Delaney dragged the covers with her, her eyes still closed. “Is there green tea involved in this getting up? Because if there’s no tea, I just know I won’t play well with others.”
Marcella tugged a lock of her hair. “I don’t do domestic, and you know it. No tea. But there is something that might interest you. You can’t see it unless you open your eyes.”
“If you were really my BFF, you wouldn’t make me do this.”
“Because I’m your BFF, I’m making you do this. Open ’em, or I’ll set your curtains on fire with my bad aim.”
Delaney finally laughed, opening her eyes with a slow shift of her eyelids. She snapped them shut much more quickly. “Yippee and skippee. Is that what I think it is?”
Marcella flicked her arm with what Delaney guessed was a French-manicured fingertip. “It is,
mi amiga
. Now up with you so we can get this over with.”
“Nice coup.”
“Yeahhhh,” she agreed with smug satisfaction. “Even if I do say so myself. Now up, my friend. We have business to attend to.”
“Will it be messy? I can’t afford to clean the carpets this month. The till is dry.” Resentment for Clyde’s séance crashing resettled in her craw.
Marcella’s green eyes captured hers with a familiar gleam in them. “When isn’t it ever messy with me, D? No one knows better than you do, my demon skills”—she leaned in to Delaney, whispering the words—“suck hairy balls, for lack of a better word.”
“That’s a phrase,” Delaney corrected.
She sat back on the bed with a smile. “What-the-hell-ever. Anyway, seeing as I’m all ju got—um,
you
got, we’ll just have to make lemons out of lemonade.”
“Lemonade out of lemons,” a deep voice over by the radiator in her room corrected.
Marcella slipped off the bed as though she floated on a cloud. Leaning down, she dragged a slim finger over the hard shoulder that was duct-taped to Delaney’s radiator. “Whatever, darling. You Americans and your language are just something I don’t think I’ll ever get used to. Every time I think I get it—I don’t. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think explanations are in order here, don’t you?”
Delaney was off the bed in a shot, stumbling on her sheets, almost falling into Clyde’s duct-taped lap. When the full picture became clear, it made her gasp. Poor Clyde held hostage by a mountain of sticky silver tape. “You captured him with duct tape, Marcella? Duct tape? What about this says securing the bad demon to you? This shows shoddy workmanship, if you ask me, Ms. Demonli cious.”
Marcella gave her long, black hair an indignant swish over her shoulder. “I was in a pinch, okay? He was lingering right here in your bedroom, hovering over your dead-to-the-world body—I had to act fast. Jesus, you’d think you’d at least notice the circle of salt I made around him so he’d be immobilized—just like you taught me. Can you even imagine what kind of freakin’ facial peel I’d have been up against if I had gotten any of it on me?” She shuddered. “Oh, and I think you’re clean out of Morton. We can shop once we rid ourselves of him. But not before we find out what he wants—or more specifically, what
Lucifer
wants.” Her green eyes narrowed in on Clyde, her full lips tilted in a seductive smile. “Though, I have to admit, the human form he chose is pleasant on the eye, eh,
chica
?” She glanced at Delaney and mouthed the word
meow
.
Yeah, like big meow. The hell she’d admit that out loud, no matter how true. But Marcella, sexually charged demon that she was, had no filter from brain to mouth when it came to expressing her sexuality. A hottie was a hottie in her world. They never lasted longer than a night for Marcella, but Delaney had heard the stories. “Hey! Libido check. Forget what he looks like. He doesn’t even really look like that. That’s just some body he chose from a magazine cover or something, and you know it,” Delaney chastised, moving in to examine the job Marcella’d done.
Despite the fact that Clyde looked as though he wasn’t going anywhere, and with all that duct tape around him, he might never go anywhere again, she wasn’t even a little ashamed to admit, she hated the prospect of violence during expulsion. And if screaming fireballs and iffy attempts at levitation were involved, especially where Marcella was concerned, Clyde was leaving this plane violently if not expertly. It just took Marcella time to warm up.
“Then he chose well, no?” she purred again from deep within her throat, the rasp of her words slow and sensual.
Delaney nudged her with an exaggerated sigh. “Focus, tart. He’s gotta bounce. Where he goes or if he goes with you before he gets there isn’t for me to judge.” Looking down at Clyde, fastened to her radiator with more duct tape than a Home Depot shelf and a circle of thick salt around him to keep him from escaping, her heart began to speed up. What could Lucifer possibly gain by sending him? Unless Clyde was just letting her think he was a lesser demon . . . “Now, suggestions on how to do that?”
Marcella shook her head stubbornly, bracing a hand on the small of her back. “Not until we find out what’s going on. Your message said he came here to bring you back to that scum Lucifer. I want to know why. Is the head badass all of a sudden upset that you’ve kept a few souls from his slimy clutches? Or is he doing this because I help you keep spirits from ending up just like me? That worries me, D. That worries me all the time. That maybe that weenie Beelzebub will exact revenge on me through you. I won’t have it.” She returned her smoldering gaze to Clyde. “So, handsome,” Marcella looked down at him and purred, “spill.”
Delaney reached for the robe she’d left in the corner of her room last night, never taking her eyes off Clyde. The Clyde who’d mastered a very convincingly baffled expression.
Bra-vo, ba-by.
He was crazy tight with the “I don’t get it.”
She didn’t need to hear why he was here. She was almost certain why he was here. To make good on a threat the devil’d made almost fifteen years ago. A threat she’d never shared with anyone but Kellen. A threat that now made her wonder if she’d drawn unwanted attention to her friend who always dropped everything on a dime to help her.
Oh, hellz, no.
Involving Marcella might make an already hinky Lucifer take out his ire on her. There hadn’t been a lot of thought about repercussions when she’d dialed Marcella last night. The last thing her bound-to-Hell pal needed was Lucifer’s attention focused on her.
The last.
He wasn’t one hundred percent in love with the fact that Marcella refused to spread his evil, but he let her be, in favor of bigger havoc to wreak. She was small potatoes compared to most demons, who willingly followed Lucifer. According to Marcella, each new demon, upon creation, came readily equipped with a fireball or two, maybe some levitating abilities, but if you didn’t hone those skills, create chaos on a regular basis, you didn’t get much further than that. Sort of a use it or lose it rule.
Marcella flat-out refused to play demon games, and so far, the horned one hadn’t seemed terribly interested that she helped Delaney cross people over, or even that she’d stopped a bunch of possessions in her time. The theory they’d concocted about Lucifer’s indifference to it was simple. No demon wanted to go back to his level-four Hell boss and tell them they’d screwed up something as simple as a possession or talking someone into their way of life. Don’t ask, don’t tell. What your level boss didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—or, in the end, you. And it couldn’t be reported to Satan.
So Marcella’d become a mere blip on Hell’s screen.
But Lucifer might not be so in the game if he knew Marcella was helping to thwart an effort that had obviously been a long time in the making. One he’d ordered by sending Clyde with a specific message.
If she’d been a trifle concerned last night, that all changed with the idea that Marcella could be hurt. Fear sliced through her—fear and indecision. Delaney put a hand on Marcella’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the fact that she was about to tell her a major, honkin’ lie. “Know what, Marcella? Forget why he’s here. In fact, forget I called you. I think I can handle this all on my own.” Her words were clearly unsteady, absolutely unsure, but she wouldn’t risk Marcella’s involvement.
“You mean forget it? Just like that?” Marcella snapped her slender fingers together. “Um, no. You were freaked out on the phone last night,
señorita
. You said Clyde had come to collect you and bring you back to Hell, something I don’t get because he can’t get you there without whacking you and he can’t whack you, according to the rules of Hell—unless he wins your favor by deceit, which will never happen with someone like you. Though, he can definitely freak you the fuck out—make you see and do horrific things as a result if your will is even a little weak, but that ain’t you,
guapa
. Regardless, that’s not something I’ll ever let happen if I can prevent it. But it’s a statement I still don’t understand because you’re hardly presenting a problem to Lucifer. Most of the spirits you cross over know exactly where they want to go, and it ain’t down below. So no go. Call me curious, but I’m in it for the long haul.”
Delaney rolled her tongue in her cheek. Fuck. She
had
said she was a little freaked in her voice-mail message when Clyde claimed he was sent to take her to Hell. But wasn’t that a demon’s goal to begin with? To drag your ass back to Purgatory by hook or by contract? “Well, take your curious ass home. All demons make threats, and you know it. I’d never had a direct hit like that before that was so personal, so I got a little hinky. But I’m over it. Now, I appreciate the duct tape and the circle of death constructed in salt, but I think I know exactly what to do.” Which was an utter and complete lie. She didn’t know much more about expelling a demon than nuns knew about riding cowgirl, but if it meant keeping Marcella from hacking off Lucifer, so be it.
Marcella’s dark head tilted to the left, the sleek strands of her hair almost brushing her elbow bent at her hip. “Ah, no. I went to a lot of trouble to anchor our compadre’s ass to your radiator—a lot—and not without risk to my personal well-being. I deserve some answers. Besides, you do realize, if Lucifer sent him, and we manage to get rid of him, which isn’t looking like a problem seeing as I wrestled him with only duct tape, that that chicken shit will just send someone else in his place. Maybe someone who’s bigger and badder. I say we deal with the wussy demon just for fun, because he has to go no matter what, and while we’re at it, we get the 411. Know what I mean, ghost lady?”
She knew exactly what Marcella meant. Delaney’s thoughts raced, her hands becoming ice-cold. If Lucifer wanted her and this demon didn’t nab her, there’d be more to follow. But that still didn’t mean Marcella had to be involved. And she definitely didn’t want Marcella to know
why
the devil had come calling via Clyde. The less she knew, the better off she was. “I know just what you mean, but I also know you don’t need to be involved. It’s like you said—he’s clearly not a very powerful demon. I just got all whacked when he said he wanted to take me to Hell. But again: so over it now. So go on—get to gettin’. Isn’t there a sale at Pier 1 today? I bet they have pillows on sale . . .” she enticed with a smile and a singing lilt to her voice, running a hand over her robin’s egg blue nightgown. Which was just a little skimpy to be prancing around with in front of a demon.
“May I say something here, ladies?” The silent, studious Clyde suddenly drew the women’s attention to him.
Marcella leaned down and put a finger to his lips. “No.”
“But—”
She pressed more firmly. “Shhhh. Just be pretty.”
Clyde shook her finger off with a rough jerk of his head.“Enough!” he shouted, seemingly surprising even himself with his commanding tone. He paused only for a moment before adding, “If you women would stop yammering like I’m not even in the room with you, I can explain.”
Delaney’s eyes narrowed while her heart raced. “No, no, no. Whatever you have to say, I’m not even a little interested. Demons are all liars.”
Marcella gave her a hurt look, her exquisitely plucked brows furrowing, her lips forming a glossy red pout.
She shot her an apology with her eyes, then threw her gaze at Clyde. “Sorry.
Except
you, Marcella. You, Clyde, on the other hand, can forget it. I wouldn’t believe a word you said even if you conjured up the Big Kahuna to back you up. Now, for the very last time, I want you—”
“If you two would just shut up, you’d see I could care less if you go back to Hell with me or not, damn it, because I’m not going back!” The muscles in his neck bulged, his tightly bound arms and legs strained against the restrictive silver duct tape, and his glasses wobbled on his nose with his explosive statement.
Ohhhh. He looked pissed. Which was hot on a guy who exuded the epitome of calm. Even if that calm façade was more than likely bullshit. But he’d managed to pique her curiosity. The women exchanged confused glances, but Marcella was the first to speak. “See? I told you we needed to hear what his story was.”
Yet Delaney remained skeptical. “Demons are liars. Who knows that better than you?”
“Excuse me,” Clyde intervened, his hard face clearly outraged, as the widening of his eyes and the granite set to his jaw showed. “You don’t even know me and I don’t mind saying, I’m a little hacked off myself now. I’m no liar. I
was
sent here to bring you back to Hell—”
Delaney pointed a finger under his nose. “You see? You admit it!”
His gruff sigh virtually shouted his agitation. The heave of the duct tape around his lightly haired chest made a slight ripping sound as it tore at patches of hair. “Yes, and if you’d given me the chance to explain before waving that thing under my nose and screeching like some banshee, I might have been able to finish what I was saying. I was sent here to bring you back to Hell, but I have absolutely no intention of doing anything of the sort.”
Delaney didn’t budge. Like she’d ever eat that baloney sandwich. “I call bullshit.”
Clyde’s stern expression grew harder as his jaw clamped down and a throbbing pulse in his temple picked up speed. “Call it whatever you like, but it can’t be called bullshit. I’m telling the truth.”