Hex Goddess (All My Exes Die from Hexes Book 3)

by Killian McRae

  With two fists full of his hair all but pulled out from the roots, Dee shook his head. “Impossible,” he muttered. He looked back at her with a curled lip and wide eyes. His breath went staccato. Looking like he might jump out the window, the demigod opted for the door instead as Anwen sat up and pulled her sweater back down.

  “There’s only been one person who ever called me Dio.” He ignored her pleas for understanding. “You’re right about one thing; this was a mistake.”

  Chapter 23

  How the desk in Persephone’s alcove didn’t collapse from the weight of all the papers stacked upon it could have qualified as the eighth wonder of the modern world. But, Jesus Jones, there was so much to be done. It had been years since Persephone reviewed her marriage contract. The scroll would have turned to dust a long, long time ago if not for the charms protecting it from aging. For perhaps the first time in the modern era, a woman actually mourned the death of her lawyer.

  A rustling from the hallway preceded Riona’s arrival. A moment later, the redhead entered, picked up an apple from a bowl on a side table, and sat herself opposite Persephone.

  “Finally.” Persephone’s pen hovered over a notepad. “I thought you were going to mope at the window all day.”

  “I wasn’t moping.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to get all tough with me. Can’t be a bad thing to miss your husband, right?”

  You know that little voice inside that often tells a person not to be a dick? Riona’s, unfortunately, belonged to a deaf mute. “You tell me. You’re the one doing the busybody routine. I haven’t seen you rest a moment since our little talk yesterday.”

  Years later, if someone chose to make a biopic about Riona’s crazy life, now would be where they’d insert a sound clip of a scratching record needle. Persephone’s Temple Mount of an expression focused on the witch. With narrowed eyes, she challenged the goddess, daring her to deny it.

  Persephone poked out her pen towards the keystone. “Look, we might be becoming friends, but that doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass if provoked.”

  “I think your husband would pay to watch that.” The jibe teased a smile from behind Persephone’s grimace. “Steph, a few days ago, I married my ex-boyfriend, a resurrected demon, who, at the time, was disguised by magic as a Catholic priest that I also love, only to be nearly seduced by the actual demonic reincarnation of said priest, who, by the way, is apparently, the minion of the fallen angel who seems to be my father’s second-in-command for devising some evil plot in which I’m the central player. So, go on,” Riona continued, folding her arms over her chest and rolling the half-eaten fruit over her lips. “Tell me again how complicated your relationship is.”

  Persephone took a long, hard glare at the witch before crumbling. “I’ve wanted this divorce for thousands of years. Now that it’s finally happening, it feels surreal. Like any minute, I’m going to wake up from a dream and find out I’m still trapped. But worse, I’m afraid I’ll wake up some day and find out I’m not. Freedom shouldn’t scare me.”

  Riona’s machinations delayed her response. “Okay, let’s explore that. What’s the danger in being free?”

  The goddess’s voice grew as small as her confidence. “Remember how I said our marriage was political?” Riona nodded. Persephone continued. “Truth is, it still is. Don’t forget, Hades is more than a Greek god, he’s also the former King of the Underworld. I think part of him still longs for power. And since he can’t return to Hell,” her gaze fell to the scroll, “there’s a chance he might set his sights on my father’s throne. King of Olympus isn’t the high and mighty position it used to be, but it’s still a position of prestige.”

  “You think Hades would overthrow Zeus?”

  Persephone shrugged. “I don’t know. I used to think not. But lately, my dad is...” She sighed, shelving a growing suspicion inside her that she didn’t want to dress up with concrete words. “Never mind. But there’s something else too.”

  “What?”

  In that moment, Persephone could have been one of the statues carved in her image, rather than flesh and blood, wearing a tiger-print, cotton blend top. “I’ve... um... been with someone else.”

  “Isn’t that pretty standard for you guys?”

  “I mean emotionally.” Persephone shoved a stack of papers away and pressed her arms on the tabletop, steepling her hands. “When I thought I’d always be married to Hades, it didn’t bother me. Now that he’s finally agreed to dissolve our contract, I actually feel... guilty? But that’s stupid, right?”

  “Actually, I think it makes sense.” Riona placed the already browning core of the apple on the table. “Maybe on some level, you think you were using this other guy as the last nail in the coffin on your marriage. Or maybe you feel like you sabotaged what might not have been such a bad relationship.”

  Persephone arched a curious eyebrow. “Whoa, look who successfully concealed her inner psychology geek.”

  Riona shrugged. “I’ve just heard way too many call-in advice shows in the middle of the night. I’ve never slept well. Look, forget Hades for a moment. This other guy, do you love him?”

  She shrugged. “I never really thought about it, but I don’t think so. Plus, he’s got... obligations of his own.”

  “Like what?”

  “Um, he’s... in the service.” Close enough.

  A broad, devious smile beamed across Riona’s face. “Oh, a soldier, huh?”

  “Something like that,” Persephone confirmed. “He can’t exactly be with me without going AWOL. Not that I’m sure I’d want to be with him anyway, or even that he’d want to. We come from different worlds, me being a goddess and all, and him, not so much. It’s all so...”

  “I know: complicated.” Riona leaned forward, taking the goddess’s hand in her own. “And what do you think about Hades?”

  Automatically, Persephone’s nose crinkled.

  “Stop,” Riona demanded. “You’ve got yourself trained to disdain. Just let go of the whole marriage thing. Think about the guy himself. Steph, I’ve seen how you were wrapped around him the other night. That was more than just a case of the hot-and-heavies. You might not like being married to him, but you’ve definitely got feelings for the guy. Why try to deny it?”

  “And just what are you suggesting?”

  “I guess... I guess, just take it slow. Maybe there’s a way you can end the marriage, if that’s what you really want to do, and keep the man, if you care for him. Start over. I’d hate to see you throw away the man you love just because you happened to be married to him.”

  “The man I love?” She repeated the words to herself, feeling like she unearthed a box filled with childhood treasures in the attic. Something old and familiar bubbled in her soul when she thought about him. It was comfortable and warm, like a blanket worn around the edges, but softer and more comforting from use. “I guess I could talk to... Hades!”

  They both caught sight of him at the same moment and shot to their feet. His complexion, normally brazen olive, lacked its usual luster. He almost could have been described as pale. He supported himself against the doorframe, as though he might have fallen to the ground if not.

  Persephone stepped forward. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Zeus,” he said, cutting her off. “He wants to see Riona right away.”

  The witch cocked her head. “Me? Why?”

  “It’s best if he tells you,” Hades said. “Steph, he wants to see us too, but he must speak with Riona first.”

  Riona’s face grew heavy with concern, looking at her hostess.

  Persephone waved her on. “Go ahead. We’ll come shortly.”

  Chapter 24

  Apparently, the room Jerry and Dee shared was next to the honeymoon suite. The woman in 6B would surely need a star-studded telethon the next day if she ever hoped to walk again. Once upon a time, Jerry may have found the sex symphony inspiring, a play-for-play aural pick-me-up. Now, hearing the woman’s throaty scream as she f
inally arrived (seriously, either her lover was the sensual equivalent of Clay Aiken in the sack, or she was as sensitive as a jar of paste), the only thing he could think of was how much he missed Riona.

  He never meant to fall in love with her. Demons weren’t supposed to love, but then again, he never was an average demon, was he? Nope, Jerry Romani was a custom-crafted microbrew from the boilers of Hell, one with distinct depths of emotion and passion, that paired well with a side of deep-fried, feisty witch. By the gods, she hooked him. Betraying her at Lucifer’s demand was the hardest thing he ever did. He didn’t deserve to win her back, and he knew that. Somehow though, he managed to. The ring on his finger proved it wasn’t a dream. He held it in the stream of moonlight, admiring how the gold band winked before, and quite without warning, the moonlight disappeared. It was blocked by a shadowy face that, until recently, was staring back at Jerry in the mirror each morning.

  “If I were you,” said a voice in the darkness. Jerry sat bolt upright and flicked on the light just as his senses vibed him into the demon’s presence, “I’d take the ring off and put it back on a few times fast. It’s the closest you’ll ever come again to hitting Riona.”

  “You got a lot of nerve showing your face here, priest.”

  “Ex-priest.” Marc pushed himself away from the wall where he was standing and took two steps toward the bed. “I was forcibly defrocked, and sadly, not in a way that involved your wife’s naked body beneath mine.”

  “Over my dead body, oof!” The taste of blood on his tongue when Marc’s hand smacked Jerry’s chin and cheeks made him wince.

  “That can be arranged, as you seem to be just a tad more human than you were, back when our roles were reversed. Now, do you want to have a cat fight? Or do you want to know why I’m here?”

  Unable to speak, Jerry blinked twice.

  “Good. Michael sends a message: hurry up and get to Olympus. He wants you to find Riona and get her out of there within forty-eight hours.”

  “Why?” Through fish lips, the word was barely audible.

  “Did I miss the part where we both became chicks and decided to tell each other all of our secrets?” With a flick of his wrist, he landed Jerry on the bed. “By the way, I’d like to tell you Riona says hi, but I kept her mouth a little too busy to say much of anything last time I saw her.”

  Jerry felt his fists taking on a life of their own. His body pin wheeled when Marc clocked him again, making him kiss the floorboards. “This is a dream. And you’re a fucking liar.”

  “You’re right, it is a dream. But you can be sure it’s really me.” Marc hovered over him. “Just like I was in your wife’s dream a few nights ago. Funny, how I’ve scored more often with your wife since the wedding than you have.”

  Collecting himself off the ground, Jerry rubbed his sore mouth. “I’m not an idiot; I know she still loves you. I’m the alpha and the omega, Marc, and you’re just all the filler in between. You go ahead and tempt her until you’re blue-balled. I know the game you’re playing. I was an all-star for two thousand years. Don’t think I don’t get that you’re tempting her to fall, but you’re going to fail worse than tuna-flavored tea if you think you’ll get anywhere. She’s a Pure Soul, and she ain’t going down without a fight.”

  Marc stared into an abstract distance. “Actually, I don’t think she would fight me much if I wanted her to go down. You should have seen the way I had her pressed against a wall. I could have had her right there, if Azazel had allowed me.”

  With a snap, Jerry’s eyes grew wide, and he extended a long finger at the demon foe. “And therein lies your limitation. Don’t you get it? You’re under Azazel’s control. You’re Hell’s bitch now.”

  “I am no one’s bitch!” Marc grunted. “I might be damned. I might be free of my vows to the church, but I’m still my own man. No one controls me.”

  “Yeah?” Jerry rolled up on his toes. “Try telling Azazel to go fuck himself when he gives you an order, and see what happens.”

  The fallen wiccan’s face reddened. “Like I didn’t witness you disobeying Lucifer to help Riona.”

  “Oh, I could ignore Lucifer until the cows came home. Sure, he could still override my body on Earth, the way any angel can do with any corpse, but he wasn’t my master. I was Azazel’s minion.” Two fingers tapped into Marc’s chest, telegraphing the point. “Just. Like. You. Maybe ask him about that sometime, see what Papa Az has to say about it. Now, if you’re done being a prick in my head, maybe you could go be a prick somewhere else?”

  Marc shrank back into the shadow. “Maybe inside your wife? Sounds like a good place to me.”

  Jerry awoke at the very moment in the dream when he lunged towards Marc, releasing all his anger and magic in a single blast. Phantom pains shot down his arm. On his back, it felt like two jagged knives were sunk into it and left to marinate. The ache hiked further north and settled behind his eye sockets. A cold sweat covered his body – great, another mortal habit he’d have happily gone without – and light rays speared his eyeballs. Blinking, the hulking form of Dionysius Zitka materialized, backlit by the flickering glare of a florescent bulb doing its damnedest to retain the light. He took a moment to gather his scruples, then felt the weight of a stare.

  “What?” Jerry sat up, pinching the bridge of his nose, and easing the tension from his fists.

  “You... I thought for a moment, you...” Dee raised a bottle of something suspiciously clear and said, “Too much to see straight, but still not enough to knock me out. I’m going back in,” before swigging down some more.

  “Great, you’re drunk.”

  “Not yet.” The demigod burped. “But I’m goal-oriented and rarely defeated.”

  Sure, he needed to tell Dee what just happened inside his own head, but clearly, the big guy had something else going on. Jerry rolled to the edge of his comfort-defying mattress just as Dee plopped down on the corner of his. He reached out and squeezed the demigod’s knee.

  “Want to talk about what’s bothering you, little brother?”

  “If we were part of the same family tree, Romani, I’d become a Bible-thumping supporter of the logging industry.”

  Jerry took a moment for observation: bloodshot eyes that blinked much too frequently, a dapple of sweat across his manly, chiseled brow, and his choice of a third-rate Bulgarian vodka brand. “Did you sleep with Anwen?”

  Tact had never been a close friend of Jerry’s. To his surprise, and perhaps aided by the alcohol, Dee didn’t shoot him a dirty look or deck him with a cocked fist.

  “Wanted to. Almost did. Just couldn’t.”

  “Performance problems?”

  “Are you kidding? When I go for pub crawls, I have to duct tape the bastard down so I don’t get arrested for public indecency.”

  “Then what?”

  Dee’s gaze grew distant. “She said something that... made it impossible for me to continue.”

  “Was it, stop? I know I’m rusty at actual courtship, but I believe it’s customary for people on the high end of the moral scale to honor that request.”

  “I’ve never forced women,” Dee spat back. “That’s punishable by an immediate slide down the sunset where I come from; and I’d gladly pay the one-way cost for any bastard that did that to any woman or man, perhaps minus his sac and a few of his limbs. No, she wanted it. But... she called me Dio.”

  Jerry sighed. “As previously stated, Dee, I heard you and your paramours enough to know there’re often several invocations of the holy during your sessions. Swore once, I heard one call out for ‘Christian.’ Have to admit, that one threw me for a loop.”

  Dee’s expression flat-lined. “Why do I talk to you at all?”

  “Because I know what it’s like to battle two vastly different natures within yourself, all while lugging enough baggage to fill a seven-forty-seven’s cargo hold.” He softened his voice. “Whether or not we like it, we’re partners in this battle, and I want to make sure you’re at the top of your game when thin
gs go down. That includes the occasional heart-to-heart. Now, tell me, Dio... what’s so wrong with that?”

  He observed Dee’s resistance melting away as his shoulders relaxed. “Clare called me that.”

  “And hearing another woman call you that in the heat of passion... I’m willing to bet it seemed like Anwen was fluttering through restricted airspace.”

  “Like my own personal Area Fifty-One.”

  Jerry found himself in an uncomfortable position, like he’d put on a new pair of underwear with the cardboard insert still intact. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to support Dee and keep him in proper shape, but he feared getting too close. “Okay, seriously, so what? You two have a lot in common. You’re both part nephilim, you’re both alone in this world, and you share the same crappy taste in alcohol. What are you afraid might happen? That you might actually end up liking, prithee, even loving her?”

  Dee’s side glance let Jerry know he’d hit the nail on the head.

  “You can’t dishonor Clare by loving someone else, Dee,” Jerry lectured, wiggling the demigod’s ear as he rose from the bed and crossed to the minibar. Talk about your bad tasting alcohol. Jerry wasn’t sure if the label on the liquor was in Bulgarian, or the chemical formula for formaldehyde. “I know my wife would have wanted me to find someone else.”

  Dee swallowed a laugh. Amazingly, he found room for it around the vodka. “I’m not sure Riona loves you that much; she seems more like the ‘look at my man and I’ll slice off your left toe’ type.”

  “I’m not talking about Riona, idiot. I’m talking about my wife from the first time I was human.”

  “You were married?”

  “Yup. Lovely woman. It was an arranged marriage. Most of them were, back then. But we fell in love anyway. My dad raised livestock, her dad owned the tannery... It was a match made by bovines.”

  Despite his best efforts, Dee smiled.

  “When I fell, I took my own life. Even though I was in Hell, I still checked up on her from time to time, but always kept my distance. Eventually, a few years after I died, she fell for someone else.”