Devils Inc.

by Lauren Palphreyman

  Devils Inc.

  Lauren Palphreyman

  Copyright © 2020 Lauren Palphreyman

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover Design by: Damonza

  Developmental Edit by: Andrea Robinson

  Copy Edit by: Bryony Leah

  ASIN: B08LW4YJNZ

  Contact the author:

  www.laurenpalphreyman.com

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  PART ONE: EVIE’S GARDEN

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  PART TWO: APOCALPYSE

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  PART THREE: JUDGEMENT DAY

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Also by Lauren Palphreyman

  Cupid’s Match

  PART ONE: EVIE’S GARDEN

  “EVIE’S GARDEN BAR” FREE WI-FI TERMS AND CONDITIONS

  Section 666

  By accepting the terms and conditions of our free Internet service, you hereby sign away your immortal soul to the Devil and agree to be called upon, at any time, to enter into his service.

  HAPPY BROWSING!

  Chapter One

  The past twenty-four hours have been full of bad omens. I broke two mirrors, I had to walk under a ladder to get to class, and I keep seeing crows on campus. I’ve felt pent-up all day too. Like something is wrong.

  I pummel the punching bag. Beating the crap out of an inanimate object usually makes me feel better, but this time, it doesn't work.

  My superstitious friend Josie would say something bad is going to happen. Lucas would say I need to get laid. But I’m pretty sure it’s because I’ve been putting off submitting my law internship application. The deadline’s midnight tonight.

  I right hook the bag one last time, then admit defeat.

  What am I going to do? Tell my parents that reading through obnoxious legal jargon is the worst form of torture? Explain to them that even if I get through this pre-law program, I don’t think I want to go to law school?

  Of course not.

  I’m going to review my application one last time, send it, and hope this one doesn’t get rejected. If it does, I’m screwed. I’ve received five rejections already, and I really don’t want to break the news to them that their one remaining child is not good enough.

  I pause in the doorway. I must have been here longer than I thought. The lights have been switched off, and the hallway is deathly quiet. I’ve been the last one in the gym before, and I know they won’t lock up until I’ve left. Yet still, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something feels wrong.

  I shake my head. What is up with me today?

  Unwrapping my hands, I head for the locker room, where I walk to my locker and grab my phone out of my bag. There’s a message from Josie.

  Rach! Get your ass to Evie’s Garden. It’s half-price appletinis all night, and they’re not asking for ID.

  I exhale, leaning against the lockers.

  Can’t. Got to send that law application.

  The dim light bulb hanging above the wooden benches flickers as Josie replies.

  Do it here. Free Wi-Fi.

  Seconds later, a picture of her and Lucas pops up onscreen. They’re holding appletinis and giving me their best pleading eyes. Josie’s black Afro takes up most of the shot, her golden-brown eyes bright beneath bold green eyeshadow. Lucas grins, his wide-rimmed hipster glasses slightly askew and his light brown hair swept up from his forehead thanks to his healthy gel addiction.

  I suppose I could read through the application one more time at the bar, and maybe a drink would help me chill out. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Fine, I write. But if this all goes to shit, you can explain to my parents why I’m such a disappointment.

  I stuff my phone back into my bag and hit the showers. After, I’m standing by my locker in a towel when the sound of something being knocked over comes from the shower room. Even though I know I’m the only one here.

  The light flickers again.

  I refrain from calling, “Hello? Who’s there?” since this isn’t some horror movie. But I also don’t dawdle as I pull on my skinny jeans and a white tank top. That “off” feeling builds again.

  I grab my phone, then head next door. The stuffy space is empty except for my infinite reflections in the wall mirrors: my long black hair dripping onto the tiles, my tan skin shining because it’s still damp. The peacock feather inked on the back of my right shoulder looks darker in the dim light, and my mind goes to Jonathon. He used to let me stay up and watch those old-school slasher movies when our parents weren’t home. Why do I feel like I’m in one right now?

  That’s when I see the source of the noise: an empty shampoo bottle rolling across the gray tiles. As I bend down to grab it, the lights go off completely. I fumble for my phone and turn on the flashlight, standing to clash eyes with my ghostly reflection in the mirror.

  And I freeze.

  A tall guy with short black hair hovers just a few feet behind me, darkness clinging to him like a cloak. His glinting eyes catch mine.

  “Hey!” I yell, spinning around to hurl the empty shampoo bottle in his direction. “What the hell!”

  The plastic bottle bounces off the far wall with a clatter. There’s no one there.

  Something rumbles behind me, and I turn to see a large crack snaking its way through my reflection.

  Not again. I know what Josie will say about this. She said it about the black cat sitting outside my dorm room this morning, the ladder I walked under to get to class, and the crow that flew into the food hall at lunch.

  A bad omen.

  A low chuckle echoes through the locker room, but no matter where I turn, my phone’s bright light reveals nothing but shadows—until I catch sight of a pair of dark eyes in another one of the mirrors.

  The man leans in the doorway now, arms f
olded across his chest. He lifts a hand to wave, and the corner of his lip quirks.

  The lights flick back on.

  The doorway is empty.

  I run toward the main locker room, bare feet slapping against the tiles. “Hey! You should know I used to box in high school!” I yell. “You think I won’t kick your—?”

  I come to a halt. It’s empty too.

  I rub my face. Of course it’s empty. Do I really think some mysterious mirror man is watching me? The darkness is just playing tricks. I’m way too on edge today.

  Grabbing my bag from my locker, I head back to the broken mirror in the locker room, where I drag the brush through my tangled hair, underline my brown eyes with black eyeliner, put on some mascara, then leave.

  Outside, the Californian sky is a burnt orange behind the ugly university dorm buildings that tower over each side of the footpath. A crow caws behind me, the noise sharp against the quiet air. The black bird watches me from atop the peeling Trinity Falls College Gym sign.

  No. Not watching me. It’s a crow. Doing normal crow things.

  I’ve been watching way too many teen vampire shows.

  That’s one for sorrow, you know?

  Shaking Josie’s voice out of my head, I start the ten-minute walk through the palm tree-lined residential roads by cutting through the memorial park on the outskirts of campus. I’ll get to Evie’s Garden Bar, send off my application, then get rid of all this pent-up energy by partying with friends on the dance floor.

  There are no such things as bad omens.

  Chapter Two

  When I reach the town’s main street, the warm air is filled with the sound of chattering students getting ready for a night out, the faint pulse of bar music, and the greasy smell of Diablos’ chili hot dogs.

  Trinity Falls doesn’t have much to offer in the way of entertainment—except for a smattering of bars, it’s mostly family-run stores, an old church, and a couple of bookshops specializing in textbooks for the students. With LA a mere half hour away, it’s as if whoever built this town got bored halfway through the job and went to party there instead.

  Just up ahead, dim lights from Evie’s Garden Bar spill onto the sidewalk. A black cat darts across my path. Like before, I refuse to think something this cute is a bad omen.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say, bending down to stroke him.

  He hisses at me before hurrying across the road and slipping into the crowd that’s already started to build outside Apocalypse. The neon-blue sign flickers above the club’s otherwise subtle entrance. The “C” of “APOCALYPSE” is a horseshoe.

  “Suit yourself,” I mutter as a tapping sound comes from my left. Evie’s front is entirely made of glass, giving it the look of a fancy greenhouse. Josie and Lucas sit at one of the high tables in front, rapping on the window at me and pulling faces.

  The corner of my lip twitches as I head to join them, but a sharp caw causes me to look up at the entrance. That same crow watches me from atop the white Evie’s Garden Bar sign.

  The same crow? Crows all look the same, Rach.

  It caws again, its beady eyes meeting mine.

  “What are you looking at?” I say.

  It caws again.

  “Jerk.”

  This time, it just tilts it head.

  Inside, the bar is a bubble of noise. The space is small and mostly lit by flickering candles and fairy lights that wind through the gray trellises against the walls. Potted apple trees are dotted across the black-and-white checkered floor, and the air smells like perfume and lime wedges.

  I push through a group of sorority girls to get to Josie and Lucas.

  “Finally!” says Josie, removing her purse from the white barstool beside her. “It’s packed tonight! I’ve battled the legions of hell to keep this seat free for you!”

  A tall blonde in a blue dress shoots us a dirty look. When Lucas throws an evil look right back, she scowls and returns to her conversation.

  “She’s tried to take your seat three times already,” he says.

  “We’re guy-watching,” says Josie.

  “Are you two ever not guy-watching?” I ask, sliding onto the stool. From their outfits, I can see they’re expecting a big night; Josie’s wearing the black dress that emphasizes her curves, and Lucas’s white shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, with hipster suspenders cutting over his slender shoulders.

  “Hmm . . . guilty,” says Lucas. “Though you could do with a bit of guy-watching, Rach, since the crazy cat lady vibe isn’t working for you anymore.” He slides his gaze to the street outside. “Even cats are crapping themselves at your presence.”

  “Funny,” I say, pulling out my cell. “Right now, I need to send off this application.”

  “How have you not done that yet, babe?” asks Josie, the silver crucifix around her neck glinting as she leans forward.

  “Don’t start. I’ve already had all that from my parents.” I mimic my mother’s high-pitched voice. “It’s almost like you don’t want to be a lawyer, Rachel. Such potential. Such disappointment. Why can’t you be more like Jonathon? “

  I stop when I notice Josie and Lucas’s expressions have become serious, their eyes flicking to my tattoo, then back. I’m not sure whether I’m about to get the “sympathy for the dead brother” response or the “stand up to your parents” lecture. Either way, I slide off the stool and force a smile. I don’t want to bring down the mood.

  “Why don’t you tell them you don’t want to do law?” says Josie.

  “Because then they’ll ask me what I do want to do.”

  “And that is?” says Lucas.

  “Right now, I want to read through this cover letter one more time,” I say, “then I want an appletini.”

  Lucas picks up his cocktail glass and swirls it pensively before taking a sip of the bright green liquid. “So it’s just a coincidence you came to Trinity College?”

  “It has a good pre-law program.”

  His eyebrows raise over his glasses. “And it’s close to Hollywood.”

  “Just because you burst into the world waving your jazz hands, Lucas, doesn’t mean we all want to be actors.”

  “Pfft,” says Lucas. “You don’t have what it takes to be an actor. But after making us sit through all three Godfather movies, you can’t convince me you wouldn’t rather be in the film program.”

  “Well, if you can convince my parents it will give me a ‘useful’ degree, I’m all ears. But otherwise”— I lift up my cell—“I need to send this off.”

  They don’t get it. Jonathon was a genius, and while I don’t have his gift for computers, law is an ambitious enough field of study to appease my parents. My announcement about coming to Trinity a few years ago was the first time they seemed invested in me and my future since a reckless driver robbed me of my brother seven years ago. Someone needed to fill that hole.

  “I can’t find the network though,” I add before they can act on their clear skepticism.

  Josie nods to the bar. “The router’s over there. Signal might be better.”

  “Plus, you can bring us drinks on your way back,” says Lucas, tapping his now-empty glass.

  “On it,” I say. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  I push my way across the room, sliding onto a recently vacated stool just as a bartender with her dark hair tied in a ponytail approaches. A name badge is pinned to the black waistcoat she wears over her white top. Eve.

  “Drinks, honey?”

  I order three appletinis, then I go back to my cell. As I find the network—“EVIE’S GARDEN BAR”—a rumble of thunder sounds behind me, and the dim overhead lights flicker. Confused, I look out the window. The sky behind Apocalypse is a dusky blue, no storm in sight. I shake my head and go back to the Wi-Fi.

  A long list of terms and conditions flicks onto the screen. I quickly scroll down—I have to read enough of this kind of thing in class. As I do, the “off” feeling that’s been plaguing me all day intensifies for no discernible reason.


  I click “Accept.”

  I’m logging in to the Jones and Smith recruitment portal, where all my details are saved, when a low chuckle sounds to my right.

  “Something funny?” I ask, turning my head.

  Adrenaline washes over me.

  The guy sitting beside me is tall and well-built, with black hair shaved close to his head. Although he faces forward, I see the amused tilt to his lips. He looks like he must be in his early twenties or a few years older than me. A swirl of black ink curls up the back of his neck.

  And I swear, it’s the same guy I saw in the gym mirror.

  “You,” I say.

  He turns his head slowly. “Me,” he says, his voice low.

  It takes everything I have not to grab the nearby pitcher of water and throw it in his face. His eyes glint. His irises are a cloudy gray, the pupils rimmed by a circle of gold. He looks like he enjoys the reaction he provokes.

  “What the hell are—?”

  “I’m Crow.” He maneuvers his right arm across his body for me to shake. “You must be Rachel.”

  His accent isn’t American. It’s Scottish, I think. Not important, dummy—why was he stalking you through the locker room?

  Realizing I’m not going to take his hand, he withdraws it and shrugs before nodding at the phone in my hand. “You know, you really should read the terms and conditions before you accept those things.”

  As he leans forward against the bar, my eyes can’t help but drop to his body. From the way his black T-shirt clings to his muscles, I’m pretty sure he would look good without it on.

  But that’s beside the point.

  “I saw you,” I say loud enough for my voice to cut over the electro swing and the rattle of cocktail shakers. “In the gym.”

  “Did you now?”

  “You were in the girls’ locker room.”

  He chuckles. “Why would I be in there?”

  “You tell me.”

  On the other side of the bar, Eve hits a snag while making my batch of appletinis. She skirts past a male bartender, throws away the empty glass bottle, then heads to the cellar to restock. Crow watches her in the mirror, an odd look on his face.