Love Knows No Bounds

by Brux, Boone

  She stepped onto the stones. Instantly her phone rang. Before she could answer it, the phone flew from her hand. Faye grabbed, but missed and watched it sail into the darkness. She waited but no crashing pieces sounded.

  “What the hell?” Christopher said.

  “Exactly.” The voice wafted from the darkness.

  Faye shuffled a few steps to the left, grabbed Christopher’s arm, and pulled him onto the stones. He stumbled, but quickly righted himself. “What’s going on?”

  “She’s figured out the loophole.” The minion stepped into the light, holding her phone in front of him like a trophy. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t clever enough to hold on to this.”

  Christopher looked at her, silently asking What the hell?

  “The stones.” She pointed to their feet. “They’re holy ground. They’ve been blessed. That’s why my phone worked in the chapel at Bandicott’s today.”

  Vern laughed. “You’re a smart one. Smarter than most who enter into a contract. But I’m afraid you’re not smart enough.”

  Faye pushed her purse behind her so the pouch rested against her right hip. Satan hadn’t won yet. She angled away from Vern, blocking his view, and she slid her hand under the flap. Lipstick tube—money—wallet—her fingers finally wrapped around her personal phone. Obviously the demon spawn didn’t want her have access to the internet, so that must be where the answer lay. Hope blossomed. If she could just check for the response from Twitter.

  “No,” the minion continued. “Most don’t get as far as you did, Ms. Albert. They give up. Resign themselves to a life of doing my master’s bidding.” He paced the edge of the shadows. “Hoping by doing his will their fate will be better.”

  Careful not to drop the phone, she pulled it out of her purse and switched it to her left hand.

  “But their efforts are useless,” the man continued.

  Jeez, he really liked to hear himself talk. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning…” A purely evil smile spread across his face. Shivers raced up Faye’s spine, driving home the fact that she bargained for far more than her life. “Once the contract is entered into your fate is slated for eternal damnation, fire and brimstone, never-ending suffering.”

  “The usual stuff then?”

  Vern’s expression turned dark. “I’ll make sure we plan something special for you.”

  Christopher gaze cut to her. “Uh, maybe it’s best not to taunt the demon.”

  Probably. Time to switch plans. Faye widened her eyes and clutched Christopher’s arm, making sure to hide the phone behind his back. “No, I’ll do anything, but don’t send me to the fiery pits of Hell.”

  She hugged Christopher and hid her face behind his biceps. Wasting no time, she lifted the phone and punched her email. The message from Twitter glowed like a beacon in a storm. Satan’s lackey was talking, but Faye ignored him. She tapped the message, enlarging it.

  We’ve reviewed your complaint and as per your request have provided a link to Unfollow. If you’ve received this message in error or the problem has been resolved, please disregard.

  She hit the link with her thumb. A roar erupted from Vern, rattling the rafters. Before she could react, a gust of wind hit Christopher and knocked him from the stones. Faye lurched forward, fumbling for the phone and catching it, inches from the stone.

  “Christopher!” She grabbed for him but an invisible force shoved him across the concrete floor and slammed him into the pile of stones. He struggled against the hold but couldn’t move. “Let him go.”

  The minion’s voice boomed through the warehouse. “Give me the phone.”

  She clutched it to her chest. He stepped toward her and now the flames she thought she’d once seen danced where his eyes should have been. The stones beneath her began to shake and slowly separate. Faye dropped to her knees. With one arm, she scooped three bricks toward her, trying to hold them in place, struggling to keep her sanctified ground. Her thighs burned from the effort of holding the bricks in place. Damn, a Pilates class would have come in handy about now.

  “He doesn’t care about you, Faye.” Vern pointed to Christopher. “If you unfollow your hopes of love will die and you’ll live an empty and lonely life.”

  She cradled the phone and looked at Christopher. Stupid demon. Of all the things to say, that had pushed her button. Whitney had said the same thing. Would she be alone all her life with only work and the satisfaction of helping others to keep her warm at night?

  “Don’t listen to him, Faye. It’s not true.” Christopher’s gaze begged her to believe him. “I love you.”

  Vern laughed and raised his arms, sending brooms and mops spiraling through the air. “Yes, he loves you…now.” He glided closer. “But if you press that link, all that goes away.” He held out his hand. “Give me the phone, Faye, and find love.”

  “Don’t Faye. I’m Hopeless Romantic.” Christopher’s words choked out as if somebody squeezed his throat. “Crispy Cre…”

  “Ah, he’s a hopeless romantic. How sweet. But he won’t be. Not if you press that link.” Pierre Shogun’s phone rang. To her horror, Vern flipped it open. “Yes?”

  Oh my God, was he talking to Pierre?

  The minion listened for several more seconds then closed the phone and smiled. “It’s your lucky day, Faye. I’ve been authorized to make you a deal.” He paced along the edge of the shadows. “We are willing to offer you ten additional years to your life, plus a twenty-five percent increase in your overall happiness. And all you have to do is give me the phone.”

  Her thighs burned as she struggled to her feet. “There isn’t anything I want from you.”

  “Don’t be so hasty. We’re also willing to gift you with a one hundred percent increase in income and a guaranteed five new friends a year for life.”

  She stared at Vern. Was he freakin’ serious? “I’m not cancelling a credit card. This is my immortal soul we’re talking about.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, Faye.” He continued to pace. “Very well, we’ll throw in a lifetime supply of guaranteed parking spots whenever and wherever you want them.”

  She pondered the offer. That was a pretty good one. She could see why a lot of people would go for it. “I don’t own a car.”

  Vern stopped and looked at her. He smiled as if he held the trump card. “You can keep Christopher.”

  She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

  Christopher struggled against the force, trying to speak, but no words would come out.

  “Hand me the phone and he’ll be yours for as long as you want him.” He inched toward her. “Think of it, Faye—the man you love by your side forever.”

  Christopher had not said he was a hopeless romantic. He’d said he was @HopelessRomantic. He was right, she had to have faith and expect miracles.

  “Forever?” She forced as much wistfulness in her words as she could muster. “Mine?”

  “Yes, Faye.” Vern’s licked his lips and held out his hand. “Give me the phone and the world will fall at your feet.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I promise.”

  She extended her arm as to give him the phone. His smile turned victorious. He reached for it, but she stopped and cocked her head to the side. “Go to Hell, jackass.”

  She hit the link.

  Chaos erupted. Equipment careened through the air and smashed against the wall. Papers swirled across the floor in a violent vortex. Faye dropped to the stones again, narrowly dodging a metal stool. Flames flared around Vern. He screamed, his wails ricocheting off the walls and turning Faye’s blood to ice. A black mark formed on the floor under him, spreading like spilled wine. Glowing red sparked as the edges of black, eating inward and opening what could only be described as an entrance to Hell.

  “Holy Mother of God!” Every prayer Faye could remember flowed from her lips.

  The nuns had espoused the evils of Hell but as the fiery entrance yawned before her, Faye realized her imagination hadn’t scratched the surface of
reality.

  Vern hovered above the opening, clawing upward as if trying to escape. Heat seared Faye’s face but she couldn’t look away from the horrific scene. Skeletal hands reached from the pit and latched onto his ankle. He looked at her, reaching toward her.

  For a second she felt sorry for him. Then he bared his fangs.

  “Bitch!”

  Right, this was demon scum she was dealing with. She leaned toward him. “Bite me!”

  Inch by inch he disappeared into Hell, the entrance shrinking until finally swallowing Vern whole. Papers fluttered to the ground around Faye. Christopher dropped, hitting the floor with a heavy grunt.

  She stumbled to her feet and raced across the floor to gather him in her arms. “Are you okay?”

  He groaned but smiled at her. “Who knew a guy would have to go through Hell to get a date with you?”

  “I did try to warn you.” She smoothed back his hair. “I’m surprised you still want one?”

  Christopher smiled. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve for over a year. Do you think I’m going to chicken out now?”

  “Why didn’t you ask me before?” Her fingers traced the red marks on his neck. “I would have gone.”

  “Time never felt right and I didn’t want to blow it.” He shrugged and winced. “Faye?”

  “Huh?”

  “I hope this doesn’t freak you out but…”

  Her hand stilled. This was it, reality crashing back on her. No love and no Christopher. It would hurt to hear the words, but she’d be okay. She was always okay. She held her breath, waiting for him to announce he no longer liked her in that way, and that he only wanted to be friends.

  “I really am in love with you.”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Had she heard him correctly?

  A flush crept up his neck and pronouns tumbled from his mouth. “I, you, we…I mean—I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but I was hoping that maybe we could start by getting coffee and go from there.”

  “We’ve already had coffee.” Faye leaned in, her mouth hovering an inch above his. “Besides, how could I not fall for a guy who was willing to go to Hell and back for me?”

  Christopher threaded his fingers through her hair and dragged her to him, their mouths connecting in what had to be the kiss of the century. Faye poured hours of pent-up fear and years of loneliness into the kiss and lowered her body beside his. Tongues danced, legs entwined, and much neglected body parts finally got the attention they so sorely yearned for.

  Chapter Six

  Monday Morning

  No doubt about it, a brush with eternal damnation will make you appreciate the little things. Faye stood in her office, staring down at the photos Christopher had taken of her in the chapel. She ran her finger along the halo of light that encircled her head, pondering how he’d captured the woman she never knew was inside her—the woman she’d become.

  “Faye.” Pierre Shogun poked his head in her office. “What the hell happened in the warehouse this weekend?”

  She closed the portfolio and stepped into the hall. After battling Satan’s minion, they’d left the mess, clean up being the last thing on their minds. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Vandals maybe?”

  Weird how the experience had left her with not only confidence, but the ability to tell little white lies sans the guilt. After all, if she didn’t watch out for herself, who would?

  A flurry of activity tittered at the end of the hall and suddenly Christopher was there. The women of the office swarmed, fawning over the cast on his left arm. Vern had really done a number on him.

  “What has that delicious man done to himself?” Pierre purred. “Probably something rugged and sweaty.”

  You have no idea. Faye bit her lip. Watching Christopher try to extricate himself from his horde of admirers was rather entertaining. Especially since he was hers. After the warehouse, she’d taken him to the hospital and then home. Exhausted, they’d fallen asleep, wrapped in each others arms and fully clothed.

  “My, my,” Pierre said, “he looks determined.”

  Christopher marched toward them and stopped inches from Faye. His eyes never left her. “Good morning, Mr. Shogun.”

  She craned her neck and looked up, giving him a knowing smile. He snaked his arm around her waist, pulled her against him, and kissed her right there in front of God and the entire office.

  “Well, your morning is much better than mine,” Pierre muttered.

  Titters and gasps filtered through her euphoric haze, but Faye didn’t give a crap. She’d battled Satan and won her man. Her future looked…well…heavenly.

  Acknowledgements

  I’m so thrilled to be part of this project and would like to acknowledge every parent who gives their all and provides their children with the best opportunities and the kind of love that knows no bounds. Huge kudos goes to Entangled Publishing for giving 100% of the net profits to Autism Speaks and promoting autism awareness.

  About the Author

  Boone is an award-winning writer, crafting everything from humor to dark fantasy, but has a warm spot in her heart for demons. Her novel, “Shield of Fire”, is out with Entangled Publishing and her stories appear in the ezines Digital Digest and Everything Erotic.

  She’s lived in beautiful Alaska for nearly two decades and spent many of those years in the bush, where the internet and flush toilets were a luxury. Now in civilization, she’s a full-time author, spinning tales for us thirsty souls.

  Bittersweet

  Brooke Moss

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Brooke Moss. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Edited by Libby Murphy

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition April 2012

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Star Wars, Transformers, Jaques Torres, Disneyland, Better Homes and Gardens, Top Ramen, Boy Scouts of America, Google, and Bon Appetite Magazine.

  For my Sammy.

  “The wildest colts make the best horses.” ~Plutarch

  Chapter One

  “It’s getting worse.” I sighed.

  My son’s occupational therapist, Gianna Mancini, looked up from the glob of shaving cream on the short table in front of her and blew a dark lock of her hair out of her eyes. Her hands were gently locked around my son’s wrists as she encouraged him—unsuccessfully—to touch the stack of fragrant white fluff.

  “How so?” she asked.

  I shifted in the seat, the armrest jabbing me in the rear. “Bowen’s teacher said that he is still disrupting the other students during silent reading time. I just don’t know what to do. I keep going over it with him, but every day it’s the same thing.”

  Gianna looked at Bowen, whose white-blond hair positively glowed next to his face, which was now a deep red as he struggled to keep from touching the shaving cream. “Bowen? Are you disturbing the kids during reading time?”

  He positioned his eyes on a spot at the corner of the table, muttering, “No.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. I didn’t feel up to prying the facts out of him. This was the routine on most days. He would lie, and I would spend the next fifteen minutes or so encouraging him to confess what’d really happened. I was too tired for it today. “Come on, Bo. Out with it.”

/>   When I opened my eyes, I noticed that he was watching me, his pale blue eyes assessing my defeated posture. “I did it,” he told me. “I scooted my chair.”

  “Bowen, you know you aren’t allowed to move your chair back and forth during class.” Gianna manipulated his hand so that it was propped above the cream. “It makes noise and disturbs your friends.”

  Bowen’s frown returned, and he looked away. “Don’t have friends.”

  His Asperger’s syndrome made it difficult for him to hold eye contact for long, a simple act I missed so deeply, and I was often tempted to take his eight-year-old face in my hands and force him to look at me. His eyes, the same shade as a spring sky void of clouds, were my weakness.

  “You do too have friends.” Gianna kindly pried his forefinger out of his clenched fist. “I’m your friend.”

  I smiled in his direction, hoping he’d see me in his peripheral vision. The fact that Bowen couldn’t tolerate the sound of silence or the soft whir of his teacher’s computer during class time contributed to his place on the outskirts at school. Though his third grade teacher tried encouraging him into the fold, Bowen usually exhausted her by the end of the school day.

  “What is the rule when you’re at school?” Gianna asked, taking his finger and dipping it into the cream.

  “Don’t!” Bowen’s arm clenched, and he strained to pull it out of her grasp. He grimaced, a portrait of discomfort, as soon as the shaving cream covered his skin.

  “It’s okay.” Gianna’s voice was soothing as she squatted down behind him, and she used her spare hand to mimic his. “Look, I’m touching it, too.”

  “School is stupid,” Bo muttered. “Can I stop now?”

  “We’re going to do five dips, and then you can stop.” Gianna turned to me. “He’s using his words really well today, isn’t he?”

  I nodded, noticing how Bo’s legs wiggled underneath the tabletop. “Yes. It doesn’t look like he’s tolerating the shaving cream, though.”