“Say it.” Her voice had a desperate urgency. “
Say
it, Caspian. I need to hear it.”
“I can’t. It has to come from your lips, Grace. It won’t be real until you say it. Only then will the spell be broken. Only then will you believe the truth.”
She opened her mouth to speak. He could see the gears turning in her brain, could practically see infernal smoke shooting out her ears. But it was then that he realized she couldn’t do it. Her mouth just wouldn’t utter those words. She wouldn’t pronounce a sentence like death for the noncorporeal ideal that had become her son.
Caspian didn’t want to be the one to do it, either. He didn’t want it to be his voice she heard every time she remembered this debacle. It would be as if Caspian had killed the boy, though the boy had never existed in the first place.
It was selfish of him, he realized. This shouldn’t matter to him one way or the other. If he admitted that he was having feelings for Grace, if they were true feelings, he should help her as she needed. If he was having no feelings at all, like a good demon, he should be able to just tell her the truth—that her son was a demonically manufactured memory implant—and go about his business. Why was he having such difficulty?
He steeled himself. “Grace, Nikoli isn’t real. Never has been.”
She buried her face in his chest. Silent sobs shook her body. Caspian wasn’t sure what to do. All of the same symptoms he’d seen on an aspirin commercial earlier in the day were manifesting in him. His chest hurt, and his new heart felt as if there was a vise tightening around it. Was it a heart attack? With every moment of Grace’s despair, that vise felt worse. It was as if he were being stabbed. All of these human sensations were too much. He didn’t know how they stood it, to feel everything so intensely all of the time. It was enough to make any creature insane. Was the joy they seemed to feel worth all of this torment?
Her grip dug into his flesh enough that his fingers started to go numb. She was breaking his arms, she was in so much pain, and yet he couldn’t do anything for her. He’d never been so helpless. How did mortals go about their lives knowing that at any time someone could snatch that heart right out of their chest, inflict this sort of intense misery? How did they live knowing such horror?
He thought of his Gracie in such pain and it wasn’t something he could accept. Nor could he accept the idea that she was mortal and would one day end, herself. He would rather die than live knowing she wasn’t in the world anymore. Which was silly, because all mortal things had a beginning and an end. This was just the way she was made. Unfortunately, he was different. He hoped he was still different.
He traced his fingers up and down the length of her spine, trying to offer what comfort he could, trying desperately to make this pain end, and yet he knew he had to twist the knife further. She had to speak the words or else the spell would remain unbroken; they’d have to go through this all over again.
“You have to say it, Grace.”
“Will the pain stop?”
Caspian didn’t know. A piece of her soul had been torn away like a strip of dirty sheet, and he didn’t know if breaking the spell would mend it. If he’d had his powers, he would have ended Ethelred’s sorry existence for even doing this to her, no matter who had given the order, and he’d also find a way for Michael Grigorovich to feel a thousand-fold what he’d inflicted on Grace. Everyone involved would know the depths of his fury.
“I don’t know. All I know is that you have to say the words.”
“If I don’t say them, it’s not real. It’s
not
. He could be alive. He could . . .” Her grip grew tighter on his arms; it was as if she were trying to draw strength from him. If such a transaction were possible, he’d have indulged her. He’d give anything in the world to ease her pain.
Grace was trembling but took a deep breath. “Nikoli Grigorovich is not . . .” She broke off and drew a few shaking breaths, the tears continuing to roll down her cheeks. “He’s not real. My son is not real.” Her hands flared with storm clouds black as pitch and roiling for release. It surprised them both, but this was Grace’s pain.
Caspian grabbed a quartz crystal from a nearby table. “Release your power into the stone and keep it with you,” he commanded. “It will be a powerful weapon.”
Grace looked hesitant.
“Otherwise, it will consume you.” He closed her hands around the stone and kept them covered with his own until the last of the black energy infused the clear quartz. When next they saw it, the stone was onyx.
“It still hurts,” Grace said.
“I know,” Caspian replied, pulling her to him.
And the bitch of it was, he did know. His chest still ached—for her and for him both. Grace’s power had come back, but he was still this . . . whatever she’d made him.
He felt a sudden certainty that he was human. He would have to deal with it later, though; maybe it was like a cold. He’d caught humanity from Grace and he’d just have to ride it out. Like a fever. He prayed to the Powers That Be that the sickness would go away fast.
She seemed content to sniffle on his chest, so he wasn’t inclined to move her. Actually, it was more like she was disinclined to be moved. He tried shifting, but she just shifted with him, her body a boneless mass willing to twist wherever necessary for them to maintain contact.
He hadn’t thought that hunger could be a sentient being, but he reconsidered that position after hearing a sound like Cerberus when two of the beast’s heads were fighting over who got the last bone and who was the one that had to lick butt.
Grace sniffled into his shirt. “I didn’t know demons got hungry. I mean, not
that
hungry.”
“Must have been topside too long.”
“I’ll make you something,” she suggested.
Caspian knew the right thing was to keep holding her close, but he was so hungry and she’d offered. How was it his fault if he accepted?
“You don’t have to,” he said before he could think better of it.
Look, tongue. For somebody that wants to eat, you’re doing a fine job of fouling everything up. Shut it!
She didn’t seem to hear him, but rather was lost in her own thoughts. “We’ve still got a Michael crisis. He’s going to kill me if I don’t do what he wants, even if he can’t really kill my son. You’re still going to help me, right?” She blinked as she disentangled herself from him.
“Of course. No problem.”
Fucking liar.
What could he possibly do to Michael as a human, shake his finger in a severely disapproving manner?
He could kill him, actually. That’s what he could do. He wasn’t in service to the Big Boss anymore, so he could do whatever he wanted. It would be a black stain on his soul, but it would keep Grace safe. It was something that he could do to take care of her, something that he would want even if he wasn’t under contract. Which, now that he thought of it, if he was really human . . .
Caspian smiled. “Yes, Grace. I’ll take care of it.”
Michael would never bother her again. She’d be free.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR
Soap in the Mouth, Does It Work?
G
race was amazed at how the pain had gone from excruciating to simply a gnawing ache, all in the few minutes after she drained her fury into that quartz. It felt as if she’d had years to grieve, all played out in just a few moments. The loss of her false child still hurt, but it was bearable now. She couldn’t imagine casting a spell on anyone that caused such pain, no matter what they’d done to deserve it. Michael was an even bigger bastard than she’d thought.
She was amazed that Caspian had stayed with her through everything. He was a demon, but for all of his devil-may-care attitude he was also a person. He was a
good
person. He was, in fact, the best man she’d ever been with. Not once through the whole ordeal had he ever tried to hurt her; he’d fulfilled her every fantasy, and it had been he who’d brought up being a one-meal-forever kind of person.
It was after these realizations that she’d realized what she’d stepped in—and how it had dried like Quikrete. There was no chipping her way out; she was completely, irrevocably, damnably in love with Caspian.
She’d never believed in love at first sight, thought it was just a bunch of horse apples that the male of the species invented to speed themselves into a lady’s fig leaf. “If you’re in love, it’s okay.” The ultimate excuse. True love came from time, respect, and sacrifice. From trust. None of those things were available upon first sight, no matter how much you wanted to bone someone. You could have lust at first sight, sure, but that was about it.
But now it was past first sight. She trusted Caspian implicitly. He had never lied to her, and when he promised her something, she believed. She felt safe when she was with him, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Even when she’d tried to banish him and he’d been angry, he hadn’t tried to hurt her. When he’d shown her his true form, draped in the glory only known to a Crown Prince of Hell, he’d been careful not to singe her. In fact, he’d been enraged because he thought someone else had been bent on her destruction. He hadn’t even abandoned her after getting his tongue stuck inside her, and she had to admit that no one could blame anyone for bailing after that. No, Caspian acted like he was around for a long haul. He seemed to want her for who she was, not just for her body or her magick.
Yup, she’d really stepped in it, especially since Grace knew that there was no chance for them to be together. He was a demon. Even with her dual nature, their having a relationship would still be a big cosmic fuck-you to the Powers That Be. Wouldn’t it? She wasn’t a virgin, and virgins were the only ones allowed to stay with demons. Ironic, no? But those were the breaks. While Grace had never hesitated to rebel against the natural order of some things, she drew the line at thumbing her nose at the Powers That Be. She supposed she just had to be thankful for the last three days she’d had Caspian all to herself in their self-imposed exile from the rest of the world.
Her epiphany about love came with another realization. She’d been fantastic at potions but sucked when it came to cooking. But they were basically the same thing. For some reason, it had taken years for her mind to make that connection; she’d tried very hard just to make food that was edible. Now the bell had gone off. The elevator finally went all the way to the top.
Spurred by his hunger, tonight she’d made him so much food that she thought he’d be better served by a steam shovel than a fork. He just kept pushing it in. Good thing he was a demon, or his stomach would be rebelling.
She’d made corn dogs she found in the freezer. He’d taken such delight in eating them that she kept making more. He’d eaten the whole package.
He didn’t like the macaroni she made, which stung a little. Caspian made a face like a kid confronted with liver and onions, flatly refusing to try the stuff. He said there was something inherently unnatural served by putting cheese sauce on pasta. She’d frowned, just like her grandmother had done to her when she was a child, and with similar results: Caspian had taken a hesitant bite. The face he made was so funny that she forgave him. She supposed demons really did have different taste buds.
He was still hungry, so she’d made French toast. He’d promptly demanded a whole loaf. He kept grabbing her ass while she was trying to cook, though, so she’d had to banish him to his chair upon threat of no more food. The ploy worked. Caspian sat quietly after that, while she cooked and while she delivered the toast, but she’d felt the heat of his gaze on her just the same. Now he was munching on two steaks with a side of her grandmother’s pierogies, and her refrigerator was officially a barren wasteland.
He stopped just as he was about to shovel the last bite of pierogi into the bottomless black pit that was his mouth. Dropping his fork, he moaned in abject misery. Apparently, his demonic constitution hadn’t been able to process
every
foodstuff her kitchen contained. The poor dear was finally full.
“That’ll teach you to eat a whole package of corn dogs,” she joked.
His eyes bugged out of his head and he clamped his hand over his mouth. He was shaking his head. “Don’t talk about food, Grace. Please.”
“See how easy it is to be a glutton?”
He rose and waddled like a pregnant woman to the couch and eased himself down. “I never said it wasn’t.” Caspian leaned back, and his mouth fell open as he wheezed to get air into his lungs. It wasn’t possible because of the great bulk he now carried in front of him. It was cute, really.
Grace sighed. “I lo—” And she crammed a last bit of pierogi in her mouth before her tongue and lips could continue that traitorous train of thought. That little phrase had boarded without a ticket or a passport.
“Huh,” Caspian mumbled as a carb-induced coma caused his eyes to flutter closed.
Grace was frozen to the spot. Admitting her feelings to herself was one thing; uttering them where the demon could hear was a hearse of a different color.
Then there was the knowledge that her grandmother was watching. She’d rather Seraphim catch her mid-fellatio than hear her speak such words to a demon. She knew her gran would never approve, so there was only one thing for it. Grace tiptoed to the bathroom and promptly shoved the whole bar of pomegranate-tangerine soap into her mouth. The soap wouldn’t change what she was feeling, but it could certainly remind her to keep her fool mouth shut.
It didn’t taste anywhere near as good as it smelled.
Her image shimmered in the mirror, and she found a very flustered Baba Yaga staring back at her. The vision of her gran said, “I see you’ve still got some sense rattling around in that empty melon of yours. What are you thinking?”
Grace shrugged and sighed. Bubbles scattered from the corners of her mouth.
“That is not an answer, young lady!” Seraphim was using her whisper/yell. She was trying to be quiet, but she wanted to make sure that her granddaughter knew she was upset. It was the same voice she’d used when Grace decided she wanted the bottom orange from the display in the market and all of the oranges tumbled down on top of her. Seraphim had just walked away and left her under the pile of oranges. When she’d come back to get her, she’d used this same voice.
“Don’t you dare tell him that you love him! Don’t you do it, Gracie! You think you like being fucked by him now? Well, he’ll keep fucking you, but it’ll be in a different way. It won’t be in a way that you like. You hear me?”
Grace cringed. Not only because the pomegranate-tangerine soap was burning her taste buds off like warts, but because her grandmother had used the
F
word. It was a first, and not a pleasant first.
“Sera, what are you doing? Come back to bed,” a voice echoed through the mirror. It sounded distant. “Are you spying on Grace? Leave that child alone. What’s the worst that could happen? Caspian works for me, he won’t hurt her. Now, come back and ride—”
Seraphim looked as if she’d been caught naked for her high school valedictory address. She blushed and the mirror blacked out. Grace was thankful. She hadn’t wanted to hear Hades finish his suggestion. She could figure out on her own what he wanted her gran to ride, thank you very much, and it was easier to forget if she hadn’t actually heard.
She spat soap down into the sink and considered her reflection. What was it with her? First, she’d been drawn to the smokers who hung out in the parking lot before school. Then it had been the guys with the Harleys and tattoos. She’d graduated to a Russian mobster who was trying to kill her, and now a guy who was not just a demon but a Crown Prince of Hell. And who was the best of them? The demon. She had a thing for bad boys, and Grace loved Caspian with her whole being. She’d gone over and over the drawbacks, the reasons why she was certifiably insane, or stupid, depending on whom you asked, but her feelings just weren’t going to go away. Still, it wasn’t a good idea to tell him. Was it?
The mirror flashed and Grace’s grandmother reappeared. “He thinks I’m in the bathroom, and I sort of am—I’m in
your
bathroom. Now, promise me, Grace Eden Stregaria. Right now.”
“Promith you whath?” Grace asked innocently, still trying to rub the soap off her tongue with a towel. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be able to appear to me unless I summoned you?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or meddle.”
“I’m breaking the rules. Deal with it. Now listen to me. You are not getting out of this. I want you to promise that you’re not going to—”
“Damn it, woman! What did I say? You are not going to get your way on this, so quit trying.” Seraphim cringed as Hades pushed his face into the mirror. So close, he looked like one of those warped puppy pictures with the really big eyes and little head. “Grace, this thing isn’t for video calling. Put a black cloth over your mirror. Say what you’d like, do what you’d like. Although, you might want to find that cloth now, your grandmother won’t be available for a very long time,” he said to Grace. He gave a wink, and Seraphim squealed like Grace had earlier when Caspian tickled her.
Grace shook her head. This was all a little overwhelming. Her grandpa was the Devil and her grandmother was alive, but neither was acting very grandparent-y. Hades was chasing Seraphim like a coed, and Seraphim almost seemed to like it. Grace decided that maybe it would be better if her gran wore the form of the maiden more. Then all of Hades’ ardent intentions wouldn’t seem so, uh, creepy.
She waved her hand, and all of the mirrors in her house were covered in black gauze. “Sorry, Gran. The Devil made me do it.”