by Lori Adams
I am the one living this life, and it’s Michael I love. It’s Michael I would do anything for. I will suffer my own torment for the loss of Dante and our past life together, but it won’t change who I am now. I won’t let it, no matter how overwhelming the memories and emotions might be.
I slide from bed with a certain amount of confidence that comes from knowing a hard decision must be made, and has been. This won’t be easy but I have to tell Michael the truth. Now that we’re married, I don’t want any more secrets between us. I never wanted to share the burden of my mistake in creating Ka but things have changed. The stakes are too high now. I have to find a way to, essentially, resurrect Ka from the dead. And who knows, maybe Michael will know a guy…
After a quick shower, I braid my wet hair and pull on jean shorts and a white T-shirt. In bare feet, I pad down the hallway and return to the foyer. Four days since I arrived here and everything looks different; the inner walls have been extended to divide the open space into individual rooms. It’s lovely and cozy. I could definitely imagine living here. I hear voices on the opposite side of the formal dining room so I walk in that direction. The delicious smell of bacon, eggs, and strong coffee make a beeline to my rumbling stomach. I’m starved. As I round the corner I hear mild arguing.
“I know, Jarvis. But if she doesn’t like them scrambled,” Michael is saying to an old man in a white apron, dark suit, and tie, “we’ll have them over easy.”
“Who doesn’t like eggs scrambled?” Jarvis asks, as if he doesn’t understand the concept.
“Or make pancakes,” Michael continues with serious concern. “I think she likes—” He stops and turns because I’ve moved closer and our second heartbeats give me away. I put on my best smile and wait anxiously while Michael assesses my emotions. His face breaks into a pleasing grin, and I unclench my stomach.
“Good morning, Mrs. Patronus,” he says in a cool tone, like he’s suddenly James Bond. His wet hair is slicked back, giving him a sophisticated quality that’s freaking hot. He’s wearing dark slacks and a loose, creamy linen shirt that he hasn’t finished buttoning yet. I can see the ridges of his smooth, tanned pecs through the opening. It’s too distracting for the importance of the day and it makes me want to lure him back to bed.
Michael walks over in bare feet and takes my hand, bringing me into the kitchen. It’s a beautiful space, modern but warm, with wood and stainless steel. Connie Caulfield, the local real estate aficionado, would call it well appointed. It’s spotless but for the breakfast mess, which looks orderly and minimal.
“Sophia, this is Jarvis, the one I told you about.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say, but think, The one who almost saw me buck naked. I feel myself turning red.
“Jarvis, this is my wife, Mrs. Patronus.” Michael is proud and formal. I feel like I’ve won an award or something.
Jarvis sets aside his spatula, lays a hand across his chest, and gives me a small but reverent bow. “A pleasure, Mrs. Patronus.” He has a softly defiant look in his eyes but seems to accept things. I wonder what he thinks of us, a Halo warrior and spirit walker breaking forbidden rules.
Michael, by way of James Bond, escorts me to the breakfast nook where I am seated at a beautiful table that is probably made of some rare Brazilian wood. The deep-colored grains make it breathtaking and too sophisticated for the plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit.
“Orange juice?” Michael offers, reaching for the crystal pitcher on the table.
I nod and murmur, “Shaken, not stirred.” His lips twitch but he says nothing. After he fills our glasses, he slides into the seat across from me. I want to explain about Ka and Dante and Lovaria before I lose my nerve. But not in front of Jarvis. A glance in his direction tells me he won’t be leaving anytime soon. He’s cracking eggs for pancakes.
“Would you like something else?” Michael asks, thinking I’m not happy. He looks at my plate. I tentatively reach for the elegant silver fork. It looks like it should be on display somewhere. Like Michael.
“No, I’m fine. I mean, this is fine.” I clear the nerves from my throat and impale a sliver of melon. I chew thoughtfully for a moment while Michael watches. Once he is satisfied that I am satisfied, he picks up his own fork. Jarvis suddenly appears at the table, too quietly for my taste, and I twitch.
“Would you like coffee?” he asks politely. I would, so he fills my cup and then Michael’s. When he returns to the stove, I dump too much sugar into mine because my hands are shaking.
The idea of telling Michael that I remember my past life with Dante is wreaking havoc on my insides. I’m suddenly not as hungry as I thought.
“I can’t eat all this,” I whisper at the mounds of food. I don’t want to insult Jarvis but it’s too much, even on an ordinary day. “And pancakes are out of the question. It’s just too much. I’m sorry.”
“I thought you would be starved after…missing dinner last night.” Michael quirks an eyebrow and grins, enjoying the blush creeping up my face. After I returned from my call last night, Michael and I finally made good use of the infinity pool. Most of the night. I’m horrified that Jarvis might know what Michael is insinuating. Michael chuckles and relaxes back in his chair. “Eat what you like, Sophia. And then later, I thought we could share our news with the family?”
Oh, so that’s why he’s dressed so nicely.
“That’s fine.” But first I have something to tell you.
I take another bite only because Michael is watching. He sips his coffee and then leans forward on his arms. His mood shifts to something unpleasant and I stare without blinking. Did I say something else in my sleep? I can’t bear the idea of hurting Michael.
“I’ve also been thinking about what you told me the other night,” he says evenly. “About that demon spy. I’m taking it seriously, Sophia. We all are. Not that I think anyone can hurt you now, but we should know who’s been inhabited by a demon. Don’t you think?”
I am slightly relieved. Michael’s mind is somewhere else. “Who’s we?” I ask, and Michael tells me he spoke to his family about it. And Jarvis. I look up and see that Jarvis has heard my comment and given up on the pancakes. He is wiping down the countertop but stops to join our conversation.
“I say it might be one of them McCarthy twins. Oh, they’re as cute as a couple of cherubs, don’t get me wrong. But something’s not kosher with them. Odd as those ducks they cart around.” He gives me a lingering look and then shrugs and makes a strange kind of meh face like he couldn’t care less about what he just said. I’m surprised he even knows the McCarthy twins. And what was that look all about? Does he sense something odd about me, too?
“He’s been exploring the town. Grocery shopping and things,” Michael explains the connection with Jarvis and the twins. Although this is not the topic I want to discuss, it gets me thinking.
“Michael, I can’t believe those sweet old ladies would allow a demon to live inside them.” Even as I finish the thought, I question myself. Only one of the twins is real; the other was conjured like Ka. Is it possible that the weaker one could be submissive to a powerful demon? Hmm, now doesn’t that sound familiar.
“As far as I’m concerned, no one is above suspicion,” Michael replies. “We never know the private thoughts of others; some people have secrets that a demon could exploit. More than likely, the demon caught the victim in a moment of weakness, manipulated them, and made a promise or bargain to use the body as a human vessel in exchange for something.”
This conversation is making me sick to my stomach. The thought of someone I know walking around with a demonic entity inside them is horrifying.
“I never thought of them as victims, but I see your point. No one in their right mind would willingly allow a demon inside them. They would have to be desperate or completely messed in the head.” I think of Jordan again and realize I don’t really know him at all. I have no idea how he behaved before I moved here. So I ask Michael how it would affect someone’s behavio
r if they had a demon inside them.
“Sometimes they take on the personality of the demon. Say, if the person is usually reserved or shy, they can suddenly be outgoing, obnoxious, moody, or try too hard to fit in with society. Going to extremes with what the demon believes is the best way to appear human. Very annoying and over the top. If the demon is particularly driven with orders to destroy, it will murder. Even commit suicide before expelling itself. When it goes dormant inside the vessel, like it’s biding its time for something, you would never know it was there.”
I stare at my plate as my stomach rolls and everything suddenly smells awful.
“You have someone in mind?” Michael asks. He sits forward and slides his hand across the table to cover mine. His face is so full of concern that I’m tempted to blurt out what I’ve done. Get it over with. Right in front of Jarvis. Besides shocking Michael, it would embarrass him. So I force myself to stay on track. There will be time after breakfast.
“Well, I don’t know. I mean, I did feel that maybe it was Jordan.” I rush on to explain why because I’m overwhelmed with guilt. It’s just a guess and I am accusing Jordan of something terribly sadistic. What if I’m wrong?
Michael takes me seriously, his eyes narrowing with intensity. He is probably running through every moment I was around Jordan. I remind him that it was Jordan who found us in the crystal Christmas tree forest in the gym. Like he was purposely looking for me. When I tell him that Jordan is the only one of our friends who didn’t go on the ski trip and that he almost insisted I go to the movies with him, Michael’s features turn hard. He shoots a quick look at Jarvis. The old man nods, removes his apron, and walks out of the room. Some unspoken order has just been obeyed and I’m in awe of Michael’s authority.
“I have always noticed that Jordan watches you,” Michael says coldly. “I took it as attraction. You didn’t seem to like him much and that made him all the more determined to get your attention. We’ll look into it, Sophia. But in the meantime, promise me that you will stay away from him.”
I nod quickly as my heart accelerates. Jarvis has left the kitchen. Now is the time to tell Michael.
I push my plate aside and slide my hands into his. I squeeze and give him a look that says I have something serious to say. Before I can, Michael gives me one last warning.
“You must understand, Sophia. When a demon uses a human vessel, it can come and go as it pleases. If you were to confront Jordan while the demon has gone back down to report to Lord Brutus, Jordan may panic and not let it back in.”
“Oh. But isn’t that a good thing?”
“We need to confront the demon when it’s still inside the human vessel. That’s the only way to permanently expel it.”
“Permanently expel it?”
“I need the demon to be solid when I drive my sword through it. That’s the only way to destroy it.”
“But what about Jordan?”
“A spiritual weapon won’t kill a human but it will definitely kill a demon.”
“Okay. I understand, Michael. I promise to stay away from Jordan.” My voice is high with nerves and pent-up energy. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. I squeeze Michael’s hands again just as a soft sound shimmies up my spine. I ignore it and take a deep breath. “Michael, I need to—”
“I know, babe. I heard it, too.” Michael withdraws as the sound repeats, this time louder and more distinct. I’m receiving a call! Now!
“No,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands. This is so frustrating! Just when I’m ready to come clean, I’m called away.
I hear Michael slide from his chair. “I’ll be here when you get back. Then we’ll tell my family. Okay?”
I climb to my feet and throw my arms around him. My transformation isn’t waiting, so I quickly give him a kiss.
Michael flinches and slides his mouth to my ear. “God, you have so much spiritual energy, babe. It’s shocking the hell out of me.”
I say, “I’m sorry,” and he says, “Never be sorry for that. But it does make me want to lay you across the table.” He leans back and cups my face, gazing intently into my eyes.
“My heart loves your heart, Mrs. Patronus,” he whispers.
I inhale deeply, pulling his sweet words inside me. “My heart loves your heart, Mr. Patronus,” I whisper back. My skin shimmies with energy and I’m forced to back away. I race toward the balcony, where I launch myself over the edge and slide into the tunnel of blue light.
—
I find myself in the strangest places sometimes. One lost soul I found in a hair salon with foil wraps in her hair; she insisted I remove them because she couldn’t possibly arrive at Heaven’s gate looking like an aluminum rendition of the MGM lion. One soul was in a chop shop hiding under a pimped-out, hydraulic, lime green 1959 Chevrolet Impala. He thought he was being chased by a gang. It took forever to convince him that the soul seeker stalking him wasn’t a banger but much worse.
My first call this morning brings me to a bakery. The Sugar Asylum. It usually opens to the public at five a.m. but has been closed—in memoriam—for a week due to the unexpected heart attack of the owner, Edith Farhind. She is a plump woman in her late sixties who is putting up a good fight. I have arrived in the baker’s kitchen just moments behind a soul seeker who is being systematically bombarded with week-old scones, crumbling bear claws, several large raspberry croissants, a handful of petit fours, and a baker’s dozen of chocolate cream puffs. Mrs. Farhind’s imprint is screeching at the soul seeker hiding behind the ovens, warning it to stay back. Her ear-piercing threat is enough to make me cringe.
When the soul seeker she’s been keeping at bay peers around the ovens, I see a leather jacket and shoulder-length brown hair. He sees me and our eyes lock in recognition.
“Degan!” I call out, scaring the bejesus out of Mrs. Farhind. She hadn’t noticed me yet and whirls around, slinging an elaborately braided bread loaf in my direction. I lean aside as it goes whirling by.
“Stop that!” I bark at her. We stare off while her hand squeezes the life out of a devil’s food cupcake. She’s fighting the temptation to launch it at me. I point at her while moving cautiously into the room. “Don’t,” I warn with authority. “Just put the cupcake down. Now.”
“Who are you?” she asks, her nostrils flaring with hostility, her heavy jowls quivering, and her eyes wild in her head. Then she sees my Chelsea Light and awareness dawns. She visibly relaxes.
“You’re the one I’ve been calling,” she says, still out of breath from her antics. She flings her hand toward Degan, making him duck at the frosting she lets loose. “This pip-squeak tried to tell me I was going with him.”
I palm the dagger at my hip and cut my eyes back to Degan. He has red velvet cake in his hair and white frosting on his shoulder. He also has a look of disbelief on his face. He raises his hands in surrender to Mrs. Farhind while grinning at me.
“Look at you, all grown into yourself,” he says.
Okay, I can’t help it. I smile because Degan has always been kind of cool in my book. For a soul seeker. I’ve never actually seen him steal a soul, which also helps.
“Hey, Degan. What’s up?”
His face brightens considerably at my friendly response. It could have gone either way with me and he knows it. The last time I saw Degan, he refused to fight me for Colin Firth’s soul. Instead, Dante set me against Teriza. I lost and she took Colin to Hell. As bitter as I am about the whole incident, I understand that Degan was an innocent bystander.
Degan lowers his hands but I keep mine on my dagger. “Aw, just punching the clock, working for the man. You know how it is.” He strolls closer and leans against the butcher-block countertop scattered with pastry shrapnel. Mrs. Farhind braces herself for a trick or something. I stay on alert. “So how ya been?” He smiles with affection but I scope the area.
“You setting me up? An ambush or something? You’re not still hanging with Teriza, are you?”
“Excuse me!” Mrs. Fa
rhind interrupts. She flops the leftover frosting from her hands onto the counter. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to go home now. I’ve kept Edgar waiting long enough.”
Degan and I look at each other. He makes a face and backs off. “Too much crazy for me. She’s all yours.” He gestures that I should take her.
“Just like that?” I arch an eyebrow and prepare for some reaper to drop through the ceiling.
“Here’s the deal,” Degan begins, and I tilt my head with a knowing smirk. “No, just listen. Seriously, you can bag this one. I’m totally down with that. I don’t have what you’d call a healthy appetite for this stuff, so nobody below expects much from me. So it’s cool. But I would like you to…you know…come back here so we can hang for a while.”
“Sorry. I don’t hang with soul seekers.” I step toward Mrs. Farhind. She has been stuffing apricot kolaches into her pockets. I don’t have the heart to tell her they won’t make the transformation once we take off. Heaven is sweet enough. Then she surprises me by grabbing my hand. Most lost souls clamor for my Chelsea Light right away, but Mrs. Farhind had seemed more in control than others I’ve dealt with. They’re more likely to cower in fear when a seeker or reaper arrives, not go on the attack.
She is nervous. Through the cloud of flour and sugar, I pick up the scent of fear. I give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“Aw, just a half hour,” Degan begs. “The daily grind is a bore. You know what I’m saying. Please?”