A Demon in Waiting (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

“Why would mine be different? What would that serve?”

“I don’t know. I don’t pretend to understand why a demon does what a demon does. Maybe he thought it wouldn’t take, or maybe you were harder to mark.”

“Why would I be harder?”

“There are a lot of reasons. Genetics. Surroundings. Who knows? Hold it up again and I’ll take a picture. See what I can find out.”

John held up his palm as if to wave. “How exactly does a person become equipped to research such a thing?”

“My
maman
left me her books. I do a bit of practicing on my own.”

John’s expression must have been very telling, because Claude laughed and put down his phone. “Nothing too dark, baby brother. I’ve got a black enough soul as it is to accept money for that kind of thing. My day job doesn’t pay so well, so I freelance.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see how that would be a necessity.”

John put his hand on the door handle and prepared to pull. “Well, thanks anyway. Let me know what you find out and whether it’s not too late to reverse it.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Claude said. “I’ll come to you when I find out. I like you.”

“Thanks?”

Claude laughed again and slapped him on the back. “I’ve lost count of how many of us there are. Most go rotten the moment they get their marks. A few try to hold on to some fragment of their humanity, even if it drives them insane.”

“Like Charles?”

“I keep an eye on him like I’ll keep an eye on you. Maybe one of us will get lucky and find some balance one day.”

Luck.
Luck
would have been his mother never taking her cross off. But then, he wouldn’t have been born.

“Is there any way to … shut off the … ” John waved his hand in a waffling motion.

Claude raised a brow. “You mean, during sex? No. Be happy it’s not on all the time, little brother. That’s why Charles drinks. It’s always there for him. He risks affecting every person he touches from bartender to barber. It’s a hell of a way to live.”

To John, it didn’t sound much like living at all.

• • •

Around five o’clock, Ariel received a fresh jolt of energy as she pulled her car onto the shoulder at a roadside stand just outside of Garner. John, for the first time all trip, had fallen asleep while she drove. He’d been oddly quiet since they’d left Asheville, responding to her questions with not much more than a nod and an
mm-hmm
, but never being outright rude. He’d stopped responding at all at some point on the I-440 beltline. She figured he was just tired. The riding had to be just as grueling as being behind the wheel. Even if the scenery had improved, their accommodations hadn’t. She looked forward to sleeping in her old bed after so long and letting her grandmother spoil her.

But, then there was the matter of John. What lie would she tell? She couldn’t just drop him off at some sleazy motel — not after they’d come this far.

She got out of the car and bumped the door closed without latching it all the way. She didn’t want to wake John.

She waved to the vendor who’d started packing up her wares for the day, probably to head down the long path to the farmhouse. The table — a couple of long wooden planks propped up on milk crates and shielded by a beach umbrella propped into a stand — bore a variety of late-summer fruits and vegetables.

“All organic,” the woman said. “I grew it myself. My own garden.”

“The beans look great, but I’m really looking for something to fill a pie.”

The woman held up a finger and said, “Be right back.” She shuffled to her pick-up truck and leaned over the back gate, reaching for something. With a grunt, she heaved out a half-bushel of peaches.

Ariel heard herself squeal.

“Some of them are kind of bruised. I picked them this morning, and a few were on the ground, but they just fell overnight. I hate to charge full price for ’em.”

“They’re perfect. My grandmother used to have a peach tree until it got struck by lightning. Planted a new one but it hasn’t started bearing fruit yet.”

“Oh, honey, you take ’em, then.”

“No, I can’t just — ”

The woman waved a hand, dismissing her. “Take ’em. I done lost two trees that way myself. Give your granny my regards.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The woman nodded, and Ariel carried the peaches to car, wondering where the hell she’d put them. The back seat was piled high. The trunk was out of the question. The front seat was occupied.

Sheepishly, she walked around the car and tapped on John’s window with her fingertips.

His eyes opened slowly, focusing on her, and he sat up quickly and shouldered the door open. “Give them here.” He scooped the basket by the bottom and wedged it between his long legs onto the floorboard.

Back inside the car, she waved goodbye to the peach lady and eased back onto the road.

“Peaches, huh?” he said, a grin stretching his cheeks for the first time in hours.

“I’m feeling pretty darn lucky. I bet she’ll get a bunch of pies out of that. If I weren’t her only grandchild, I’d certainly be her new favorite.”

“I’m sure you’d be her favorite even without the peaches.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Think about it, Ariel. I bet she’s proud.”

She looked out her window at the countryside passing by. It was so good to be home. She’d never been so happy to see miles upon miles of cornfields and pine forests. A cardinal had even swooped down in front of her car, pivoting upwards again before she got too near. It was like an omen — “Honey, you’re back where you belong. You shouldn’t have left.” She never knew how much she’d miss a silly bird until she realized there were no cardinals in California.

“Hope so. She gave up a lot to take me in. She could have been enjoying her retirement.”

“Maybe she did.”

“You’re sweet to think so. Oh my. I should call her.” She patted the console for her phone and finally found it wedged between two empty coffee cups. Cleaning out the car was sure to be treat.

“Hey, I’m close,” Ariel said when her grandmother picked up the house phone.

“Thank the Lord! Be careful. Won’t do to get in a wreck now. Where you at?”

“On Forty outside Garner. Got you some peaches.”

“You’re lying.”

“I really did. Some angel at a roadside stand let me have a half-bushel for free.”

She saw John whip his face toward her in her peripheral vision. When she pulled another glance from the road to look at him, he shook his head and mouthed, “Sorry, thought you said something you didn’t.” He plucked his phone from his pocket and squinted at the touch-screen while working his thumbs over it.

“That’s wonderful. I’m making a big dinner for you, so I hope you haven’t eaten. I’ve got your favorite butter beans, some ham steaks, and got some biscuits ready to go into the oven. Made you some sweet tea, too.”

“I missed you.”

“That’s just your belly talking.”

“Not just my belly. Oh, listen. I hope it’s okay, but I’ve got a friend with me.”

John stopped typing.

“A friend?”

“Yeah, he was on the way out east, so he tagged along so I wouldn’t be in the car alone.” She clenched her teeth and held her breath.

“You should have told me, Ariel. All this time I been worried sick, and you got someone watching out for you. Give an old lady a break.”

She pulled the phone away from her face and blew out a relieved exhale.

“Bring him on,” Momma said. “Got plenty of food. I guess I’ll go make me a piecrust. Run to the store and get some vanilla ice cream.”

“Momma, the pie can wait until tomorrow.”

“Why, you plan on going to bed at nine?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll make the pie. See you soon.” She hung up. Momma was a woman on a mission.

Ariel sighed.

“What’d she say about your dinner guest?” John asked after she’d tossed the phone into the cup holder.

“She said there’s plenty of food. Why don’t you start thinking of some good lie as to where and when I picked you up? Make sure you let me know what it is so when she asks, I don’t blush. She can smell a lie on me at forty paces.”

“Anything for pie, sweetpea.”

She stole a glance away from the road and set her narrowed gaze on him. “Did you really come all this way just for the pie?”

He made a big show of pretending to be very distracted by something out the window all of a sudden. He even hummed.

She swatted at him and laughed. “Damn you. All this time, I thought it was my pleasant company.”

• • •

Momma stood in the storm door, so when Ariel pulled into the driveway, honking her horn, Ariel could see her face light up. Momma waved her dishtowel at them and made a
come on
gesture with her hand before disappearing.

“I bet she’s putting the biscuits in the oven,” Ariel said.

“Should I unload the car?”

“Not unless you want to offend Momma. Get the peaches, though.”

“Got it.”

When Ariel pulled the glass door open, the smell of her childhood tumbled out onto the yard. Good home cooking. Lemon-scented furniture polish. That same bowl of potpourri on the back of the upright piano that had been there since the first Clinton administration. Momma would dust it every now and then, but never saw the point of throwing it away. “It’s pretty. I’ll keep it,” she’d say whenever Ariel cocked an eyebrow up at her Windexing the glass bowl.

“Come on in the kitchen and get some sugar,” Momma called. “And bring your friend. I’ll give him some sugar, too.”

Ariel turned in time to catch John’s bewildered expression. She laughed and slid the door lock into place. “She means it, too. You’d better go in there and get it.”

“Come on! Bring the peaches. I want to get them peeled during supper. Crusts are all ready,” Momma shouted.

Ariel cocked her head toward the kitchen entryway. “She doesn’t bite, but she might transfer a bit of lipstick.”

John scratched his palm as the beatific Ms. Morton assessed him from across the table. In between flicks of her knife over the peaches she peeled while they ate, she smiled at him.

Ariel must have noticed. “Momma. Quit giving him the look.”

“What look?” She stood up with her bowl of peach skins and carted them to the trashcan beneath the sink.

“The interrogation look. Be nice.”

She propped her fists on her hips and grunted. “I am being nice. I just want to know about him.”

“Know what?” John asked.

Ariel closed her eyes and groaned.

“What? What’d I do?” he mouthed when Ms. Morton turned her back.

Ariel shook her head and whistled low.

Whatever it was couldn’t be
that
bad.

“You’re mighty tall, John. What are you, six-five? Six?”

“I … don’t know exactly.”

Ariel cringed.

“How do you not know? Isn’t it on your driver’s license? I get measured every time I go to the doctor. I lose about a quarter inch every year.” She giggled so hard her shoulders shook.

He was starting to understand what Ariel’s wariness was. Even the most benign questions could lead to him providing back-story he probably shouldn’t provide. He hedged. “My father is a very large … uh, man.”

“Bigger than you, even?”

“Oh, heaps.”

“I see why you work construction, then. I bet you’re real good with your hands.”

“
Momma
,” Ariel warned.

Ms. Morton returned to her seat with the emptied bowl. “What, Ariel?”

“You’re so brazen.”

“That’s how I always got what we needed, right?”

Ariel rolled her eyes and John stifled a laugh, knowing the exact wrong thing to do at that moment would be to pick sides. It was fun for him to see the interaction between the two women. He’d never witnessed that kind of camaraderie in his own family. Most of the time, the girls just kept their heads down and —

His insides seemed to turn to ice at the realization. The girls. Two more blue-eyed blonds. Tall like John, and nearly women. And then there was the baby. He hadn’t made the connection until then.

No …

“Hey John, you don’t have to answer that,” Ariel said. She patted the corners of her mouth with her napkin.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you. I zoned out for a minute. Please don’t be offended. I do that a lot,” he said, smiling at Ms. Morton.

Like hell if he’s going to do this to them. They won’t have the fortitude to fight the urges. They’ll get consumed by it. It’ll be worse for them than being someone’s least treasured wife.

“Oh, it was nothing. I just wondered if you could take a look at my roof tomorrow and maybe tack my gutters back up. They got shook up real bad during the last hurricane that blew through.”

Ariel nudged his shin with her foot. “You don’t have to. I’ll pay someone to fix it. Don’t let her put you to work. She’ll have you shackled to a toolbox and tinkering with every rusty thing in the house if you let her.” She stabbed her finger in her grandmother’s direction, accusingly. “Momma, you should have told me about the roof. I would have found you a contractor.”

Ms. Morton flicked a dismissive hand at her. “I was getting around to it. Insurance was draggin’ its feet. They just now cut me a check. I figure we can go to the Home Depot tomorrow and pick up some things. I don’t reckon it’ll take you long.” She gave John that beatific smile again — the one that said
You wouldn’t say no to a little old woman, would you?

“Sounds like fun,” John said, choking down a laugh again. “I don’t mind, Ariel.”

“And maybe when you’re done with the roof … ”

“Momma.”

Ms. Morton zipped her lips.

After dinner, John ambled into the small, tidy living room and sank into the plush sofa, waking his phone from his slumber.

Claude had finally checked his text messages.

“Angels? Interesting you should ask, actually. Yes, they’re around. They’re actually a bit more visible than their counterparts at times. Sometimes they just blend into the background and seem to lead normal lives. They tend to intercede whenever one of us tries to stake a claim on someone they’ve been guiding closely.”