Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls) (2 page)

Chapter 2

When she was brought into the Pure Souls less than a year before, Riona Dade had been jumping jack happy to discover that her upgrade on the evolutionary ladder came with a few fringe benefits. Never again would she have to worry about getting her hair to look just right. With a swish of her hand, her locks arranged themselves in a coiffured perfection that would make a drag queen jealous. The weatherman’s guesswork voodoo would fuck with her plans no longer; her body was attuned to the rhythms of nature like she had downloaded an app for it right into her brain. And, best of all, she had finally gotten that long-awaited root canal taken care of. All Pure Souls were provided with stellar medical and dental, for reasons no one was still able to explain to her.

However, the ability to lift more than a couple of duffle bags up two flights of stairs, or to have enough coordination not to knock a barbell off a side table she passed so that it landed squarely on her big toe—sending her into a cursing spree more colorful than the collective cast of Rainbow Bright—those unique perks must have been reserved for the next tier of cosmic warrior up.

“
Fuck.
Holy mother … Mary of God!”

“Riona! Be careful. You’ll invoke the dead.” Dee rushed into the room to see what the ruckus was, and to make sure his favorite witch in the world hadn’t broken anything else in the master bedroom of the new house. He found Riona hopping on one foot while trying to delicately place a box marked FRAGILE on her bed. “Jesus Christ, I told you to let the movers handle that.”

“What, I can’t say Mary, mother of God, but you can invoke Jesus and it’s all Gucci?”

“There’s a big difference. Jesus doesn’t do house calls. Mary, on the other hand, still likes to put in appearances from time to time. We’re trying to stay on the D-L here. Having a bunch of religious yahoos show up because the Holy Virgin comes for tea isn’t my idea of incognito.”

Dee grabbed the box like it was a marshmallow before setting it carefully at the foot of the bare queen mattress. Then he turned to her and swept her off her feet—literally—depositing the witch on the edge of the bed.

“We should slap one of those fragile stickers on you,” he joked before turning eyes on her damaged foot. “Move your hands, you big baby, and let me see it.”

Obediently she complied, hissing as he removed her black Vans and socks to inspect more closely.

“Is it broken?”

“Yup.”

“Fuck.” Rolling her eyes, she threw herself back. Just what she had been trying to prove with her bull-headedness, not even she knew. Already the red-and-blue digit took to swelling like a bad impression of the national debt. “Broken toe. That means a cast and crutches, right? And of course I had to choose the second floor bedroom. Can’t I catch one little break? First my car dies, and now this? Did I run over a gypsy when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Yup, definitely some sort of Romanian plague meant to make you immobile. Now, if you would just wait a freaking second and calm the fuck down. Let me look at it.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to have a foot fetish.”

He shot her daggers. “Shhh.”

Dee eyed the toe intently, then leaned in and whispered in a tongue Riona didn’t recognize. A layer of warmth spread over her foot. The best foot baths never made her tootsies so toasty. Almost immediately, the swelling began to subside.

Dee examined the restored digit with satisfaction. “There, all better. The oracles must have seen you in my future long, long ago and tipped off my dad. No wonder he worked so hard to convince Panacea to give me this gift to heal.”

Pulling her foot back up, she put her sock back. “Just because I’m prone to paper cuts—”

“And slicing your finger tip off.”

“That was just one time, and only because the bagel was still frozen on the inside. You can’t really use that as evidence of a trend.”

“Says the statistician.”

As she moved to sweep herself off her bed, Dee’s hand landed on her shoulders and pushed her back down.

“Stay, puppy, stay. There’re only a few more boxes, and then the big stuff from my place to get in. Let Krishna and Pedro earn the sixty-eight fifty plus tax we’re paying them per hour to actually carry your things in like we agreed, okay? You keep grabbing boxes like that, those two might file a grievance with their union.”

“What am I supposed to do, sit up here and knit?”

“Can you knit?”

“No.”

Dee shrugged. “Maybe you should learn. Winter’s coming, and I could really use a new wooly snow cap. FYI: I think blue really sets off my eyes the best.”

A fleeting smile passed over her face, but as though she had caught herself in the act, she immediately doused the joy.

Dee’s head cocked to the side, a posture he was given to assume whenever he was sympathetic, confused, or watching Mexican wrestling. “It’s okay to smile, you know. I’d even suggest it on occasion. For the change of pace, and to exercise those beautiful muscles on the edges of your face, if for nothing else.”

A sigh emanated from the depths of her soul. “I know. I’m trying. I just feel so guilty. One smile, and I feel as rotten as the fish market at 4 P.M.”

“Because Marc would so want you to be guilt-ridden and down the rest of your life.”

She shrugged. “He
was
Catholic. Not quite Jewish in terms of guilt, from what I understand, but they get at least an honorable mention.”

A grimace crawled across Dee’s glare. “Stop that. Marc loved you. Yes, he’d have wanted you to mourn him, but he wouldn’t want you to go on like this forever.”

“Forever?” She looked confusedly at the demigod. “It’s only been a month. I think I’m still within my rights as ‘grieving would-have-been girlfriend if not for the fact that the man in question was a priest.’
Ahch
, you know what? I think maybe I just need to get out for a while. Can you handle the rest of the … you know, movers and things?”

“Things?”

She nodded, then leaned in conspiratorially. “
Things.”

“Oh, things … Yeah, Ramiel’s going to come as soon as I summon him. He knows how to do the sanction charm, but he says he needs all three of us here for it to work.”

“Good thing your sister knew about that little clause in the Hell-Heaven Accords. ‘One earthly sanctuary where the other may not tread,’” she quoted authoritatively and, frankly, with a bit of jest.

“Yeah, having affluent and knowledgeable relatives does come in handy from time to time.” Offering her a hand, Dee pulled her up, watching intently as she tested her weight on her feet. “Steph says it’s been a while since any Pure Souls actually made use of it. Ramiel said the charm has to be activated by elites. One of the archangels on our side, and I guess a fallen angel on their side.”

“The Devil? But Lucifer’s banished.”

Dee passed her a ‘did you pay
any
attention in school’ glare. “There are other fallen angels besides the grand divo. Hell has its own archangels, the Grigori. They’re more behind-the-scenes than our side. Lucifer’s kind of like their public face, is all. Anyways, the angel that performs the sanctuary charm has got to have magical acumen like a boss to handle it. Even Ramiel said he had to brush up on the incantation.”

“Any way the charm can keep Jerry out, too?”

Dee coughed a laugh. “Believe me, I’m not exactly happy with it either. I wish there was a better way to keep tabs on a centuries-old-demon-turned-Pure-Soul than asking him to move in. Honestly, though, I want to know where the bastard eats, sleeps, and suffers halitosis, dig?” He gave Riona a gentle push on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. He steps one arm hair out of line, and I’ll personally pound his flesh into paste. Now, go, get out of here. You need money? Have your coat?”

Riona had already finished wrapping a purple suede bomber jacket around herself. “Yes, mom. And I’ll take my phone and call you if I think me and the other kids will be late.”

In late November that formidable season called “Boston Winter,” AKA an affront to human survival, hadn’t yet come on in full. It was, however, standing outside the door with boxes of Chinese takeout and knocking insistently. The wind that smacked into Riona as she stepped out on to the brownstone’s stoop and started her way down the stairs ignored the fact that she wore clothing. It pierced through her cotton coverings and felt her up like she and Jack Frost had been dating for months and had decided to take things to the next level. 

Riona turned as a particularly harsh gust threw its arms around her. Whispering beneath her breath, she recited a warming charm that served her better than any frock she’d ever bought from London Fog. She side-stepped the movers crossing the street with the blue leather couch she recognized from Dee’s apartment. And right on top of it, like he was indeed the shit, Jerry Romani sat, beaming a smile that could light coal.

“You know you could actually just kill the wind.”

“I don’t screw with nature,” she growled back.

He jumped down off the sofa just as it passed before her. The movers continued into the house, leaving them without an audience. “Luckily I’ll screw almost anything. Nature especially.
Hava santas!
”

Like he was commanding an eager-to-please puppy, the wind listened and sat its ass down. Jerry radiated arrogance, obviously waiting to be thanked or held in awe, or even awarded with an actual puppy.

“Did you know that I’m an awesome lip reader? It’s a skill you pick up quickly in Hell. In certain areas of damnation, it’s hard to hear what somebody’s saying over the screams of agony.”

“Your point being?”

“I read the warmth charm off those pink and lushies from twenty paces. If you’re having trouble staying warm …” He opened his arms invitingly.

Riona only crossed her arms and cocked a hip. “I actually like a cool, autumn breeze.” With a wave of her hand, the draft picked up again, tussling her hair in its brisk fingers.

The silent treatment came back on the docket. Jerry crossed his arms and grinned, as though he had just proven a point. “Don’t screw with nature, huh? I wonder if I could get you to change your mind on screwing anything else so simply.”

On those rare occasions when the ex-demon managed to still his tongue for more than a nanosecond, the fact that the sexy sinner in front of her
wasn’t
actually the man she loved went to the back burner. If not for those azure orbs Jerry had imported along with his soul, she’d have been tempted to partake of the more than willing spirit currently occupying the discarded shell of the man she loved. Reality—usually in the form of one of Jerry’s ill-timed and tired pick-up routines—always brought her back to the here and “no” before she allowed herself to follow through on any of the warm-and-fuzzies. When he spoke, and instead of Marc’s sarcastic bite came Jerry’s shmultzy chit-chat, a big mental reset button got pushed.

But when he was quiet, the results were even more annoying. Getting locked into Jerry’s peepers, into eyes which she had looked at once while he delivered her pleasure after mind-blowing pleasure, memories of a different sort surfaced. She dismissed the attraction and the longing for comfort, knowing anything they did together would only lead to complications and more heartache.

Besides, the thought of sleeping with Jerry while he inhabited Marc’s body was more than just a little bit creepy.

Jerry sighed. “You know, back in the good old days, women were all about the magic. All I had to do was make a chick’s favorite flower grow from a seed in my hand, and her toga fell off like gravity was taking revenge. You modern women perplex me. It’s like you expect me to do actual human things to impress you. Cook you dinner or buy you feminine products or something.” He interlaced and flexed his long, nimble fingers, sending off a wave of crackle and snap. “Not my usual cup of tea, but if that’s what it takes …”

Her hands flew up in the air, making a clear path for her words. “Please, just stop. It’s pointless, okay? It ain’t going to happen between us, no matter how many chicken pot pies you make or tampons you buy.”

Jerry’s hands sought out her wrists, pushing her out of her Tribute-to-Texas stance and pulling her hands to his lips. “You forget, though, how well I ‘cook.’”

When he made to press his lips against her knuckles, she fisted both her hands and drove those knuckles right up in to his nostrils, sending him jumping back. “I’m not sure you’ll ‘cook’ nearly as well as before, being that you’re now trapped in someone else’s ‘kitchen.’”

He rubbed his popped proboscis and grinned like a gleeful gremlin. “Oh, the witch makes a good point. Will I be as fantastical and legendary in this body as I was in my last? How much was skill, and how much was sculpture? I think you’d find, dear heart, that the difference of the journey is just as much the captain charting the course as the ship that takes you there. Not to mention the whole prophecy thing. If we’re meant to be together, you won’t have a choice, will you?”

“As long as I’m human, I have free will. And if you keep pursuing me like this, it’s going to be my free will to shove my Irish fist down your throat until I can tickle your rectum with my pinky.”

His eyebrows arched. “Kinky.”

With a roll of her eyes and a huff that would have made the Big Bad Wolf proud, Riona turned on her heel and marched away.

Chapter 3

The distance from the last pew in the chapel to the door totaled twenty-three steps. Riona had managed, on each of her previous visits to St. Stephen’s, to make each one of those required steps following mass before interacting with any other patrons became unavoidable. Today, however, her mind wandered. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the kindly, senior priest in charge of afternoon masses roused her from her reverie, looking at her with a hint of amusement.

She shied her eyes away and sat up on the pew. “I’m sorry. I must have drifted off.”

He took a seat beside her, motioning for her to stay. “My sermons often have that effect. There’s no rush. Besides, I’ve been hoping to talk with you.”

Riona pointed at herself while confusion filled her features.

“Do you believe in signs, Miss …?”

“Dade.” Riona held her hand out to him. His skin was both rough and soft, and felt familial in hers. “Riona.”

He laid his hand over his chest. “I’m Father Philips, and I’m supposed to give you a message.”

Great. Another one of Ramiel’s planted miraculous messages from the Lord. The good thing about archangels was that they couldn’t lie. They could dance the soulja boy around the truth, avoid it like a prostate exam when desired, but if you hit them up with a straight yes-or-no question, they couldn’t lie. Oh, they could choose silence, but the last time Ramiel had laid off his tongue, dinosaurs still roamed the Earth and Larry King had just started shaving. So when she flat-out accused the angel of arranging for a series of “divinely inspired” interventions to halt her mourning, he didn’t deny it.  But how had he known she’d been coming to this church specifically?

Oh, well, at least he was thorough.

“Yeah, the good word and the good book, and how I’ll be saved if I just believe in Him and let go of my sadness and all that.” Her sarcasm was set to automatic. “I know. Like, on an almost first-hand experience level. You can save the spiel for some other soul.”

The priest laughed.

“Oh, Father. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just dealing with a lot these days.”

“It’s okay. I was told you’d be as likely to tell me to go to Hell as to hear me out.”

So Ramiel did know her pretty well after all. “Really? And who told you this?”

He looked to the air, as though grasping for an answer. “You know, I don’t know his name. But he told me all about you. This may surprise you, Miss Dade, but we don’t get many young people wandering in here these days. He told me to look out for a woman of about thirty with hair red as the sunset and an attitude that would frighten off a raging bull. You … you don’t seem surprised about me saying all of this.”

She stifled a laugh. “You don’t seem surprised that I’m not surprised. So we can forgo all pretense. What were you told to tell me?”

“’You are worthy of the scroll.’” He looked just as confused as she was at that.  “Also, I’m supposed to tell you that this isn’t where you’ll find peace. I have to admit, Miss Dade, I have a hint about what the first part means. However, I don’t take kindly to random ‘men’ coming in to my office and telling me to drive a newcomer to my church out on to the street, telling her to never come back for the sake of all humanity. But let’s just say this young man was very
convincing
.”