Devil's Punch

Balls to the Wall

The hallways were palatial yet other. On the floor, patterns looked alien, laid in black and bloodred tiles. It seemed like a preternatural path the longer I studied it, but before I could unlock the riddle of where it led, the Luren paused outside an ornate basalt door, etched with peculiar symbols. Greydusk studied them and then gave me a half nod.

“They are protective sigils.”

“I am Gilder,” the minion went on. “And I will be stationed outside your quarters for your own protection. In the event our people grow…curious.”

That wasn’t why. Well, at least not entirely. But I already knew that demons could tell partial truths. He was in charge of making sure I didn’t escape this complex before Sybella got whatever she wanted from me. I pretended I didn’t realize the difference because it couldn’t hurt if they underestimated my intelligence.

Greydusk leveled a flat, black gaze on the other demon. “And I will be guarding the inside of the door. So be warned.” That was all it said, but the tone sent shivers down my spine.

By this point, I was so tired that I was swaying on my feet. Chance opened the door and we stepped through to a suite that would charm a Turkish potentate. Everything was gold and scarlet, not restful colors but opulent ones. And the furnishings were baroque in the extreme, as if I’d wandered into an old pleasure house. Yet everything gleamed, showing no signs of age.

“Thank you,” I said to Greydusk.

It paused in the midst of securing the door. I thought I had surprised the Imaron. “Knights do not thank their servants, Binder.”

“I’m not a knight.”

“No,” it agreed. “You are she who could be queen.” It settled on the sofa near the door, guarding me.

I didn’t have the heart to start the argument over again. It would be fruitless to claim I had no interest in ascending—whatever the hell that meant—and it might undermine the demon’s loyalty. Right now, Greydusk thought it was getting in on the ground floor of my regime. So I inclined my head in what felt like a laughable manner, but the Imaron didn’t react with mockery, as I half expected. Instead, it bowed.

“The bedroom’s through here,” Chance said.

I followed, needing sleep in the worst way. It had surely been more than one day in the real world, but it wasn’t like I had a watch that could convert from Sheol to Mexico time. However, my body felt as it had during the worst moments of my life, when I didn’t have a bed for the night and would try to snatch some rest in the bus station while keeping one eye out for cops, terminal employees, and people who had bad things on their minds. The result back then had been this same dry-eyed, bleary exhaustion, so I guessed it had been two days.

Our room had an enormous bed with heavy red velvet drapes; it was worthy of Henry VIII. Expensive tapestries with disturbing characters woven into patterns made me dizzy, mostly because they seemed to dance before my eyes, as if they wanted to assemble into forms I could understand. Chance closed the door and went around the room, looking for trouble. I could tell he was dowsing from the low-grade crackle in the air that raised the hair on the nape of my neck.

“All clear?” I asked when he stopped by a set of double doors.

He lifted a shoulder in a familiar half shrug. “Seems to be.”

Chance flung open the doors, revealing an otherworldly garden. I had no words for the shape of the plants that grew here, but they were dark and twisted, thick with thorns. Their stems shone like coppery metal with a patina of green; each leaf was a sculpted marvel, and the flowers exuded a siren smell, so that I wanted to step onto the stones and bury my face in the petals. At the thought, the foliage shivered around me as if it craved that—needed to slice my skin and drink my blood.

I stepped back at once, my flesh crawling. The beauty was unearthly, but it was dangerous too. “Butch can use the bathroom out here, but let’s keep a close watch on him. I don’t trust this place.”

“Me either,” he muttered.

When I peered into my purse, which Chance had been carrying, I found Butch sound asleep, and despite my best efforts, I could not wake him. He had been fine, after the crossing, but this didn’t look natural. Come to think of it, he should have reacted to Sybella, yapped a warning or something, because she had been a threat. Which meant he’d been out ever since we entered her compound.

I shared a worried look with Chance. “What do you think?”

“Not good.”

Though it was futile, I tried a little longer to rouse the dog. Maybe I had a spell that could wake him, but I was too tired to risk Butch’s safety by trying to cast. Look at how I screwed up the forget fog.

Quietly worried, I crossed to the other door and flung it open to reveal a bathroom. It was ridiculously posh, even more so than the one I’d used at Escobar’s estate. Even the fixtures were gilt. Whatever. I didn’t care what the place looked like, as long as it had running water. And it did. I thought it might come out stinking like sulfur, but it was smooth and soft, falling over my body in a hot rush.

I didn’t let the pleasure seduce my senses. I kept myself on task and used the soap and shampoo provided—so odd to think of demons like Gilder bathing. That made them too relatable. Shaking my head at the additional correlation, I stepped out of the tub and dried off. I had no thought to teasing Chance, as I’d done at the old house we rented in Kilmer.

He greeted me with one of his spare T-shirts. I hadn’t packed any underwear when I moved my stuff to his backpack, but that was the least of my worries. The tee was long enough, and I’d get covered up soon. Gods and goddesses, I was tired.

Chance headed toward the bathroom, and then paused. “Where should I sleep?”

Valid question. But I believed he’d changed. I trusted that he had, in fact, loved me at the end, and he’d been coping with his own shit and hadn’t meant to hurt me. Those were enormous leaps of faith.

“With me,” I said quietly. “The bed’s huge.”

He might not want to, though. We hadn’t talked about my confession yet.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Yeah. Well, unless you’d rather not. I can take the floor.”

Closing his eyes, he leaned his head wearily against the doorjamb; I took advantage of his momentary lapse of focus to swap my towel for his shirt, and then I slid between the covers. The sheets felt like the most expensive Egyptian cotton, all buttery soft, and I immediately wondered if this room was actually all dust and rags, whether the Luren could spin illusions like that. A shudder worked through me. I couldn’t trust anything here, not even my own mind. The Chasm of Despair had proven that.

“There’s no reason for either of us to be a martyr,” he said finally. “I’m shocked…and angry. But mostly I’m exhausted.”

“You think I should’ve told you this stuff before we came to Sheol.”

“I feel somewhat misled,” he admitted.

“You didn’t ask how I dealt with Montoya.” After the words came out, I wished I could take them back.

Chance stiffened. “And you didn’t ask whether I had anything to do with my girlfriend’s death. But that lack of curiosity didn’t stop you from blaming me later, after you ended up in the hospital.”

“That’s true,” I said softly. “There’s no defense. I should’ve told you what you were getting into, so you could make an honest decision. I’m sorry.”

“Was it revenge?”

“No,” I said miserably. “I just…I didn’t think you’d want to be with me if you knew the truth.”

“That was always our problem. Too much thinking, not enough trusting.”

“I do trust you.” Now. I wasn’t sure when it had happened, but at some point during the weeks, rebuilding together, he had become a different person in my mind. Not the same man who hurt me.

“You can,” he said. “But it goes both ways. And that means talking to me, even when you’d rather not.”

That stung, as he’d turned my own sentiments against me. “Yeah, you’re definitely mad.”

“Obviously. But I’m too tired to fight.” He smiled in a way that pierced my heart and pinned it to the back of my rib cage, where it fluttered, caught and helpless.

Our gazes clung, and everything I felt for him swamped me a torrential rush. Please don’t break my heart again, I thought.

Since I’d confessed all my secrets, it seemed fair he should do the same. If he froze me out, the rejection might mean he was more than just angry. “Will you tell me about Lily?”

He stilled, just a few seconds; then he came toward me and perched on the edge of the bed. “Of course.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“In college.”

That much was news to me. I hadn’t known that Chance had gone, although I wasn’t surprised, come to think of it. He had a certain polish that came from education, although I suspected he’d grown up poor. It was the only thing that explained his obsession with money—or rather, the fact that no amount could ever be enough. I still found it tough to credit that he’d stopped doing business to be with me.

I’d caught him researching investments, but he was secretive about why he was looking up tablets produced in Taiwan or Japanese technical innovations. Everyone needed a purpose. I didn’t think he was trying to keep me out of the loop, however; this time, I suspected he wanted to have all his ducks in a row before explaining the premise.

I prompted with a small, encouraging sound. “Uh-huh?”

“Lily was a music major. Beautiful voice.”

If I knew anything about Chance, she had a lovely face too. The first time around, I felt like a consolation prize or that he secretly believed he didn’t deserve better. Obviously that could’ve been my old self-esteem issues. I didn’t feel that way about myself anymore.

“What did you study?”

He shot me a grateful look. “I majored in finance. Didn’t graduate.”

“Why not?”

“Money,” he said flatly.

From his tone, I shouldn’t ask. There were limits to how much he could open up, and I couldn’t just dig out all his secrets with a conversational backhoe. This was supposed to be about Lily, so I’d stay on topic.

“What was she like?” And did you love her? I didn’t ask the second question out loud for obvious reasons.

“Her voice was a smoky alto…like a torch singer.” By the way he produced the words in staccato increments, it hurt him to talk about her. “She joked a lot. Made me laugh. She came from money, but she never…”

“Flaunted it?” I guessed.

“Yeah. Or made me feel bad because I couldn’t take her to the places her previous boyfriends could.”

Expensive jewelry, fine restaurants— check. It occurred to me then that while we were together, Chance had used me to get rich enough to please a dead girl. I’m sure he wouldn’t have thought of it in those terms because she was gone, but sometimes we grieve in odd ways and do things that don’t rationally make sense. Pain clamped around my heart.

“And she was gifted?”

He nodded. “Like I already told you, astral projection was her thing. I had no idea I was dangerous then.” Chance hesitated, and I heard the pain tightening his tone. “Before Lily, I hadn’t gotten serious with anyone. A few months, and I was bored. Ready to move on.”

“But she was special,” I said softly.

“Yeah. She stuck by me through some tough times.”

“Oh?” Sometimes, I thought, it was better not to know. Right then I imagined a different Chance, bright and wild in love. Not the quiet, closed-off man whom I had been so desperate to please. Maybe this was a terrible idea, after all, because no matter what he felt for me, I’d never be Lily, and that hurt me all over again.

Fortunately, some happier memories put a smile on his face and he didn’t notice my reaction. “We lived in this awful apartment because I couldn’t afford half the rent on anything better. At one point, her father tried to buy me off. Offered me a hundred grand to walk away and not look back.”

“You told him to fuck off?”

“More or less.”

“If you weren’t in college, what were you doing?”

“Dealing blackjack in a casino.”

That was something I hadn’t known either. He was already self-employed when I met him. “And Min?”

Funny, but until now I didn’t realize how little he’d shared about his life. When we first got together, I had been so dazzled, so awestruck, that he wanted to be with me, that I hadn’t asked too many questions. I’d respected the DO NOT DISTURB sign posted in his eyes. Chance had wanted to live in the moment, and since I had my own ghosts, I was happy not to think about the future…or the past.

“She was working in an herbal remedies shop. I hadn’t saved enough for her to open her own store yet.”

“So when you and I went into business together—”

“We were working on my mom’s behalf. At least, that’s what I did with my share. She deserved to be her own boss.…She sacrificed a lot bringing me up. I know she went without so the other kids wouldn’t make fun of me at school.”

Another new thought, Chance as an underprivileged kid. If they’d scrimped and saved to put food on the table, that, too, probably explained his fixation on making money. But back to Lily. Provided I could handle more revelations. At least getting to know Chance took my mind off what might be going on with Shannon.

“Did Lily graduate?”

“Summa cum laude.”

Impressive. I only knew that meant she’d gotten really good grades. The education I’d gotten since high school, I’d acquired myself, and I did a lot of reading on my own—various fiction and nonfiction. I was partial to John D. MacDonald. None of that eclectic reading constituted a degree, but I didn’t let it make me feel bad. He’d come after me, given up everything for me. Surely that meant something, more than just that he didn’t want to be alone. A guy like Chance never had trouble finding company; he could crook his finger and summon a date. He wanted a partner. He wanted me.

“What did she want to do, music-wise?”

“I thought she was good enough to sign with a major label,” he said, “but she wanted to get her master’s and go into music therapy. She intended to do good works instead of get rich.”

Wow. That might’ve been a bone of contention. I could see the trouble brewing in my mind’s eye. If Lily grew up with money, and just wanted to help people, she might not understand Chance’s need to prove himself by putting lots of zeroes in a bank account. She wouldn’t have understood that particular drive, even if she loved him. Since I’d been dirt-poor, I got it. I had the same compulsive need about having a home.

“How long were you together?”

“Five years, until I was twenty-four.”

Longer than I’d expected—sometimes answers didn’t offer all the solutions; they just created more doubt. How could I compete with this? Yet he was doing as I’d requested, so it didn’t seem fair to punish him because he’d loved someone else first.

“And how long until you started dating me?”

“It had been a year when I met you.”

I was twenty-one then, and I’d been on my own for three hard years since leaving Kilmer. I’d hit rock bottom, but by the time we started dating I had a job in Tampa at a dry cleaner’s and a crappy studio apartment. He had been twenty-five, though he’d seemed older in terms of sophistication. Those basic facts I’d known before, but they felt different, now that I saw the context of his loss. We had been together for over three years, until I nearly died, until I couldn’t take the emotional distance anymore. However, at least I understood why he’d behaved that way. In all honesty, I’d been his rebound girl, and so it was a wonder our relationship lasted as long as it did, a testament to how desperate I had been to please him.

He was thirty-two now, and I was twenty-eight. Our footing had changed.

“Ah,” I said, and he heard something in my voice.

“I know I was wrong in the way I handled…us. I thought I could I could protect you, if I could just control everything.”

“Even me.”

“Yes, even you. I managed you. Or I tried to. And I just couldn’t let myself be vulnerable the way you wanted, especially toward the end.”

“I understand.” I did, now. It didn’t lessen the damage he’d inflicted on me, but it helped me to comprehend it. “Did you mean to marry her?”

“I wanted to be able to provide for her first.”

“You were saving for a ring…or a down payment on a house?”

“Both. I had no idea what I was doing to her,” he went on brokenly. I’d never heard this tone from Chance, and a fist curled around my spine. His shaking hands clenched on his thighs. “After she died, I didn’t even know…” He took a couple of steadying breaths, and I reached for him.

He didn’t cry in my arms because that wouldn’t be a Chance thing to do, but he trembled, and he let me comfort him. Not a Chance thing to do, but I’d realized the Chance I’d known was the broken version. I’d very much like to get to know the man who loved a woman as fiercely as he’d loved Lily…and maybe me, now.

“How did you find out?” I asked when he eased away.

“I overheard my mom discussing how to break the news. She said she hated to hurt me, but that I had to know so I could take suitable precautions going forward.”

“Did she realize your gift could kill?” If she had, then it was criminal of her not to tell him sooner, even if her intentions had been good. For the first time, I felt a flicker of anger at Min. Before, I’d always blamed Chance, but she guarded her own secrets as tightly. Like his father’s identity.

He shook his head. “She knew the bad luck could be deflected, but she thought there were limits. So did I. But it makes sense—if the luck can save my life, then it can take someone else’s. After that, Mom looked for ways to compensate, but I wasn’t interested. I decided I wouldn’t get close to anyone else again.”

In his way, Chance had been every bit as messed up as I was. He probably still was, but I wouldn’t hold it against him. “So then…why did you—”

“Ask you out?” he finished. “It was the oddest thing. I tried to explain it to you once before, that click. I heard your drawl, saw your smile, and everything in my head went fuzzy. It was like I know this girl, or I felt like I should. I had to see you again. I told myself I’d be careful.”

“So you were trying to protect me.”

He nodded. “Later, I thought if I kept the emotional walls up, it would keep you from getting hurt.”

“I don’t condone how you handled things, but I understand.”

“That’s the best I could hope for.”

“And I guess my accident proves you did love me, after all. By the end.”

He closed his eyes. “I tried so hard not to. My love kills, Corine. But you were so sweet, so…”

“Gullible?”

“Irresistible. I couldn’t help myself. And the luck compensated when I stopped fighting, when I fell headlong for you—”

“I fell too. Literally.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

And it was. The past was no longer a thorn in my soul.

I had a lot to think about, but everything made sense now. From my perspective, he should have told me the risks after we got serious—my opinion on that didn’t change—but he hadn’t acted out of malice. His head was all fucked up at the time, and he was trying to do what was best. And maybe, just maybe, he’d seen a glimpse of my past—a suggestion that I needed somebody to take care of me for a while. I certainly hadn’t fought at first. It was only later that I wanted more.

Now I’d given him reason to doubt me. Did that make us even?

Then I added, “I won’t make you talk about her again if you’d rather not.”

“It’s not Lily, per se. Just how badly I failed her.”

Yeah. He wouldn’t be here, if he’d known the risks, if she’d gotten regular cleansings. Such a small thing, but for want of the horseshoe nail, and all that. Most likely, he’d be married with a kid or two, working as a stockbroker or a day trader, while his wife with the beautiful singing voice ministered to the unfortunate. Instead, he had an inert Chihuahua and me. That illustrated perfectly how unfair life could be.