Straight to Heaven

by Michelle Scott

  After our introductions, my client and his girlfriend sat in stony silence. I attempted small talk to break the ice. “So Craig, where do you work?”

  He glared at me. “I don’t.”

  “He got laid off today,” Darla said. “Permanently.”

  That explained his bad mood. “I’m sorry to hear it,” I said. “Where did you work?”

  “Packaging plant,” he said.

  “Did you like it?”

  “Not really.”

  For the next ten minutes, I did my best to draw them into conversation, asking if they came there a lot and if they liked to dance, too. They responded in monosyllables, and eventually stopped answering altogether. An uncomfortable silence settled while I waited for J.T. to return.

  When he finally did, he slid into the spot next to me and set a sweating glass of soda on the table. “You from around here?” He had to shout above the music in order to be heard.

  “No, I’m from Detroit.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. I winced inwardly, cursing myself for my mistake. Giving personal information on a job was not a good idea.

  “So what brings you to Orland?” J.T. asked.

  I may work for the Father of Lies, but personally, I suck at it. Plus, I was still a little bleary from all the wine I’d drunk earlier. To give myself a moment to think, I took a long swallow of my soda. Then I noticed that the roadhouse was decorated with an outdoorsy motif. There were old fishing poles and snowshoes mounted on the walls, and a moose head hung behind the bar. “I’m visiting up here because I like to fish,” I finally said. “And hunt.”

  J.T. laughed. “Well, I never would have guessed that.” Luckily for me, he was not only half in the bag, he was also under the allure of my demon. Unfortunately, Craig and his date were not buying my ridiculous lie. “You ever go out to the range?” J.T. asked.

  I had no idea what a range was, but I grinned. “All the time.”

  J.T. was lighting up more and more. He probably felt that he’d met his soul mate. “What do you shoot?”

  A shooting range! Okay, that made sense. At the same time, my spirits plunged. If I had been a pilot on board an airplane, the dashboard would have been covered with blinking lights all warning me that I was about to crash. It had never occurred to me to prepare an alibi because, until now, my assignments had all been short and to the point. However, I was starting to sense that Craig was going to be a much more difficult project. I needed a better story, and I needed it pronto.

  “Well, I’m also a journalist,” I hurriedly added. “I’m writing a piece on sportsmen.” Yes! It had taken a while, but my succubus had finally come to my rescue. “The story’s about how Michigan’s poor economy is taking a toll on tourism.” It was the perfect lie, offered up with an enormous serving of sangfroid. Grateful for my demon’s cunning, I gave her a mental high-five.

  At this news, Craig leaned over the table and grabbed my wrist. Hard. His flinty eyes were those of a convicted felon. “What are you really writing about?”

  “Sportsmen, like I said.” I locked stares with him. “I’m a journalist for The Detroit News doing a piece on hunters and fishermen.”

  “Ease up, man,” J.T. said, but he, too, looked wary.

  I smiled and attempted to send a charge of my demon’s allure at Craig, but my confidence was wavering, and as a result, the succubus’s power was limited.

  Craig gripped my wrist tighter. “If you’re only here to write an article, then why give us the bull crap story about being a hunter?”

  For a moment, I worried that Craig would drive me away from the table before I had a chance to tempt him, but at that moment, a waitress passed by with a tray of beers. “How about I buy the next round,” I offered. I waved the waitress over, and Craig finally let go of my wrist.

  Darla looked at her watch. “We can’t stay for another round.” She stood up. “C’mon Craig, let’s go.”

  The moment of temptation had finally arrived. It was time for action. “Where are you two off to in such a hurry?” I asked.

  Darla gave me a ‘none of your damn business’ look before turning to Craig. “Home by midnight. That’s what you promised.”

  Craig remained stubbornly seated. Maybe my job would be easier than I’d expected.

  “C’mon,” Darla insisted. “One of us has to work tomorrow.” She tugged on his hand.

  “If you need to leave now, I’m sure J.T. will drive Craig home,” I said. Then I glanced at the man sitting next to me, taking in his crooked smile. “Or maybe it would be better if Craig drove J.T. home.”

  “Good idea,” Craig said. He gave Darla an evasive look. “I should probably stay.”

  Darla glared at him. “You promised to be home by midnight.”

  Although Craig obviously did not want to argue with his girlfriend, an argument was just what I needed to drive her out the door and keep him in the bar. Plus, I felt that I owed Darla for the smart remark about my terrible dancing. So I said, “I never met a man so eager to have his girlfriend tell him what to do.”

  It worked like a charm. “You still haven’t,” Craig said. “I’m staying.”

  Darla put her hands on her hips. “Why do we go through this every week? If you don’t leave right now, it will be the last time you see me. I’m not kidding around.”

  “If you make me choose,” he said, “then you’re definitely going home alone.”

  As I was inwardly crowing over my triumph, my demon cried out a warning. But it was too late. A waitress carrying a large tray of beers walked past. She clipped the edge of our table which caused her to lose her balance. The tray tilted, and the beers tipped over, drenching Craig.

  “Oh, I am so sorry,” the waitress said. She flicked a towel from her waist and tried to dry him off. “I am so, so sorry.”

  Craig stood up and pulled his sodden shirt away from his skin. Even his jeans were drenched. “Ah, shit.”

  Darla was jubilant. “I guess you won’t be staying here after all.”

  “No,” Craig agreed. “I guess not.”

  She grabbed his elbow. “See you all later,” she called over her shoulder as she led her boyfriend towards the exit.

  I started after them, but the waitress blocked me. I stepped right to move around her, and she shadowed me. When I moved left, she stepped the same way. I was about to shove her aside, when she laughed and said, “Shall we dance?” Looking into her face, I realized that she had the same brilliantly blue eyes as the old lady from the post office, and the boy who pushed Ariel into the display of cereal boxes at the grocery store.

  An angel.

  I’d been so busy trying to cover my ass with ridiculous lies that I’d forgotten all about my heavenly competition. I fumed helplessly while I watched Craig and Darla leave. I turned to rage at the angel, but she was halfway through her own otherworldly doorway. Once again, I’d botched my assignment.

  J.T. put his hand on my arm. “How about another dance?”

  The band had switched to a slow number. “Let’s go,” I said and hustled him to the dance floor. Even though I’d failed with Craig, I needed to keep every inroad open. Right now, J.T. was the only one I had.

  Although he was considerably taller than the new, pixie-sized me, J.T. crouched down in order to put his head against mine. I could tell from his breathing and heartbeat that he was deep under the spell of my demon’s allure. I hadn’t charmed my client, but I’d certainly done a number on his friend.

  “Sorry about Craig,” J.T. said. “He’s a good guy, but when he drinks too much, he gets cranky.”

  “You don’t say.” My wrist still hurt from where Craig had gripped it. “I didn’t mean to upset him.”

  J.T. held me a little closer. “Craig doesn’t like journalists since the papers have a tendency to lie about us.”

  About whom? Men who drove pickup trucks and went hunting? “Why? What do they say about you?”

  He shrugged. “You know. They talk about us like we’re relig
ious freaks and anti-government extremists, but we’re all really normal. We just believe in the second amendment and want to protect what’s ours.”

  Second amendment? As I struggled to recall which one that was, J.T. continued, “The press blows a lot of this stuff way out of proportion, you know? So when something happens, they do everything they can to stir up trouble. Like with Hutaree. Or that incident last year, when that nutcase from the upper peninsula shot the police officer who had come onto his property? Yeah, a few reporters came sniffing around, trying to link him to us.”

  Then, suddenly, I remembered the second amendment was the right to bear arms. And that Hutaree was the name of a religious group of separatists from Michigan who had planned to kill several police officers…

  Cautiously, I said, “So you’re a member of a gun-rights group or something?”

  “Or something.” He stroked my hair, and I could sense him fighting an inner battle as he decided whether or not to let me in on his secret. Luckily for me, my succubus was better than truth serum because he finally relented. “We’re more of a citizens’ army. Maybe you’ve heard of us. The Great Lakes Militia?”

  The Great Lakes Militia? As in the group whose former member had plotted to blow up a federal building two years before? As in the group who’d been rumored to mail envelopes of white powder, presumably anthrax, to senators and representatives whom they disagreed with? Oh, yes, I’d most certainly heard of them.

  Suddenly, I felt like I’d accidentally kicked over a wasp’s nest, and all I wanted to do was run like hell.

  Chapter Six

  I left the bar so quickly that I nearly crashed into William on my way into Hell. His mouth was twisted in that familiar, sardonic smile I so hated. “Got you again, didn’t she?” he asked.

  “Get lost,” I muttered as I edged past him. It was bad enough that he’d witnessed my first epic fail. Having him view my second – especially after the bedroom fiasco – was more than I could bear. My face felt hotter than Hell’s furnaces.

  He grabbed my arm, keeping me in place. “Not until you tell me what the hell was going on between us tonight.” Anger flashed beneath his smirk.

  I yanked myself free. “I drank too much, and my succubus got the better of me. That’s all. I’m sorry I put you out.” And I was. Deeply sorry. I should have sent him packing the minute he stepped into my living room.

  Unfortunately, his temper didn’t cool. “I hate a woman who sends mixed messages.”

  “You should talk!” I shot back. “I hate a man who worries about my wellbeing one minute and wants a romp between the sheets the next.”

  “I was never worried about you,” he snapped. “I always let people worry about themselves. Makes my life much easier that way.”

  “So why the lecture about not drinking alone?”

  He frowned, but it was more thoughtful than angry. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Somehow, you always sneak behind my defenses.”

  “I wish I could get past that damned angel’s defenses,” I said. I’d now botched two assignments in a row. Miss Spry’s patience was bound to run out sooner or later. “Any advice?”

  He shrugged. “Try harder next time.”

  “Thanks,” I said sourly and continued down the hall. I didn’t want to visit Miss Spry, but hearing about the Militia had frightened me. Getting mixed up with that crowd could be dangerous, and I wasn’t about to risk my life for an assignment. I wanted to put in a request for a bodyguard.

  William followed me to the door of Miss Spry’s office. “Was it really only your succubus who wanted me tonight, or did you want me there as well?”

  I squirmed, remembering how much I had longed to be in his arms. “It was all her,” I lied. “I don’t need the heartache.”

  “Then neither do I.” He walked away with his hands in his pockets and his head down.

  Predictably, Mr. Clerk was in Miss Spry’s study. The two of them were sitting on a couch drinking tea. Mr. Clerk looked freshly showered and had changed his clothes while Miss Spry wore a velvet dressing gown and a pair of embroidered slippers. If I didn’t know I was in Hell, I might have called this a cozy scene.

  Deciding that the direct approach was best, I said, “I got closer tonight, but I didn’t entirely succeed.”

  “You failed, Lilith,” Miss Spry said tartly. “Call it for what it is.”

  “Okay, I failed. I’m really sorry, and I swear I’ll try harder next time!”

  Her eyes went hot, and I tensed, sure she’d turn into a beast and eat me alive. To my relief, however, she regained control of herself. “I appreciate your enthusiasm,” she finally said. She picked up the teapot and poured me a cup. “I must admit, your disguise is wonderful.”

  “Thanks to my tutelage,” Mr. Clerk said proudly.

  I took the cup she offered and sat down on an ottoman. My carefully-molded body loosened back to my familiar shape. Although this meant that I was now wedged into the ridiculously tight clothing, resuming my real form was still a huge relief, like taking off a pair of pinching pumps after a long day on your feet.

  “Your tutelage didn’t help me win my client over, though,” I told Mr. Clerk. I took a sip of the tea. It was as fantastic as I remembered, smoky and rich. Once again, I wondered if I could get some of it for my father, the tea expert. “You could have at least warned me about him.”

  Mr. Clerk frowned. “Warned you about what?”

  “That he’s a member of the Great Lakes Militia.”

  The two demons stared at me.

  “And why would that matter?” Mr. Clerk asked.

  “Why? Are you kidding me?! The man is a member of a secret paramilitary organization.” When they still didn’t respond, I grew frustrated. “Those people are dangerous! They make plans to blow up government buildings! They kidnap police officers and hold them hostage! If I’m going to be around my client, I’ll need some protection.”

  “Really, Lilith. Don’t be so dramatic. Patrick and I knew all about the man’s affiliation with that group.” Miss Spry poured herself more tea and used a pair of silver tongs to add a cube of sugar.

  “Besides, you were perfectly safe in the bar,” Mr. Clerk added.

  I wasn’t surprised that they took the matter so lightly. After all, Miss Spry hadn’t shown much concern for my safety before. Still, I had to make them understand. “Listen,” I said. “These people are survivalists, okay? They think the world is going to end very soon.”

  “It isn’t,” Miss Spry said.

  “Well, this man believes that it will, and so do his friends. They think once civilization falls, they’re going to have to battle to the death for every graham cracker and pack of matches.”

  Mr. Clerk suddenly snorted and set his cup down to avoid spilling his tea. His face went red from suppressed laughter. Miss Spry chuckled like a woman who’s just read a lovely bon mot in the New Yorker.

  Mr. Clerk wiped his face. “Do they really think that there will be something left to rescue when the world ends?”

  Miss Spry shook her head. “Graham crackers. Imagine.”

  A few months before, I’d experienced a taste of the worst Hell had to offer, and true, graham crackers were the very last thing on my mind. At the same time, I understood how terrifying it was to be out of control. Everyone needs to cling to the illusion that they have a safety net. Even if the holes in it are so immense that they’ll tumble straight through.

  “These militia types are serious,” I said. “They’re paranoid and very suspicious of outsiders.” My wrist still hurt where Craig had grabbed it. “They’re also prone to violence and very trigger happy.”

  Even while dressed for bed, Miss Spry wore pearls, and she tugged on them now. “What do you think, Patrick? Perhaps Lilith is right. Maybe we underestimated this militia thing.”

  Mr. Clerk shot me an angry look. “I’m a hundred percent confident that the man’s paramilitary affiliation did not impact tonight’s assignment. I know my job, despite what
Ms. Straight thinks.”

  Miss Spry nodded. “That’s good enough for me.”

  It wasn’t for me. Mr. Clerk could claim to be an expert on human behavior, but I had a feeling that he didn’t get out of Hell very often. “Well, I think the information is important, and I want a bodyguard.”

  Mr. Clerk rolled his eyes. “A bodyguard? I assure you that’s completely unnecessary.”

  I rubbed my sore wrist. “I’d say it’s very necessary.”

  Miss Spry shook her head. “Lilith, you wouldn’t need to worry about the Militia if you hadn’t let that guardian angel get the better of you.”

  Mr. Clerk sighed in exasperation. “Angels aren’t that difficult, Lilith. Trust me.”

  “This one was! Well, okay, not difficult, but sneaky.”

  “You’re right. They are sneaky,” Mr. Clerk admitted. “One angel can bring randomness into the equation and wreak havoc on my calculations.” He glanced at Miss Spry. “What I don’t understand is why the other team is wasting resources on Lilith’s victim. From what I can tell, this Craig Fuller is not that important.”

  Miss Spry sipped her tea.

  “I mean, he isn’t a committed believer,” Mr. Clerk continued. “He follows his girlfriend to church, but he falls asleep during the service. So why is He,” Mr. Clerk rolled his eyes upward, “making all the fuss?”

  “Honestly, Patrick,” Miss Spry finally said. “Isn’t it obvious? Someone is interceding on his behalf. Get his girlfriend to stop praying for him, and He will stop protecting him. Do I have to do your job for you?”

  Mr. Clerk flushed angrily. “Of course not. I know what I’m doing, despite what you two think!”

  Miss Spry’s eyes went hot. “Are you being insubordinate?”

  He withered under her glare. “No.”

  “Then I suggest that you get back to work and figure out another meeting.” Her voice lowered an octave, becoming dangerous. “Right now.”

  Mr. Clerk set his teacup aside and retreated from the office with his head down and his shoulders slumped. He looked like a little kid on the playground who hadn’t found the courage to stand up to the bully.