“Where are the little ones?” he asked.
“At a friend’s.”
Petru wasn’t sure how to ask for some of what she was making, so he shoved a wad of twenties into her hand and took a deep breath, hoping she would share. A moment later, he became aware that he had done something very wrong. Her radiant smile lost all warmth. She nodded her head but didn’t say anything. Then she pulled off her apron, very slowly, as if the action hurt her.
Her fingers moved to the buttons on her dress, which were in the shape of butterflies. He loved how she painted shaped enamel covers like that for her buttons: butterflies, bumblebees, ladybugs. He especially liked the ladybugs, their bright red and black colors contrasting with the green of the dress she’d sewn them on; they always caught his attention. He wished she’d wear that outfit more.
Her yellow dress gaped open and revealed small, pert breasts. He couldn’t help his eyes traveling lower—and she wasn’t wearing anything down there either. She was beautiful. He wanted to touch her, but . . . she was crying. Why would she take her clothes off and cry? He was her good friend. Then Petru remembered the money he’d handed her. It must have been a lot. He’d never been good with such things. Sasha handled the money always. Now Katerina thought he wanted to have sex.
Well, of course, he did, but not if she was crying. Petru knew it was wrong if she didn’t want it, too. So when her dress slipped to the ground, he bent to pick it up.
“No, no, Miss Katerina. No.”
She looked confused. “Am I not pretty to you, Petru? Is it my scars? Did you think you wanted this, and now, after seeing me . . .” She looked away.
He hadn’t noticed them before, but there were burn marks on her belly. They looked like they’d been caused by the end of a cigar, and there were others, a crisscrossed web of some other trauma running from her navel all the way over to her side and up under her arm. These seemed to be some kind of burns, too.
Petru shook his head and handed her the dress. “You are
very
beautiful to me.”
“I don’t understand,” she said softly, trying to hand his money back.
“I didn’t know how to ask, but I was hoping you would share your food with me again. I wanted to pay for it. I know you have little ones to feed, and I . . . I eat a lot.” Petru felt stupider than usual.
“Oh.” Katerina’s cheeks flamed. “I don’t know what to say.”
Petru shrugged miserably. “I am a stupid man, Miss Katerina. A stupid man.”
The woman hung her head, ashamed. “Now you know what I do.”
Petru sighed. “To live. To clothe your children. As a mother, you do as you must.” He’d seen such a predicament many times, and he couldn’t blame her. Sometimes there were no other options for a woman.
He couldn’t deny that he wanted her as a woman. He’d had sex before, had even paid for it, but he wanted Katerina in a different way. He felt something odd when she smiled at him like that. But that was a silly notion. He knew that, too.
“You don’t think poorly of me? I’m still ‘Miss Katerina’ to you?” She asked it softly, as if she dared not believe it could be true.
Petru sat down at the small table in the kitchen. “Woman, you will
always
be my Miss Katerina.”
Katerina beamed. “I have chicken and dumplings, honeyed carrots, and a raspberry tart. Does any of that sound good?” She brought him a plate heaped with food before he could answer, but she still didn’t look at him. She also brought a tall pitcher of sweet tea. Knowing he’d drink the whole thing, she didn’t bother to get him a glass.
“Will you sit with me?” Petru asked before shoving the first bite in his mouth.
The woman looked at the floor. “I’m . . . I’m still a little ashamed, Petru.”
“Miss Katerina.” He grabbed her wrist as she tried to walk away—gently, though, so he wouldn’t hurt her. “You are beautiful to me, even more so because of the sacrifices you make for your children. My mother sold her body when that was all she had left, did it to care for me and my sisters. She hasn’t had to do that since I could work, though. No, Miss Katerina, I only have respect for you. ”
“Then why don’t you want me?” The blond woman spoke so softly that it was hard for him to hear.
He pulled her into his lap. “I do. But I would want you to want me because you feel something more than obligation.”
She pressed her lips against his cheek. “I do.”
“Then, why did you cry?” It didn’t make sense.
“I thought you meant to pay me for it, not to . . . well, not in the way I wanted. I’ve dreamt of you, Petru. I dreamt that you would realize your love and come to me, not use me but
make love
to me. I dreamt you would take care of me and my children. That you would love them, too. You are a good man and would be a strong father.”
Petru was embarrassed. “I kill people, Miss Katerina. I am not a good man. I do the work that I can, but I would not be a good father.”
“And I am a witch. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, more than just selling my body. If it doesn’t matter to you, why should it matter to me?”
“Anything you’ve done I know is from the goodness of your heart to help others or to survive. You are a good witch, Katerina. Not dark like Nadja.”
“And you are the best man I have ever known. I love you.”
That declaration was enough. Petru made love to his Miss Katerina there in the kitchen, the sunlight streaming through the little window by the table. He promised her many things. Unlike most men and women in the throes of passion, he meant every word.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
Hell’s Bells
G
race wasn’t sure what to think about the new appendages sticking out through the place where the carriage doors used to be. She was trying very hard not to get upset, though she was aware that Hysterical City was the next exit ramp off this particular emotional highway.
There was no reason to explode like an overheated Jiffy Pop bag. She was sure wings came with advantages—advantages that she would be more than excited to explore with Caspian. She just needed to figure out if she could put them away, or if she was stuck looking like a freak show. This would teach her to play in the toy aisle.
They were really lovely, though. Straight out of Barbie Fairytopia.
Caspian reached out and touched them, his warm fingers sliding down their gossamer surface. This sent a shiver through Grace that was new, unknown, but completely decadent. His touch traveled the length of her wings, and her lips parted and her eyes closed in pleasure.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, pausing midstroke.
“Oh, no. Keep doing it. It’s . . . I can’t even explain what it feels like. Is it the same with your wings?”
“My wings are kind of like my hair. If you pull them, I’ll feel it, but just a touch? No.”
“I would really like to know how to make them go away.” She turned her head and caressed the arch of one wing herself. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the same pleasure as when Caspian did it. Still, they were nice to touch. Like cotton candy, only they didn’t stick to her fingers.
“I don’t know how to make them go away.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Grace.”
“How do you make yours go away? I’m trying really hard here not to start screaming. Every minute that passes pushes me a little closer to the edge, and I didn’t have much clearance to start with.”
“I know. I mean, I know you’re upset. I guess it wouldn’t help if you knew your eyes were blazing hellfire like mine, would it?”
“No, that would be absolutely no help at all.” Grace took a big, shaky breath. “What does it all mean?”
Caspian smiled. “It means you’ve chosen not to be human. You’ve chosen to be with me.”
“I did no such thing! I’d have to sell my soul!”
Caspian eyed her questioningly but didn’t stop petting her wings. He had a feeling that if he did, she would lose what little control she maintained. “Didn’t your grandmother tell you?”
“Didn’t she tell me what, exactly?”
“About your mother, your heritage?” Caspian was using both hands now.
“My mother died. I don’t know much else about her. It was hard for Gran to talk about her—too painful. But I still don’t understand what this has to do with the price of goat meat.”
Suddenly Grace found herself in pigtails wearing her favorite dress from when she was five; it had bells in the crinoline. Thankfully, her wings had disappeared, but so had Caspian. Uncool, leaving her wherever he’d zapped her. That was a strike against letting him take her on another date. Maybe two strikes, but definitely a foul ball.
A man sat across from her—a handsome man, but he wasn’t Caspian. He was wearing jeans and a Ralph Lauren shirt. He looked very Nordstrom. But he did have a goatee that looked decidedly devilish.
“Hi, sweetie. Looks like we need to have a talk before your grandmother has a stroke.”
Grace had said she would scream if just one more thing fucked with her chi. Why wasn’t she screaming? “Who are you?” she asked. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Exactly.” The newcomer looked pleased with himself.
“Another demon? I’ve got demons flying out of my ass here. I don’t need another.”
“Really? Where?” The man peered around her.
“It’s an
expression,
” she sighed. “Where’s Caspian? And what do you want?”
“Don’t scream, okay?” The newcomer held up his hands as if showing her he was unarmed.
“I’m going to scream if you don’t get off
Dancing with the Stars
and stop tap-dancing around all of my questions. And just what does my dead grandmother have to do with anything?”
“Hmm. Which question should I answer first?” he asked, smiling as if she were the cutest little thing he’d ever seen.
A low, irritated noise erupted from Grace and her wings emerged again, spreading from her back like a lavender explosion. Magick gathered in white-hot nimbuses around her balled-up fists, and as the newcomer reached to touch one of her wings, she slapped his hand. Only Caspian would be touching those!
“You are so much like Seraphim.” He sighed, and it sounded very much like a man in love—not with Grace, but with her grandmother.
“Your name,” was all she could manage.
“Hades, but don’t scream.”
“Why would I scream? You keep saying that. So, your name is Hades. Who gives a furry rat’s ass? Big deal. It’s not like you’re the Devil.”
“Well, actually . . .”
She did scream this time, and for good measure she blasted him with two comets of pure energy from her fingers. Hades just smiled and produced a box of Godiva chocolates as a reward. She hadn’t even so much as singed that evil little curl on the end of his goatee.
“Good job! I’m very proud. But I guess I need a new publicist. Why do I always get the screaming?”
Why was he proud? How did he know her grandmother, and why . . . ? Oh sweet Circe, her wings. What Ethelred had said about her “gramps”? Everything was starting to make sense, but she didn’t like where Occam’s razor led. Didn’t like it one bit.
“You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“Nope.” He was still smiling like the cat that ate four canaries.
“No?” It was a hopeful sound, almost a squeak really. As if the higher the note she hit, the more likely his answer would change.
“Yes,” he corrected.
“What’s with the dress?”
“So inquisitive! I love that about humans.” Hades flashed his white teeth again in an indulgent smile. “Remember Lucy?”
She snorted. “My imaginary pet dragon when I was five?”
“That was me.”
“Bullshit.” Then she thought about it. “Uh, why?”
“Seraphim wouldn’t let me see you. What grandfather doesn’t dote on his granddaughter? Remember all of those treasures we found together?”
Suddenly it all came rushing back, things that she’d forgotten. The strange magickal items she’d brought to her grandmother after digging in the garden. The surreal adventures through space and time in her tree house, the swing on the tree in the front yard that would take her anywhere she wanted to go if she swung high enough. The candy apples that fell from that same tree that no one else could see. She’d never been afraid of the closet, the basement, or the monster under the bed because Lucy was always there, keeping her imagination alive and all of the bad things away.
Grace also remembered the time she’d gotten separated from Seraphim at the market; she’d wandered too far and a strange man had tried to hold her hand. Said he would take her back to her mother, but there’d been something about him that frightened her. She’d tried to run away, but he’d gotten such a tight grip. What she didn’t remember was how she got away. All she knew was that later that day he’d been on the news. He’d set himself on fire, and the police had found remains of other children buried in the cellar, just where he’d described in his suicide note.
She also remembered getting in trouble with her grandmother for using magick to put bells on all of the crinolines of her dresses. But she hadn’t. Lucy had done it to make her happy after she saw a similar fashion in a store window. The dress had been very expensive, too expensive for her grandmother to buy. That day had been the last time she’d seen Lucy.
So, he wasn’t the big, scary Devil. He was Lucy, her friend. He was her grandfather. She used magick to quickly change her clothes—jeans seemed a bit more appropriate—and propelled herself into his arms for a tight hug.
“If only you could talk Seraphim into that kind of welcome,” he said over the top of her head as he hugged her back.
“So, Lucy for Lucifer? Should I call you ‘Grandfather’?”
“Call me whatever you like, little Grace. My name is Hades. Lucifer is more of an office title. ‘Lucy’ seemed innocuous enough not to clue your grandmother in to my plans, and close enough to my title so you could summon me if you needed.”
“Why did you leave?”
“After the bells? Seraphim is one scary creature when she’s angry. She was bound to figure out it was me if I stayed. I still watched over you, though. Well, when I could.”
“The Devil is afraid of my grandmother? Now that’s something.”
“Ah, kiddo, any man who has the sense God gave a goose is afraid of the woman he loves.”
“Uh, can I see my grandmother?”
“I’m afraid not right now. She can’t interfere in the path of your life unless you invoke her, and you can do that just once. I’m really not supposed to be here, either, but you know rules were made for me to break them.”
“I miss her so much,” Grace said.
“She misses you, too. She’s been watching over you.”
Grace was up like a shot. “Watching? What can she see?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
Grace squeaked. “Does she know I’ve been . . . uh . . . consorting?”
“Everything, Grace. She sees everything.”
“Oh, hell. I’m never getting laid again.”
Hades was tempted to plug his ears and scream, “La-la-la-la” to block out the words escaping Grace’s mouth. For some reason he was quite unnerved. It was one thing to know intellectually that his granddaughter was getting laid, quite another to hear it from her own mouth.
“She was more displeased seeing you moon like a sick cow. Over a demon!”
“I didn’t moon!”
“Oh, yes you did. You’re completely retarded for that guy. It’s kind of cute, actually.”
And suddenly that was the end of the conversation. He winked at her and she was teleported back to her apartment, where Caspian was waiting with Thai takeout.
“I hate that! Knock it off!” she shouted at no one in particular.
Caspian frowned. “I see what you mean, Grace. He just poofed me here to wait for you. I find that unpleasant in the extreme.”
“The pitchfork is poking the other cheek now, huh?”
“Yeah. But the bigger question would be”—he handed her a plate—“if you are okay.”
“Actually, considering I just found out that I’m part demon and my grandfather is the Devil, my dead grandmother is alive somewhere and watching me have sex, I think I’m quite well. Oh, not to mention the part that when I get upset wings explode out of my back, wings that are more obvious than a fart at a funeral. Yeah, considering all that, I’m doing great.”
“So, I put Jill’s purchases in a bag by the door,” Caspian said casually, taking a bite of pad thai. “You know. From that store.”
Grace eyed him warily. “That was nice of you. What did you do with mine?”
“Yours? You don’t need any.” Caspian shoveled more food into his mouth and sighed. “I love eating. The best part about being topside is food. Oh, and sex, of course.”
Grace wouldn’t be distracted. “I paid for them and I want them.”
Caspian shook his head. “No, you didn’t pay for them. Michael did. So every time you use one, it’s like letting Michael in your pants all over again.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it? What about using an imitation cock when you can have the real thing?
That
’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, what can this”—he magicked one of the toys into his hand and shook it at her—“do for you that I can’t?”
Grace had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He looked so funny, shaking that rubber dick at her with such a serious look on his face. “Caspian, you’re jealous!”
“I am not.” Then: “So what?”
“At least you admit it.”
“Okay, I admit it.” He shrugged. “Now answer the question, Grace. What can this sad thing do that I can’t?”
“Nothing,” she admitted.
“Then why do you need it?”
“Because I don’t want to be dependent on a man for my needs. Especially when he will pop in and out of my life as he chooses.”
“What if I promise to stay until you don’t want me anymore?” he asked. His voice was quiet, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was suggesting.
“Men promise things to women all the time.”
“Well, I’m not just a man. I’m a demon, bound to my word.”
“Why would you do that?” Grace asked.
“Because I like you.”
She shook her head. “I like you, too, Caspian. But this isn’t a good idea.”