The Book Waitress Series Volume One (15 page)

“I have two more to look over. It creeps me out just thinking about what we might have to do. And what kinds of things do we have to find? What if they’re gross?”

He placed a bag of chips and two plates piled with sandwiches on the table. Next, he brought out two bottles of root beer. When he sat down, he scrutinized her. Red splotchy patches on her cheeks were beginning to fade. Swollen, red eyes cleared and calmed down as they ate their meal in contemplative silence. Resolution needed to happen as soon as possible.

“Let’s hit the books, kiddo. I just know we’ll find something more of more value in them.”

She wiped her mouth and gathered the plates.

“Whoa, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What? I’m putting the dishes in the sink.” She gave him a puzzled, irritated look.

“Uh uh. I’ll do it. You go on into the dining room and start analyzing the rest of your books.” He took the plates from her hands and shooed her out of the kitchen. Was he being over-protective? Damn straight. If she didn’t like it,
too freaking bad.

She wanted to smack and kiss him at the same time. Not used to being the center of someone’s attention, or even being cared about, the fact that he’d gone overboard with the cleanup in the kitchen left her rattled. Acknowledging that she nearly died and he’d found her before that could happen, she would give him some leeway. But, if he planned on smothering her any further, she’d have to put a stop to it or go nuts.

The last book she’d been looking over lay before her, opened to the last page analyzed. “Best to start here, I believe. Maybe this book will be the ringer. Ooh, maybe I’ll change out these ice packs first.”

A rush of hot, searing stings traveled up her legs. She raced over to the living room where they kept the ice packs. First, she peeled one of the legs of her suit up to expose the old pack. Then she ripped it off and quickly shook and placed the new pack in its place. She did this for each and every pack site. She should have done it earlier. Now she played catch-up with the pain management. Once done, she returned to the dining room and the book.

When she sat down, she saw her personal hottie already involved in a book of his own. Quietly joining him, she noticed his brow furrow and he ran his fingers through his hair.
He looks so frustrated, but determined. How did I get so lucky to have him in my life? What would have become of me had he not been here?
She involuntarily shook her head to throw off that notion and dug into the book in front of her.

Page after page went into depth about how evil had wormed its way into ancient civilizations and resurfaced in modern society. Fascinating stuff, but nothing nearly as riveting as finding out how to close Hell’s portal. She closed the book and moved on to the last book in her pile from Myra.

This book was the most unusual, with its leather cover, embossed titling, and mysterious embellishments.
The Dark Path
looked to be the smallest of the books, reminding her of a personal journal more than a reference book. She opened the worn cover with care and turned to the first page. Indeed, it was a personal journal. As she flitted and scanned through the rest of the pages, she saw that all were handwritten.

“Hey, check this out. I haven’t read anything in it yet, but isn’t this peculiar?” She pushed the book to his side of the table.

He took it and looked at the first few pages. “Wow, this is intriguing. A handwritten journal. I wonder by whom. It doesn’t readily say. Here. Hopefully, you’ll find what we’re looking for in it.” He smiled and winked at her.

“Fingers crossed!” She smiled back, and immediately winced. What number creature of Hell did this make? She’d lost track.
Please, let this be the book!

Chapter Six

Fares were hard to come by today, and Tony let his frustration get the better of him. He’d driven up to a bar where he’d been called to, only to find out the people decided to walk instead. So, he left his taxi out front and went inside to drown himself in pity shots. His wife would be pissed, but he didn’t care. She didn’t have to deal with stuck up, obnoxious, wealthy assholes day in and day out. It was all he could do not to drive straight into the sound with a group of them in his cab. Sure he’d die, too, but it would be worth it just to take out a handful of self-important bastards.

“Fill her up, would ya, Guy?” He slammed his shot glass on the counter.

“Tony, don’t you think you’ve had enough? You’re gonna have to walk home as it is, you know.”

“I said fill ‘er up. Did I speak Chinese or something? Come on. I’m fine. Look, here’re my keys to the car. Okay?” He tossed them on the bar counter and leaned in. “I want my drink, please.” He enunciated every possible syllable in please, which in this case, were mostly made up.

“One more, and I’m cutting you off.” Guy poured another shot into the glass and pushed it toward him.

“That’s the thanks I get for spending my money in this fine establishment.”

He pounded down the shot and threw the glass against the wall behind the counter, shattering the mirror hanging there. As he turned his stool, he grabbed his keys back, got up, and stalked toward the door.

“Hey, you can’t trash this place and leave!
Hey!”

Tony turned back and stared the bar man down. “I can and I will.”
Whoa, whose voice just came out of my mouth? Ah, who the Hell cares? He looks terrified. Ha ha!

He turned to leave again and no one stopped him this time. He got back in his taxi and drove off down the main street of town. It was a beautiful day to be walking about… and it was a great day to die. Tony veered onto the sidewalk and careened into pedestrians, one by one like they were bowling pins. Up one sidewalk and down another. He stopped counting how many hits he’d achieved at twenty. The rest were bonus points. When he tired of the gruesome game, he decided to go home.

Like a bat out of Hell, he raced to his home, with two measly cop cars following close behind. Tony’s wife picked up her phone, and he told her to wait for him outside. He had a lot of groceries to bring in. With all the skill of a man on a terminal mission, he sped up even more as he approached the house. His wife, rarely dutiful, obliged him today and stood waiting by the garage door. A perfect target. He didn’t hesitate as he slammed into her, sending her up and over the hood of his car. Her shocked face smashed against his windshield, and made for a most fitting and satisfying ending to a crappy day.

Sirens blared as he took his time exiting the car. The cops came to a screeching halt before him. As they got out of their cars, they drew their weapons and yelled for him to freeze. He ignored them. Not quite sure where he wanted to go, he just started walking. An explosion of pain pierced his legs and he faltered. Limping, he continued undaunted and spewed dire proclamations to anyone in ear’s reach.

“The Dark Master’s claimed another soul today! He’s claimed another soul! And your souls are next!”

The officers rushed and wrestled him to the ground. Cuffed and bleeding, he watched as an ambulance pulled up. Glancing at his wounds, his lip curled up in a grimace. Bullets pushed out of their entry sites and fell to the ground. He yanked against the handcuffs and they snapped.

“I’ll be back for your souls later. Wish I could stay, but I gotta run. Ha ha!” He ran off, an image of the officers’ horrified faces and his wife’s bloody one fresh in his mind.

***

The leather-bound, handwritten journal felt different from the other books she’d held and looked through earlier. It felt alive, and smelled like magic. It spoke to her soul as she reread the title on the cover. This was it. She knew it. This would explain it all and lead her to the answers she so desperately needed.

She got as far as the first few words of the first sentence, sighed, and frowned. The writing could be likened to a doctor’s scrawling. Long and torturous would be the journey through
The Dark Path
, but there was no other way around it. With no table of contents to guide her, she had to simply go page by page.

Evil has existed for as long as man has had a brain to think and reason, and even longer still among the immortals. Portals have been opened around the universe and many have surfaced on Earth, only to be closed again by some brave individuals. During such times, as in the Stone and Dark Ages, all manner of evil has crossed over. I shall attempt to document, for posterity, the variety of evil manifestations and how some brave souls have successfully sent them back to Hell. This compilation is by no means exhaustive, nor are the methods for eradicating evil. Whoever owns this journal has a responsibility to the human race to keep it updated, and to pass it on when it is of no further use.

She paused in her reading and sat back. Closing her eyes, she hoped when they opened again, she’d be back in her old house, lying on her bed, having fallen asleep after watching an Angel marathon. She peeked through one eye and immediately recognized the man sitting on the other side of the dining room table.

“Damn it.” With hunched shoulders, she hung her head.

“What’s the matter?”

She didn’t look up. “Oh, nothing. Just that every now and again I close my eyes in the hopes that when I reopen them, I’ll find this to be one huge mind-fuck of a nightmare. Hasn’t worked yet.”

“I don’t blame you for feeling that way. I’m glad, however, for one thing that came out of this. We met.” His dimpled smile tempted her to leap across the table and go all animal on him. If he didn’t stop looking that way at her, she wouldn’t hold back.

“Yes, I must admit that is the most pleasant event in this whole fiasco of a life right now.”

“Find anything of interest in that book of yours, there?”

“Yes, actually. First, it’s all handwritten. Second, I think Myra gave us our ‘bible’.”

“What?” He stood and scrambled around the table to her side.

“What we have here is book containing a glossary of creatures that have crossed through portals opened in the past, and a guide on how to send them back to where they came from. It says if we find anything new to write it in. I haven’t had a chance to look past the first page because the writing is excruciatingly difficult to read. But, if it pans out, this is a total game changer.”

“I’ll say it is!”

He spun her around in her seat and grabbed her up into his arms. She found herself in a dizzying whirl and squealed. Slowing down and lowering her to the floor, he planted a voracious kiss on her lips. Her squeals turned to sighs and she moaned her approval. Tearing her lips away, she found a confidence blooming within. In a very low, serious tone she gave him a very clear message.

“Put me down, Mr. Galloway.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He eased her down and stepped back, putting his hands in the air, submitting to her demand.

She reached behind her back to find the zipper and inched it down, exposing her back to the cool air. Through with playing around, she wanted him now, and was done with tiptoeing around her “burning” issues.

“Wh…what are you doing?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing.” She peeled the neoprene away from her shoulders, revealing her collarbone and the tops of the inverted crosses etched onto her upper arms. “I’ve had enough of this evil running through, and ruining, my life. I have needs. You have needs.” She screwed up her face struggling with the skin-tight suit. “We have needs! Oh, for heaven’s sake, help me with this, would you? I’m stuck.”

“Easy there, girl. Easy. You’re gonna rip it.” He moved in and stilled her hands with his. His piercing gaze told her he would throw caution to the wind, right along with her. “Come with me and I’ll take this off the right way.”

Walking backward, he pulled her with him and led them upstairs to the bedroom, one painstaking step at a time, all the while keeping his smoldering eyes glued to hers. With each step, however, growing trepidation warred with the need inside her.
What if another creature crosses over while we’re in the middle of things? What if he’s grossed out by all my scars? What if nothing bad happens and I enjoy myself for the first time in a long time? That would be epic.

As they crossed the threshold of her bedroom, another infamous random thought entered her mind. “I hope thread count doesn’t bother you. I didn’t know we’d be, uh…. Well, anyway, I don’t have my better sheets on the bed.”

“Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be touching the sheets nearly as much as I’ll be touching you.” A low, guttural growl precipitated a barrage of kisses along her neck and collarbone. His shaggy hair brushed against her cheek and she moaned while a shiver raced from the base of her spine up to her neck.

Like petals on a flower, he peeled her suit away from her body, revealing soft, supple skin alternating with angry scars. The Mark of the Damned above her left breast seemed the most innocuous compared to the others. Feeling like a science experiment under a microscope, she shifted uneasily where she stood. After having her breasts and stomach laid bare where the pentagram had been engraved, she instinctively covered it with her hands, but he would have none of that. He gently brought her hands to his lips and looked on her as though she were a wounded bird.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself from me. I know where these came from. I know what they mean, and can imagine how you feel about them. But I’m here to make you feel something completely different.”

He dropped to his knees, and traced a trail around her breasts with his tongue, straight through the pentagram, leaving hot kisses at each point of the star. He pulled the neoprene down over her hips to reveal her core. She swayed and her eyes fluttered closed. With the ability to see gone, her other senses kicked in. Nerves that had been exposed and exploited by the cruelty of Satan seemed to let out a collective sigh with this man’s touch.

“God! Whatever you do
, please,
don’t stop.”

“Not a chance in….” He paused and continued, “No way.”

She’d had never felt more cared for and desired than now. Maybe good things really did come to those who wait.
Maybe I’ll finally experience what it’s like to be in love and be loved back. Maybe….

“Ah!” A sharp, shooting pain laid a path over the pentagram on her stomach. Reflexes sent her doubling over and her knee instinctively jerked up.

“Ow!” He fell back on his ass and rubbed his chin. “Thun of a bith!”

“Holy Hell! I’m so sorry! Ah….” She fell to the floor, as well, with tendrils of icy hot streaks coursing up and down her legs and arms. “I need ice, Derek,” she whimpered. “Please, get me ice.”

Without so much as a response, he raced out of her room and had to have flown down the stairs, because in no time flat he returned with an arm full of ice packs. He dropped them on the bed and hoisted her up and onto it, as well.

“Let’s get these ice packs exchanged and back in place.” She marveled as he deftly removed the old ones, replaced them with the new, and pulled up the suit to once again cover her body. He stood back. “Well? Is that better?”

She sat up and shook her head, all the while laughing softly. Her laughter dissolved into sobs, and she covered her face with her hands. “This is so messed up. I’m about to have an orgasm from ice packs!”

“It’s okay.” He rubbed her back, or at least she thought he did. She couldn’t really tell through the suit. “We’ll try again another time.”

“It’s
not
okay.” She whipped her hands about in the air. “Don’t you see? I should be having an orgasm over you!” Furious and frustrated, she’d blurted out exactly what had been on her mind, and immediately regretted it. She shot up from the bed and stomped her way to the bathroom to luxuriate in her utter mortification.

***

It’d been twenty minutes since Derek had returned to the dining room, leaving Camille to regain her composure. It took him about half that time to gather his own wits and calm down his raging libido. He still hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs and, rather than wait any longer, he took it upon himself to look through the journal.

The book was aptly named. There was nothing light at all about
The Dark Path
. As he read page after page, a world he’d known nothing about before coming to Shelter Island emerged; dark, dangerous, and sinister. Portals to Hell had been opened at different points in history. Supernatural beings had crossed over into our plane of existence, leading to barbarous acts of all kinds, from genocide to unspeakable sadistic cruelty against humankind. Many of the world’s most despicable events were blamed upon these opened gateways.

The pages following the brief history lesson were filled with descriptions of these horrific creatures, and how they insidiously wormed their way into roles of power in society, or went on killing sprees by possessing and using humans as their puppets. If this book was fact, they were in deep shit without a shovel.

He closed his eyes, dry and irritated from staring too long at the tiny, nearly illegible scrawling, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sensed her presence immediately, but didn’t turn around right away. Rather, he stayed glued to his seat and kept his eyes shut. Was it to save her pride or his?