Smitten With Death

by Sharon Saracino

  “Yes, it is a big deal, dammit! I’m hot and hungry. And not in a good way. You can’t just wave a piece of chocolate lava cake with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream under a girl’s nose and then refuse to give her a fork. It’s cruel and inhumane. I’m an instant gratification kind of girl. Besides, this is Satan we’re talking about. Is there anyone more likely to strategically redirect the truth?”

  “Do you trust me, Logan?”

  “Of course I trust you. It’s Wayne Newton I have a tiny problem with. How do I know his ass isn’t just sucking buttermilk?”

  “Go home,” he laughed, thumbing a tear from my cheek. “I know what this is about, but I’m not dead, just temporarily detained. I will come back to you. And I promise you can have all the chocolate lava cake with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream you want. I’ll bring you the whole damn fork drawer. Deal?”

  “Real whipped cream? Not that fake non-dairy product that can double as modeling clay when it sits too long?” I sniffed, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my face in his chest. “’Cause that doesn’t, you know, work for me at all.”

  “With sprinkles,” he promised solemnly. Sprinkles? Saints preserve us, the man truly was my other half. I knuckled the moisture from my eyes and tried to smile.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to win you in a game of cards? I mean, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands over the last year and the Internet is my friend. Sure, some card designs are harder to read than others, but none are cheat proof, and I’ve memorized every configuration there is. I can do this, Morgan. This is Hell, after all. What do you think the chances are the gambling is on the up and up?”

  “Slim to none. And while I’m equally impressed and appalled by your unexpected grasp of the illegal and underhanded, no matter how good you are, you can’t win. Trying to beat the Devil at his own game is an exercise in futility. Now, take Buddy and get on the boat. Go back the way we came and hang a left at the clearing. There’s a small pond there you can use as a portal.”

  “But what if Cerberus…” I was stalling, and we both knew it. Still, he seemed to understand my desperate need for reassurance whether or not he considered it reasonable.

  “Thanks to your clever strategy, my cousin is now in the doghouse, both literally and figuratively. The only reason I let him get the upper hand the last time was because I didn’t know where he’d stashed my sister. You really need to have some faith in my abilities, Logan. Anyway, don’t worry about him. You put him right in the crosshairs of my mother’s cray-dar, and I suspect he’ll be keeping a very low profile for a while.”

  I gazed deeply into those amazing emerald eyes, searching for even the slightest bit of subterfuge or uncertainty. I didn’t find any. Maybe he was right and this was just a speed bump in the road to our happily-ever-after. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, and by the time I got Buddy situated, everything would be back to normal, at least our version of it, and he would be home.

  Yeah, that crap again.

  I decided to pull up my big girl panties—mostly because I didn’t have much of a choice—and believe him. I pulled them up figuratively of course, because I wasn’t wearing any, since the ass-tastick fit of my leather pants required me to go full commando in order to avoid VPL’s.

  That’s Visible Panty Lines for those of you unacquainted with the peculiar afterlife affinity for acronyms. You’re welcome.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I sighed. “I’ll take Buddy, get on the boat, find the clearing, whip out the fugly necklace, and jump in the pond. I’ll set up camp at your place, re-enroll the kid in school, and find him a tutor so he can catch up in time to graduate. Hell, I’ll even talk to Bob Grubly about taking him back part-time at the Supersave. Happy?”

  “Yeah, I am,” he smiled. “I love you, Logan. You’re going to make a great mother someday.”

  And there it was. The big honking arrow floating just outside my happy waiting to burst my bubble. I would never be a mother, great or otherwise. I gasped as my heart, which had been so filled with possibility just moments ago, suddenly shriveled into a hard, painful lump. The truth smacked me in the head moments later, and it hurt almost as much. I wretched my gaze away from Kane’s, looking around wildly until I located Wayne Newton.

  “You said every binding requires a sacrifice. That’s what they gave up, isn’t it? My parents. The price of my binding was my fertility.”

  The answer was there in Wayne Newton’s intense red eyes without him uttering a single word. It made perfect sense, of course. They’d had to bind my powers. How could my father, a human, have any hope of raising a supernatural child alone? And since I’d been clueless, how would I? But understanding the reasoning didn’t prevent the disappointment of every negative test, every failed treatment, and every little pee stick that had never turned blue from rushing back. It didn’t undo being poked, prodded, and progesteroned to death only to discover I was the defective one, I was the piece of the pregnancy puzzle that didn’t fit. How easy it had been to concentrate on my superhero superpowers and fabulous attire and conveniently forget the simple truth that I was flawed, I was broken. I’d always believed Roger deserved better. And Morgan did, too.

  “Listen,” I turned back to Morgan but kept my eyes plastered to his shirtfront. No way did I want to deal with the disappointed expression I knew he must be wearing. “I should have told you. I mean, I wasn’t trying to hide it, exactly. I…well, it just never came up in conversation, you know? But now you know…well, I get that you didn’t realize what you were signing on for. Really, it’s fine. I’ll just take Buddy to my place. It’s closer to the Supersave anyway, and it’s in his old school district and…”

  “Don’t.”

  I hadn’t expected him to react with sunshine and rainbows, but the harsh anger in his voice took me by surprise. One arm hooked around my waist while the other hand gripped my chin painfully and forced my head back until I had no choice but to meet his eyes. They positively glowed, and not in a good way. His sculpted jaw was clenched tightly enough to crush bone, and his lips twisted in a teeth-baring snarl. Were those fangs?

  Well shit! Clearly, he was going to make a fine temporary Guardian of the Gates of Hell. Morgan Kane in full-on-pissed-mode was pretty freakin’ scary. Who knew?

  “Don’t you dare crawl inside yourself over this again and shut me out. The last time you did, it cost you your marriage and almost destroyed your soul in the bargain. I know it hurts. I know it’s important to you, and it totally sucks. I would fix it for you if I could, but do not presume to tell me how I feel about it. I fell in love with you, Logan. I didn’t fall in love with your damn uterus. So don’t even think about taking up self-sabotage as a hobby again, is that clear?”

  It would have been a heck of a lot clearer if I didn’t have the big black spots swimming in front of my eyes. Apparently, Morgan felt very strongly I should not allow my insecurities related to my inability to procreate to impact our relationship. Perhaps a bit too strongly. Even skirting the edges of consciousness, I knew he would never intentionally hurt me, but at the moment, he was six and a half feet of Hellhound in danger of squeezing the life out of my measly, just over five feet, until I concurred. Which I might have contemplated doing if I was capable of speech.

  “Can’t breathe,” I croaked and felt the welcome relief of air rushing into my starving lungs as he immediately loosened his hold. I sagged against him, sucking in oxygen and waiting for it to replenish my brain cells while I mulled over what he’d said. He refused to allow me to take up self-sabotage as a hobby again. Again.

  “How long have you known?” I hauled back and socked him in the gut. Yes, his stomach was as solid as steel. Yes, I’d forgotten to keep my thumb out. Yes, it hurt me far worse than it hurt him. At least I assumed it did since I winced and shook out my hand while he didn’t as much as flinch. Bad doggie.

  “Since you filled in for Alicia as the Superintendent of Spiritual Impedime
nt. I had to approve the temporary appointment, and it was in your file. Despite appearances at the Office of Central Processing, the afterlife records are actually quite accurate and well organized. Is your hand okay?”

  “Define okay. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

  “Like you said, it never came up. What exactly would you have had me say? Hi Logan, nice dress, how’s your barren womb?” He quirked a brow.

  “I suppose that might have been a little awkward,” I agreed with a small smile, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my cheek over his heart. “So if you already knew, why did you say I’d be a great mother someday?”

  “Because I believe it. The qualities required for motherhood aren’t dependent on a functional set of anatomical parts, Logan. You’re the self-proclaimed Internet queen. Haven’t you ever seen the viral video of the cat nursing the ducklings?”

  “Ducklings cannot suckle,” I snorted.

  Seriously, did he spend so much time severing souls that he never got a chance to watch cable?

  “Of course they can’t. That’s my point. Motherhood isn’t dependent upon the birth canal. The behavior comes from the heart regardless of the species or the biology involved.”

  “Roger said something like that once. He said people don’t have to share DNA to be a family,” I sighed. “It really doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

  He’d known before he ever met me. He’d had the choice, and he was still here. That should count for something, right? Maybe it was time to stop hating myself for everything I’m not and concentrate on being the best of what I am.

  “Roger was a smart guy. And no, it doesn’t. The only thing about it that bothers me is knowing how much it hurts you.”

  “Yeah it does, but maybe not quite as much as it used to.” I stretched up on my toes and pressed my lips to his chin. It was the best I could do from my limited height without further accommodation on his part.

  “Well, this is all just too tender and romantic for words, but I have an unguarded gate, and Charon’s been holding the boat for ten minutes. Let’s move it along shall we, boys and girls?” Satan clapped his hands together, and the small crowd scattered, presumably to prepare for the upcoming show. Having been privy to a taste of Lucifer’s vocal stylings on my arrival, I couldn’t say I’d be sorry to miss it.

  “A week, right? No longer.”

  I reached up for a handful of Morgan’s silky hair and tugged his lips down to mine. His hand slid around to the nape of my neck, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of my lips and then swept inside, seeking, stroking, plundering, as if he couldn’t get enough of me. I released his hair and raised a hand to his unshaven cheek, the stubble rasped against my fingertips, and his breath stuttered at my touch. He pulled me closer, hitching me up by the waist before tearing his mouth away with a pained groan while his heart hammered frantically against my palm. His breathing was as harsh and ragged as mine, and when he sighed, it sounded more like a growl vibrating in his chest.

  “A week,” he agreed hoarsely shifting his attention to the pier to where Buddy, clearly not willing to run the risk of being left behind, was already clambering aboard the boat. With every ounce of strength I possessed, I turned away and followed him up the ramp. Hanging over the rail, I dug in my pocket and tossed Kane what remained of my bag of chocolate covered beans. He caught them easily, and a grin split his face.

  “You might get hungry,” I called as we chugged away.

  “I don’t think they’re going to cut it,” he called back with a wink.

  “Remember, Kane…a week. This better not turn out to be a strategic redirection of the truth, or no chocolate lava cake with hot fudge sauce and whipped cream for you.”

  He threw his head back, and I think he laughed, but it was hard to tell. First of all because the oddly accelerated rate of speed at which we were traveling had already reduced Morgan and Wayne to two tiny specks on the shore, and secondly because the copious tears I was absolutely not crying in public were all but blinding me.

  Thankfully, I still gripped the rail as the boat bumped against the dock on the opposite shore, knocking me off-balance. Buddy, who’d remained beside me, yet sympathetically silent during my two point seven minute meltdown on the trip across the water, now reached for my hand and I took it with an appreciative, if watery, smile. I’m only human. All things considered, I suppose it was okay to have a meltdown as long as I didn’t unpack it and try to live there. Again. At least it wouldn’t take long to disembark. We were the only two passengers on board for the return trip. I guess Hell was the afterlife version of a roach motel. You checked in, but you didn’t check out. No surprise there. What was a surprise was the gorgeous pirate rocking braids, a red bandana, and a leather tricorn hat who stepped forward with sharply sculpted cheekbones and a flirtatious wink to lower the gangplank.

  “At yer service, love.”

  Chapter 21

  Almost two weeks later, after gently persuading Buddy to let us take him to a dermatologist, a competent orthodontist, and a good hair stylist, he was a different kid.

  Okay, so maybe it was Gail’s gentle persuasion, and my suggesting that it was time to stop rocking the dork, but Buddy and I understand one another and whatever works, you know?

  Besides, going shopping with Denise and trying the new contact lenses had been his idea. Needless to say, allowing Denise to get involved pretty much guaranteed the reclamation of Buddy Jenks was an expensive proposition. But I had all that money just sitting in the bank gathering interest anyway. Though I still wasn’t entirely comfortable spending it indiscriminately on myself, I discovered it didn’t bother me at all when Buddy was the beneficiary.

  He’d decided to enroll in the high school nearer Kane’s place where we were staying. I think he wanted a fresh start, and I couldn’t honestly say I blamed him. Surprisingly, Buddy is an incredibly bright peg as long as he’s not being forced into an ill-fitting hole. But the biggest change in Buddy had nothing to do with his appearance, the biggest change was in the kid, himself. With a family and a home, he belonged in a way he never had before, a way most of us take for granted. For perhaps the first time in his life, he was actually happy—well and truly happy. It was a beautiful thing.

  “I’m home.” The front door slammed me out of my reverie. I took a sip of coffee that didn’t approach the perfection of the Grim Reaper’s, and turned away from my contemplation of the gathering dusk beyond the kitchen window.

  “In here,” I called, seconds before Buddy skidded into the kitchen, tossing his hoodie over the back of one of the mismatched chairs, and his books on the farmhouse table.

  “Isn’t Dad coming in? How was work?”

  “Nah, he said to tell you he’ll see you Sunday. He’s going to teach me how to use power tools.”

  Oh, swell. I made a mental note to send in that health insurance application. Buddy flashed me a toothy grin, revealing the clear plastic braces that had replaced the purple monstrosities, and he scooted around me to grab a cola from the fridge. I shook my head at the sight of the baggy blue jeans hanging off his skinny butt below the hem of his plain black tee. Propping a hip against the counter across from me, he took a long swig. Denise had assured me that’s the way the kids wear them now. Who was I to question the Fashion Maven?

  “Try not to cut off anything you might have a future use for, m’kay?”

  While Bob Grubly had generously offered Buddy his old job at the Supersave, the former Zombie King had instantly bonded with the current Hardware King, and he’d jumped at a part-time position at Logan’s Hardware, instead. My father informed me he could use the help since I’d inconsiderately taken a sabbatical of indeterminate length on my return from Hell. But, I think the more likely reason was that after so many years of being the only testosterone producing member of our family, Dad was secretly delighted to have a boy in the mix.

  “Sure. Oh, by the way, Mr. Grubly stopped in today. He said to remind you his wife st
ill works over at the Curl Up and Dye, and they’re running a special on color this week. There’s a coupon in the paper.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well.” He raised his bottle to his lips to hide the smirk. “He said he couldn’t help noticing a few gray hairs when you came by to talk to him about my job.”

  “Is that right? Well, the next time you see Bob Grubly you tell him I said thanks, but no thanks. I simply believe in early holiday preparation, and I’m growing my own tinsel. Got it?”

  Soda spewed from Buddy’s nose. I yanked a handful of paper towels from the stainless steel holder and handed them over wordlessly. After wiping his face and mopping the floor, he crumpled the towels and shot a perfect three pointer into the trash.

  “Sure thing. So let’s see, today’s forecast is mouthy and sarcastic with a chance of rudeness. Obviously there’s been no word from Morgan,” he observed, while screwing the top on the bottle and putting it back in the fridge.

  I shook my head and turned away to rinse my coffee cup in the sink, then gripped the edge of the counter and dropped my chin to my chest. No, there’d been no word, and it was well into the second week. Every day I woke up in the morning, straightened the house, though it didn’t need it, and watched daytime TV until my brain turned to mush. After that, with nothing left to occupy me, I would creep into Morgan’s office and stare at the mirror as though I could will him to walk through it. And every day I saw nothing but a clear, crisp reflection of my own pale face and shadowed eyes in the glass.

  The first week hadn’t been so bad, but once the unofficial deadline had passed, the squirrels in my head started running wild, stirring up all of the old insecurities in a fight for my attention. I tossed them a handful of nuts and told them to back off. Morgan said he’d return, and he would. But while I absolutely believed it, I still hadn’t managed to pencil patience in to my list of virtues. Last night, after finding me asleep on the floor in front of the mirror for the third time in as many days, Buddy insisted on dragging the damn thing into the bedroom. Well, at least I’d be comfortable.