I stood and began to pace, my fine leather shoes whispering quietly over the rare oriental carpet. It was over five hundred years old and the humans thought it quite an antique. To someone like me, a being older than time itself, the idea was laughable.
Almost as laughable as the idea that a little witch with creamy brown skin and vivid green eyes could have caught my interest and held it. Held it so strongly that though she refused all my advances and sent me away, I still wasn’t able to go.
I should leave. I have business to attend to beyond the Great Barrier. But still I stayed.
I sighed and thought back to the first time I’d laid eyes on Gwendolyn.
It had been a slow day in Hell. The legions under my command were at rest and Lucifer, the ruler of the Infernal Realm, was away. In short, there was nothing to do. So when an imp had come scampering up to inform me that a call was coming over from the other side beseeching demonic help, I was just bored enough to answer it myself rather than delegating it to an underling.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see. It had been years—no, centuries—since I’d bothered to come over to the Mortal Realm. The humans were uncouth savages, hardly worth bothering with, though Lucifer and his ilk were constantly after their souls.
I prefer my own residence in the relatively quiet corner of Hell the ancient Greeks had termed Hades. There I was able to command my legions and tend to business with a minimum of interruption and bother.
The last time I had been to Earth it had been to attend to the tiresome business of the Salem Witch Trials which were badly managed by a lesser demon. Mainly I remembered frantic, hysterical humans dressed in dull homespun clothes shouting and accusing each other. Just thinking about it made me tired.
Everything about the Mortal Realm made me tired—until I saw Gwendolyn.
The sight of the little witch earnestly working her spell had captured me at once. Her creamy café au lait skin and big green eyes were, well…bewitching.
But it wasn’t just her beauty that drew me. After consenting to help her with her spell, I found that she wasn’t just a pretty face. A sharp intelligence and a rare wit radiated from her as well. And she had power—not much by demonic standards but for a human, she was quite impressive.
Gwendolyn wasn’t afraid of me either. After years of seeing others bow and scrape and tremble in my presence, I was tired of abject submission. Gwendolyn was fearless—I liked that about her. I’d been careful to conceal my true status from her, not wanting her to fear me. But I had an idea that even if she had known what I truly was, she still would have stood her ground.
Her beauty, courage, and intelligence were all enchanting. But the thing that sealed my interest in her was the innocence I sensed, just under her surface. Oh, she put on a brave face, my little witch. She painted her eyes with heavy black kohl and dressed to impress those ignorant humans who believed they knew what a witch ought to look like. But under it all she was pure—as pure and innocent and lovely as a single red rose growing in a field of mud.
I wanted to pluck that rose, not simply as a conquest but in order to protect it. Possess it. I wanted Gwendolyn and her innocence for myself, though at times, like now, I was angry with myself for wanting her. But there was something in her that stirred me, something that brought out old habits and behaviors I’d thought were gone forever. Something that reminded me of my past…a past I had worked hard to forget.
Added all together, Gwendolyn’s qualities made her the most interesting mortal I had ever met. In fact, I found her entirely too interesting, which was why I was currently loitering around the human world instead of attending to business in Hell, where I ought to be.
I told myself I would have left long ago if it wasn’t for the door she’d opened on the edge of the Abyss. Hell’s blackest pit, more frightening even than the lake of fire, was located in the very center of the vast, nebulous area that made up the afterlife of the damned. I was certain that even Lucifer himself had no idea where that vast, black void led. But it was nowhere one wanted to be. And certainly nowhere a human ought to risk going.
Yet, Gwendolyn had risked it. She was brave all right—too brave, I thought with a frown. In fact, “reckless” might be a better word to describe her. Tied to her, as I was, I had felt her daring to do what no mere mortal ought to even contemplate. But I had been stuck far away, unable to get to her even when I felt her fear and pain and danger. And now…
Now I fear she must pay the price. I stopped pacing and looked out the window again at the dark beach. What kind of creature had Gwendolyn loosed from the pit? For she had allowed something access to the world of men, I was certain.
I had been to the lip of the Abyss after my last exchange with the little witch and had seen the tiny sliver of light gleaming from the doorway across that vast expanse. It was only a crack but that was all it took. A determined Hellspawn could worm its way through and find her at any time and there wasn’t much I could do about it. Only the one who had opened the door in the first place could close it. And only closing the door could banish the creature back to the Infernal Realm.
I should go, I told myself for the thousandth time. If she hasn’t needed me yet, she will probably be all right. Perhaps her magic is enough to protect her.
I didn’t really believe that, but I couldn’t go on waiting in the Mortal Realm forever. It was ridiculous, anyway, one of my caliber and status waiting around like a love-struck human, hoping to hear her call. She was so certain she could manage on her own—well, fine, let her manage. There were matters that required my attention—matters I had put off long enough.
I came to a sudden decision—it was time to return to Hell. Time to forget the little witch and let her fend for herself. As lovely as she was, she was only a mortal. They burned so brightly for such a very brief time—the glow of their lives like a candle flame against the blackest night sky. It wasn’t worth wasting another moment of my time on such a temporary being, beautiful though she was.
“Serbix,” I called, turning away from the window and summoning an underling.
At once a tiny imp appeared at my elbow. He had reddish skin and two sharp little horns poking out from his forehead. The lesser demons look surprisingly like what mankind has speculated devils should look like all these years. Some say those with weak wills are molded by the mortal expectations, which may be true. Serbix even had a pointed tail and a forked tongue. Any human seeing him couldn’t help but recognize his demonic nature.
“Yes, my Lord Laish?” he squeaked, bowing obsequiously.
“It is time I returned to Hell.” I straightened my cuffs and prepared myself to dematerialize.
“Yes, my Lord.” The imp bobbed another bow. “And this house?”
“I should have no more need of it.” I told myself I didn’t intend to return. Not for another couple of centuries, at least. Maybe by then the humans would have done something interesting with themselves. Or maybe not. They were, after all, humans.
“I will dispose of this Earthly dwelling,” the imp promised, bowing again.
“All but the clothing.” I brushed an invisible speck of lint from my immaculate black jacket. “I rather like it.” There, at least, the humans had improved. Though it wouldn’t take much to be an improvement over the dull, poorly sewn garments the Puritans had worn at those dreary trials…
“I’ll have the clothing sent to your residence in Hell,” the imp said. “Is there anything else, my Lord?”
“No…well, yes.” I cursed myself for a fool but I couldn’t help continuing. “There’s a human girl I’ve been keeping an eye on. Her name is Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn LaRoux.”
“Yes, Master Laish?” the imp asked expectantly.
“There may be something stalking her. A Hellspawn.”
“A Hellspawn? From the pit?” Serbix turned pale, his red skin going a dirty grayish-pink. “But, Master—”
“I want her looked after,” I snapped. “Kept safe. Protected.”
> “Protected? A human?” The imp looked at me uncertainly. “Don’t you mean tormented, Master? But I thought you didn’t care for that sort of thing. The other Great Demons—”
“You heard me. I said protected.” I kept my voice low…my tone soft and deadly. “You’re to look after her, Serbix, and if I hear that anything has happened to her—anything at all—you’ll taste the terrors of the Abyss for all eternity. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Master!” Serbix shivered. Not even those that called Hell home wanted to explore those dark reaches, to plumb those bottomless depths and risk the evil of the Ancient Ones that live there.
“Good.” I nodded shortly and took a deep breath, filling my lungs one last time with the sea air. It was a pity, really, that I didn’t intend to return. This was by far the most pleasant location I’d been to in the Mortal Realm. But there was no reason to stay now.
I concentrated, picturing the far reaches of Hell, picturing my home. It was time to go. Time to forget all this foolishness and—
And then I heard her screaming…screaming my name.
Chapter Four
Gwendolyn
I was falling—plummeting down into the darkness. I was certain that any minute I would feel the hot breath of the thing that hunted me, feel those long, yellow teeth closing over my bare legs.
And I would have, too, if a pair of strong, muscular arms hadn’t caught me in midair.
I gasped and clung to my rescuer. At first I was too terrified to know who or what held me. Then the familiar scent of cinnamon surrounded me and I knew it was him—knew it was Laish. I don’t know why people always say that demons smell of fire and brimstone—Laish smells like a warm coffee cake that just came out of the oven. And under that, some other, wilder spice I don’t have a name for.
We seemed to be hovering in midair and I wondered how he was doing it. Demons are able to dematerialize at will but I never heard of any that could fly. I heard a faint rustling sound in the darkness and something soft brushed against my cheek.
“Hold on, Gwendolyn,” he murmured in my ear. “It’s all right now, mon ange, I’ve got you.”
He surged upward somehow and the grip of the slimy tongue around my ankle tightened, pulling me down at the same time. I screamed in agony—it really hurt. I felt like I was being torn in two.
“What is it, Gwendolyn? What’s wrong?” Laish stopped pulling upward and hovered there. In the darkness, his ruby eyes glowed faintly, filled with anxiety.
“It…it’s got me,” I gasped, somehow managing to get the words out of a throat tight with fear and pain. “My leg—it’s wrapped around my leg.” Around my ankle, the slimy tongue-tentacle tightened, as though the creature it belonged to had heard my voice and was prepared to fight for me.
Laish swore under his breath. “No wonder I cannot make any headway.” He looked down into the darkness. “What kind is it? Have you seen it?”
“Only…only in my dreams,” I confessed. “It doesn’t have a head but it has teeth…long, yellow teeth. And it’s hungry.”
He swore again, angrily. “You’ve been having dreams about this thing but you never thought to tell me? This goes beyond reckless, Gwendolyn.”
“I thought they were just dreams,” I protested. “I—”
At that moment the thing down at the bottom of the pit gave another sharp tug. Suddenly I found myself slipping out of Laish’s arms. I screamed piercingly at the pain, wondering if my hip had disconnected from its socket.
“Please,” I gasped. “Oh, no, please!”
Suddenly a sword appeared in Laish’s other hand, the one that wasn’t holding me. It was easy to see in the darkness because the silver blade was actually on fire. I gasped and flinched away from it but he only took a firmer grip on my waist.
“Hold tight to me, Gwendolyn. We’ll be out of here soon.”
I looked down into the darkness which was now illuminated by the fiery sword. The thing wrapped around my ankle and calf was thick and muscular but it wasn’t pink or even red—it was black. A sickly, oozing, grayish-black, coated in slime. I felt my stomach do a slow backflip at the sight. All that disgusting slime was coating my skin and the forked tip of the tongue was inching upward, over my knee, getting closer to my inner thigh…
Laish made a sound of disgust. With one swipe of the burning blade, he severed the slimy tongue thing. It clung a moment longer, then slid down my leg and fell back down into the pit to its owner. There was a hoarse, awful howl of pain and the ragged stump of the tongue hovered in midair, spurting foul, black blood. Then it withdrew, whipping wildly from side to side, spraying the dirt sides of the sink hole with slime.
I felt instant relief the moment the thing was off me. I wanted to get out of there right away but still Laish hovered for a moment more. He shouted something after the thing—something in a sharp, cruel language that hurt my ears—and then we shot upward and were suddenly standing on my Grams’ bedroom floor—what was left of it, anyway. Or I should say Laish was standing—the burning sword was gone and I was in his arms.
Only I didn’t think I could stay there much longer.
“Let me go!” I struggled against him, pressing against his broad chest. “Please, Laish, I have to…I need…”
“All right.” He set me on my feet and I bolted for the bathroom.
I barely got inside and lifted the toilet seat before every bit of wine I’d had that night along with everything else I’d eaten came straight up.
I heaved again…and then again even though my stomach was now empty. The nausea went on and on and on. I didn’t know what was wrong with me—was it a reaction to the extreme terror I’d just been feeling? But it was over now—why couldn’t I stop being sick?
“Gwendolyn…Gwendolyn…” Laish was suddenly beside me, sweeping back my hair and looking at me anxiously.
“Go ‘way,” I ordered him, trying to control my rolling stomach. I might not like him very much but that still didn’t mean I wanted him to watch me toss my cookies.
“I can’t. You’re having a reaction to the slime.”
“The what?” I demanded, and then had to bend over the bowl again. Nothing came up this time although it felt like my body was trying to eject my whole stomach through my mouth. Finally the wave passed and I sat back up and wiped my mouth with a swatch of toilet paper. Laish passed me a cup of water and I rinsed out my mouth. My hand trembled so much I nearly spilled it all over me. I was shaking uncontrollably.
Laish was looking more worried by the minute.
“The slime. Look.” He pointed to my leg—the one the thing’s tongue had been wrapped around. I saw with disgust that it was coated up to the thigh in grayish-black slime.
“Ugh!” My stomach rolled again, threatening to eject the water I’d just had. I put a hand to my aching midsection. “Get it off!” I begged.
“Of course.” Leaning over me, he turned on the tub. As soon as the water began to steam, he grabbed me and dumped me in.
“Hey!” I protested. Half the water in the tub was icy cold and the other half was too hot—they hadn’t had a chance to mix yet. I didn’t know whether to shiver or yelp at the burn.
Laish paid no attention to my protests. He grabbed one of Grams’ pristine white hand towels—the ones she keeps for company only—and began to scrub industriously at my leg.
I wanted to protest his harsh treatment—it felt like he was trying to rub my skin off—but I soon saw it was necessary. The grayish-black slime that coated my skin didn’t want to come off. In fact, in places it looked like it was trying to eat its way in. Seeing that made me feel panicky all over again.
“Get it off!” I begged, rubbing at my leg. “Get it off me, please!”
“I will,” he said grimly. “Just hold still, Gwendolyn.”
I didn’t want to hold still. The stuff was eating into my skin and now it started to burn…burn like acid. I could barely keep myself from screaming as Laish scrubbed my thigh and calf. As he worked, I heard
him muttering more words in that strange, harsh language under his breath. It hurt my ears almost as much as the slime was hurting my leg.
At last the burning stopped. Looking down, I saw that the slime was finally peeling away—sloughing off like a snake skin in long, thin, ragged strips.
The sight made me feel sick all over again but somehow I managed to keep from heaving. When the last of the stuff was washed down the drain (where it would no doubt play hell with Grams’ plumbing) I let out a little sob of relief and looked at myself. Despite the acid eating through my flesh sensation, my skin seemed intact, thank the Goddess. It was still my normal creamy brown and just a little red from the scrubbing. My stomach was beginning to feel better too—well, as much as it could after heaving continuously for ten minutes earlier.
Laish sat back with a sigh and rested his forearms on the sides of the tub wearily. I noticed that he was dressed in an immaculately tailored black jacket and crisp white shirt—both of which were completely drenched. His perfect inky-black hair was all rumpled and mussed too. In short, he looked more human than I had ever seen him. Well, except for the burning ruby eyes.
“That was close,” he remarked, shaking his head. “I always forget how fragile you mortals are. You nearly died, Gwendolyn. Twice.”
“I know,” I said and burst into tears.
I hate to sound like a girly-girl because most of the time I’m pretty tough. But I had just been through a lot. Between being pulled down a sinkhole by a demon’s tongue and having a puking reaction to the disgusting slime which nearly ate through my skin like acid, it wasn’t exactly the most peaceful night I’d ever spent. And I’d been forced to call Laish for help and he had seen me at my absolute worst. Not that I cared what he thought of me, I told myself, but still…
“Oh, Gwendolyn…It’s all right. Everything will be all right.” Heedless of his expensive clothes, he leaned into the tub and drew me against him. “Cry if you need to, mon ange,” he murmured. “It’s all right. Cry if it helps.”
Perversely, his whispered words of comfort made me stop crying and straighten up.