Where Demons Fear to Tread

by Stephanie Chong

  “Maybe because she saw our father die when she was thirteen. He had a heart attack on the living-room floor, and Serena came home from school one day to find the paramedics trying to perform CPR on him. But they couldn’t revive him. After that, she was never really the same. I think she might have blamed herself. I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this,” Andrew said, looking a bit startled.

  Because your weak human mind is no match for mine, Julian thought.

  Now, here was some information he could definitely use. Little Miss Perfect might not have any serious vices, but she definitely had vulnerabilities. A tendency toward self-sacrifice. Guilt about her lost father. Yes, he could work with that.

  “What would you say about doing some publicity photographs for me, Andrew?” Julian said. “I’m having a party at my house in L.A. tomorrow, and a lot of important people will be there. I’d love to have you on board, if you’re available.”

  He named a price.

  Andrew’s eyes widened. For the sum Julian named, he would be available. At that price, Julian guessed he might even have pitched in a pledge for his firstborn child.

  As yet, Julian had no such party planned, but it would be organized at the touch of the speed-dial on his cell phone. He walked out the door and called his personal assistant.

  Choices. Andrew had made the right choice. Perhaps now, his sister would be more amenable to choosing Julian as a potential companion.

  When there was no word from Julian on Saturday morning, Serena began to breathe again. Now that she had a reprieve, it was time to rebuild. Time to concentrate on her students and the assigned souls she had been sent back to guide. On spreading the message of divine love.

  Nick’s yoga practice was progressing steadily. He’d had several lessons this week, and he was an enthusiastic learner with an innate grace. She’d forced herself to refrain from asking about the Archdemon. But some part of her, pathetically, hoped for the mention of Julian’s name, of any snippet of news. She wondered if Nick knew about the gifts. If he did, he kept silent.

  Nor did Nick try to kiss her again. Although it still disturbed her to see the smitten look in his eyes, at least he hadn’t spoken of his romantic feelings for her since his last failed attempt.

  Today, after his lesson, he handed her a plain white envelope. “Julian asked me to give you this,” he said, proceeding to roll up his mat.

  What now? Would the Archdemon resort to cold, hard cash? The deed to a condo? But when she opened the envelope with trembling fingers, all it contained was a folded note on heavy cream stationery. The handwriting was from another century, a sweep of elegant lines decorated with flourishes.

  My dearest Serena,

  Please accept my sincerest apologies for intruding on your private lesson last Sunday afternoon. I am hosting an intimate gathering at my home tonight, and I would be honored if you would attend. You might be interested to note my guest list will include someone with whom you may be acquainted: photographer Andrew St. Clair.

  Yours, J.

  There was more. Details of his address in Beverly Hills. Mention of a dress code.

  But she was too sick to read on. Her brother’s name, written in Julian’s curling script, was embossed in her mind’s eye. Andrew.

  He was two years older, but a hundred years wiser. At the age of fifteen, Andrew had taken over as the man of the house when their father had died. He’d been the one who had stood next to her and held her as she cried at their father’s funeral, while they watched his coffin descend into the ground. Her brother became her protector, her ally, her hero. But Andrew was only human, and no match for a demon.

  Bile rose up her throat and threatened to spill out. The paper slipped from her fingers to the floor. The room tilted dangerously, and for a moment, she thought she might faint.

  Nick was at her side in an instant, bracing her against his muscled body, still damp from practice. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden.” She pressed her shaking fingers to her temples, pushing away from him to stand on her own.

  He picked up the note and glanced at it. “What’s going on between you and Julian?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” A rush of shame flooded through her. She never lied—not even little white lies like the one that had just popped out of her mouth. Since she’d met Julian, everything was changing.

  “Don’t feel obligated to go just because he’s my friend.”

  “Of course not,” she said lamely.

  “And who is this Andrew St. Clair? You have the same last name. What is he…?” Nick’s mind reached for the connection; divine intervention broke the link.

  “It’s purely a coincidence.”

  “Maybe you and I could go to the party together,” he offered, his eyebrows raised in a question as he looked up from the note.

  She paused for a long moment, not knowing what to say. But what option did she have? None. “Sure.”

  A smile lit like flame, spreading over Nick’s face. “Fantastic. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Good Lord, what was she getting herself into?

  “It’s a date.”

  Shit.

  Nick left the studio happier than she’d ever seen him. Guilt screamed in her mind. She was leading Nick on. Worse, she was using him as a shield against Julian Ascher. While Arielle had never specifically spelled out why it might be wrong to use your Assignee as a buffer against demonic forces, Serena was absolutely sure it contravened the spirit of Company policy.

  But the Archdemon had gotten personal. Her brother’s life was at stake, and she would use everything she had to stop Julian. She would not let him win. She jammed the note in her pocket and headed out the door.

  Later, Serena stood in her bedroom, staring at her open closet. Behind her, clothes were strewn around her usually neat room, which now looked like the aftermath of a Black Friday sale.

  Evening attire, Julian’s note said. Nothing in Serena’s wardrobe, which consisted almost entirely of yoga gear and day dresses, remotely fit that description. But finding a dress for tonight was the least of her concerns. Trying on every piece of clothing she owned was merely a distraction from worrying.

  About the fact that her brother’s life hung in the balance.

  Andrew.

  She tossed another outfit behind her, feeling her chest constrict with sadness. In just over a decade, Andrew had lost both a father and a sister. It should have destroyed him. Left behind to mourn Serena’s death along with their mother, he had somehow pulled himself together. Because Andrew believed firmly in that old saying: whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

  Andrew had been a good brother. He had loved her well. It tore at her heart to think that he was in terrible danger. And that he probably didn’t even realize it.

  “What on earth is going on?” Meredith stood in the doorway of Serena’s room, eyes wide as she looked at the mess.

  “I’m trying to find something to wear,” Serena said, collapsing onto her bed, so tired she wished she could curl up and take a nap in the dark blue sundress she was wearing. In it, she felt about as sexy as a kindergarten teacher on a field trip to the zoo. “For a party tonight. At Julian’s.”

  “Him again?”

  “He’s gotten his hooks into Andrew.” The words came out of Serena’s mouth as a forlorn little whisper, her voice thinner and more fragile than the wings of the crickets singing outside.

  There was a long, terrible pause as Meredith absorbed the information. She swallowed and said, “So you have to go. If it were my brother, I’d do the same. But you’re not thinking about going there by yourself, are you?”

  “I’m going with Nick.”

  “The drug-addicted actor?” Meredith shook her head. “That’s worse than going alone. I’m coming with you.”

  “It’s far too risky,” Serena said.

  Her roommate gave her a sideways glance as s
he started to walk away, toward her own bedroom. Then Meredith glanced back and said, “Are you coming? We have to find you a dress.”

  When Meredith threw open her closet doors, she revealed a treasure trove of shiny, sparkly dresses. She grabbed an armful and spread them out on her bed. Serena stared, blinking at the array of colors, shocked that her roommate had been hiding all these clothes. Most of the time, Meredith wore plain white nutritionist’s uniforms or jeans during her time off.

  Her roommate noted Serena’s expression, handing her a silk frock in emerald-green. “I’m still working on detachment from material possessions,” Meredith said. “Arielle’s perspective is that things will simply start to fall away as I’m ready to let them go. Until then, I can still appreciate a good cocktail dress.” After a moment’s pause, she said, “Speaking of Arielle, do you think we should consult her about this party?”

  “Arielle was no help whatsoever,” Serena answered, cinching herself into the dress and shifting uncomfortably. “Besides, what choice do I have? If Arielle tells me I have to abandon my brother to that…that hellhound, I can’t very well follow her instructions, can I?”

  “Sometimes Arielle tests people,” Meredith said. “I’ve seen her do it before.”

  Serena paused. “It’s possible. I just don’t know why she would test me.” She wiggled, trying to adjust the bodice. Both girls were slender, but Serena’s natural curves refused to be constrained.

  “Whatever you say.” Meredith tilted her head as she assessed the dress. “That one doesn’t fit you.” She turned back to the open closet and continued to browse through her clothes. “Just be careful around that demon of yours.”

  Serena unzipped herself, blushing furiously. “He’s not mine. Both times I ran into him, all that happened was a kiss.”

  Her roommate did not answer, but merely raised her eyebrows. She took the green dress and handed Serena a strapless white dress. Embellished with black embroidery and a black silk bow that tied at the waist, it fell just below the knee, an elegant length that emphasized the stretch of her long legs. “That’s the one,” Meredith said. “You look like a gift, with that bow on the front. Whatever you do, don’t let him unwrap you.”

  Both girls stood looking at the dress in Meredith’s full-length mirror. Serena felt a wave of desolation wash over her. All my life, Andrew protected me from the worst, she thought. This time it’s Andrew who needs protecting. How will I find a way?

  Meredith caught her gaze in the mirror and said, “You’ll find a way. You will not let him down.”

  Chapter Five

  What Julian had described as an “intimate gathering” on his invitation to her had ballooned into a gala evening for two hundred elite guests. A Gatsby of an evening, just the sort of sophisticated party that would jar Serena out of her element while appealing to her finer senses.

  His Old Hollywood mansion made a glamorous backdrop for a summer party—the faint essence of scorned divas still clung to the hallways of the Mediterranean villa. An eight-foot-tall ice sculpture of a glistening winged creature dominated the foyer. Breezy chatter floated over the distant notes of the full orchestra tuning its instruments in the back garden, preparing for the dancing that would begin later. The cream of Los Angeles’s elite had gathered. Among the politicians and actors, the models and business moguls, his staff circulated trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres.

  Julian sauntered through the house, wandering from room to room as the party gathered momentum. While he often remained apart from the crowd at Devil’s Paradise, in his own home Julian was the consummate host. He shook hands and engaged in small talk. Encouraged people toward the lavish buffet set out in the dining room.

  He kept an eye toward the entrance as he mingled. There was only one person he was intent on hosting. And when she arrived, theirs would be a truly intimate gathering.

  But where the devil was she?

  Harry skirted around the crowd, directing the staff and managing the smaller details. “Don’t worry, sir,” said Harry, catching the slight frown on Julian’s face. “She’ll come. Andrew’s here.”

  Harry’s right, Julian thought fleetingly.

  Serena would not resist her brother’s presence. Julian spotted the photographer snapping images of guests in front of the ice sculpture, and gave him a hearty handshake. He clapped him on the back and thanked the man for coming.

  Andrew swallowed, unable to hide his awe. “Julian, your home is spectacular.”

  Revel House was Julian’s pride and joy. He’d won the four-acre estate with its sprawling villa on a bet from a dying movie star in the 1950s. The bet had been rigged, of course. But that was something Andrew didn’t need to know. “It’s not a bad little shack,” said the Archdemon.

  “Thank you for the opportunity. I feel privileged to photograph your guests and your home,” Andrew said, waving his camera in the direction of the ice sculpture. “Especially that work of art. The detailing on those wings looks so real.”

  As they stood admiring the statue, Andrew suddenly jumped backward, skittering behind Julian. “I could swear I…I just saw the damned thing wink,” the photographer said.

  “Of course not,” Julian said, his voice calm. Of course, the sculpture had winked. The thing was a real demon he’d called up from the frozen Buddhist hell realms. It crouched still on its pedestal, pretending to be art. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

  For an instant, Andrew’s brows knitted together. But he quickly recovered, face smoothing over. And if he thought anything was suspicious, he kept his mouth shut. They chatted amiably, and the more they talked, the more Julian found himself beginning to like the man. He stopped himself, reminding himself that Andrew’s friendship was not what he wanted.

  What he wanted was Serena. But in that regard, he was getting nowhere fast. He detached himself politely from the conversation, and then continued to circulate. Inside, he seethed.

  What is it with men and multiples of women? Serena wondered as she and Meredith climbed into the back of Nick’s limo. There was enough room inside for a soccer team. Yet he insisted the girls sit on either side of him.

  As the limo sped along the Santa Monica Freeway, Meredith kept Nick occupied as they chatted easily, his eyes running over the redhead’s vibrant green silk dress. Serena barely listened to their conversation, lost in anxiety about Andrew.

  Under no circumstances would she let Julian sink his claws into her brother.

  The limo idled in front of the gates to Julian’s Beverly Hills home, waiting to enter his driveway. A chill ran through Serena as she gazed out the window.

  “The Gates of Hell,” Nick announced. “Copied from a Rodin sculpture, Julian told me. That’s the famous Thinker figure up there, dead center at the top. Julian says he represents Dante, looking down on the characters from his epic poem, the Inferno. You can see the other characters sculpted on the edges of the gates. There are the legendary adulterers Francesca and Paolo. And there’s Ugolino della Gherardesca, who cannibalized his children after they died of starvation,” Nick narrated as he pointed.

  As the gates swung open, Serena shuddered.

  “You have a good memory,” Meredith commented to Nick.

  The actor shrugged, but his smile belied his pride. “That’s my job. I’m an expert at reciting lines from a script.”

  His driver pulled up the long driveway, circling around an artificial lake. This was no house. It was a palace, a fantasy in white stucco. It could have been a luxury hotel on the Amalfi Coast in Italy, but it was Julian’s private residence.

  How did Julian accumulate all this wealth? Serena wondered. A thousand gruesome possibilities arose in her mind. She stopped herself from guessing. Better not to think about it.

  “One man lives here alone?” Meredith asked, wide-eyed, peering out the limo’s window.

  Not a man, Serena brooded. Evil incarnate.

  “One man and an army of servants,” Nick said.

  An army of hell b
eings, more precisely, she thought. Gatekeeper demons in doormen’s uniforms opened the car door. She recoiled as one of them offered to take her hand, and she clung to Nick’s arm. He mistook her terror for enthusiasm and smiled down at her, radiating warmth from his deep brown eyes.

  Her heels clicked on the marble steps as they mounted the staircase. She shivered as they passed through the double doors that the Gatekeepers held open, and pulled her gauzy white silk wrap around her shoulders.

  “There are so many celebrities here,” Meredith breathed, as they paused at the entrance.

  “Don’t be fooled,” Serena whispered back.

  The crowd gathered in Julian’s showcase of an entrance hall was worldlier than the drunken clubgoers who frolicked at Devil’s Paradise. But the glittering dresses and expensively tailored summer suits did not deceive her. A dark energy simmered, barely contained below the genteel surface of the crowd.

  Serena’s gaze tracked upward. Towering above the crowd, a real Nakara demon smirked down at the party guests with a glint of mischief in its frozen eye. Overhead, a vaulted ceiling soared above the foyer, to the fresco of hell painted there. It depicted horned demons whipping the naked bodies of the damned, torturing them with hot irons, devouring their flesh with bared teeth. It seemed to Serena that, in spite of their cultured manners, the people gathered here could have fallen straight out of the painting above.

  The night was still tender. Anything could happen.

  But amidst the crush of guests, Julian was nowhere in sight.

  Nick nabbed a couple of glasses of champagne from a passing tray, handing one to each of them. Then he grabbed one for himself. “Ladies,” he said, raising the glass before he downed its contents in one gulp. “Here’s to a great night to come.”

  “I don’t drink,” she started to explain, when one of the Gatekeepers approached them and made a little bow.