"Please yel ," I whispered. The guy barely acknowledged me, so I held up the page to him, praying he could read. His eyes skimmed the large cal igraphy, pupils widening. I could see I was final y getting somewhere.
"Oh, that looks painful." I sighed. "I've got goose bumps just thinking about a nasty procedure like that. If you don't start acting, I'm going to cal my dad to show you how this little number works."
It took a few seconds for the message to kick in, but the guy final y let out an ear-piercing cry.
"Okay, cut it." I shot a last glance over my shoulder and turned back to him. "It's kind of late and I need to get to work. What do you say, you scream one more time, then fal into a nice coma? Doesn't have to be a deep one. They'l let you sleep for a few hours until I get back."
He nodded.
I counted to three and slipped out because I couldn't take it any longer. Dad thought one day I'd inherit the family business aka Hel , but I had other plans. I loved my customer service career. Soon, I'd have my own company and we'd give Amazon a run for their money.
Chapter 2 – Distros
The torture chamber was situated on the third plane, Acerbus. Hel had seven different dimensions, each coming with its own perks of physical agony and mental misery. By the time I reached our mansion on the first level to change for work, I'd be covered in grime, sweat and what else not.
Before I wasted any more time, I took out my high-tech phone, and beamed myself onto the second upper plane, Distros, where the heat was stil bearable. Usual y, I tried to avoid it because Distros is one spooky place, but I had no choice other than to travel through only one dimension at a time since I hadn't yet come up with the right programming on my phone.
Proud of myself, I peered at the tiny electronic item, which I invented in a rare moment of utter ingenuity. It looked like any other cel phone, albeit a very chic one in a sleek 'n silver way. But, based on its functionalities, it resembled an electronic genie. However, since I had designed it not long ago and it hadn't passed its beta stage, it was more unstable than Windows Vista. But I figured it'd have to do until I got my fal en angel powers for my eighteenth birthday, which was only a few weeks away.
The wide plane was covered in a thick layer of grey dust blocking out the sun. A strong wind whirled the decaying leaves on the ground, blowing them toward the dilapidated cottages in the distance. Many deceased people lived in Distros, souls who would be accepted into Heaven once they sat out a certain amount of time for their petty crimes, such as lacking faith and having the wrong priorities in life. I knew for sure none of Dad's demon employees were around because Distros was home to our temporary visitors that didn't require torture for their sins, meaning there was almost no supervision. Dad figured, being here in this semi-darkness instead of with their loved ones was enough punishment already.
As said, Distros gave me the creeps even more than the torture chambers on the lower planes. The emotional turmoil and suffering was too strong for an angel. So I didn't usual y linger here, but today something made me hesitate.
Beelzebub Girl: Dating a demon by Jayde Scott – out June 30th, 2011
You might also enjoy After Eden, a stunning young adult paranormal romance by Katherine Pine. After Eden is the story of Devi, who has a preference for bad guys. Only, this time said bad boy isn't just the hot heartbreaker; he's a demon, caught in a war between Heaven and Hel , whose affections come with a price. Devi might just get more than she bargained for. Read an exclusive preview below.
AFTER EDEN by Katherine Pine Excerpt:
Prologue
The two of us used to reenact The Snow Queen in the woods behind our house. We'd begin by lying on the lawn, and his cool fingers would squeeze my hand until my eyelids grew heavy and my breathing slowed. Then he would let go.
"Where are you going?" I'd cal out as I grabbed his ankles, causing him to stumble when he tried to stand.
"Stop," he'd tel me. "I don't love you anymore. I love my queen." He didn't want to say such things, he didn't even like the game, but I loved it and so he indulged me.
After that he would run into the woods. I would count to ten, and then go find him.
Once I found him in a pile of autumn leaves. He'd hidden in the tal branches of the old oak, and then fal en and skinned his knee. He didn't cry, he never cried, but I did.
Sniffling, I rol ed up his pant leg and picked up a yel ow oak leaf from the forest floor. It wasn't medicine, we both knew that, but stil my brother let me rub it on his skin. "You found me," he said.
"I wil always find you," I promised, and my little heart meant every word. It loved him more than it could stand, and so it could not conceive of a world where those words wouldn't be true.
"I love you, Devi," he said. I wanted him to cal me Greta. Greta was the girl from The Snow Queen. She was the brother of Kai, the boy in the fairy tale who shared my own brother's name.
Things would have turned out differently if my name real y had been Greta. She was the bringer of spring. She could suffer the winter and melt the ice around her brother's heart. She would find Kai regardless of where he'd gone or who'd taken him.
But I'd been named Devi, and so after he was stolen I couldn't find him, no matter how hard I tried.
Chapter 1
No other girl under the age of 18 would be caught dead outside Morrison's after 5pm, especial y when the sky looked like a backdrop from the opening scene of a hardboiled mystery. The used bookstore's turquoise and mustard yel ow exterior had always reminded me of my grandmother's psychedelic kitchen, and so conjured memories of unconditional love, burnt cookies and salmonel a poisoning. Maybe that's why I chose to spend Friday nights shuffling through the sale books on the outdoor rack instead of getting ready to hit the clubs or crash a party on the East side.
Unfortunately al they had out were the usual suspects--science fiction novels featuring giant reptiles shooting lightning from their bloodshot eyes, techno-thril ers, and old school romances a la Lilac Lovelace's magnum opus Sweet Savage Sentiments. I skimmed a few chapters before closing it with savage disappointment.
You won't find him here.
My fingers trembled, suddenly aware of the cold air, and the trashy book almost fel from them. That voice was so lonely and quiet--the voice of a child. I stumbled back. Don't do this, I commanded, but I'd already shut my eyes, gone completely stil , and made my breath as quiet as possible.
I listened for that voice to return. Only the sound of tires, the dul , throbbing beat from the strip club across the street, and my own internal silence responded.
He wasn't there. It was just my mind playing tricks. I shut my eyes and stood. Don't look, I told myself as my heartbeat raced. I just needed to keep my face forward, to bury myself in the pages of a book, any book. I couldn't--
I glanced over my shoulder. Above the line of skyscrapers I could just barely make out the gray silhouette of the West hil s. My house was hidden up there, behind the cedars, firs, and gnarled limbs of deciduous trees. Part of me longed to go home, drop my backpack by the front door, and curl up under the quilt on my bed to wait for sleep. But I couldn't go home. Not yet. Night wouldn't come for another few hours.
I looked away from the forested heights and returned my attention to the neon-lit heart of the city. The days were getting shorter, I reminded myself. Soon I'd be able to wander past that spot on the bluff where he'd disappeared without seeing every detail of the oak, the crumbling wooden gate, and the wide expanse of gray buildings far below. I'd stil know those things existed in the dark, of course, but at least the images wouldn't seduce my mind into playing that memory over and over--the one of my twin brother being taken by the man in white.
I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Thinking about it shouldn't have affected me this much after so many years, or at least that's what everyone kept tel ing me.
A gust of freezing wind blew at my back. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared into Marilyn Monroe's carefree smile. Ever since I was a kid the
front window had featured that famous poster of her standing above the vent, pushing that little white dress over her legs. She looked warm and dry--I was kind of jealous.
The wind roared again. Marilyn's face didn't change but her dress seemed to twirl, perhaps due to the shadow of the twirling poppet nailed from a string on the overhang.
Wait, what?
I blinked. Alright, I hadn't just imagined it. A black dol no bigger than my hand danced in the breeze. Three pins stuck out of its chest, and pasted on its back were two feathers--one red, one white.
I suppressed a chil . That had to be new. Either that or someone was playing a joke on the pudgy, aging clerk; I doubted someone who wore freshly ironed polo shirts with little animals embroidered below the col ar was into that sort of thing. Then again, whoever owned the place seemed to col ect oddities. There was a dream catcher above the register, and the door to the storage room had been replaced by long strands of glow in the dark beads.
I rested my hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to go inside. They probably wanted to close early. The only customers they'd get on a day like this were lunatics--wel , lunatics and hopeless romantics with a fetish for the smel of dusty old books, which in their eyes probably amounted to the same thing.
My grip on the doorknob tightened. They hadn't official y closed yet. A light stil glowed from the back of the store and no one had flipped around that il egible, handwritten sign in the window I'd always assumed said "We're Open."
I glanced down at the florid pink book I stil held and decided to check their romance section before I left. They had to have something better than Sweet Savage Sentiments.
Right as the thought entered my mind something hot built up in my throat, increasing in pressure until I could scarcely breathe.
Panic seized my chest. I tried to grip the doorknob but I couldn't feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips anymore. Not now, I pleaded. It was always my first thought when the headaches started. My head pulsated as if my blood was trying to pump out of my skin. God, why did this have to happen--and so randomly, too? I was going to col apse. I had to get out of there before I passed out on the street. Already the gray, fal sky was blurring into the sidewalk. My palms hit my temple, slick with perspiration. Maybe the clerk inside...
Too late . I fel into the door and the bel above it jingled, signaling a visitor. No, signaling me, gasping for breath and flopping around on the pavement like a fish. If it didn't hurt so bad I would've laughed.
Two boots appeared in front of my face, so close I could feel the leather on the tip of my nose. A hand gripped my shoulder and a voice said something, maybe. Then everything faded.
***
Someone was trying to pound my chest into submission. Okay, okay, I conceded. But whatever was above me couldn't read my mind. Instead of stopping, it dragged something sharp across my col arbone. Damn that stings . I placed my hand over the scratch and opened my eyes.
My long, black hair was plastered to my face. In between the strands I saw two slanted, yel ow eyes staring back. I sucked in a breath as the mass of fur meowed and catapulted forward, pushing its wet nose into my chin.
"You're final y up. Are you feeling better?" A man's voice. It sounded contemplative and primal, as if someone were whispering a lament over a dying fire. Or perhaps it only seemed so enigmatic because I was half awake.
"I hope you're not al ergic to cats," he continued.
Clack . Something was placed beside me. I rol ed my head to the side. My temples stil pounded lightly and my vision was stil blurry. The fact that I was being attacked by kitty kisses probably didn't help.
"Not al ergic." I sniffed the mug on the table and grimaced. "Hate coffee," I muttered.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand reach down to grip the mug and cringed, this time from pure shame. I wanted to explain that I wasn't normal y that selfish, but my tongue refused to move.
Luckily he just chuckled. "Be right back." His footsteps grew distant and then inaudible, leaving me alone with the sound of the cat's rhythmic purring.
I rubbed its sleek coat as my vision cleared. Dim light spil ed over the wal s from over a dozen candles. The way they were spaced around the room in a circle reminded me of a séance, but that's where the similarities between this storage space and a midnight ritual ended. Instead of being sprawled across an altar dressed in something sheer and white, I was underneath a woolen blanket on a faded pink couch that smel ed of coffee and dust. Bookcases lined the wal s from floor to ceiling, and even more books were stacked in tal , uneven piles throughout the room.
Plus the cat that lapped at my fingers was orange and gray, not black.
The footsteps returned from behind. "Here's some water." A hand set down another mug and gave the cat an affectionate pat on the head.
"Looks like I'm condemned to be eternal y bossed around by temperamental women."
Before I could respond or turn to face him, the owner of the voice walked to the leather armchair in front of me and sat.
I stopped breathing. The man--no, not a man, for he couldn't have been more than a few years older than me--was beautiful in that indie musician or starving poet kind of way. He wasn't very tal , but long, lean muscles fil ed out every inch of his frame. His hair wasn't long enough to hide the silver stud in his left ear, but it stil covered most of his angular face. On his left forearm was a tattoo of a goat inside a triangular design, and on his right a tattoo of a Chinese-style dragon that seemed to dance over his skin when he moved.
His eyes watched me, unblinking. They were dark and green, like the forest in late spring after a rain. They somehow seemed as vast and deep as the woods as wel ; I felt as if I could step into them and disappear.
"Where am I?" I asked too softly, as if I didn't want him to hear.
"In the back of Morrison's." He turned the book he'd been holding over. "You seem to have fainted while reading this," he said and raised it up.
No, this couldn't be happening. My cheeks turned as pink as the cover when he cracked open Sweet Savage Sentiments and began flipping through the pages.
He grinned when I gave no verbal response. "Was it real y that good?"
A lump formed in my throat. This incredibly cute guy could not be reading that book in front of me. I would have dared him to read that book if it had been something by Laura Kinsale or Julia Quinn. But Sweet Savage Sentiments? With al that throbbing and trembling, and the countless engorged members...
Oh God, I had to get it back.
I sat up. The cat slid down my chest and into my lap, but continued to knead as if it hadn't been interrupted. "Before you read any more I just want you to know that I didn't real y like it." I said, and almost winced at how defensive my tone sounded. "I mean, I do like romance novels, but that particular one didn't do it for me."
He put down the book and rested his chin in his left hand. "Which ones do it for you, then?"
My chest began to heave. The cat thought that was great fun and began kneading my legs with more vigor, but the rapid clawing didn't even faze me. How was I supposed to answer a question like that? And how could I have set such an obvious trap for myself? "You're enjoying this way too much," I replied, trying to change the subject.
He brushed his thumb over the book's hot pink spine. I shivered. "Am I the only one..." he lowered his voice and leaned forward "...enjoying it?"
I couldn't take it anymore. I gripped my hands into compact, deadly fists, grit my teeth, looked him in the eyes...
And laughed right in his face.
He leaned back with a bemused expression. "I didn't expect that response."
I choked on the air. "What did you expect, exactly?" I wheezed.
It took a moment for him to answer. "I don't know. Something saucier, I suppose."
I shook my head and stretched out my hand. "Something tel s me you've had enough 'sauce' in your life. Now please give me back my book."
He raised a brow. "But it's not your book."
"Wel , I was going to buy it," I replied smugly. It seemed like a harmless lie at the moment.
It wasn't.
"So you weren't going to put it back, then? Sweet Savage Sentiments does actual y do it for you?"
I took a deep breath. I wasn't going to let him fluster me that easily...again. "For 35 cents it most certainly does. Especial y if it prevents a misunderstanding."
"I just raised the price." He grinned and held the book above his head as if I would try to jump for it. To my mortification I realized for a second that I had considered doing just that.
I actual y huffed. "Do not make me result to underhanded measures."
It was the wrong thing to say. He gave me a devastating smile. "Oh, I definitely wouldn't mind."
My breath caught in my chest. Misunderstood artsy types weren't supposed to smile like that. They were supposed to glance at others condescendingly and ooze sarcastic witticisms. I felt like this guy was going to wiggle his eyebrows and ask me to "wrassle."
If he had I might've even taken him up on it.
I looked down, suddenly uncomfortable with being in such a smal space with a man I didn't know. Even if he did work at Morrison's. Even if he did have a soothing voice and just one look at him made me go weak in the knees.
Actual y, especial y because of al those things.
Hiss .
My torso tensed. I glanced left just in time to see a fly soar into the candle on the stool next to me.
The inside of its abdomen glowed like embers, then burst, feeding the flames as if it were an oil-soaked wick. Heat spread across my cheeks from either the fire, or my blood, I wasn't sure. My throat went dry as that smal , fragile body disintegrated.
Then the flame returned to its normal, subdued dance, as if nothing had happened.
My arms tightened around the cat. A sickening image seeped into my mind--of it leaping from me and burning to ash before I could react. In return, the kitty purred and licked my fingertips, but that gesture gave me little comfort. I couldn't forget that almost soundless, pointless death.