Kiss & Hell (10 page)

“No, definitely not, and if you don’t hold still I won’t be able to help her. Quit squirming.” Each time Clyde moved, the presence slipped in and out of vision, syncing with his every move. How utterly bizarre. “Stop moving!”

“Sorry, I had an itch.”

Delaney moved closer to the woman, squinting her eyes to bring her into focus. “Clyde,” she threatened, “if you breathe the wrong way, I’ll hack your limbs off.”

Moving with cautious steps, she approached the woman. Whoever she was, sucked to be her in that drab dress, wearing a doily on her head. Clearly she was from another century. Though the outfit didn’t ring any history bells with Delaney. The woman’s lips were moving, but the words rang with only the slightest whisper. Delaney leaned in as far as she could to try to catch what she seemed so desperate to say, watching her lips move as she did.
“DasKomadasKomadasKoma,”
she said, her face filled with a sense of urgency.

Was that German? Oh, fuck. What did she know in German? “Uh, Volkswagen. Oh! Sauerkraut and Wiener schnitzel—oh, oh! And knockwurst. And, uh . . .
Der Kommissar
!” she shouted as though they were playing charades.

“
Falco
, 1981,
After the Fire
, 1983.”

She tilted an ear up at Clyde. “Who? Never mind, demon—shut it. I’m working here.”

“DasKomadasKomadasKoma,”
the woman repeated with fierce insistence, extending a hand toward Delaney as though summoning her.

Pinching her temples, Delaney gave them a hard squeeze. “Aww, crap, lady. You
are
foreign. That so sucks. You know, as a medium, I’ve given a lot of thought to taking some foreign language courses. I’ve had a visit or two from a group of Dutchmen, and once, even some gondola driver from Italy. But I just can’t seem to find the time, ya know? Shit. If you tell me how to spell it, I can go look it up online.” Which was probably ridiculous to ask because the woman wouldn’t understand her any more than she understood the woman. But the image began to fade before Delaney could turn to retrieve her laptop.

Her shoulders slumped. “Damn. She’s gone.”

“And this would be my fault, too, I suppose,” Clyde stated dryly.

Delaney rolled her eyes at him. “No, Clyde, though whatever mojo you have going on is screwing up mine. Did you catch a glimpse of her? Do you know if she was speaking German?”

“Foreign languages were one thing I didn’t tap in my lifetime. And how do you get used to something like that? People just showing up out of nowhere?”

“You mean like you?”

His blue eyes colored with amusement, and he conceded. “Touche.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see her?”

“You did tell me not to move. I listened. And I definitely couldn’t hear her because I was concentrating on not moving.” His tone held a glint of accusation.

Delaney scratched her head, deciding she’d just have to hope the woman came back. “That’s right, I did. Okay. Forget the lady with the sucky dress and doily hat for now. We have other business to attend to. So I have a thought.”

Clyde pulled the throw around his shoulders, letting the ends fall to his lap. “Which is . . . ?”

She backed away, setting her butt on the edge of the stool she kept behind the counter. “Why the fuck do you suppose I’d believe anything—anything—you tell me about your story? You know firsthand that demons are liars. You said that yourself. How do I know you’re not yanking my crank, making me think you’re all jacked up by some mistake so you can hoodwink me and drag me back to Hell with you? Maybe you’re just playing the ‘I don’t belong in Hell, poor me’ story to court me into believing you. So I want an answer. And I warn you—your answer better be really, really solid, or I’m getting the prism and the salt.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Maybe you’re lying?”

“Maybe.”

Her face went slack with disbelief. “That’s all you have to offer?”

Clyde’s lightly bronzed shoulders hitched upward, allowing the blanket to fall to his biceps. “Yep. That’s it. As you said, demons are all liars. I won’t even bother to try and deny the truth of that statement. Yes, I could be lying to you. Yes, I could be trying to pull the wool over your eyes with a song and dance. I’ve tried to explain my situation to you under some abominable circumstances, like the potential loss of my eyesight and the peeling of my skin by way of pillars of salt, but you refused to listen. It’s like beating my head against a brick wall with you. The more I say, the deeper I dig myself. So yeah, that’s all I have to say. But there’s just one more thing.”

Delaney made an arc with her hand. “Please. Do share.”

Clyde’s glance was evasive at first, but then he appeared to gather some steam. His shoulders pulled back, and his eyes held a hard determination she hadn’t seen before this. “I have no intention of leaving this plane without figuring out why I ended up in Hell, Delaney. I have limited time and limited resources. I don’t want to do it, but I will if I have to.”

Her head cocked to the left. “Will
what
?”

Clyde hopped down from the armoire, his feet slapping the bare floor hard. He caught a toe on the rug, pitching forward for a moment before stumbling to right himself.

She fought the urge to mock and point at the bad-ass, mofo demon all frontin’ like he was some gangsta on a killing spree.

If he was embarrassed, he was damned good at hiding it. Clyde threw his shoulders back, sauntering toward her.

Her eyes met his when he approached her, refusing to stray beyond the dark blue of them for fear she’d catch another glimpse of his man-tool. “Use my demonic powers.”

Her chest puffed outward—defensive and at the ready. “Are you threatening me?
Me?
”

Gone was the confused man she’d met yesterday. Gone was that look of innocent displacement. In its stead was a jagged resolve of flashing blue eyes behind the glimmer of his square frames and teeth, clamped and on edge. “Yep.”

Hoo boy.

It was, apparently, on.

“Do you have any idea the shit I could stir up? I know people from the other side—people who’ll whip your satanic ass into a frenzy, noob.”

Clyde rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but if you’re talking about that OD’d-on-too-much-nail-polish-remover Marcella, she’s probably as much of a joke downstairs in Hell as I am. And I don’t want to point out the obvious, but I will because I’m all about fair warning. If you had someone who could help you, you’d have called them by now.”

In Clyde’s favor, that would be game, set,
match
.

Because she really didn’t know anyone with heavy-duty Hell powers, that was fo sho.

But her pride wouldn’t allow him to threaten her—the frig he’d threaten her—and to hell with his reasons for being here. She didn’t care anymore why he was here, just that he wouldn’t be as soon as she could make that possible. “You picked the wrong medium to tango with, brotha.” Delaney waved a finger under his nose when he drew closer, ignoring the pure maleness of him. And while she was at it, she’d ignore that waist that tapered to lean hips, and the scent of his aftershave.

His breath fanned her face when he let out a raspy sigh. “I didn’t pick anything. But I’d suggest you listen to me before things get out of hand.”

Okay, so maybe she was getting a little nervous now, but in the interest of never let ’em see you sweat, she threw her head back and laughed. “He with the duct tape glue residue all over his body said.”

Clyde let the blanket drop to his chest, securing it by tucking the ends in. “You were warned.”

Uh-huh. She’d been warned. Now she was going to take that warning and keep it ever so close to her heart as she swept the floor. Turning from Clyde, big, muscular, and okay, dweebishly hot, she went in search of her broom, ducking behind the counter to see if her dustpan was still on the shelf.

A sizzling crackle made her head snap up.

Stop.

He didn’t.

Oh, but he had.

If the roar of flames was any indication.

five

“Omigod! You feeb! You set my grandmother’s chair on fiiire!” Delaney ran for the broom, waving it in the air to slap at the flames before the smoke alarm went off.

Clyde appeared out of nowhere again with a soggy, wet towel. He handed it to her with a casual pass, then took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did,” was the cool response. “But I was actually aiming for the bookcase behind it. So, oops.”

Delaney swatted the chair with the towel, tamping out the flames shooting from the arm while large drops of water splattered over the fabric. He’d only managed to torch the one arm of it, but she was no less hacked off about it. “Oops? Like oops, my bad? This—was—an—antique—you—fucktard! Look at it!” she yelped. “You’ve ruined it. You can’t just order fabric like this anymore. Arghhhh!”

He yanked the towel from her, pressing it into the cushiony material with firm hands. “I told you I would do what it took. I’m sorry it took this, but you have this way about you that demands proof by action.”

Using the back of her hand, she pushed her hair from her forehead before nudging him out of the way, yanking the towel from his grip. Clyde’s hand grazed hers while he held strong. “Give me that, firestarter,” she huffed, pulling it from his grip. “This wasn’t just my grandmother’s chair, it was my
story time
chair.”

Now he looked remorseful. Good. Very good. After the fact was hugely helpful. “She read you stories in it?”

Delaney grunted with the effort to blot the now sopping wet fabric. “No. I mean, yes—when I was little. But I also hold a story time for kids once a month here at the store with sugarless wheat cookies and soy milk. How do you feel about fucking up some poor kids’ night out, you jackass?”

Clyde looked doubtful. “What kind of kid eats sugarless wheat cookies and soy milk and actually
likes
it?”

All right, so the sugarless cookies weren’t always a score with the kids. Point. “The kind who have parents who’re trying to keep toxic chemicals out of their offspring’s bodies. Preservatives and additives and all the junk that clogs your pipes up. What difference does it make now? I have no chair to read to them from. That means you’ve not only ruined my cherished memory, but crapped on a bunch of kids who’ll be very sad they can’t sit by this very chair and hear the story of how Mr. Herb goes to Washington.”

“Mr. Herb? Whatever happened to some good old-fashioned Dr. Seuss?”

“Well, we’ll never know, now, will we? Even if I could have read Dr. Seuss to the little beasts, I can’t do it now because you burned the goddamned chair!”

Clyde’s he-man, take-no-prisoners posture slumped; his expression grew somber. “I had no idea. I think we should just have a running apology from here on out in our relationship. I’ll always just be sorry and you can always be angry that I had to be sorry for whatever reason I’m sorry. Deal?”

Delaney threw the lumpy towel right at his not so lumpy abs, winking decadently at her from beneath the blanket. “No deal, Howie. We don’t have a relationship, you inheritance wrecker.”

Clyde caught it with a grunt and a sidelong glance. “We will. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you keep ignoring me—brushing me off.”

Duh. “In the hopes that you’ll fade to black. Yes, I’m ignoring you—or at least I was trying to. Nobody threatens me, you Purgatory pimp. Especially not a pathetic demon like you.”

Clyde planted a big hand on the back of the chair. “I had to find a way to make you listen and I’m not done yet. There’s still more.”

Delaney sucked her cheeks in, assessing the singed chair. “If you thought this was the way to get a woman to pay attention to you, a playa you ain’t.”

Nodding an agreement, he flexed his fingers. “Established—and not just by you. I’m not here to play you. I just want your cooperation. I just want you to relax and listen to me.”

Her wide eyes and raised eyebrows said it all. “By setting fire to my stuff? I don’t think I’m being too ballsy when I say you’re not endearing yourself to me,
Clyde
the demon.”

“I don’t want to endear myself to you, Delaney the ghost lady. I want to find out why I’m in Hell and, if you’ll let me, help you in the process.”

Her hands went to her hips as she took in his tall form. She let her head tilt back on her shoulders to gaze up at him. Way up at him. Delaney was short by today’s standards at five foot one, but right now she felt dwarfed, eaten up by his looming, darkly handsome bulk. “Oh, I’m all atwitter. Help me? How do you suppose you can help me?”

Mirroring her stance, he placed his hands on his own lean hips.

“Because I have information about you.” He returned her shocked gaze with a cocky, all-knowing one.

“Reaaaallly?”

“Reaaaallly,” he drawled, dropping his head to his chest to roll it on his shoulders.

The problem was, would that information be true? But she’d play, because she had some doubts she had to address about Clyde. Delaney sensed she was giving poor old Clyde a run for his money by the set of his tense shoulders and the way he twisted his neck back and forth. “Okay. Hit me with your best shot.” Whiner.