Raphael agreed and they ended the call. Mel slipped her phone back into her pocket, caught the shop assistant's eye and claimed her sandwich. She waited while it toasted and carried the hot, papered bundle upstairs, her mouth watering all the way.
With every delicious bite, she learned more about the birds the biologist called forest red-tailed black cockatoos. He stated three times that the birds were native to the southern part of the state and rarely appeared on the Swan Coastal Plain, which Mel knew was where she stood. She paused in her reading to pop a few cockatoo facts into the presentation, including the expert's adamant statement that the birds didn't live, eat, sleep or breed at the airport.
She skimmed the rest of the report, hoping she'd see more pictures of the wildlife the eminent doctor and his team had encountered during their survey. She admired the pretty pictures of the tawny frogmouth and the legless lizard that looked like a snake, before opening to a large spread on cockatoos.
She was arrested by the detailed pictures of a small flock of the black birds. They seemed to hang effortlessly in the air, not a single one flapping its wings when the shot was taken. She counted them – nine, no, ten of the birds. Another shot showed the same birds soaring in front of a building that looked suspiciously like an airport control tower. She looked more closely – it definitely did look like the blocky tower at Cockburn. The caption beneath confirmed it.
So much for the cockatoos never coming to the airport. Perhaps they were holidaying – without eating, sleeping or breeding, she mused. The biologist dismissed them as an unusual occurrence – ten birds was hardly a viable population – and they'd never been seen before the 2009 survey. He considered it unlikely that they'd return, especially with the trees removed. They'd most likely move on to better places to feed, breed and whatever else they did in between.
Mel finished her lunch and her presentation before emailing the link to Zaq. She headed for his desk to ask if he needed any more assistance before she left for the day, and found him avidly reviewing her work.
He glanced up as she approached, but his eyes drifted back to the screen. "I love it! This is perfect," he gushed. "I know why Lord Lucifer's so in love with you. I'm more than halfway there myself. You're an absolute angel!"
Mel carefully kept her face blank as she considered his strange choice of words. Demons didn't – couldn't – love. It was against their very nature to do such a thing. Even the thought of a demon fancying himself in love with an angel was a crazy concept. Zaq must be more overworked than he appeared. "Well, that's what I am," she said.
"I owe you dinner. What are you doing tonight?" Zaq asked. His eyes shone with a fervour that Mel might have called lust, then amended it to excitement. He was staring at her face, after all, and not the rest of her body.
"I already have plans," Mel said gently. "I'm having dinner with a friend of mine tonight."
"Oh." The light in his eyes died, but then a tiny spark kindled again. "I still owe you one. If you ever need a favour, anything at all, just let me know. I'm your man." He grabbed her hand and kissed it.
Just like Luce – no sparks, no electricity.
The momentary contact was all Mel needed to see the man's soul – or the darkness surrounding it. His was a deep, velvety black – so dense she couldn't pierce the shroud at all. He may as well have had no soul, for all she could perceive. Yet the darkness seemed to be stretching, as if some tidal force dragged it toward her. Shaken, she pulled her hand out of his grasp.
Mel heard Zaq's mumbled apologies and thanks as he blushed profusely, but she was too lost in her own thoughts to do more than acknowledge him with a nod as she headed back to her desk.
She dropped into her chair and tried to sort through her findings in her head. The CEO was a demon, the Lord Lucifer she'd been warned about more times than she could count. But his soul and its demonic shroud were lighter and less dense than those of the demons he commanded. Was he a demon at all? How could the ruler of Hell be anything but a demon? And this talk of demons and love. That she knew to be impossible. Zaq's demonic soul-shroud had brooded with menace as she'd approached it for a closer look. Even the love in her soul had irritated it – love in a demon's soul would have the shroud attacking the soul it was supposed to protect. A cold soul, untouched by any outward emotion, locked in with itself. So lonely…was that why Luce had allowed her in?
HOW had Luce allowed her in?
The calendar on her computer trilled, telling her it was time to go home, so Mel shook the strange thoughts from her head and packed her bag to go. She powered down her computer, shouldered her bag and strode out. She needed to get this new information straight in her head before she shared it with Raphael. It wouldn't do to be uncertain – Raphael shied from risks, and letting her get this close to Luce looked like the biggest one he'd taken in a long time.
Time to catch the train, she reminded herself. Then get the best mushrooms and start dinner. Mushroom risotto was enough to make her night – and tonight she'd get to share the pleasure. What more could an angel ask for?
Thirty-Eight
It never ceased to amaze Mel how the crowd on the train could disperse so quickly once they'd left the station. It was less than a hundred metres from the station platform to the other side of the road, yet a hundred people were reduced to two – and then, just one, as Mel's fellow passenger disappeared down a side street.
She crossed the tiny park, where a dozen residents seemed to be exercising their diminutive, yappy dogs and casting dirty looks at the family who were playing with their golden retriever. Perhaps it was because the retriever's size and bark dwarfed their precious pets into insignificance. Actually, the fat tabby cat regarding the animals warily from a nearby fence was bigger than most of them.
Mel stumbled over a pile of gumnuts in the grass, only just catching herself before she fell. It looked like someone had stripped the little marri tree of its nuts and just left them lying there. All the nuts looked strange, though, as if someone had shredded the flared end of them with a sharp pair of pliers.
A nut landed beside her foot, so mangled that only a shallow bowl was left of it. Mel looked up in time to see a large, black bird spread its wings and soar, kaa-raaking as it fanned out the bright red feathers in his tail. He settled in another tree a few metres away and selected a nut, delicately holding it in one claw as he attacked it with the sharp tool that was its beak.
Another raucous call sounded from the other side of the tree, but Mel couldn't see the second bird. She kept walking.
She paused to wait for traffic before crossing the road to the tiny strip of local shops. A chorus of kaaa-raaks was all the warning she had before the birds skimmed over her, all ten…no, eleven of them, Mel counted. Solid red fans and striped red-and-yellow tail fans, marking them as both males and females. Six females. They rode the sea breeze erratically – some sideways, some so close to the road that a car almost hit one before it lazily flapped and rose above the ute's roof and roll bar.
Perhaps the biologist had miscounted the cockies or his photos hadn't captured the whole flock, Mel reasoned. She threaded through the parked cars to the grocer's, loaded a bag with their award-winning mushrooms – as proclaimed by the row of Royal Show ribbons pinned to the wall above the mushie fridge – and added a small box of shaved parmesan. With her arms full of food, Mel headed for the counter to pay for her purchases. After an exchange of money and pleasant words, Mel tucked her purchases into her canvas shopping bag and headed for the small supermarket next door.
She stopped at their display of garden and pet supplies, spread across two shelving units on either side of the doors. 'Your garden can never have enough sun,' proclaimed one sign, illustrated with a line drawing of the harsh summer sun beating down on a line of daisy-like flowers. Beneath it was a shelf stacked with bags of sunflower seeds.
Mel considered the sign for a moment, then gave in. It would be lovely to have the gold flowers adorning her garden bed along the fence – an
d she'd probably be in the house long enough to enjoy them. At least working in HELL had some compensations. She slung a bag of seeds over her arm and headed into the shop in search of rice and pine nuts.
Her arms weighed down by two well-matched shopping bags, Mel left the shopping centre for the trek up the hill to her house. The cockies looked like they'd preceded her – they were making a racket and dropping gumnuts from the tree on her neighbour's lawn when she unlocked her front door.
Dropping her food purchases on the kitchen bench, Mel hefted the bag of sunflower seeds and took it out to the backyard, placing it carefully on her little outdoor setting table. She'd scatter the seeds in the morning – tonight, she had dinner to prepare for herself and Raphael. She hoped he wouldn't forget the wine, for it looked like she barely had enough for the risotto and it didn't taste the same without it.
Placing her largest pan on the stove, she crossed to the stereo for a little cooking music. Beethoven today, she decided. The CD that started with his Ninth…Mel waited for the cellos to start before she headed back to the kitchen.
Humming along, she washed and sliced the mushrooms, then heated a little oil in the pan. She tipped what had to be a whole kilo of mushrooms onto the hot metal, stirring it distractedly with a spatula. It seemed like only yesterday that she'd first heard this played in Vienna. Ah, the quality from the CD simply wasn't the same, but that wasn't a reflection on the musicians – merely her old speakers. Perhaps she should get some new speakers and transfer the music to her phone or her laptop…
Mel switched the stove off and heard a strange sound that definitely wasn't Beethoven. She glanced out the kitchen window and saw far more black than should be in her backyard. Oh, no…
Thirty-Nine
Sunflower seeds were everywhere, the plastic packaging ripped open by a combination of beak and talon. The birds were perched on her back fence, as well as on the backs of her garden chairs. One was waddling through the mess of seeds spread across her outdoor table. It keeked at her before picking up a seed and cracking it with its beak.
Mel stood on the back step, not entirely sure what to do. All eleven cockatoos had decided to come to her place and they evidently liked sunflower seeds. The female one on the table – the one who looked smaller and lighter-coloured than the rest – keeked at her again and the female perched on her garden chair kaa-raaked in response. Mum and her baby, most likely, which would make the male eyeing her from the other garden chair Dad…
Of course they didn't breed or feed at the airport. They seemed to be doing it in her backyard and probably the bushland nearby.
Well, it's not as if she needed sunflowers, Mel decided. The red-tailed birds were a noisy and colourful addition to her garden – plus, they didn't need watering, what with the lake at the bottom of the hill. She resolved to sweep up the mess in the morning, when they were done, before she bought them some more seeds to entice them back.
Mel headed back inside and started on the rice. More oil, some spring onions, rice, wine and stock…Beethoven's Ninth gave way to his Fifth.
"That smells like Heaven," said a male voice. Mel smiled. Light fingers landed on her shoulder, followed by whisper-soft lips on her cheek. "Or maybe it's you."
"Good to see you, Raphael. Could you pass me that other carton of stock? I figure this'll be done in about fifteen minutes…" She pointed and he complied.
"I'll get some glasses and open the wine, then?" Raphael suggested, reaching for the cupboard above the bench and surveying the small selection of glassware. He didn't wait for an answer and Mel trusted his judgement.
Over the sizzle of the pan in her hands, Mel heard the sounds of bottle opening and liquid glugging into glass. Raphael passed her a glass of chilled white. "In honour of a job well done," he murmured, clinking his drink against hers before he took a mouthful.
Mel sipped cautiously, rolling the creamy blend around her mouth before swallowing. "I didn't think you had any of this left. Age has only improved it, too…" She took a larger sip. "The job's not over yet."
Raphael gulped down more wine, as if steeling himself for a painful task. "Your part in it's almost over."
"Oh?" Mel smiled as she tipped the mushrooms into the pan with her cooked rice. The liquid hissed into steam as it hit the hot metal. She sprinkled pine nuts on top.
"Gabi told me about the picnic."
"There were sausages and salad, some lovely rolls that she bought and I shared with the swans, plus a few bottles of wine. The demons told dirty jokes and one of them scared her by stealing something. It was a HELL Corporation event. I could hardly invite you, Raphael." She kept her eyes on dinner as she stirred.
"She said there's no doubt. Their CEO is Lucifer. And she told me he wouldn't leave you alone – spent the whole time trying to charm you, while you encouraged him!" He sucked in a breath, trying to bring his voice down. "Please, Mel…we have to get you out of there quickly. If he's starting to take a personal interest in you, best you leave before he finds out anything about you."
Mel switched the stove off. "He's lonely, Raphael. Luce likes office girls and he's looking for someone willing listen to him for more than five minutes. Yes, he evidently likes me. I listen because I want to hear what he has to say. Once you get past his brand of sleazy, he says a whole lot more than he should. What better way to find out what his plans are than to ask him and let him tell me in detail? You're making this out to be much harder and more dangerous than it really is." She pulled a serving spoon from the drawer and started dishing up.
"So you're saying someone less qualified than you could do this? If all he's after is a bit of friendly companionship, someone to smile and nod as he spills all his secrets…your job really is done." Raphael watched Mel sprinkle shredded parmesan on top of their dinner. He looked like he wanted to rip the bowl from under her hands, he seemed so eager.
Mel handed him his plate to hide her hesitation. "Maybe," she said finally. "They'd need a good memory and they'd need to be willing to get closer to him than most angels would. Up to and including sex, perhaps, if you want this wrapped up quickly. I don't know many angels who'd be willing to let Lucifer touch them, let alone make him think they like it…" She stopped at the sight of Raphael's fierce grin. "Who do you have in mind?"
"Persi," he said. "She's not an angel yet, but she's looking for a way to prove herself so that she can be. She's not averse to using her body to get what she wants…remember that motorcycle gang she took on, whose leader was possessed by a demon?"
"I remember," Mel replied, hiding her smile. Persi had come out of that with a penchant for ink and some very creative tattoos. The girl had shown her, too – an ornate halo that only her suitors or a midwife would ever see, surrounded by a montage of kneeling men that spread across her thighs and seemed to be creeping up her back. The artwork reminded Mel of Luca Signorelli and she wouldn't have been surprised if Persi had given the tattoo artist pictures from Orvieto Cathedral to copy. The faces of the damned were decidedly modern, though – and Mel was certain she'd recognised a couple of the bikies amid the crush of flesh. From the little she knew of Luce, he'd probably appreciate the artwork more than most. Perhaps it would even remind him of home. "You're right, she wouldn't shrink away from touching Lucifer. Quite the opposite…"
Raphael smiled happily. "So you agree – Persi's perfect for this. All we have to do is find a place for her in the office, where she can get close to the CEO, and you can bow out safely. No worries!"
Mel almost choked on her first mouthful. Anything involving Persi was hardly without worry. She swallowed, recovered, and replied, "She's still very inexperienced and that puts her in far more danger than I am in her place. Luce might spot that and exploit it. I'd feel terrible, having to tell her mother that we'd thrown Persi into Hell as cannon fodder to protect me. Give me a few more weeks, Raphael, while you try to find somewhere to slip her into the corporation. And don't place her anywhere that needs switchboard skills. She can't transfer calls to s
ave her life!"
Raphael nodded, his mouth full of food. Mel had never seen him eat anything so fast. "Okay. It'll take me that long to find a vacant place to put her forward for. Tell me if anyone's secretary or PA is going on holiday. That'd be the easiest way to get her in…" He shovelled another large forkful of risotto into his face.
Mel was barely a quarter of her way through her food when Raphael jumped up to take his empty bowl to the sink. "I'll get changed in your spare bedroom, if that's okay. Do you want me to help you wash up, or do you mind if I eat and run?" he asked.
"I can take care of the dishes this time," Mel replied. "Why, do you have a date?" She smiled, recognising his eager excitement.
Raphael turned red. "I have a meeting in Heaven and I thought I'd dress up for the occasion…" He gestured at the shirt he'd hung over Mel's lampshade – one of his sexier ones, she was sure of it.
"Sure. Pop your business clothes in the laundry basket – I'll take care of them when I do my next load of washing. I think I still have a couple of your shirts in the guest room, from the other times you've popped in on your way through to Heaven." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Tell my brother I said hello and give him a kiss for me."
Raphael's cheeks flushed redder still as he beat a hasty retreat to Mel's guest room. Mel wondered how much longer it would take before Raphael and her brother admitted the truth – and who would be the one to tell her.
Forty
I love Valentine's Day, thought Mel. It makes you think…
"I hate Valentine's Day," an annoyed voice began behind her. "Having to buy flowers and a present, this big commercial thing…and you know she expects it…"
"I'd like to make something for her for Valentine's Day, you know, kind of personal," another male voice replied.
"But would she like that?" the annoyed voice countered.
Welcome to Hell Box Set: Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Mel Goes to Hell Series Book 123) Page 13