The Devil's Wife (5 page)

      Clarissa shrank around the doorframe. I stormed to the freezer, searching through the piles of meat for the ground beef. I relaxed and thought as I pulled at a package of it frozen to the back of the freezer.

      "What?" she asked timidly.

      "Nothing. Just thinking of when I met Mary Magdalene, that's all, way back when." I smiled, pulling out the lump of meat from the freezer. Clarissa was sitting on a chair, having dragged it into the kitchen to sit next to the doorframe.

"You met her?"

      "Of course. Did you know that Jesus was actually the son of my friend Beelzebub? As though God would think of impregnating a human to lead them all on a good moral path," I scoffed. "That bitch wouldn't know moral if it crept from the primordial ooze and bit Her on the ass."

      I held the meat between my hands, warming it up with my magic. Clarissa frowned, leaning against the wall, watching me.

      "What're you doing?"

      I added the now-defrosted meat to the pan, throwing the plastic bag in the bin. "Making you dinner. It'll take a bit to cook, though, so you have some time to do whatever you want. Watch TV, listen to music, whatever. The house is yours to haunt."

      "That's okay." Clarissa smiled, then yawned. "I'll sit here and watch you cook dinner. I can't cook."

      "That's a shame, it's very relaxing." I smiled, squashing the lumps from the ground beef. "Even if some fools think exquisite cooking is a temptation to be denied at all costs."

      I turned the meat over. The scent was making my mouth water. I poured a glass of Merlot into the meat, stirring it gently.

      "Why are you making such a complicated meal for me? I'd settle for toast."

      I put the lid on the pan and looked at her. "I thought you'd want something nice to eat. Besides, I hate basic, tasteless meals."

      I turned back to the stove and stirred the meat, pulling out a couple of tomatoes from the refrigerator and chopping them roughly. I put a handful of pieces in the blender with a few herbs to turn into tomato puree.

      "How long was I asleep?"

      "Almost twenty-four hours. My magic was calling on your energy to replenish your blood, so you needed to sleep. You probably still need to sleep."

      She yawned, watching me. "I'm not tired."

      I shook my head, scooping out the tomato paste from the blender and filling the empty jug with the rest of the tomato pieces to roughly dice them. "Go back to bed, Clarissa. I don't think you're right in the head yet."

      "I'm fine," she tried to say, then slipped off the frame. I caught her a few inches from the floor. To my surprise, she turned her head toward me, her right hand fisting into my shirt.

      "No, if you were fine, you'd be screaming curses and swear words at me like you were last night." I helped her up and escorted her back down the hallway.

      "And what if I decided that there was no point in believing what I see, and instead just going with the flow?" she asked as we got to the bedroom.

      "Then I would pity you for that. This isn't a dream, Clarissa. I'm real."

      I placed Clarissa gently on the bed. She was still holding onto my shirt, and I gently pulled the thin yellow material from between her fingers, pulling the covers up around her shoulders.

      "As long as you don't send me to Hell, I don't care," she yawned, closing her eyes and rolling onto her side.

      "I can't do that," I said with a slight smile, walking to the door, "especially not to someone I only just met."

      She reached out next to her for something, and I felt a nagging sense of worry. What if she had a boyfriend, or a husband, who would miss her tonight? What if he was worried about her right now? I should have asked earlier.

      Clarissa found what she was looking for: a pillow. She pulled it close to her, wrapping her arms around it, as she would a partner, and a small smile appeared on her face. I sighed and fixed the blankets around her so she wouldn't get a chill. I turned down the dimmer on the light and shut the door, heading for the kitchen.

Jaselyn Haraford

      Time is a strange thing. When you want it to speed up, it slows down, and vice versa. Pain makes the world slow down as well, dragging life to a standstill, dulling everything but the pain itself.

      I spent all day at the office, entering the data sets into the computer and trying to make the books balance. It was incredibly boring, sitting in the cubicle, typing numbers into the computer. I was wearing long sleeves and long pants, despite it being warm inside, because I didn't like people seeing the cuts, burns and bruises that littered my dark skin.

      The clock ticked over to six o'clock, and I still avoided leaving the office. I was one of the few people here, but I didn't care. I didn't want to go back home to where my boyfriend—my keeper—would be waiting for me.

      Seven o'clock ticked past. The phone beside me rang, making me jump. I thought about just letting it ring out, but then I saw it was security. I lifted the handset to my shoulder and continued to enter the data.

      "Hello?"

      "Miss Haraford? We have a man down here who says he's been waiting for you for the last hour. Would you like us to send him up? He says his name is Jason de Bowver."

      My mouth went dry at the sound of my boyfriend's name, and I had to swallow the last cold dregs of my coffee to be able to talk. It felt like acid making its way to my stomach. Shit shit shit...

      "N-no, tell him I'll be down in a minute."

"I will."

"Thanks."

"Have a good night."

      My hands were shaking as I set the phone down in its cradle. I breathed heavily, and my mouth was still dry. I coughed slightly and ran my hands through my hair, then stood up shakily.

      "Jayce? Are you all right?"

      The sound of my neighbor's voice startled me so much that I dropped my coffee cup. It shattered across the carpet and I swore.

      "Y-yeah, Patrick, I'm fine. Just late, that's all."

      Patrick stood and helped me clean up the ceramic, throwing the pieces in his bin. "Okay. Jason down stairs?"

      I nodded, pulling my coat out and throwing it over my shoulders. I stood the collar up to hide the bruises on my throat from last night's sex—as Jason insisted on calling the act.

      "Okay. Do you want me to walk you down, or—"

      "N-no, Pat, really, I'm fine." I grabbed my purse and stuffed my phone and book inside, then clutched the straps so tightly my knuckles turned white. "Really, I'll be right."

      He looked me over, frowning slightly. "Okay. Have a good night, Jayce. See you Monday."

      I smiled weakly, nodding. I couldn't return his comment with certainty, so I wouldn't at all.

      I hurried to the elevators, almost twisting my ankle in my stilettos. I tried to swallow when I was in the elevator, but my mouth was dry. Jason scared me shitless, but my efforts to run from him were worse than just going along with him. He was a powerful person in New York, able to have anyone he wanted killed, quietly and without punishment.

      Except Clarissa, I thought as the numbers ticked closer to the "G". He can only have her put in jail. He hasn't been able to kill her. Yet. She's too strong for him, knows too much. She's still too much a Hellraiser for him to easily kill her. She still has too much of his training, but she's also completely different. She has compassion. Jason can't touch her, hasn't been able to touch her, not after she skipped out on his gang after her mother got sick.

      Jason was waiting in the foyer when I emerged from the elevators. He was sitting on one of the cushioned chairs, watching the doors. He was smiling, which was scarier than his normal sour look. Smiles meant more pain.

      "There you are, honey!" he called in a chipper voice, standing up.

      I smiled shakily at the security guard, who was watching me walk to Jason. I could feel my stomach churning in fear and the security guard glanced quickly at Jason.

      "Hey, honey," he said, and I heard the note of danger in his voice. He pulled me in for a kiss that ended in him biting my tongue savagely. "Come on, let's go home."

      I nodded weakly, feeling the blood in my mouth. It wouldn't do any good to say anything now, not with my mouth full of blood. We walked from the foyer, out into the darkness of the night, as I swallowed the blood, trying not to cry from the pain. I didn't care about the taste. I'd swallowed enough of my own blood for it not to faze me anymore.

      Jason led me to the back of the building, where he pushed me up against the brick wall. My head hit it, and the world got fuzzy for a second.

      "When were you going to call me to pick you up, Jayce?" he hissed, holding me against the wall with his weight and holding my hands down. "Or were you going to get that Patrick to drive you home?"

      My heart was in my throat, and I was trembling in fear. I couldn't think, let alone answer him.

      "You slut." He spat in my face and let me go. "You whore. I love you, I give you money, I give you sex, and you're still off trying to get into the pants of that boy?"

      "No, Jason, I don't—" I couldn't make myself shut up.

      He slapped me with what felt like all the force he could muster, and my head hit the wall again. I sank to my knees, holding my head and looking up at him.

      "You whore. On your knees where you belong," he growled, and I felt tears falling down my cheeks as I kneeled in front of him. "You can walk home." He stepped away from me and turned his back on me.

      "No, please, Jason—"

      He hit me again, and I sobbed, sprawled on the

ground in front of him. He pulled me to my feet by my hair, and I swallowed a scream of pain as he threw me toward the car, and I hit the door.

      "Get in," he ordered.

      I scrambled into the back seat of the car, afraid to be alone with him, but more afraid to be left here without him. His Hellraisers could be anywhere in the city, and I didn't want to run into them. They were worse than Jason, barely under his control at the best of times.

      Something snapped overhead, and I peered out of the window, looking for the source. A shape flew overhead, and it looked like the Devil. Blinded by the lights of New York City, I couldn't be sure, but I did see a flash of red and the Devil's tail.

      If my mouth could have become dryer, it would have.

      "Shut your mouth, you whore, and lie down," Jason snapped, starting the engine.

      I swallowed and nodded to him as he threw the car into reverse, and I felt us moving forward as I curled up on the back seat, too afraid of Jason to refuse.

~ * ~

      The house was on a quiet street, right up the end of the cul-de-sac. There were two spaces of vacant land to either side of the house, and the closest street light was halfway down the road. It was the perfect hideout for the leader of a dangerous New York gang, far enough from the action that if something went wrong in the city, he wouldn't be in the middle of it.

      I heard the car stop, and Jason climbed out. A second later, the door at my feet opened, and he pulled me out by my hand, slamming the door shut and dragging me to the house. I could hear drunken laughter from inside, and I trembled in Jason's grip. He pulled me to the garage door, and I felt slightly relieved—if he was taking me to his friends, we would have gone in through the front door.

      He threw me into the living room, and I stumbled over the step. The boys —some of them weren't even eighteen— cheered and laughed. Two of them stood up, but Jason stepped through the door and grabbed my arm again. I knew this routine—he was marking me as his for the night.

      "Aw, boss, come on—"

      "No, Levine," Jason snapped, pushing me into the hallway. "She is my toy. She must be punished for her transgressions this afternoon."

      I whimpered, and the boys laughed. Jason dragged me down the hall to our bedroom and threw me on the bed. I bounced off the mattress and rolled onto the floor on the other side of the bed as I heard the door shut loudly.

      I lay on the floor, listening to Jason's footsteps. It was always better if I didn't move, if I didn't fight him. It didn't hurt so badly if I did what he told me to do, if I went with his movements.

      Jason grabbed my hair and pulled me up, backing me up into the wall with his taller, heavier frame. I whimpered as he pressed me into the wall, his body pressing the bruises of the night before.

      Jason laughed, ripping at my shirt. Three buttons went flying as I sobbed, unable to move with my fear.

      "Now, now, my pretty," he said gently, running his fingers up the side of my face. "What are all your tears about? I haven't hurt you."