Smitten With Death

by Sharon Saracino

  “Celina killed her first two husbands, one of whom was my father. While he probably deserved it, to be honest I’ve always harbored a little resentment.”

  “I can imagine.” Of course, the concept fell so far outside my sphere of possibility, I absolutely couldn’t, but I was hoping to impress him with my well-developed sense of empathy.

  What? Practice makes perfect, right?

  “Hence the reason I don’t visit often. Well, that and the fact my mother is completely certifiable.”

  Well, isn’t that special?

  My palms were sweating so profusely by now my hand would have slipped right out of his if he weren’t currently crushing my fingers. It was a tiny bit uncomfortable, but the pain kept me anchored, both to him and to reality. Honestly, I wasn’t so sure that second part was a good thing since my current reality consisted of skipping down the Highway to Hell hand in hand with the ass-tastick Grim Reaper whose mother was a psychotic sociopath married to the Root of All Evil cleverly disguised as Mr. Entertainment surrounded by Cerberus and the Seekers. None of whom were particular friends of mine. Throw in the fact I was doing this all this in the name of rescuing a screwed up kid I wasn’t even sure I liked, and this was quickly becoming the biggest too-much-shit-not-enough-shovels day I’d ever had.

  Chapter 18

  My introduction to the Midnight Idol went marginally better than the one to his blushing bride. Perhaps because I’d had a few minutes to gather my wits, or perhaps because he really did bear a striking resemblance to Wayne Newton. Well, with the exception of the glowing red eyes. Still, when Satan took my hand and belted out the refrain from a 1965 ballad, it was difficult to feel all that threatened. Kane’s tense stance, however, warned me not to be lulled into a false sense of security by a couple of off key phrases and buckets of charm. Celina had reattached herself to her husband’s arm, and the entire length of his left side, and I was sad to note that even the petulant pout didn’t detract from the woman’s stunning glamour. It should be illegal for bat shit crazy to look so good.

  “I assume you know why we’re here?” Kane snatched my hand from Satan’s and tugged me closer to his side.

  “I wouldn’t be Wayne Newton if I didn’t,” Lucifer replied easily. “Of course, there’s the pesky little matter of the contract.”

  “That’s right, cousin,” Cerberus added his growling voice to the mix. “Or had you forgotten the kid signed on the dotted line?”

  Oh great! So now, in addition to the threat of torture, damnation, and imminent death, we had legal issues to contend with. While I might be the reigning Queen of Useless Knowledge on a wide variety of trivial topics, my understanding of contract law and the legal system in general was pretty much nil. I had difficulty absorbing anything that couldn’t hold my interest, and frankly, everything related to legalities bored me. Well, except for Judge Julie. I mean, who isn’t equally awed and entertained by her impressive grasp and implementation of civil statutes?

  I shot a worried glance at Kane. He was nodding sagely while fighting unsuccessfully to keep the corners of his lips from twitching.

  “I wouldn’t be the Grim Reaper if I didn’t know about the contract, Lucif…um, Wayne. However, according to my sources, it was a temporary contract that expired months ago, and the kid’s been here against his will ever since. Isn’t that right, Harvey?”

  All heads swiveled in Cerberus’, aka Harvey’s, direction. The Seekers swirled around their leader protectively as his eyes widened and his smooth, olive complexion mutated to a shade that strongly resembled pea soup green. Huh! It wasn’t his color either. Go figure.

  “Is this true, Harvey?” the Prince of Darkness asked in a quiet, conversational tone belied by the dark flush creeping up his neck and suffusing his face. Curiously, he resembled Wayne Newton less and less as the tense moments ticked by. “I distinctly recall passing an edict that all contracts entered into with mortals were to be soul-binding and eternal.”

  “Well, I didn’t think that applied to the kid. I mean, after all, he isn’t completely mortal, Boss,” Cerberus stammered lamely. Beads of perspiration had popped out on his wide forehead, banding together to trickle down his face and drip from the end of his long Roman nose. He didn’t appear nearly as attractive as he had the last time we’d met. I guess some people just don’t wear desperation well.

  “I don’t pay you to think, Harv. Let’s take this inside,” Satan ordered harshly. He laid a hand over Celina’s where it rested on his blue satin sequined sleeve, and began to turn away toward the brightly lit strip.

  “No,” Kane replied just as harshly. “The kid’s been through enough. Let’s just get this settled here and now.”

  The Devil turned back slowly and arched a dark brow at the Grim Reaper as Celina put a hand to her lips and giggled inappropriately.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, if we go inside and Logan gets an eyeful of that complimentary all-you-can-eat dessert buffet, this could take all night. You’ve got a show to do. It’d be a shame to keep your eager audience waiting. Far be it from me to screw with your schedule. So how about we just take the kid and go?”

  I knew Kane was using my addiction to all things carbohydrate as an excuse. I wanted to be insulted, but I couldn’t. Facts are facts. A complimentary all-you-can-eat dessert buffet? Yeah, he was right. I’d probably set up a tent. Wayne Newton drank me in from head to toe with a heated expression that did nothing to further endear me to his psycho bride.

  “Well.” Mr. Entertainment leered. “If Ms. Logan is as obsessed with empty calories as you claim, she must have an overactive metabolism to maintain that figure.” Metabolism? Moi? I straightened my shoulders, stuck out my cha-chas, and considered whether I should make Satan my new best friend.

  Does that make me bad?

  “Fine. Let’s settle it. Bring the boy,” Satan called out, snapping his obscenely ringed fingers in the air.

  There was a commotion in the back of the crowd, and then Buddy appeared, looking pathetic, defeated, and much the worse for wear. His clothes were filthy and tattered. One lens of his coke bottle glasses was as crackled as a spider-web and the other was missing entirely. His greasy hair hung lank and limp around his gaunt shoulders and half covered his face. He was hustled to the front of the assembly by two athletic men with smooth, sculpted chests peeking flirtatiously between the lapels of identical white satin suits, topped by silver marabou trimmed capes. A charming retinue of white baby tiger cubs toddled awkwardly in their wake. With a low bow and a synchronized cape flourish, the men, wearing matching smiles, presented Buddy. Then they spun away, taking the tigers with them and leaving the kid standing small and alone in the empty space between the Devil and his guard dog.

  “Holy night! Do you know who that is?” I gasped. I’d always wanted to see their show live. The animals, the props, the lights…the magic! Yes, their teeth really were that white. Of course, anyone’s smile looks brighter against a good spray tan, but still.

  “Do you think maybe we can…?”

  “No.”

  My shoulders slumped. Well, all righty then.

  “Who are they when it isn’t Vegas Week?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  At the sound of Kane’s voice, Buddy picked up his head and squinted around, his eyes widening in shocked recognition as he spied the Grim Reaper and me. A barely perceptible glimmer of hope flared in his eyes, and my heart caved in. Kane was right. Whatever his faults, whatever his powers, at this moment, he was simply a terrified kid, and we were the best shot he had.

  Can we spell poor bastard, boys and girls?

  “If I may, your Royal Evilness?” I arched a brow in Satan’s direction. He raised his chin regally, looked down his nose at me as though assessing whether or not I was being sarcastic—which, let’s be honest, under most circumstances would not have been outside the realm of possibility—and then nodded shortly. Kane groaned under his breath as I released his hand and stepped forward. Yea
h, I doubtless would regret this unwelcome burst of intuitiveness, but I found the silent pleading in Buddy’s eyes, combined with Cerberus’ leather clad ass squirming in terror and uncertainty, somehow inspiring.

  “I think we can all agree whether or not Buddy is mortal is just semantics, Harvey,” I began in what I hoped was a confident sounding voice. “Of course, since I’ve just met him and I can’t say for sure, I suppose it’s entirely possible Mr. Newton harbors sufficient affection for you in the cockles of his black heart to allow your blatant disregard of his orders to go unpunished.”

  Although given Satan’s furious expression and the flames erupting from his fingertips, coupled with the rank smell of fear emanating from Cerberus, I thought it unlikely. Kane covertly tugged at the back of my jacket, no doubt hoping I’d take the hint and simply shut my mouth. But, subtlety and I have never been friends and I had an ace up my leather sleeve. Cerberus might still find a way to ingratiate himself with Satan, so I decided to put my money on Celina. Hell might hath no fury like a woman scorned—well, unless she’s menstruating and hungry, too, in which case you should probably just kill yourself—but, do you know what’s even more dangerous? Getting between a crazy bitch and her pups. And if I was wrong? Well, we wouldn’t be in any deeper shit than we were already. I hoped.

  Hey, everyone has a gift. Rationalization is mine. Tell me this surprises you.

  “Is there a point to your tired monologue, Ms. Logan?” Celina inquired in a bored voice. “My Pookie has a matinee at eight, and it’s very bad form to keep an audience waiting.”

  Her thick, heavily mascara-ed lashes tangled like spider’s legs as she lowered them and huffed a breath on her ridiculously long acrylic nails before buffing them on the rhinestone strap of her push up bra. I was pretty sure that might do more harm than good, but hey, I’m no cosmetologist so what do I know?

  “Actually…” Taking advantage of my momentary fascination with Mrs. Satan’s manicure, Kane finally succeeded in hooking his fingers in the hem of my jacket, and yanked me backwards against him. I gave him kudos for the restraint he showed in not simply slapping his palm over my mouth in the process. I also gave myself kudos for not throwing myself into his arms and hiding my face in his chest while pretending I was on a sandy beach with hot cabana boys and endless cocktails. Instead, I kept my attention firmly fixed on Satan and the Sociopath, schooling my features into a friendly and pleasantly expectant expression.

  “As I was saying,” I continued after tipping my head back and favoring the Grim Reaper with a fierce frown. “I can certainly understand why your husband might tender leniency in Harvey’s case. I mean, he is the undisputed Guardian of this southern piece of paradise, after all. But frankly, Celina, the depth of your capacity for forgiveness astounds me.”

  “Me?” She blinked at me blankly. “What does Harvey’s contract with the Zombie King have to do with me?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t talking about the contract, I was talking about your children.” I paused portentously. Kane’s massive chest vibrated against my back as a low rumble of laughter worked its way up into his throat. He barked out a cough to hide it. Seriously, he barked. His grip on my shoulders relaxed, telling me he’d figured out where I was going with this and he wasn’t going to interfere. My heart swelled. He trusted me. While I never leave home without a pocketful of crazy, his mother almost certainly had to cart hers around in an eighteen-wheeler. I was counting on the cray-cray, and he knew it. Perceptive doggie.

  “I mean, it was bad enough he tore Morgan to shreds, leaving all those horrible scars. Okay, sure they healed, so I can see how you might be willing to overlook it. Of course, his ear will never be the same…”

  “What?” Celina hissed as she released her husband’s arm and tottered forward on those obscenely high heels to reach over my head and grasp Morgan’s chin. He didn’t resist as she dug in her nails and wrenched his head to the side for a clear unobstructed view of the mangled ear. “When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m a big boy, Mother,” he replied calmly, capturing her hand and pressing his lips to her fingers. “I hardly need to hide behind your skirts. Well, I mean if you, you know, had skirts.”

  “I have skirts, dear, but I don’t bring them out until Fabulous Fifties Week. I’m all about the crinoline.” She turned back to her husband. “Darling, I simply will not stand for that mangy mutt laying his filthy paws on my son.”

  “Morgan gives as good as he gets, my love,” the Dark Lord responded amicably, his Wayne Newton persona now firmly back in place and a faint smile shadowing his lips under the pencil thin mustache. “He doesn’t need you to fight his battles for him.”

  “You’re so right, Mr. Newton. Morgan definitely can take care of himself.” I smiled coldly at Cerberus, almost feeling sorry for him. Almost. “But poor Alia…I mean…oops, did I say that out loud?”

  “Alia?” Celina’s voice dropped three octaves and dripped icicles as her stare bored a hole into the middle of Cerberus’ forehead. “You dared to lay a finger on my daughter?”

  “Well, not so much a finger as a fist if I remember correctly,” I offered helpfully, now that I’d gone and—oh, dear—let the dog out of the bag. “And then there was that whole kidnapping episode. Oh, and the leash. Of course, I was only witness to a small part of it. As to what else may have happened while he held her against her will, I guess you’d have to ask Harvey for the gory details.”

  Celina’s posture stiffened ominously, and her entire body trembled with rage. She raised an arm in front of her and pointed her outstretched index finger at Cerberus like the Ghost of Christmas Past leading Scrooge through the cemetery. The Seekers’ agitation escalated to such a degree it was impossible to differentiate one from the other until, as a single great black cloud, they zipped away in the direction of the nearest casino. Apparently, their loyalty to Cerberus didn’t extend to standing between him and Celina. Abandoned by his minions, all remaining color left the Guardian’s face, and a dark stain appeared in the crotch of his leathers and slowly spread. Well, what do you know? Silly me, I’d assumed he was housebroken.

  “You. Will. Pay.” It was Celina’s perfect rosebud mouth which moved, but it released a frightening and unrecognizable voice from some deep, dark place inside her.

  “Oh dear, now you’ve done it,” the Devil drawled mildly and without a trace of regret. “You’ve opened the box and let the crazy out.” Cerberus glanced around wildly, and after a moment of apparent indecision, turned tail and took off in the direction of Main Street, Sin City South.

  “Luc,” Celina whined in a petulant little girl voice. “Some help, please? I can’t possibly hunt in these shoes.”

  Hmm, let’s see, was that personality number three or four?

  “As you wish, my love.” Satan waved his hand, and the air around his wife shimmered like the heat rising off an Arizona highway in August. When the waves cleared, Celina was rocking a pair of pink spandex leggings with a matching sports bra and running shoes. Her blonde hair was secured in a high ponytail with a perky pink bow that bounced jauntily with every movement of her head. I was sad to note pink definitely was her color. Naturally. She skipped over to Lucifer like a giddy schoolgirl and planted a big wet one on his cheek as his arm came around her and hugged her against his side.

  “I’ll be home before the midnight show, darling.” She turned her attention to her son. “Sorry, I have to run, but it was lovely to see you, sweetheart. Give Alia my love. Come back and visit us for Eighties Hair Band week…and bring your girlfriend. I like her. She’s got moxie.” With a wiggling finger wave to us both, she slipped from her husband’s embrace and took off at an easy jog in the direction Cerberus had taken. Kane’s arms came around me, and I sagged against him, releasing a breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding.

  “I love you, Morgan. But, while I freely acknowledge my family can be the happiest group of crazies this side of the loony bin, I’m sorry to inform you that you
r mother is a flipping fruit loop.” He spun me around so quickly my eyes crossed. Not an attractive look, I know. Gripping my shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, he leaned down to peer into my face while I concentrated on refocusing his two heads into one beautifully familiar face which was wearing a most peculiar expression.

  “What did you say?”

  “I, uh…I said your mother is cuckoo…you know, like the handcrafted clocks from the Black Forest in Germany? Oh sure, she’s beautiful—I mean I see where you and Alia get your looks—but really, she’s a few doughnuts short of a dozen, isn’t she? I’m so sorry, Morgan. Then again, the first step toward forgiveness is understanding the other person isn’t responsible if she’s bat shit crazy, right? Maybe you shouldn’t hold your father’s murder against her.”

  I patted the bulge of his biceps sympathetically, as though focusing attention on his mother’s mental incapacities might distract him from my own moment of temporary insanity. Forkity, fork, fork, fork! The L word. I’d said the L word! And I was pretty sure it was too late to pass it off as a pop culture reference to the pay channel television drama of the same name. Those lakes of fire must be closer than I thought. Clearly, while I concentrated on tweaking the crazy, those fires insidiously fried my brain. The heat currently scalding my face was proof.

  “Logan…” he began, his face softening. My heart pounded painfully. A thick knot formed in my throat, making it impossible to swallow as I realized that while I hadn’t meant to say it, I couldn’t say I didn’t mean it. Oh shit, I so desperately didn’t want to hear the it’s not you it’s me speech. Blah, blah, blah…think of you as a sister, blah, blah…we’ll always have Sin City South, blah. Nope, not now, not ever, and definitely not in the presence of a much too interested Lucifer and company.