The_Demons_Wife_ARC (32 page)

“It’s not
far,” Claire said, taking her gently by the arm and urging her to move.

“How do I know
I can trust you?” Sally asked. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”

“Sal…It’s me.
Claire.”

Sally paused
and looked at her intently, like she was studying a specimen. She cocked her
head like she was a bird, about to peck some seed…or her eyes.

“I don’t…Do I
know you? We went to school together, didn’t we?”

Claire had no
idea if she should play along with any delusion Sally came up with or tell her
the truth.

And will it
matter?
She asked herself, thinking…dreading that her roommate was already too far
gone. The blankness in her eyes was frightening, and her expression looked like
a wall had already gone up behind her eyes, closing out reality.

She doesn’t
know the half of it
,
Claire thought.

“Come along,
now,” Claire said, gently guiding her.

Surprisingly,
Sally allowed herself to be led into the kitchen where, after a quick search
amongst the trash, they found Sally’s coat. It was in the cupboard under the
sink, and was covered with spilled coffee grounds and a couple of rotting
banana peels. Claire shook the garbage out onto the floor, telling herself it
was going to take a Hazmat team to clean this place, anyway.

“There you
go,” she said mildly, like she was speaking to a child as she helped her get
her arms into the sleeves. Sally seemed to have been reduced to a docile
ten-year-old, but when Claire reached to zip the coat up, Sally batted Claire’s
hand away like she was wielding a knife at her throat.

“You ready to
go?” Claire asked.

“Go where?”
Sally replied.

“You're going
to come with us. We’re going to take you to a safe place.”

A wicked smile
lit up Sally’s face, and her eyes widened until they were perfectly round,
glistening orbs.

“Don’t you try
to kid me,” Sally said. “I know exactly what’s going on, and don’t think I
don’t.”

Claire
refrained from asking her what was going on because she sure as Hell didn’t
know. As far as she could see, Sally was completely divorced from reality.  If
she had any idea what was happening, Claire didn’t want to hear anything she
might have to say.

With Samael’s
help, they got Sally down the stairs to the first-floor landing. When Samael
opened the front door for them, cold air blasted into their faces with such
force it took Claire’s breath away. She tucked Sally’s arm into her own and
gently guided her down the sidewalk. Samael followed a few steps behind,
watching for anything unusual.

It wasn’t long
before they made it to Samael’s car. With Sally and Claire huddled in the back seat
keeping their heads low, Samael drove. It was only after they had gotten onto
I-295 that Claire realized something.

“Where’s
Michael? Oh my God. We left him back at the apartment.”

Samael glanced
at her reflection in the rearview mirror and smiled.

“Don’t worry.
He’ll be all right,” he said.

“Are you
sure?” She twisted around in her seat and looked out the rear window as if she
expected to see Michael following after them.

“He’s fine,”
Samael said.

“That’s what
you think,” Sally said with a deep, hollow laugh.

Chapter

14

Sword in Hand

When they got out of the car at
Samael’s house, Sally looked up at the entryway with an expression of dazed,
childlike wonder. Claire and Samael exchanged worried glances as, each of them
holding Sally’s arm above the elbow, they led her from the car, up the marble
front stairs, and into the house. Michelle met them at the door and said, “The
green room is ready for your guest, sir.”

Samael nodded
and said, “Thanks.”

Claire was
left wondering how Michelle could have known and gotten a room ready in so
short a time. She assumed Samael had snuck in a phone call to her while Claire
was distracted, tending to Sally. Still supporting Sally by the arms, Claire
and Samael led her up the wide sweeping stairway and down the long hallway to a
large bedroom halfway down on the left. Like every other room in Samael’s
house, this one was gorgeously appointed. A king-sized bed, freshly made and
turned down with silk sheets, was placed between two large windows that looked
out over the side yard. Vases of fresh-cut flowers—roses and baby’s breath—were
in expensive vases on the bed stand and bureau.

Where do you
get flowers like that in March?
Claire wondered.

Michelle had
laid out a pink, flannel nightgown on the bed, and Claire asked Samael to leave
the room so they could help Sally change into it after washing her and
bandaging her face and hands. Michelle produced ice packs for Sally’s eyes and
wrists. Fortunately, no bones appeared to be broken.

Sally did
everything she was told without complaint or resistance, and Claire was glad
for that. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to handle it if Sally started
freaking out or resisting.

Samael had
given Claire a sedative to give to Sally, which she took without complaint.
Once Sally was tucked into bed and drifting off to sleep, Claire began to relax
for the first since…she wasn’t sure when.

As Sally’s
eyes fluttered and closed, and her breathing became deep and even, Claire
walked over to the windows and drew the shades down. The semidarkness in the
room was warm and restful. Once she was sure Sally was asleep, Claire realized
how utterly exhausted she was, too. She considered going down the hall to the
master bedroom and climbing into bed, but she had to go back downstairs first
and spend some time with Samael.

This was,
after all, their wedding day.

They had a lot
to talk about.

~ * ~

“Some
honeymoon, huh?”

The humorous edge
in Samael’s comment made Claire smile…at least a little; but the truth was, she
was consumed with anger and worry about Sally, not to mention their own danger.
She was also frustrated that her wedding day—a day that was supposed to be so
special—had been ruined like this.

What do you
expect when you marry a demon?

The sun had
dropped behind the horizon long ago, and the sky through the living room
curtains was a deep steel blue that was slowly blending to black as storm
clouds closed in from the west. It was cold outside. The bare branches of the
trees cut the fading sky into lacy black patterns. A strange silence pervaded
the house. Samael started a fire in the fireplace. Claire almost said something
when he used matches and kindling instead of snapping his fingers or something
to start the blaze. Soon, the crackling wood and flickering flames pushed back
the encroaching darkness.

Claire pushed
her cascade of hair over her shoulders.

“I hear the
Caribbean’s really nice this time of year,” she said with a sigh.

Samael didn’t
say anything, but he didn’t have to. They were safest here, but for how long?

“Where did
Michael go? Will he be back soon?” she asked.

“’S hard to
say.”

His grim
expression as he stared into the flames did little to calm her down. Even in
the firelight, his eyes looked as shiny and black as polished marble without a
single fleck of gold.

“You’d think
he’d at least contact us, wouldn’t you?” she asked. She felt safer with Michael
around even though his presence unnerved her.

Samael offered
to get her a drink, and when he returned with it—scotch and soda—she sipped it,
relishing the slow burn of the alcohol as it reached deep into her stomach. The
carbonation of the soda water tickled her nose, making her feel like she had to
sneeze.

“Well…?” she
said, as if there had been no interruption in their conversation.

“You mean
about Michael? I’m not sure,” Samael replied. The hint of worry in his voice
bothered Claire.

Has something
happened that he doesn’t want me to know about? Or is he as in the dark about
Michael’s whereabouts as I am?

Regardless,
she felt less safe without Michael around. His otherworldliness, as
intimidating as it was, exuded a level confidence and competence that even
Samael didn’t give her. She took another sip of her drink and found it so
soothing she took another. When she looked out the window again, it was full
dark, no stars. White streaks of snow zipped past the window, looking like
random laser beams.

“That’s the
bitch of it,” Samael said, not sounding the least bit amused. “If they came
right at us, it’d be one thing. But this way…” He sighed and, looking at the
floor as if he was utterly exhausted, shook his head. After a long silence, he
leaned back in his chair and, staring up at the ceiling, rubbed his eyes.

So apparently
even a demon can get tired and stressed
, Claire thought. The thought struck
her as mildly amusing, and she started to laugh. Before long, tears were
streaming down her face as she found release in seeing the humor of it all.

It felt good
to laugh, and as she did, she realized just how much tension she’d been
carrying around inside her ever since…well, ever since she realized she and
Samael were in real danger...since she had driven to Houlton with
someone—something that wasn’t Samael.

Now, all of
that seemed like it had happened so long ago…to another person in another
lifetime.

Hell, since
then, I’ve become a married woman, and that’s only within the last twelve
hours.

As she
continued to laugh, the absurdity of her situation hit her even harder. She
realized she was laughing hysterically as she doubled over and gasped for
breath. Her stomach muscles ached. 

Samael sat
down next to her on the couch.

 “Take it
easy, love,” he said, looking at her curiously. “You’re going to hurt
yourself.”

Claire
struggled to gain control of herself, but the ridiculousness of what she had
gotten herself into was stunning. She forced herself to lean back and take
another sip of her drink. Then she decided,
to Hell with decorum
, and
downed the rest in three quick gulps. She hadn’t eaten all day, and the alcohol
hit her hard, going straight to her head.

This is
exactly what I need, she told herself…something to get me out of my head
.

“Can I have
another?” she asked, holding her glass out to Samael.

He flashed his
old, wicked grin at her as he got up, took the glass, and walked down the long
hallway to the kitchen.

Claire heaved
a sigh and tried to settle back on the sofa, but her gaze kept shifting over to
the dark rectangles of the windows that overlooked the yard.

And as she
stared blankly out at the falling snow, she saw something else outside…a shape
darker than night had shifted up close to the window. Claire could feel as much
as see the presence. She wanted to do something—either call out to Samael or
else get up and leave the room, but she was rooted to the sofa.

The longer she
stared at it, the more clearly defined it became until she realized that she
was looking at a vaguely human shape that seemed to be swelling in size as she
looked at it.

It grew to be
a lot bigger than any person she knew and now filled the window, blocking out
the night.

She wasn’t
sure when, but Claire realized she was staring into a pair of eyes that glowed
dull red in the darkness, like coals in a dying fire. The longer she stared at
them, the brighter they glowed.

“Samael…” she
called out, her voice little more than a strangled whisper.

It felt as if
unseen hands were gripping her throat and squeezing. The air in the room seemed
suddenly to be ten or more degrees lower.

Somehow—later…she
could not have said how much later—she managed to get off the couch and ease
herself slowly into a standing position. Her chest was tight, her heart racing
as she focused on the window.

As she did,
the figure became more distinct until she was sure she was staring into the
face of a demon. Through the glass, she saw a huge face, as blue as solid ice,
grinning in at her.

“Samael…” she
called out again. She yelled as loud as she could, but the air in the living
room seemed suddenly thick. It muffled her call and any other sounds.

Her eyes were
wide and as she neared the window, and the face became more distinct. For an
instant, she wondered if it was Michael, who had come back and not been able to
get into the house for some reason. But Michael’s eyes were silver…not red, and
she felt safe in his presence, not suffocated. She remembered how the demon had
impersonated Samael all through the drive up to Houlton.  One of their
enemies—maybe more—could assume any form they wanted in order to fool her.
Maybe it was something all demons could do. She wished now she’d asked Samael
about it. But one thing she did remember was not to speak to them.

Ever!

Through the
reflective panes of glass, she watched as the figure resolved more clearly. The
wicked red gleam in the creature’s eyes grew brighter, and the blue face was
smiling at her maliciously.

“…Claire…” a
voice whispered faintly.

It sounded as
if the speaker was standing close behind her…

Or inside her
head.

She froze and
stared, unblinking as the face pressed against the glass. Flakes of snow
swirled in a tornado around it like it was captured inside a huge snow globe.
When its mouth moved, long, pointed teeth slid back and forth behind fleshy
black lips.

And then it
opened its mouth.

The gaping
hole looked suddenly huge, and inside…behind the rows of razor-sharp teeth, she
saw…people.

It was like
looking into a canyon except, instead of rock walls on each side, there were
huge teeth on the top and bottom. And now she could see dozens…scores of
people, writhing in pain as they thrashed about inside the gaping maw.

“…Claire…” the
voice said again, and this time the mouth moved in unison with the sound of her
name.

She wanted
desperately to call out to Samael, but she couldn’t catch her breath. The icy
air in the living room was numbing her.

The demon
raised its hands to the window, its claws hooked and vicious-looking as they
tapped on the glass like wind-driven ice pellets. Then the blue-faced creature
flattened its hands against the glass and began to push.

Claire jumped
back but couldn’t look away. She was fascinated as the huge blue hands blotted
out the night. She stared at the lines on the palms of the demon’s hands,
positive that the winding, spiral patterns had some supernatural meaning. The
claws continued to tap and scratch on the glass with loud squeaking and rasping
sounds, but gradually the sounds altered until they took on a slow, drumming
cadence…like the steady thumping of a distant marching band.

“…Claire…”

 Frozen with
terror, she watched as the being outside leaned forward, its blue face
contorted into a horrible grimace as it opened its mouth in a silent scream and
pressed its full weight against the glass. Faint traces of crackling white
light ran up and down the creature’s arms, sparking off its fingertips. Spikes
of light danced like threads of static electricity. Some penetrated the glass,
reaching out as if to grab Claire.

And
then—unbelievably—the glass began to bulge inward, as if it was no longer glass
but some soft, fluid plastic. Glistening, glassy lumps caught the light and
reflected it back in wild, distorted patterns that took on the rounded contours
of the claws. Claire was convinced that—any second now—those cruel-looking
points of bone would tear through the glass and slash her to ribbons.

“Sam…” she
said, no more than a croaking whimper.

Instead of
hearing Samael’s reassuring voice, though, a low, gravelly growl filled her
head.

“You can’t
resist,” the voice said. “You’ve already lost. Samael is one of us…Always has
been. Always will be. And no matter what you do, tonight you will lose your
life, and your soul will be cast into eternal damnation.”