Smitten With Death

by Sharon Saracino

  “Hey, Buddy,” I called out, tearing myself from Kane’s arms and motioning the silent kid over. “C’mon, kid, let’s go home.”

  In less than a heartbeat, he limped in my direction as though he’d spent a lifetime awaiting an invitation, and threw himself into my arms with a relieved sob. Comforting him was somewhat awkward since he topped me by several inches, but I raised up on my toes and gave it my best shot. Finally, with a phlegmy sniffle, he picked up his head and dragged a tattered sleeve across his face.

  “No one has ever cared what happened to me. After everything I’ve done, why do you?”

  “Well, I have to admit, I didn’t at first. But someone helped me to see things differently.” I glanced furtively at Kane who still hadn’t taken his eyes off of me. “I realize you’re the potential bringer of doom, but now that I’ve gotten over wanting to strangle you, I see a kid who just wants to be happy. I guess maybe, I even see a little bit of someone I used to be. Don’t get excited, the resemblance is hardly worth mentioning. Anyway, I guess everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply, but the look in his eyes, at least the one behind the missing lens that I could see, said more than those two innocuous words could ever convey.

  “Um, Logan?” The words were soft, as deep and smooth as melted chocolate, and spoken so close to my ear that Kane’s warm breath heated my cheek like a caress. With one arm still wrapped around Buddy, I squeezed my eyes closed and swallowed hard, bracing myself for the certain rejection sure to be forthcoming as a result of my unguarded confession.

  “Kane, can we just forget it? I didn’t mean to say it, okay? You know me, always leaping before I look…I’m working on it, really. I mean, I…”

  “You didn’t mean it?” His voice was no longer soft and no longer caressing my cheek.

  “Of course I meant it. I always mean what I say, I just don’t always mean to say it. Please note the difference.”

  “Don’t feel too badly, Logan, I already knew.”

  “You…already knew I loved you?” I choked out, strangled by mortification as Buddy slipped free of my arms and stepped back after a worried glance over my head at the Grim Reaper. Had I really been so transparent? The ass grabbing…it had to have been the ass grabbing that gave me away.

  “No, I already knew my mother was bat shit crazy. Why do you think I didn’t want you down here with me? Hell, I’ve got as much baggage as the lost and found at La Guardia.”

  “You think I don’t have baggage? You have met me, right? Everyone’s got baggage, Kane. I need an entire airplane hangar for mine.”

  “Well, okay, so we agree everyone’s got baggage. I guess it’s just a question of who you trust to help you unpack.” He narrowed his eyes, taking in both our surroundings and our audience before returning his attention to me and blowing out a breath. “This isn’t exactly how I planned this, but are you willing to swap luggage, Logan? Because as long as we’re spilling our guts, I guess I should tell you, I love you, too.”

  Chapter 19

  When it comes to Murphy’s Law, I am frequently mistaken for the poster child. Case in point. According to Murphy’s Eighth Law, if everything seems to be going well, you have obviously overlooked something. In my defense, a declaration of love closely followed by the Grim Reaper’s tongue down my throat is enough to make me forget my name, let alone the fact I was standing at the entrance to Hell with the Prince of Darkness observing the entire exchange from mere feet away. I’m not sure how long I might have remained obliviously content under the brain scrambling influence of Morgan’s skillful kisses and my escalating hormones if the applause hadn’t broken into my concentration.

  Is it still considered applause if only one person is clapping?

  “Well played, Ms. Logan.” Kane’s tongue returned to its normal anatomical position in his mouth before he slowly pressed a soft kiss to my lips. As I unwound my legs from his waist and slid down the front of him like an ungainly pole dancer, I felt Kane’s hard length punching out the front of his jeans against my stomach. Clearly, Satan wasn’t the only one giving me a standing ovation.

  Hey, we were having a moment. Don’t judge me.

  I favored my Hellhound with a brilliant smile before turning in his arms to face the Devil. “But there is still the matter of Buddy’s future to discuss.”

  “What’s to discuss?” I flicked a glance at Buddy who began shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “The contract expired, Cerberus broke the rules, and we’re here to take him home. Seems pretty cut and dried to me.” Satan stepped closer bringing us nearly nose to nose.

  In case you were worried, I’m happy to report the sad lack of oral hygiene in these parts did not extend to the Leader of the Banned.

  As he lowered his voice and his breath fanned my face, I caught the warm, spicy aroma of black licorice. I’m personally not a huge fan of black licorice, but it was a definite improvement over the Eau de Butt my admirer Fluffy had been rocking while humping my leg.

  “Listen, I can’t just let the kid loose on the mortal world without someone taking responsibility. Despite what you might think, I’ll be happy to see the back of him. Every single one of my dancers is susceptible, and he’s been screwing with my chorus line every night. It’s exhausting. I choreograph the Can-Can, and in the middle of the show they start doing the Macarena. Something’s got to be done with him, and he’s already failed at nearly every role he’s been placed in. Of course, we haven’t tried a Retriever yet.”

  There was a speculative gleam in those burning red eyes as he kept his gaze fixed on me. Me? Train Buddy as a Retriever? Hell, I didn’t even know what I was doing. I bit my lip and glanced at Morgan. He shrugged helpfully. Well, the sight of his broad, muscular shoulders helped, his complete lack of response did not. Dropping my head, I planted my hands on my hips, and stared at the dusty toes of my kick ass boots while I wracked my brain for a solution. And then it hit me. Of course everything still depended on Buddy, and wasn’t that a comforting thought?

  “Hey, Buddy.” I motioned him over. He didn’t limp over quite as quickly this time and he gave the Midnight Idol a wide berth, carefully keeping Kane and me between him and Satan. “What would you like to do?”

  “Huh?” He gaped with of the most impressive deer-in-the-headlights expressions I’d ever seen. Wucking fonderful.

  “Well, you’ve apprenticed in a number of supernatural positions. Have any of them appealed to you? Was there any particular one you think maybe you’d want to pursue?” His lips compressed into a thin line, and he slowly shook his head from side to side. All righty then.

  “Well, Mr. Newton suggests maybe I could train you as a Retriever. Would you like that?”

  “No offense, Ms. Logan, but I really don’t want to be a Retriever. Besides, I’m not all that sure you even know what you’re doing.”

  Well, wasn’t he a perceptive little shit?

  Clearly he was wise beyond his years to realize the Retriever’s Guide According to Max Logan was not his best bet. So what was left? He still had a psychosocial developmental stage to master, and I uneasily suspected that even after all we’d been through already, Satan was not going to release him easily unless we came up with a plan.

  “Kane, a little help here?” I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

  “You’re doing fine, Logan.” While his easy trust gave me the warm fuzzies, I couldn’t help thinking slightly less faith and a few helpful suggestions would not be unwelcome.

  “Buddy, do you like being the Zombie King?” Kane asked, finally.

  “I hate it,” the kid mumbled miserably. “Do you think accidentally controlling the minds and actions of your classmates when you’re mad or upset makes high school any easier? Do you think it impresses a girl when you take her parking at the cemetery and corpses pop up around the car offering to serve you? Well, it doesn’t. It sucks.”

  “You took a girl parking at the cemetery?” Surpassing my surprise that
he’d gotten a date in the first place was my conviction I had to find him a new make-out spot. I was definitely not up for playing Whack-A-Mole in the graveyard every time he got lucky.

  “Focus, Ms. Logan.”

  Why did people keep saying that to me?

  “Since you’re the first ones who’ve ever even bothered to ask, I’ll tell you. I don’t want to be the Zombie King. And I may not have any idea yet what I do want to do, but I do know exactly what I want to be. I want to be normal. At least for a while, maybe until I’m old enough to figure it all out. Can you make that happen?”

  “You can’t change who and what you are, son,” Morgan said, dropping a hand on Buddy’s thin shoulder. “Not really.”

  “Well, if I can’t then why does everyone keep trying to make me?” the kid snapped bitterly, but his eyes glinted suspiciously as he looked up at the Grim Reaper.

  “Because there’s no one like you to teach you the ropes, and they’re afraid of what you can do,” I said thoughtfully. Just like me. I’d been so angry about being lied to, but in retrospect, my parents had done me an incredible favor. They’d loved me enough to give me normal. Buddy had spent a lifetime surrounded by people who were more concerned with their own interests than his. I rubbed my palm absently over my sternum to soothe the ache I felt there. Seventeen years of loveless loneliness learning that even negative attention was preferable to no attention. He deserved better. Didn’t everyone? I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. All these freakin’ emotional revelations and learning experiences were giving me a migraine.

  “You’re sure?” I took a deep breath. “You really would give up your powers?”

  “In a heartbeat,” he replied firmly, straightening his shoulders and appearing more certain and mature than I’d ever seen him. “I might still be a screwed up teenager, but at least I’d be the same as every other screwed up teenager, right?”

  “Right, but that’s generally a temporary malady and to the best of my knowledge has never caused a Zombie Apocalypse. At least I’ve never read about it. So how does it work?” My head swiveled back and forth between Satan and Morgan. Judging by the blank expressions on both their faces, they were not following my train of thought. Clearly it was one of those singular occasions when my brain actually functions in advance of my mouth.

  What? It happens.

  “Sorry?” Morgan’s high smooth brow pleated in confusion.

  “Binding his powers. How do we neutralize the Zombie King and take him off the supernatural radar so everyone leaves him alone until he’s ready?” Satan opened his mouth and I rounded on him like a bear protecting her cub. “And don’t even try to tell me it can’t be done. I spent thirty-five years with no one the wiser, including me, so why can’t Buddy?”

  “Beautiful and brilliant, too. You really are the total package, Logan,” Morgan laughed.

  “Preaching to the choir, Reaper. You may reward me later at which time I might allow you a glimpse of my other hidden talents.” I offered him a slow flirtatious wink before turning my attention back to the Lord of the Underworld. “So spill, Wayne. What’s it going to take?”

  “Well, first of all, both I and my, er counterpart...” He glanced upward nervously. “Both of us would have to approve it. Clearly, He would have no problem with it. I mean, let’s be honest, a Zombie Apocalypse is more in keeping with my bucket list than His.”

  “Okay, so if His approval is a given, then there’s no problem, right? Just wave your magic pitchfork or whatever it is you do and let’s get on with it.”

  “His approval is a given, mine is not.”

  “Whatchoo talkin’ bout, Beelzebub?”

  “Oh, that’s very good, Ms. Logan. Reaper, be sure to bring her down for Seventies Sitcom Week. She’ll be awesome.” Satan leaned in close, too close.

  Can we spell personal space, boys and girls?

  “Your uncanny ability to channel child stars aside, don’t forget who you’re talking to, young lady. Do you have even an ounce of self-preservation rattling around in that pretty head of yours?”

  Satan thought my head was pretty, too? I was having a banner day. I momentarily wondered if I should ask what he thought of my ass and then decided if the low growl clawing its way out of Kane’s chest was any indication, I should probably put a cork in my curiosity. But I digress. And yes, I had an ounce of self-preservation, in fact, most days I had at least a good two liter bottle of it sloshing around somewhere, but this wasn’t about saving me, this was about saving Buddy. Satan’s too close face began to morph and waver. Suddenly he didn’t resemble Wayne Newton at all. Well, shit! Turns out Satan really is scary enough to curl a bald man’s hair. Who knew? Sister Myrtle Elephant would be so relieved. I took a quick step back and crashed into Morgan’s chest.

  “Knock it off, Luc. You know you won’t touch her because it will piss me off, and that in turn, is sure to make Celina very unhappy. I think we can all agree that is never pretty,” Morgan growled.

  “Well, well, well, another country heard from. I wondered how long you were going to stand there like an impotent prick and let your woman do all the thinking.”

  “You know exactly how much of a prick I can be, and I’ve got nothing to prove to you or anyone here. On any level. Logan doesn’t need me to speak for her and she knows I’ve got her back. So how about you knock off the Hey-look-at-me-I’m-the-big-scary-Devil crap and get to the point.”

  “I just want to be sure Ms. Logan understands that Wayne Newton, like everything else here is thinly-contrived artifice. In general, Hell is not a fun place, and I am not a warm and fuzzy guy.” He straightened away from me, and in the blink of an eye, the full-blown illusion was back.

  I sure wished I could do that. I’d be looking like the tall, cool blonde in that French perfume commercial all day long.

  “Correction. I am warm. Actually, I’m downright hot. But fuzzy? Yeah, not so much. But Kane does have a point. My underworld is a much nicer place when his mother is a happy camper. I do see the logic in binding the kid, and I may even agree it’s the best solution, but I have an image to uphold, you dig? My cooperation requires a sacrifice.”

  “Of course it does,” I muttered. What in the name of black cherry ice cream made me think anything about this whole fiasco would be simple? Of course, maybe he’d want a pound of flesh. Considering I was fully committed to initiating wild monkey sex with the Grim Reaper after we got home, maybe I could persuade him to take an extra ten? “What do you want?”

  “Well.” Satan stroked Wayne Newton’s chin and narrowed his eyes. “I strongly suspect my Guardian will be out of commission for a while by the time my darling wife is through with him. I’m going to need a temp, and the employment agencies down here are so unreliable. I need someone with a bit of experience. Morgan, you should do nicely.”

  “Fine,” Kane said tersely.

  “No way. I won’t leave you here,” I babbled at the same time, my eyes widening in horror as I spun to face Morgan. My words didn’t come out nearly as forcefully as planned. Hyperventilation has that effect on me.

  Kane buried his hands in my hair, soothing his thumbs along my jaw, and touching his forehead to mine. The look in his eyes bore no resemblance to the panicked expression I knew I must be sporting. If anything, he looked slightly amused.

  “Baby, it’s fine. I was born here, remember? Couple of days, a week tops, and I’ll be home. Celina won’t kill Harvey, she’ll just make him wish for death. He’ll shift, he’ll heal, and the debt will be paid. Right, Luc?”

  “Sure. Probably.”

  Kane stared into my eyes as though he could communicate his reassurance directly into my heart. I wanted to believe him, I did, but this was Hell, and Satan himself had just informed me nothing was as it seemed. I curled my fingers into the front of his shirt and drew him even closer, wanting to crawl right inside and stay there. I’d found someone to give my heart to, someone who actually got me, only to have him taken away. Again.
It wasn’t fair. I hadn’t been able to save Roger, but this wasn’t death. This was politics. And when politics are involved, there’s always potential for a filibuster. This time I was fighting for what was mine.

  Chapter 20

  “Are you a gambling man, Wayne?” I laid my hand on Morgan’s cheek for just a moment before pulling away and spinning back to face the Devil. I might not win, but I had to try.

  “I’ve been known to toss the dice on occasion,” Satan shrugged with a grin. “Are you proposing a wager, Ms. Logan?”

  “Um, yes. Yes, I am.” Dice? Well, I didn’t know anything about dice, but I did know something about cards. And if I was wrong? My odds were still fifty-fifty at worst. It was certainly better than nothing.

  “Logan, what do you think you’re doing?” Morgan’s tone sounded amused, and his big hands dropped onto my shoulders and began a slow, rhythmic stroking as he turned me back to face him. Frankly, all this rotating back and forth between the Grim Reaper and the Prince of Darkness was making me dizzy. “Take Buddy, go home, and get him settled. That alone should keep you busy for a while. There’s more room at my place, so grab your cat and wait for me there if you want. Really, this is not a big deal.”

  Moisture pricked the back of my lids. Leaving the man I loved in the afterlife felt painfully familiar, and no amount of reassurance could completely assuage the fear.

  Yeah, I know you thought I was a tough mofo, but you were probably fooled by that big box of crazy I carry around. And the leather.

  I sucked in a deep, shaky breath and commenced rapid blinking.

  Have I mentioned I don’t do tears?

  Not in public, and most definitely not in front of Wayne Newton and the Sin City South chorus line. I felt something warm and wet trickle down my cheek and resigned myself to my impending mortification. Perhaps I’d given myself too much credit.

  Tell me this surprises you.

  Apparently, I did do tears. In public and in front of Wayne Newton and the Sin City South chorus line. I hate when that happens.