The_Demons_Wife_ARC (36 page)

“So what
happened to Sally?”

Samael broke
eye contact with her and turned to stare out the window at the early spring
winter wonderland.

“Samael…”
Claire took hold of his arm and shook it. “Come on. You have to tell me what
happened.”

She paused,
but the only sound he made was a deep sigh.

“Was that
really Sally who…transformed? Or was that a demon?”

No answer.

 “Tell me! Is
Sally dead?” She all but choked on the word.

Samael turned
to face her. His expression said it all.

“Oh, my God!”
Claire said, staring at him over her clenched fist. “You mean she…she…Last
night…Did you really use Michael’s sword to…to kill her?”

Samael’s
shoulders dropped as if he were a car tire that had a sudden leak. He lowered
his head and then started shaking it slowly from side to side.

“It’s more
complicated than that,” he finally said, “but that’s some of what Michael’s
taking care of right now.”

Chapter

15

Body Double

The day after
I got married…this morning…should have been a lot different
.

That was
pretty much Claire’s only thought as she busied herself about the kitchen,
making breakfast for herself and Samael.

There was so
much to talk about, but she had no idea where to begin. It was up to him and
Michael, who joined them for a while. Before long, Michael excused himself and
left by the front door without explanation. So Claire and Samael sat there in
the kitchen, eating silently until Claire said what was on her mind.

“You have to
tell me everything.”

Samael
considered and then nodded.

Once they
started talking, Claire kept quiet, letting him do the talking while she tried
to understand something she was beginning to think she could never fully
comprehend.

Samael
confirmed her memory of events…to some degree, but parts of his narrative
seemed—at least by the way he acted, not by what he said—to diverge from her
memories, confused though they were. The ultimate horror and sorrow was his
statement that he feared Sally was, indeed, dead, but not by his hand.

“But you…you
cut the head off last night. I saw it.”

Samael bowed
his head and shook it. It bothered Claire that he wouldn’t make direct eye
contact with her or, when he did, he wouldn’t hold it for long.

“Okay,
then…who was it…or what was it?”

“I’d say the
snake was a…an emissary.”

“An emissary?”

Samael nodded.

“From”

“From my…”

A genuine
smile lit up his face.

“From my
former ‘supervisor.’”

“You make it
sound like you had a regular job,” Claire said, picking up on his amusement.

“You want
bureaucracy? Try working for Hell. It’s quotas this and deliveries that…The
only difference is the usual commodities—”

“People’s
souls, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

Samael’s
expression dropped, but for some reason what they were discussing struck Claire
as so ridiculous it bordered on the absurd. She started to chuckle and then had
to struggle not to laugh out loud. Maybe laughter was the only sensible relief
from the total insanity of what she had been through…what she had witnessed
last night.

In the clear
light of day, as it were, she couldn’t accept that the person she had thought
was her roommate was, in fact, a demon. Or had a demon possessed Sally and was
masquerading as her? Or did that snake demon have nothing to do with Sally, and
she was safely at home or at work?

Her memory had
the hazy overcast of a nightmare, now, rapidly dissolving in the daylight, but
her aching ribs reminded her that whatever it was, it had been all too real.

“I thought my
job at the chemical company was bad,” she said, “but your boss sounds like a
real dick.”

Her remark
didn’t get the reaction she wanted or expected. Instead of laughing or even
smiling, Samael was silent as he looked at her with a pained expression.

“What is it?”
Claire asked. “You’re not telling me everything, are you?”

Samael
remained silent for a considerable time. The only sound was the steady tick-tock
of the kitchen wall clock.

“What aren’t
you telling me?” Claire said, trying without success to keep the edge out of
her voice. She shifted forward in her chair and, reaching across the table,
took both of his hands in hers. They were burning hot, and they had a slick,
oily feeling.

“A lot,” he
finally said. “Too much.”

“What do you
mean?” Her hand tightened on his. “You know you can tell me
anything…everything!”

He continued
to avoid eye contact with her, and she shook his hands roughly, banging her elbows
on the table in the process.

“Samael, I’m
not some little wallflower you have to protect. I’m your wife, for Chri—for
gosh sakes.”

Samael didn’t
say a word. His expression remained flat…unreadable. He stared down at his
coffee cup and twirled it around inside the saucer, spinning it by the handle.
The china made a high-pitched ringing sound that immediately irritated Claire,
but he seemed not to notice…or care.

She tried
again to connect with Samael.

“Is it really
dead?” she asked. “I mean, how can you kill something that’s supernatural like
that?”

“It can be
destroyed…at least driven away for the time being.”

“Does that
mean you’re also in some ways mortal?”

 “As far as
you’re concerned, it’s dead…Leave it at that, okay?”

“I don’t want
to leave it at that.” It was difficult to keep her anger in check. “I have to
know…We have to share everything!”

“Even if it
causes you pain?”

“Yes!” she
said impatiently. “Even then”…although she wondered even as she spoke what she
had just agreed to.

Samael looked
at her now, his eyes as dark and glistening as black onyx. The wounded
expression on his face made her heart swell with love and pity.

“You want to
know even if once you know it, you will utterly despise me?”

“I couldn’t…I
would never despise you, Samael. I love you.”

Samael
sniffed, making Claire feel as though her concern and care were
inconsequential. That hurt. She stood up and began pacing back and forth across
the kitchen floor. Her bare feet made faint squeaking sounds every time she
turned and continued pacing.

“I don’t give
a damn about anything else,” she said, still struggling to control her anger,
“but tell me…What really happened to Sally? I mean really. Is she all right? Or
did you…did you really kill her last night with that sword?”

“It wasn’t
her,” he said simply.

Relief flooded
Claire like a geyser of cold water.

“Then who was
it?”

“He has many
names…and many manifestations, but other than a few things I have to do—some
loose ends, you could say, that I have to tie up, it looks like it’s over for
now.”

“Are you
positive?” she asked.

“Come on,
Claire. Be sensible. Do you think Evil is ever defeated or ever goes away?”

Claire was
silent.

“Evil is
always around—always has been. Always will be. And it takes any form that suits
it in order to weasel its way into your life. Try as we might—even someone as
kindhearted and forgiving as you are—will eventually be tripped up.”

He lowered his
gaze and clenched his fists so tightly they looked like ridged rocks on the
table. Claire tensed. She had never seen him this angry…or dangerous…before.

“So if you
want to know if it’s over, I say yes, for now it is. But I have to…to do some
things before I can be certain.”

“What things,
exactly?” she asked.

“You’ll find
out soon enough, I’m afraid, but first—”

He sighed and
reached out to her. She walked quickly over to him and, leaning down, clasped
both of his hands. They trembled like captive birds in her grip.

Samael sighed
and pressed his face hard against her chest. His breath was hot on her skin
through the fabric of her clothes.

“First, then.”
He heaved a shuddering sigh. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

An icy blade
of anticipation sliced through Claire, and she involuntarily held him all the
closer, wishing she could engulf him. After a few moments, he pulled away from
her.

“You may want
to sit down.”

Claire looked
at his upturned face, seeing the heavy sadness in his eyes. With a pang of
foreboding, she went back to her chair and sat down.

“All right,
then,” she said. She put her hands over his, took a sharp breath, held it, and
then let it out in a long, slow exhalation. “Tell me.”

“That night—”
he began, and Claire knew instantly that he was talking about the night they
met outside Margarita's Grille. It had only been a couple of weeks ago although
it seemed a lifetime—if not ages—ago.

“Uh-huh,” she
said, coaxing him to continue.

“It was me,”
Samael said simply.

Claire was
jolted by what he said, but she was also confused.

“Of course it
was you.”

On some level,
she knew something bad was coming, but she had no idea what.

“We met after
that horrible man tried to—”

“No. That’s
not what I mean.” He took a heavy breath. “I was the one who tried to rape
you.”

Saying that,
Samael hung his head. Claire was stunned.

“I…I don’t
quite get what you mean,” she said. “It was that creep…that LaPierre guy
who…who did it. And you showed up and saved me.”

Samael started
shaking his head from side to side and let out the most pitiable groan she had
ever heard a man—or a demon—make.

“It wasn’t LaPierre.”
He tilted his head back and sighed, blinking his eyes rapidly as he stared up
at the ceiling for a long time. “I possessed him. I made him do it.”

With those
words, it felt like the bottom fell out of Claire’s stomach.

“You…you
what?”

“I saw you in
the restaurant,” Samael said, “and after we talked, I waited for you to come
outside. When you did, and you were alone, I did something I know now I
shouldn’t have done.

What was that?
Claire wanted to ask, but she was afraid she already knew.

“I took
possession of LaPierre, who was nearby. I entered his body. I used him—used his
body to try to attack you—”

“Rape me, you
mean.”

Samael was
staring down at his feet.

“But then I
looked at you, and I changed my mind, so before he—or I—did it, I left him and
returned to this body so I could rescue you…so I could be your white knight.”

Claire was
beyond stunned. Her mouth was hanging open, and there may have even been some
sounds coming out of her, but they were far from intelligible or even human.

“I did it
to…as a way to get to you…” He looked directly at her now, his eyes shimmering
with unshed tears. “You have no idea how sorry I am…how humiliating this is—how
ashamed I am now that I would even think to do something like that. It sickens
me.”

His voice took
on a high-pitched buzzing quality that made it difficult to understand what he
was saying. Claire remembered the wasp demon on the bus and wondered if that
had actually been him…his true form.

“But that was
before I—”

His voice
choked off. Tears ran freely down his cheeks.

She was
surprised—again—to realize that demons—at least her demon—could cry.

“Before you
what?” she asked, her voice surprisingly strong for the emotions she was
feeling.

He regarded
her steadily now, his eyes glistening, black. For some reason, seeing him
vulnerable like this made it easier to hold back her own tears and rage.

“Before you
what?” she said again, even stronger.

“Before
I…wanted to…change,” he said softly.

The volume of
his voice was a fraction of what she knew it could be. She had never seen
anyone so crushed…so utterly defeated, but instead of being angry or upset,
because love knows no reason, her heart ached for him and what he was going
through. He had lost all of his former power and confidence, as if his life
force had suddenly drained out of him.

But a hot wave
of anger also churned deep inside her.

How can I love
a man…or a demon…who would do something like that?

He tricked
me!…He used me!…

Why?

“You used me!”
she said. It hurt like Hell to say it out loud, but she released his hands and
scooted her chair back, away from the table. “How could you?…You didn’t need
to…and LaPierre. Framing an innocent man…and…and driving him to suicide—”

“I didn’t do
that,” Samael said. “That was his choice, all the way.”

“But he might
not have done it if you hadn’t set him up in the first place.”

“Trust me. He
would have, but I know you’re right.” Samael’s face had lost its ruddy hue. He
looked pale and gaunt. With the ceiling light shining down from above, his
cheekbones stood out in stark relief. The shadows under his eyes were
infinitely dark and deep. He looked both pathetic—a mere shell of what he once
had been—and, at the same time, absolutely evil. His eyes, as black as polished
marble, fixed on her.

Where did the
gold flecks go?

He opened his
mouth to speak, and she saw his double-tipped tongue flickering back and forth
like a snake’s, tasting the air…smelling her emotions.