Kiss & Hell (35 page)

Clyde’s nod was of understanding, his eyes sympathetic. “And that’s why you quit school? To work to pay for your mother’s care?”

“That and the crazy shit that began to happen.”

“The ghost thing?”

That first time had been killa. “Yeah. They were, like, everywhere. In my sociology classes, when I was in the dorm shower, in a lecture. Before I understood it, and what these spirits wanted from me, I really, really struggled. I went through the whole post-traumatic deal. Then I thought I was just nuttier than squirrel shit. At first it scared the bejesus out of me, then it drove me batshit for a time, and with that, my grades suffered—friendships were lost. I spent all my time at the library researching ghosts and mediums and Hell.”

“So you weren’t born with the ability to see ghosts? All this time I just assumed that was the case.”

“No, it happened after Vincent’s death. About two or three weeks or so after.”

“And you don’t see the connection here, Delaney?”

“Oh, I see it. I think the horned pitchfork-lover thought he could make me a loon by sending ghosts my way. When I finally realized I could communicate with them, I shoved it up his ass further by helping them cross. I did the lemonade thing.”

When Clyde smiled at her, despite how dire their situation was, despite how the terror of that night still had the ability to affect her, it made her insides turn to utter goo. “You’re a tough broad, Delaney Markham, but I think the connection goes deeper. I just don’t know how.”

His silence left her silent, too.

“And your mother? Did you ever find out why she’d never told you about Richard and Vincent?”

It still sounded crazy to her, and voicing it sounded like she really should be locked forever in a padded room with an “I love me” jacket. “You know demon magic exists—you made some when you went to your bank. Her memory, and the memory of anyone else even a little involved in their lives, was wiped clean. Richard stole Vincent and raised him for his own sick devices. He just didn’t plan on Vincent being such a fuck-up.”

“And I’m supposing Satan was happier than a cat eyeball deep in catnip to tell you that.”

When Satan had shown up and began revealing what they’d done to her mother—that they’d taken her child—Delaney had wanted to scratch his eyes out. “About as happy as I imagine the fucker gets.”

The breath Clyde exhaled was long. “So what exactly did you donate again?”

“His eyes, kidneys, heart, and other remaining parts to science.”

“His heart . . .”

“A heart I’m almost certain you have. The dates match. November 21, 1994, is the day Vincent died. We need to get a look at your files, Clyde.”

“It isn’t just that, Delaney. Vincent’s heart’s somehow connected to you and your seeing ghosts. I don’t know how, I don’t understand why, but Satan can’t send spirits who are seeking guidance—especially those who’re stuck in limbo—to freak you out. He has no control over waffling entities. That much I know. He can definitely throw a monkey wrench in your plans to cross them, and send in a minion to try and talk them into coming to the dark side. However, he only has control over those who’ve landed in Hell. Period. Not those who’re doing nothing more than questioning whether there really is an ‘other’ side.”

She was at a loss then. “Then what’s the connection? I didn’t have the ability to see ghosts until Vincent was dead for at least a few weeks.”

“I don’t know, but we need to find out. And I’m not going anywhere—in my body—out of my body—nowhere until we figure this out.”

Delaney leaned into him with a shaky sigh, their heads bent together. “This is what I wanted to avoid. At first, I didn’t trust you enough to tell you about Vincent. I figured you’d go back to Satan so you could have a good chuckle over how freaked out poor Delaney’s been all these years, and the hell I’d let that happen. I refused to give in to the fear. I decided to piss in his Wheaties by living my life—or semi-living it, if what you’ve labeled what I do is accurate. I was just really careful about
who
I let into my life. Because even if I wanted nothing more than to spite Satan, I didn’t want to do it at someone else’s expense. But then, I just wanted to keep you out of this thing Lucifer’s got with me because I don’t quite know if we’ve seen the extent of his wrath, but we might if he finds out you helped me and deceived him while you did it.”

Clyde kissed the top of her head. “Now it all makes a bit more sense. That’s why you sent Marcella away. If she heard no evil, she couldn’t speak it.”

“Exactly. She has no idea about Vincent. Well, not entirely. She did come to tell me she’d heard something about him the other night. I figured if I could keep my mouth shut long enough for her to grill me and leave, this would be over before she finds anything else out. If Satan knew she was my one and only friend, he’d try to hurt her—because he does have the power to do that. I don’t want anyone hurt when he makes his next move. We’ll have enough trouble if he ever gets wind of the fact that you duped him.”

“Trouble has a shitload of different meanings, don’tcha think,
Clyde
?” a surly voice asked from the dark interior of the bathroom.

Both their heads popped up in surprise.

“Uh, bad guy?” she asked, so not wanting to hear the answer.

“Yep.”

“How bad?”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Sure.”

“Twelve.”

Hoo, shit.

nineteen

Delaney was powerless to move at the sight of the body attached to the voice. Clyde, however, stood up, taking the blanket with him and motioning to Delaney to put on the T-shirt he handed her. He tucked the blanket around his lean waist.

The demon hopped on the edge of the bed with a wink, walking his dirty fingers along the bed toward Delaney’s leg with a cackle. “So what’re ya doin’ with my woman? You been stickin’ it to her?”

Clyde was quicker than she’d ever have given him credit for. His hand snaked out, grabbing the demon’s fingers and wrenching them with a rough jerk. “Get—the—fuck—away—from—her—or I’ll
kill
you,” he growled low and deep.

The demon’s hand exploded out of Clyde’s, roughly yanking his arm away, but his voice was sweeter than melted chocolate. “Aw, Clyde. Clyde, Clyde,
Clyde
. Play nice now, man. You had your shot at her, and I promise ya, I won’t tell that whack Lucifer what you did, switching our assignments like that, if you let me give it to her. Just once. You can watch if you want.” His pockmarked face stretched into a leering grin, revealing blackened teeth.

Clyde dragged him to his feet, the muscles in his upper arms bulging when he shoved the demon up against the nearest wall, eliciting a harsh huff from him. “I said, get the fuck away from her,
Clyve
.”

Delaney scrambled to the floor, her eyes never leaving Clyde’s back, strained from his grip on the key to this whole mess falling apart.

They’d been made.

The infamous Clyve Atwell had apparently found them—which meant Lucifer wouldn’t be far behind.

The demon threw his head back and laughed until she could almost see he had no tonsils. “Or what, Clyde? You sorry piece of shit. You can’t take me with your level one skills. Shoulda paid better attention in class, man,” he taunted up into Clyde’s face, breaking the hold he had on him with a swift shove to Clyde’s chest. His dirty white T-shirt tore when Clyde lost his grip on him.

“Oh, you two—what is it about trouble and it always finding you when you’re half naked?” yet another voice cooed.

And it had a slight accent to it.

It sang in Delaney’s ears like a symphony of sweet violins.

Marcella.

Delaney’s knees felt weak with relief, then weaker with terror. Marcella didn’t stand a chance against this scum. Her protective nature kicked into high gear. “Marcella,” she hissed, sending her a message with her eyes, begging her to stop. “Go shop, would you? Go home! Go do something other than get mixed up in this,” she ordered.

Marcella sighed with obvious exasperation and it was directed at Delaney. “Have you no faith,
mi amiga
? Ju—” She paused, clenching her jaw to ward off the accent that she couldn’t always hide in times of stress. “
You’re
always so negative.”

Inching closer to Marcella, and keeping an eye on an immobilized-by-surprise Clyve, Delaney pointed to her chest. “Me? Hell- loooooo,” she whispered near her friend’s ear, “who’s the one who uses duct tape—
duct tape
, I remind you—to capture demons? Are you fucking crazy showing up here? He’ll obliterate you! That means no more
Pier 1
. No more throw pillows. Get it?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Marcella stuck her tongue out at Delaney. “Negative, negative, negative,” she whisper-taunted back.

Her finger flew up under Marcella’s nose. “You do that one more time and I’ll snatch it out of your head—got that, demona tor?”

“And I’ll roast animal fat with your happy sticks, ghost transmitter.”

“They’re not happy sticks—they’re smudge sticks, smart-ass.”

“They look like rolled weed, and if you don’t back off and let me do my thing, D, I’m going to singe your eyebrows.” She clamped a warning hand on Delaney’s shoulder, squeezing it hard, imploring her with her eyes to clamp it. There was a message in those green orbs—Delaney just couldn’t figure out what the fuck it was. Marcella rolled her shoulders, letting go of Delaney and sashaying over to the demon, swishing her perfect ass in her friend’s direction.

Marcella cocked her head at him playfully, her smile cool, her green eyes, now glittering, almost black. “So you must be Clyve.” She pushed herself between the two men, who’d both remained silent—one stunned, one unsure what was next. She flicked an absent finger at Clyde, dismissing him as she stared the demon directly in the eye.

“Who the fuck are
you
?” he spat, though his roaming, beady eyes appraised Marcella’s body with jeering approval.

Her fingers traced the soiled collar of his T-shirt with flirta tiousness. “Ohhhh, such harsh words, so big and mean. Grrrrrrrrrrr. I
like
it.” She squirmed, wiggling her hips with a saucy shift.

Clyve’s chin lifted, a hard knot pulsing there, yet he couldn’t take his eyes off Marcella. “I said, who the fuck are you?”

Smiling wide, flashing her perfect white teeth, Marcella closed in on him with a wink. She cornered him, eyeing him like he was what was for lunch. Her lips moved dangerously close to the demon’s, so close Delaney cringed for her. Then she dragged a nail seductively over the stubble on his cheek, stopping at his lips, letting that digit tug at his lower lip with a playful tweak. “I’m the crazy Puerto Rican bitch that’s gonna make you squeal for your mama, pig,” she purred into his face, snapping her fingers together.

When the pads of her fingers released, she let her hands drop to her shoulders, stroking the sleek skin of a very long, black snake that had appeared out of thin air. Its head reared up in Clyve’s face. “This is my friend. Pretty,
sí
?” Marcella wrapped her hand around the snake’s head and held it next to Clyve’s cheek, rubbing it with a sensuous glide over the surface of his skin. “He wants to be your friend, too, Clyve. Loooook,” she said with a malicious smile and a coy, schoolgirl tone, “I think he likes you—wanna play with him?”

Clyve’s face went white. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

With a jerk so quick Delaney almost couldn’t believe Marcella’d pulled it off her shoulders, she hurled the snake at Clyve, who skittered backward, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, his Ad am’s apple bobbing in rapid glides while he tried to swallow.

Marcella widened her stance, planting her hands on her jean-clad hips, watching with satisfaction as the snake gyrated at Clyve’s feet.

Delaney’s amazement at this new feat Marcella had apparently acquired was mingled with a mondo shudder. Bleh on snakes. Fuck, where had she packed her prism and salt? There must be salt in this hotel room—maybe she could help Marcella. There wasn’t time to find out as the snake began to inch its way toward the demon, his tongue striking aimlessly in forked fury. She hated snakes—almost as much as it would seem Clyve did.

The demon hopped from foot to foot, a look of angry terror streaking his bony features. His greasy ponytail flopped up and down from behind his head while his face turned a lovely shade of crimson. “I’ll fucking kill you, you bitch!” he hollered with a high-pitched wail.

Marcella pouted at him, her full, glossy lower lip distended while she toed the snake with a gentle nudge toward him. “You’re hurting my feelings, Clyve, calling me names. Though
bitch
is rather all-encompassing, don’t you think? Wise choice. And really, if you don’t like this snake, all you had to do was say so. I bet I can find one you will like. I aim to please.” She snapped her fingers again, this time letting them ball into a fist and plunging her hand toward the floor. A slithering swarm of coiled snakes, the color of garden hoses, appeared, hissing toward Clyve at a rapid pace.

Infuriated, Clyve screamed a shriek of whistling fury, hurling a fireball from his fingertips in Marcella’s direction while he threw himself upward onto the small table in the room. Flames bounced off the wall behind Marcella and headed directly for her glossy, black head.