Chapter 6: Adios Mama’s Boy
The rest of the day at Dullahan’s Irish Pub was pretty uneventful. They only had a few customers - a couple of men, who went there during their lunch break, and then a group of young women, who came later in the evening to have their drinks made by the handsome Dante. Apparently, word was spreading about the wickedly skilled and good-looking bartender through New York City like wildfire.
Lately Joan was pretty impressed with Dante and how he’d helped Alan see Franky and Jenny’s true colors. She was also very surprised Dante had settled things nonviolently. She recalled a time more than five hundred years ago, when the renowned commander of thirty-six demonic legions, Dantalion, would unflinchingly cut people’s heads off. The demon had changed or he just appeared that way. Joan still didn’t trust him.
Dante was still her greatest enemy - a demon she would sooner or later have to kill. Joan watched as the door to Dullahan’s opened and a group of pretty, young women, who were all bundled up because of the cold, arrived. In seconds, their coats, expensive leather jackets, scarves and gloves came off to reveal their scantily clad forms. Joan gawked at what they were wearing - tight, low-cut, animal-print, sequined shirts and tank tops along with short leather skirts and short shorts. The girls were also adorned with a lot of flashy jewelry.
The group of young women made their way to the bar and slid onto the barstools that had dark green leather cushions on them. They batted their eyelashes at Dante and leaned over the bar as they ordered their drinks, giving him a good view down their shirts.
They were obviously flirting with Dante and trying to get his attention. Joan realized. But the demon was acting almost stoic. Professional. He took the girls’ orders and prepared their drinks in a flashy, skillful manner that had them ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’, but he completely ignored their flirtatious advances.
Joan couldn’t stop the smile that curled her lips at the realization that Dante didn’t see those women as well women. Apparently, even a demon Duke had his standards. Besides, those girls were just lowly humans.
Joan also got caught up with watching Dante prepare the girls’ drinks. His skilled movements as he juggled the bottle of half-empty white rum and the tin were hypnotic. Mesmerizing. He was so graceful as he passed the bottle behind his back and caught it inside of his the shaker tin. The girls clapped in response. Again, Joan wondered where Dante had learned those flair bartending techniques. Suddenly, Joan was remembering a time when she’d fought against Dante and their swords had clashed together in a deadly dance.
Dante’s movements had been elegant then too - swift, deadly. Unlike any barbaric demon she’d ever faced before. At the time, she couldn’t help feeling that somehow Dante was different from all the demons she’d faced before. It wasn’t long after that that she’d fallen in love with him. Joan shook her head, now was not the time for such idiotic thoughts. She turned away and got back to work wiping down the tables and polishing silverware. Although, she kept her ears open and listened to the girls asking Dante funny questions. Joan just couldn’t help it; she eavesdropped in order to hear Dante’s responses to their random questions.
“If you could be invisible, where would you go and what would you do?” One of the girls asked.
“I’d go to Hell and steal something from Lucifer.” Dante said in a joking tone but was deadly serious. Lucifer wore a pendant around his neck that contained Dante’s memories from before he’d come to Hell.
The girls tittered. “Hell? Why not Heaven?” “I can take you to Heaven, big boy.”
“Heaven is overrated.” Dante said firmly. “Too many rules. Too many goody two-shoes. And there’s no sex or alcohol, you know.”
“No sex and alcohol! Who would want to go there then?” One of the girls burst out, wide-eyed.
“If you suddenly found yourself turned into a woman, how would you spend your day?” Another girl asked teasingly.
Dante thought about it before a haughty expression crossed his face. “Probably in front of a mirror, stripping my clothes off and admiring my beauty.”
“Narcissist!” One of the girls accused good-naturedly. “How do you handle people you don’t like?”
Kill them. Dante thought but said instead: “I crush them.”
“Well then, tough guy, what’s your deepest regret?” A girl questioned.
A frown settled over Dante’s features. “I was unable to save the woman I loved.”
Crash. Everyone’s eyes turned to see that Joan had dropped her tray that also had a glass on it. She blushed as she bent over to pick up the shards of broken glass and place them carefully in her hand. He can’t be talking about me. There’s no way he can be talking about me.
“What’s the craziest place you’ve ever had sex?” One girl asked, leaned over the bar and licked her lips in expectation.
Dante smirked. “That’s easy. The back of a dragon.”
“A dragon!” The girl burst out laughing. “You have a very vivid imagination. That would be one hell of a bumpy ride!”
“It was.” The demon assured.
“What turns you on?” Another girl asked.
“Green eyes.” Dante said without missing a beat.
Joan sucked in a breath. Green eyes?
“What’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done?” A girl asked.
“Fight Lu-” Dante began but was cut off.
“For me, it’s coming over to talk to you.” The girl batted her eyelashes at Dante.
“Are you a cat or a dog person?”
“Definitely a cat person.” Dante replied.
“Do my lips looks naturally plump?” A girl who’d recently gotten a collagen lip injection asked Dante curiously.
“Naturally plump?” Dante tilted his head at her, not understanding what she wanted to know.
“How about you see for yourself, big boy?” The girl leaned in and pressed her lips lightly to Dante’s.
Dante’s eyes widened in surprise and he froze, not sure what to do.
That’s when Joan appeared and pulled the girl away from Dante while giving him a stern look. “Dante? Just what do you think you’re doing? You can’t touch or kiss the customers. It’s inappropriate behavior.”
A slight pink tinge came to Dante’s cheeks though he would have denied it. “Of course, I’m sorry. I understand.”
The girl pouted at the loss of Dante’s lips on hers and shot Joan a glare. “Well, as long as you realize your mistake.” Joan said through gritted teeth before she stalked off to take someone’s order. Those bimbos are getting on my nerves! Taking advantage of Dante’s naïveté! Well, naïve at least when it comes to human females. Women of the twenty-first century are sly, tricksters!
The rest of the day went by quickly and before Joan even realized it - it was midnight.
“Good work everyone.” Alan yawned widely with a hand in front of his mouth. “I’m exhausted so I’m heading off to bed. Night.” The pub owner said as he headed for the stairs. “Ivan if you’re the last one out, don’t forget to lock up.”
“Will do, Boss.” Ivan saluted Alan.
Dante and Joan were both getting their jackets when Ivan approached them. “Joan, can you help me finish the dishes? Jenny used to help me do them but now…” Ivan put his hands out in a helpless gesture and shrugged.
Dante’s sharp, golden eyes narrowed at the German chef. “I can assist you, Ivan.”
Joan gave Dante a surprised look before she frowned. “No, I can do it.” The waitress said as she stepped forward. “It’s just dishes. Hurry up and get your butt home, Dante.” Wherever ‘home’ is for the demon. I wonder. He probably doesn’t go all the way back to Hell each night, right?
Dante scowled. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Joan alone with Ivan but…perhaps he was just being paranoid. Surely, after what had just happened with Jenny and Franky, Ivan wouldn’t dare to try anything. Blazes! Dante wished he could read Ivan’s mind in that
moment but he was out of demonic power.
“Shoo.” Joan waved her hand at Dante. “I can handle it.” She insisted upon noticing the demon’s conflicted look.
“Understood. Have a good evening, Joan. Ivan.” Dante nodded to each them before leaving the pub.
Ivan hid a triumphant smile behind his hand as he watched Dante leave. “Alright, follow me, Joan.”
“Okay.”
Ivan led Joan to the kitchen and showed her the pile of dishes that needed to be washed. After that Ivan walked off and pretended to be busy with scrubbing down the stove. Joan immediately set to work on washing the dishes. As soon as Ivan heard the water running he turned around so he could watch Joan.
Her black leather pants clung to her legs in a tantalizing manner and hugged her tight butt. Joan’s chest weren’t visible but Ivan already knew she was a decent B-cup. Could have been bigger but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Ivan approached Joan from behind silently, put his right hand over her mouth, and wrapped his left arm around her waist as he pulled Joan to him. This had happened in a matter of seconds.
“Mmph!” Joan’s eyes went wide with surprise and she immediately struggled against his hold.
“Now that everyone’s gone we can finally have some fun together, Joan.” Ivan rumbled in her ear. His hot, rancid breath wafted over her ear causing her to shudder in revulsion. He was so close she could smell his sweat. The German chef licked her ear and her stomach churned.
As the initial shock of what was happening wore off Joan was instantly filled with anger. Just who the hell does this pig think he is? She thought venomously before she elbowed Ivan right in his beer gut.
“Oof!” Ivan let out a pained grunt and released Joan. She quickly spun around and tried to send her knee into Ivan’s crotch next.
“Ha!” Joan cried as she executed the move.
Ivan hopped back though to put some distance between them. “Whoa, kitten, has some spunk.”
“Kitten?” Joan scoffed as she raised an eyebrow at the chef. “I think you’ve made a big mistake, bub. I’m definitely a tiger. I’ve taken kickboxing classes, so if you want me to kick your butt…just keep acting like a jerk.” Joan challenged as she got into a fighting stance.
“Is that so, Joan Simone?” Ivan asked in a careless tone.
Joan narrowed his eyes at the chef. “Hey, how the hell do you know my last name?” As Joan asked this Ivan picked up two frying pans and held them out before him. This action caused Joan’s eyes to narrow dangerously. “Frying pans? Really? That’s not very sportsman like. Didn’t you know you’re supposed to take it easy on delicate flowers?”
“Delicate flower?” Ivan scoffed. “I know all about your sordid past, Joan Simone. You’re no delicate flower. This goody two-shoes act of yours is just that - an act.” That’s when Ivan attacked Joan with the frying pans.
The frying pans would be too hard to try and block with her bare hands, so Joan had no choice but to block his attacks with her booted feet. Thank God she’d decided to wear her tough, four-inch high, Nine West knee boots that day.
Ivan swung a pan at Joan and she raised her leg to block his attack, exhibiting impressive flexibility. “Not bad, kitten. You know it’s a real shame about your injury. I heard you even won a gold medal at the Olympics. Pity you had to quit tennis and become a waitress!”
Joan’s expression shifted to surprise and wariness. How the hell did Ivan know about her injury, or that she used to play tennis professionally? Had this jerk done a background check on her or something? Creepy.
Ivan purposefully pushed back on the frying pan that Joan was blocking with her right leg. She winced. Ivan then brought the pan back and swung it again, this time aiming for Joan’s right ankle.
Bam. Joan cried out in pain as the pan connected, and she crumpled to the floor while gripping her ankle. Dang, that hurts! He went for my old injury, that jerk! Dazed with pain, Joan barely noticed how Ivan was now hovering over her in a menacing manner. He reached down, grabbed the front of Joan’s tank top, and ripped it open revealing her bra. The sound of ripping fabric filled the kitchen ominously.
Rippp.
An all too familiar sound from another life.
Rippp.
In that moment, a memory from Joan’s past life as Jeanne d’Arc flooded her mind and consumed her.
She was locked inside of a stone tower, cold and hungry. They’d thrown her into a cell and locked the door. She stayed there for days, lonely, afraid, and feeling abandoned by everyone - her army, her King, and most of all God.
She’d refused to kill the Great Duke of Hell, Dantalion. So what? She’d sealed him to a tree hadn’t she? And Archangel Michael had placed the demon into an enchanted sleep so he wasn’t a threat to anyone any longer. But then…someone had apparently seen Jeanne and the demon share a kiss…and even Michael had turned against her. Even Michael had doubted in her virginity.
She shouldn’t have confessed to Michael that she’d fallen in love with the demon. She should have taken that secret to the grave. Well, she supposed she would. Because of her love for a demon God had abandoned her, Michael had abandoned her, King Charles VII had abandoned her, her army had abandoned her. They thought she was a demon’s whore.
Why weren’t her men trying to rescue her? Why wasn’t her king paying her ransom? That’s when the men came. Without saying anything they entered Jeanne’s cell, grabbed her arms, hoisted her roughly up off the floor, and began to rip her clothes off. She’d been wearing a dress at the time.
She struggled against them but it was three against one and she didn’t have her sword. A bloodcurdling scream was wrenched from her lips. She was certain these beasts were going to rape her. She’d managed to lose everyone’s respect after all. Rumors about her affair with the demon Dantalion were spreading like wildfire. They ruined her dress until it was nothing but useless strips of cloth.
She was naked before these animals and she was terrified. Her thoughts were racing through he head a mile a minute. Were these men going to rape her? Like that disgusting pig of a man who’d taken advantage of her sister. They’re going to rape me…they’re going to rape me…just like they did my sister! Someone help! Someone please help. God! Michael! Dantalion!
Abruptly an outfit consisting of a pair of pants and a simple shirt was thrown at her. Jeanne could remember the men’s leering, laughing faces. Without her sword in hand, she was just a weak, defenseless woman. Where was her sword? She’d gut these pigs in five seconds flat. Where was Dantalion? No, he wouldn’t be coming to save her. The demon had betrayed her after all.
Jeanne picked up the pair of pants.
***
Dante was about to cross the street when suddenly a wave of human fear hit him. Horns sprouted out of the top of his head and his incisors lengthened. Such fear, such terror, but who? The demon turned, a question on his lips. “Joan?” Dante took off running at superhuman speed deciding to use the demonic power that was currently flowing through his veins.
The demon reentered the pub, entered the kitchen, and that’s when he saw them. Ivan was standing over Joan and he was holding a piece of her ripped tank top in his hand. The German chef was leering down at Joan whose lacy, blue bra was now exposed.
Joan was staring up at Ivan with wide eyes full of terror, but her mind was elsewhere. She was seeing something beyond Ivan. The waitress was trembling like a leaf and in that moment the strong woman Dante had come to know suddenly looked so delicate and vulnerable that it ate something up inside of him. It stirred something inside of him that hadn’t stirred since he’d fallen in love with Jeanne d’Arc. Mine.
In the blink of an eye, Dante had his hand around Ivan’s throat and after that he was throwing the chef across the kitchen into the wooden dish cabinet. The cabinet broke and plates shattered as they hit the floor.
But Dante wasn’t through with Ivan just yet. The demon pounced on the fallen chef and began to punch him hard across the
face again and again. Dante’s fist slammed into Ivan’s nose, shattering it. Blood trickled down the man’s red face. Dante sent his fist into the man’s jaw next and there was a cracking sound. By this time a red, menacing, pulsing aura had surrounded Dante. His golden eyes were glowing. His demonic nature, his lust for blood was overtaking him. He growled low in his throat and he punched Ivan again.
Ivan looked up at the monster that was on top of him in horror. “What are you? Monster.”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh knocked Joan out of her stupor and she returned to her senses with a sudden gasp. It was like coming back up for air after having been submerged in the memories of her past. Ivan! Joan looked up and frowned when there was no sign of the German chef. That’s when she stood up on shaky legs and spotted Dante on top of Ivan while beating the crap out of him.
Ivan’s face was a bloody mess, the man’s nose was obviously broken, and the chef was no longer conscious. If Dante continued…the man would die. As much as she wouldn’t mind that she had to stop Dante. She was a warrior for God after all. “Dante! Stop!” Joan called out firmly as she approached the demon. She was surprised to see that his horns were visible and he had a red aura flaring around him.
Dante turned to blink at her. “Joan?” He quickly turned his face away and tried to hide his horns with his hands. “Don’t look at me.” His voice was rough as if it’d been rubbed with sandpaper.
Joan knelt behind Dante, wrapped her arms around him from behind, and rested her cheek against his broad back. “Dante…stop. It’s enough. Thank you for saving me.” Joan choked out. She’d never felt so helpless and afraid…but it was the nightmare and not Ivan that Dante had saved her from.
Dante flinched at Joan’s touch…but her presence soothed him. His horns began to recede and his demonic aura faded.
Unwanted tears slid down Joan’s face. “I was so…scared.” And this was the first time she’d ever admitted how afraid she’d been in that tower when those men had come for her and had ripped her clothes off. At the time she hadn’t known it was all a part of a nefarious plot to get her to wear men’s clothing and had really thought they were going to rape her.
Dante tried to turn around, but Joan wouldn’t let him and tightened her grip on him. “No…don’t look at me.” She echoed. She wasn’t supposed to show weakness. Especially not to a demon - her enemy. Michael would scold her if he knew.
“I won’t.” Dante rumbled in his deep, whiskey-soaked voice. The demon turned and wrapped his arms protectively around Joan’s trembling form. She wrapped her arms around her enemy and cried into his rock hard chest. “You don’t have to act so tough all the time. You can lean on me. You can depend on me, Joan.” Dante whispered in her ear. He didn’t know why he was saying these things to this female but he meant every word.
Joan wasn’t sure how many minutes passed but this was how Alan found the two of them. “What’s going on in here? I heard a crash. Joan! Dante! Are you guys alright?” Alan rushed to their sides as soon as he spotted them. He looked over at Ivan’s battered form and noted the blood that covered the chef’s face. “What happened?”
Dante looked up and met Alan’s eyes with an apologetic, almost guilty look on his face. “I’m sorry, Boss. I know you said I was supposed to handle things nonviolently but Ivan tried to…take advantage of Joan. I just…” Dante trailed off. He was confused about the way he’d reacted to Joan being in danger and didn’t really know how to explain himself or his actions.
“Snapped?” Alan suggested helpfully and let out a sigh. “It’s okay, Dante. There’s always an exception to that rule like when you’re protecting those you care about. Sometimes you have no choice but to be violent. Although I would still prefer it if you did not resort to violence, Dante. But I forgive you this time.”
“Understood, Boss. I’m sorry.” Dante apologized again.
Dante’s sudden humility greatly surprised Joan. She just couldn’t believe this was the same prideful demon she’d known more than five hundred years ago.
Alan rubbed his temples. “Looks like I’m going to be firing my chef too.” The young pub owner sunk to his knees as all his strength seemed to leave him and he put his face in his hand. “Ah, this sucks. What am I going to do without a chef?” He moaned.
“I might know a chef.” Dante spoke up. “In fact, I may know of a few people that might be able to help you, Boss.”
Alan looked up and gave Dante a hopeful look. “Really? That would be great. Why don’t you bring them in tomorrow morning so I can meet interview them.”
Dante nodded. “Certainly, Boss.”
Joan couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was actually crying into her enemy’s chest and hugging him. Hugging a demon. Michael would so kill her if he could see her now! Joan quickly pulled away from Dante and stood up. She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Ah, I’m just going to go home.” Joan murmured as she began to stalk off.
Dante stood up quickly and was at Joan’s side in an instant. “Wait.”
Joan still wouldn’t turn to look at Dante but she felt the weight of a jacket being put over her shoulders. “Uh…thanks, Dante. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” Joan quickly took off running.
“Stay safe.” Dante frowned as he watched Joan go and wondered if he should follow her. But even the feeling to do so confused the demon.
Alan was hiding a grin behind his hand. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that Dante and Joan were falling for each other.
***
Joan slipped her arms through Dante’s jacket and buttoned it up. On her way out of the pub she grabbed her leather jacket from the hook by the door before exiting and making her way over to her Volvo. She fumbled with her key, opened her car door, and got in behind the wheel. Joan closed the door, started the engine, and turned the heat up on high.
She gripped the steering wheel and took deep, calming breaths. Joan still couldn’t believe what had just happened back there. Dante had actually saved her - an inferior, lowly human. But why? Joan’s heart pitter-pattered at the question. Dante had claimed to be in love with her once…but that was more than five hundred years ago. And Dante didn’t even know who she really was. He didn’t know that she was the reincarnation of Jeanne d’Arc.
Joan looked nothing like her former self. Jeanne had been taller, curvier, with platinum blonde hair. Only her eyes were relatively the same - a pale green color. Like peridot. She put her hands over her chest and sighed. She wished her chest was as big as it used to be. No such luck. Joan pulled out of her parking spot and headed back to her apartment, her lonely apartment.
***
Joan turned the key in her apartment door’s lock and opened the door. “Honey, I’m home!” She called out, jokingly.
“It’s about time! Welcome back.” Came a chiding voice as Michael ran into the room. He sounded mad but his wagging tail kind of gave it away that he was actually happy to see her. “Where have you been? It’s already one o five!”
“Washing dishes.” Joan explained offhandedly as she took off her black leather jacket and hung it on the rack. That left her in only the jacket that Dante had given her and her bra.
Michael raised an eyebrow at what Joan was wearing. “Where’s the tank top you were wearing?”
“Oh, uh…” Joan hesitated for a moment before she came up with a lie. “I spilled something on it and a coworker lent me his jacket. I’ll return it to him tomorrow.” She hastily lied.
“Him?” Michael narrowed his golden-brown eyes at Joan. “I see. Well…your Demon Detector has been going crazy! It’s on the bed. You’re going to be in for a lot of work tonight. I hope you’re up for it.”
Killing lesser demons? “Oh, I’m up for it alright.” Joan said as she walked into her bedroom and saw the flashing, silver cross on her bed. She picked it up and clasped it around her neck. Joan summoned her magical power. “Transform…Jeanne d’Arc!”
Joan transformed and shinning, gold
en armor appeared on her body that fit her like a glove. After that her sword appeared in her hand - a long, double-edged, medieval sword that looked like it had been forged out of solid gold, but was in fact made out of a indestructible, heavenly metal.
Michael entered Joan’s bedroom and transformed also. Two enormous, white wings emerged from the golden retriever’s back. Joan strode over to the windowed doors that led to her balcony and threw them open. Michael went out onto the balcony first, and now that he had enough room his size increased until he was six hundred pounds.
Joan stepped out onto the balcony, mounted Michael, and with a flap of his wings they took off into the sky. They would fly around New York City while invisible and kill the equally invisible lesser demons that were roaming around the city searching for hosts. The best hosts were atheists, people that had gaps inside of their hearts that could only be filled with God or a vicious, self-serving demon.
If the lesser demon had already possessed someone then she would exorcise that person. She saved people who she didn’t even know and would probably never see again. She’d never gotten so much as a ‘thank you’ for all of her hard work. But…she was Jeanne d’Arc - God’s sword upon the Earth and had to do his bidding. Once again. It was a bittersweet duty.
Jeanne d’Arc was what most people would call a ‘witch’ with her supernatural magical powers and ability to transform into a being that could not be seen by the human eye unless she willed it. That was ironic since most witchcraft was associated with the Devil. But like Jesus, God allowed Joan to be one of the exceptions to the rule.
Ever since Michael had revealed that he could talk and had awakened her past memories - her destiny had been changed. Her life was no longer her own. It belonged to God. She was no longer ‘normal’ or ‘free’. She wondered if she would die for one of God’s causes once again. Or would she perhaps die fighting Dante? That might not be such a bad way to go. At least I wouldn’t be alone like the last time. She thought, remembering how it felt to be wrapped up in his arms.
Being killed by a handsome, stoic demon. It would be better than being burned alive. Joan shuddered at the remembrance. That had been horrible! Joan ran her sword through another lesser demon that cried out, exploded, and disintegrated into nothingness.
This was how she normally was - strong, powerful, and undefeatable. And yet earlier she’d been crying onto her enemy’s chest! She couldn’t forgive herself for it. Pull yourself together Joan! You’re not supposed to depend on anyone. You only have yourself. You’re all alone in this world, again.
No one will even know if one night a demon kills me. I’ll just disappear from everyone’s memories as if I were never here. No one will mourn my passing. No one really loves me...my parents don’t even talk to me anymore after what happened.
I failed to protect my older sister again even in this life. But this time it was drugs that killed her and not some pervert, so perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. I’m always alone with no one to depend on but myself. I always having to put on a strong face - a mask that I’m okay. No one understands me…
‘You don’t have to act so tough all the time. You can lean on me.’ Dante had whispered in her ear, his hot breath sending tingles down her traitorous spine. His breath had smelled like a fruity cocktail he must have sampled earlier. Ironically, he’d said those same words more than five hundred years ago to Jeanne d’Arc. That idiot…saying things like that. There’s no way I’ll ever believe it. I’m Joan of Arc. I won’t depend on anyone!
Five hundred and eighty-four years ago, Dante had claimed to have the need to wear a mask too. A mask that he was content as a Great Duke of Hell and commander of thirty-six legions. Joan remembered how Dante used to be plagued by the fact that some of his memories were missing. He didn’t know if he was a fallen angel or a cursed human. Joan realized that she was still curious about this too.