catalina demanded.

  His eyes grew wary. “Is this about my phone call?”

  Placing a hand on the counter Kellen leaned against, she narrowed her gaze. “Just answer the question.”

  “Eleven.”

  Catalina pursed her lips and shook her head. “Oh, that’ll never work.”

  “Is this some kind of code we’re talking in?”

  “No, I was just checking to see if your foot would fit in your mouth.”

  “I know there’s an explanation to follow, so let’s not beat around the bush.”

  Her sigh was ragged. “My friend, you’ve fucked up big. So big, you’ll be kicking yourself into several reincarnations.”

  “Where are we going with this?”

  “Marcella. Is she here, by the way?”

  “No. You’re clear. What about Marcella?”

  “I have information. It’s not a lot, but it’s gonna hurt.”

  His stomach sank, and he found himself hoping he hadn’t placed faith in Marcella that was misdirected. His feelings for her were changing, deepening, and it had nothing to do with his former lust. “I can take it.”

  “She’s not who you think she is—was. She didn’t end up in Hell because she sucked at humanity.”

  “She said it was because she’d killed her husband Armando . . .”

  Her eyes went wide in shock then narrowed. “Oh, she definitely did that, but do you know why she put some nails in his coffin?”

  Kellen’s stomach shifted. “Because he was a dirty prick?”

  “There’s that, but there’s more.”

  “Do I want to hear the more?”

  “Depends on how well you deal with the idea that your judgment sucks balls.”

  He gave her a wry, sheepish smile. “I’ve grown comfortable with that particular assessment of my character’s flaw.”

  “Good. Maybe you might want to sit. It’s a shitwreck.”

  Kellen clenched his fists. “Just tell me.”

  “She ended up in Hell because she was probably one of the best people you’ll ever know, Kellen. She definitely made the choice to be a minion, but it was for a whopper of a reason.”

  Kellen’s head swirled. “Tell me,” he demanded with a tight jaw.

  “She had a son. A son her freak husband wanted for his own disgusting purposes. I don’t know the deets, but I do know for a fact, she sold her soul to save her kid. A. Baby.”

  The air thinned; the room tipped and rocked, then righted itself. His breath left his lungs, then returned in a rush of too much air. “That’s insane,” he finally rasped.

  Her eyes, hard and hawklike, scanned his. “Is it? I don’t think so, Kell. What wouldn’t a mother do to save her child? What length wouldn’t she go to? Marcella went to the farthest length there is. To Hell and back. And you, pal, owe her an apology that just goes on and on. In fact, I think you should just say you’re sorry whenever you’re with her at least every twenty seconds, and still you won’t be able to make it up to her. You blow chunks, and I think I speak for every demon who’s ever been pressured to make a choice that in some eyes is unforgivable, when I say that you’re all a bunch of
self-righteous, black-and-white fucktards! It takes a strong woman to do what Marcella did, buddy.”

  Her defense of Marcella was so vehement, so impassioned, it made him take a step back. Catalina’s anger was palpable, but he was too focused on what she’d just revealed to delve further. Marcella had had a child? His head was going to explode. “Are you sure? Are you sure your sources are right?”

  Catalina’s mouth formed a sour smile. “You mean because my sources are demons, right? Don’t continue on the path of asshole, Kellen. I looked it up myself. I took great pleasure in stealing Marcella’s file from some dimwit named Clyve—with a v, as he so vehemently reminded me. So, yeah. I’m sure.”

  The crash of reality roared in his ears. He felt like he’d just been kidney-punched. “Why the fuck would she keep something like that from us? From Delaney? Why wouldn’t she just tell us what happened?”

  Catalina barked a bitter laugh, jamming a hand into her hair. “Would you have believed her? How could she have proven something like that, Kellen?”

  “I don’t know!” he roared, unjustifiably angry with Marcella for keeping a secret so dark. It explained so much . . . He clenched his fists then flexed them to relax, softening his tone. “I don’t know. But she never gave us the opportunity, did she?”

  Cornering him, Catalina gave him a simmering, pointed glare. “Don’t you dare turn this around on her to justify your behavior, Kellen! Do. Not. Marcella has her reasons. I’m sure most of them have to do with protecting her son, who, for all we know, is still alive. But you never asked her either, did you? The only person who didn’t assume anything was Delaney, and that’s because she was probably sensitive enough to know something horrific made Marcella do what she did all those years ago. She didn’t pry because she knows a sore spot when she sees one. She accepted. You, on the other hand, are a judgmental caveman. So don’t even think about blaming Marcella for your bad behavior. The demon world is full of secrets, some best left protected and definitely best left alone. Whatever Marcella did, why she did it, isn’t for you to judge.”

  Kellen held his hands up to convey he got it. Relief that she hadn’t revealed Marcella was a serial killer had begun to settle in. Now all that remained was question on top of question. “You’re right, and it’s obvious she and I have to talk. I’m also understanding her motivations a lot better where Carlos is concerned. Speaking of, did you get my message? Did you find anything else out?”