Dance with the Devil Page 7

  "Yes," the devil said with another swipe of tongue on teeth. "I know. But only by a few, and only for a little while."

  20

  There was a balloon arch.

  A fucking arch. Made of balloons. They had her stand beneath and take pictures with the booksellers and bloggers, and they ran off the prints immediately so she could sign them.

  This was her life, all the devil's doing, and it made Kathleen want to die.

  She'd sent in the book. Her editor had turned it around in two weeks, revisions so minor they'd be taken care of in the final galley stage. The praise had been overwhelming.

  "It is, quite simply, the best book I have ever read," her editor had said on the phone. She'd sounded stunned. Reverent. "There's nothing for me to do to this book except clean up a typo here or there, Kathleen. It was so worth the wait."

  There were advanced reader copies of it on all the tables, rushed to print for the party, and now a line for her to sign them. Her hand cramped. Jake rubbed it for her while the adoring fans laughed and ogled him and waited patiently for her to continue. It took her an hour or so because she always tried to find something nice to say for each person's book, rather than simply scrawling her name.

  She was indeed the only author there. Her face plastered on the hanging banners. The covers of her books all over the place, including the cupcakes for dessert.

  The party went on into the night. People took off their shoes to dance, but Kathleen didn't dare. She could barely walk a few feet without being stopped and gushed over. Phones flashed in her direction every time she turned. Her social media feeds were blowing up with all the mentions. The last thing she wanted was a hundred photos of her boogying down to start showing up all over the place.

  "I have to go to the bathroom," she told Jake. "You have chocolate on your mouth."

  He grinned and leaned so he could kiss her. Flash, flash, flash. Her phone went ping ping seconds later. She didn't bother to check what people were posting about her.

  "I'll walk you," he said.

  The bathroom was outside the giant ballroom and past the much smaller one where another party was going on. No balloon arch in that one, and the atmosphere was decidedly less luxurious, she noticed as they passed. And no wonder, she discovered as she sank onto the toilet with relief to be behind the closed bathroom stall doors and alone, at least for a few minutes. That party was for everyone else who'd been denied access to the grand Kathleen Murphy extravaganza.

  The bathroom had been empty when she entered, but now the whoosh of the door opening and clatter of heels on the floor alerted her to company.

  "I'm not saying she's not a good writer," someone was saying. "And good for her for having business sense and all that, I mean, we all look out for number one. Of course."

  "Yeah," said another voice, this one a little slurred. "But fuck her for being a total cunt about it."

  "It was just a party, I don't get it. Like any of us were going to take her shine?"

  The second voice laughed, the sound echoing and distorted. "What a bitch. I hope she's happy with all that money, because it's a long fucking way down from the top. That's all I have to say."

  That's all anyone could say, Kathleen thought as she waited in bitter, aching silence for them to leave so she could escape without being seen. At the sink, she washed her shaking hands and looked at her reflection, trying to see herself as anything but exactly what those anonymous voices had called her, but all she saw was her own face, eyes wide and still incapable of crying.

  21

  "Let's go away somewhere." Kathleen whispered this in the dark as they settled into bed. "Someplace with sand and fruity drinks with umbrellas."

  "Bathing suit optional?" Jake turned to place a hand flat on her bare belly.

  She laughed, but it came out sounding a little strangled. She put her hand over his, linking the fingers. "Think of the sunburn."

  "I'll make sure you're adequately covered with sunblock. Don't worry. I'll apply it all myself. All...over." His fingers drifted upward, taking her hand with it. She stopped him with a little pressure.

  "I'll call my travel agent tomorrow. Will taking time away from work be a problem for you?"

  Jake rolled to kiss her bare shoulder. "No."

  She was quiet for another moment or so, her brain twisting and turning. In the two weeks since the party, she'd been trying to stay offline as much as possible, wanting to ignore the fallout. It wasn't going to go away totally, but so long as she didn't comment on it and kept her head down, didn't flaunt herself around, she thought she'd end up coming out of this all right. There'd always be people who thought she was a superdouche for the party thing, but there'd be plenty who would never even hear the story. The devil had been right about that, anyway.

  Rolling, she straddled Jake, pinning his wrists above his head. He made a low noise. She bent to kiss him, letting it linger. She nibbled lightly at his jaw. His throat. Lower, she moved, letting her teeth and tongue map the way between his legs where she found him already hard for her.

  As always at that first taste of him, Kathleen sighed. She took him deep, her nose brushing the wiry dark hairs on his belly before she slid up again, sucking gently. Her hand found his shaft and she stroked and sucked in time, never allowing him to be without her touch.

  When he tried to tug her hair and pull him away, she murmured her disapproval. Jake fell back onto the pillows with a groan. His hips thrust. He gave up to her, and she teased him for a long, long time, until both of them reached that place where only pleasure mattered. When she could think of nothing but the sound of her name muttered in his raspy voice and the grip of his fingers in her hair as he urged her faster, faster. When everything became the smell and touch and taste and sound of him, nothing else but Jake.

  He spooned her when it was over, his kiss at the back of her neck and his hand slipping between her legs, but she stopped his hand. "I'm okay."

  "But I want..."

  She laughed, a little embarrassed. A little proud. "No, it's all right. I got mine. During."

  He was quiet for a second at that. Then, "Really?"

  "Yes, really. Like magic," she teased, wiggling her butt against him. Then, more seriously, "It's always like magic with you."

  22

  Humming, Kathleen laid out an assortment of outfits on the bed. She'd packed light. Gauzy dresses and bikinis. God, was she really going to wear a bikini out on the beach? In front of strangers? Shit, in front of Jake? Yes, she thought with a critical look at the full-length mirror. She thought she was.

  She'd booked them both on a two-week trip to a tiny little island off the coast of Cambodia, where the cabins had clear bottoms so you could sleep above the placid turquoise waters of the bay. No phones, no internet, nothing but sun and sand and sleep and sex. No writing. No work. She hadn't even brought a pen or paper.

  Just them.

  Tonight, though, they were in this high-rise hotel until tomorrow when they would be boated over to their bungalow. She'd made dinner reservations at the fancy place downstairs, though ordering room service had been more appealing. Feeding each other finger foods on the balcony overlooking the ocean? Drinking champagne? That was her idea of how to enjoy a vacation.

  "Nice bathing suit."

  She didn't even turn, but kept sorting and rejecting different combinations of clothing from her suitcase. "Thanks."

  "Make sure to cover up. You'd hate to get scorched."

  She glanced over her shoulder and stopped, stunned. Today the Morningstar lived up to the name, God's Favorite Fallen. Glossy ebony wings and a face so beautiful she had to put up a hand to shield herself from the glory of it. It sent her to her knees in front of him with a sobbing breath, her heart aching with adoration.

  "There, now." His hand caressed her hair. "No need for that."

  She could not speak or move, nor did she want to. This was her place, here at this angel's feet. She believed she’d chosen to serve him, but now she saw ther
e was never any choice. She was part of the circle, unending, and all she could do was play whatever part was required.

  The Morningstar's wings shifted, blowing scented breeze. "You might think I don't have favorites, considering how many have come to me to exchange their service for my indulgences. I learned very well at my father's feet how it feels to be the favored one, the most exalted and loved and adored and blessed. And how, too, it feels to be cast aside. You might think because of that I would hold no one of you poppets over the other, but you'd be wrong, Kathleen Murphy. So many believe I was cast from heaven for speaking out against my father for his creation of you in his image. So many believe my fall came from hatred, but I tell you this, because I can, because I am the Morningstar and I speak for myself...it was never out of hate. It was only, ever and always, out of love. I served my father as you've served me, as we all serve the unending circle."

  She shook under his touch.

  "I shouldn't have favorites, my dove, but the fact is that I do."

  Somehow, she was upright and on her feet in front of him. Tenderly, the Morningstar wiped away a hanging strand of drool from the corner of her mouth. She wanted to close her eyes but couldn't.

  "You think you came to me because you wanted fame and fortune and success, but the truth is, you came to me for something else entirely. Do you want to know what it was?"

  Kathleen swallowed. "Yes, please."

  "You came to me and asked me to take away your tears."

  Now she closed her eyes against the sudden burn there and nodded. It made so much sense. How many times she'd yearned for the release of weeping and had been denied. She'd thought it was because something had broken inside her, made her too cruel to cry. Something had left her too empty for tears, but now at the devil's words, she understood.

  Another waft of perfumed air surrounded her. The feathers of his wings enfolded her; they were not soft but razor sharp, and they cut her every place they touched. Still, she gave herself into the Morningstar's embrace without fighting it, and took some twisted comfort in the sting of his love.

  "We all play our parts," he said in a language she didn't know yet perfectly understood. "I have another task for you."

  Blinking, Kathleen stepped back as he released her. Now there was nothing but shadow in front of her, though the Morningstar's voice cocooned her. It whispered to her. It commanded her.

  And then it was gone.

  23

  Jake's phone.

  Kathleen held it in her palm. He was in the shower, whistling. Outside the window, gorgeous blue skies and a hint of sand. Their dinner reservation was in an hour. He'd left the phone on the nightstand.

  She swiped the screen and typed in his passcode. Jake had never shared it with her, and the devil hadn't told her. She guessed it, because she knew her lover. When the home screen appeared, she let out the breath she'd been holding.

  The devil had told her to look at Jake's phone. No mention of what she was intended to find, or what she was meant to do with whatever information she discovered. Just look at it when he was not around.

  She'd done that, right? She could put it back on the nightstand and finish getting ready. She'd done the devil's task and was under no obligation to do more.

  Still, it was the nature of humanity to poke and pry and seek. Something was hidden in this device, or else the devil would not have had her look at it. And, although she hated herself for doing it, Kathleen swiped through the screens of apps, looking for something that stood out to her as strange.

  Nothing unusual. He had a lot of apps, many of which he'd designed. Games, mostly. A few utility apps. She tapped the photo album and scrolled through pictures of the two of them together. Smiling, making faces at the camera. A few of her alone that she'd hated, but Jake said he loved.

  Here, toward the beginning, dated from before they’d met, was a picture of the two of them in bed.

  Not her bed. Not his, which they rarely used but had upon occasion utilized. Not a hotel bed.

  Kathleen had never seen this photo before. She didn't recognize the location. In fact, she barely recognized herself -- her hair was different, as was her face and body in subtle ways nobody else might've noticed but stood out to her, glaringly.

  It was someone who looked like her, she thought. It had to be. Creepy. Jake had a type? He'd sought her out because she reminded him of an old lover?

  Yet, fingers trembling so much she had to set the phone quickly on the nightstand so she didn't drop it, Kathleen knew there was no explanation for this. The woman in the photo was not her doppelgänger. It was her, with Jake, in a place and time she could not remember.

  She hadn't noticed the sound of the water stopping, but she turned at the sound of her name. Jake, hair wet and clad only in a towel, stood in the doorway. Wordlessly, she pointed at the phone. The screen had gone dark.

  "What's the matter?"

  "Why do you have a picture of us on your phone that I don't remember you taking?" She gestured at the phone, then crossed her arms, tucking her hands against her sides. She wanted to sit, but paced instead on weak legs. "Why don't I remember it, Jake?"

  There should've been an easy explanation for it, but as soon as she looked at his face, she knew there wasn't going to be one. Whatever Jake had to say was not going to be easy, and she didn't want to hear it. It was going to change everything between them, and she didn't want to know it. Whatever it was, Kathleen did not want to know.

  "I love you," Jake said. "That's the most important thing you need to know, Kathleen. I love you, and I don't want to live without you in my life."

  "No, no, no, no..." She shook her head, pivoting on her heel and pacing in the opposite direction. She stopped when he stepped in front of her to take her by the upper arms and hold her still. He shook her a little so she was forced to look at his face.

  "Yes," Jake said.

  Carefully, with a small jerk, she pulled herself from his grip. She watched the droplets of water slipping from his wet hair down his forehead, over his cheeks. She shook her head and backed up a step.

  "Why don't I remember that picture? What the hell is going on? Did I know you...before?"

  Something hammered in her mind, like a fist pounding on the door to an empty, echoing room.

  "Yes."

  “Was it a one night stand?”

  “No.”

  Everything inside her went very, very still. "We were lovers."

  "Yes," Jake said.

  Again, the knocking on a door that went unanswered. When she didn't say anything, Jake grabbed his clothes from their place on the chair and began to dress. She turned, his nakedness somehow too much for her to handle.

  "Why don't I remember?"

  From behind her, she felt him move closer to her, but thankfully he did not touch her. She would've screamed, she thought as though from a distance. She would've turned and hit him, if he touched her now.

  "Because you asked him to make you forget."

  Kathleen had been sent to her knees many times in the past few years, by things that had happened to her and by things she'd done. She refused to crumple now. She kept herself straight and tall, her hands curled into fists and falling at her sides. She did not ask Jake how he knew about her arrangement with Satan. Of everything she'd seen and learned and was discovering now, that seemed the least important fact to know.

  "He told me that I asked him to take away my tears," she said without turning. "Were you the reason why I didn't want to cry anymore, Jake?"

  He made a low, grieving noise. Kathleen closed her eyes. Again, the fist rapped the door in her mind. Gently this time. No longer demanding entry, but asking for it. Pleading softly to be let in.

  She knew the devil was in the room without opening her eyes. She knew it by the scent of him and the rush of air escaping what had been empty and was now occupied space. She knew it by the way the hairs on the back of her neck rose up as her stomach dropped.

  "Hello, Jake," the devil said. "
Good to see you again. It's been a while."

  "Not long enough," Jake answered.

  "I saw what you meant for me to see." Kathleen wet her lips, though her tongue felt dry as sand. Her voice, barbed like wire, tore open her throat until she tasted blood.

  That was love, she thought. It tasted like blood and tore you apart.

  "Everything I have done, every task I completed, every awful part I've played in your melodrama. It was to forget him? That was my bargain?" She did turn then, to face both of them. Jake and the devil, side by side, and at the moment she could not have said which had brought more harm to her.

  The devil shrugged and in that familiar gesture, ran his tongue over sharp and shining teeth. He grinned. His eyes, twin tar pits in the shifting landscape of his features, gleamed.

  "I did ask you if thought the price was fair," the devil said. "You seemed to think so, at the time."

  "Get out," she said to Jake without more than a twitching glance at him.

  "Kathleen --"

  "Get out of here," she said in a low, smooth voice without the slightest hint of a tremble, "before so help me, I hurt you."

  The devil's whisper threaded around them both, sewing them together. "She could do it, too. You should've seen some of the things she's done."

  Jake moved as though jerking himself free of a phantom touch, though nothing physical held him in place. He stepped toward her, one hand out. He didn't look at the devil.

  He looked at her.

  "No matter what happened before," he said, "I loved you then, and I love you now. I always will."

  She didn't tell him again to leave. He did that on his own, without touching her. Without looking back.

  When he'd gone, Kathleen looked at the devil. The Morningstar, the Prince of Lies who always told the truth. She opened her hands. She opened her heart.

  "Take it away. Whatever it was you did to me, take it back."