Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (58 page)

He relaxed a little, then raised an eyebrow. “So what’s up?”

“I have a technical question to ask you about computers.”

Fingering his goatee, he said, “Okay — but it’d better be about a Mac, or I can’t help you.”

“It is,” I replied. I stepped all the way into his office and then asked, “If you needed to get someone’s password for logging into an online account, how would you do it?”

“Ask them for it?”

“Very funny.”

He swiveled his office chair back and forth in a thoughtful way. “If you’re not a hacker, probably the easiest thing to do is put a key logger on your computer.”

I crossed my arms and frowned. “I’m not sure I follow you.”

He stopped the annoying movement of his chair long enough to answer, “A key logger is a little device about yay big.” He held up his thumb and forefinger about an inch and a half apart. “Install one of those suckers on the connection between your keyboard and the computer, and it keeps a log of everything. Then all you have to do is run a program that accesses the keystroke log and it’ll pull up everything — passwords, commands, all the text you’ve typed, that sort of thing.” Still with that raised eyebrow, he asked, “What’s the matter? You think someone’s been messing with your computer?”

“No,” I said hastily. “It’s just something a friend and I were talking about last night.”

“Uh-huh?” Jesus sounded skeptical, but luckily for me he didn’t press the point. He just swiveled the office chair back around to face his monitor and brought the browser window back up. “Sounds like you girls need to get out more.”

“Very funny,” I said, but I’d heard enough. Frowning, I walked back into my office and started going back to every online site I’d ever used where I needed a password and began changing all of them. Maybe that was locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen, but it made me feel the tiniest bit better. And I didn’t care if my Mac blew up — I was damned if I was going to let anyone from IT Solutions touch my computer again.

Of course, that didn’t solve the teensy little problem of Danny and Victor reading my entire private blog…or the fact that now they knew all about me and Luke.

What they’d do with that information, I shuddered to think.

“
H
e’s the
Devil
?” Danny repeated, looking rather like someone who had just swallowed a large dose of battery acid.

Beelzebub affected a negligent shrug. “That’s what her blog said.”

“But — ” The young man hunched over and twined his fingers in his overlong hair. “How is that possible?”

“Maybe she’s just nuts,” Asmodeus put in.

Danny lifted his fingers from his hair, which remained standing up in a pair of tufts closely resembling horns. Ironic, Beelzebub thought.

“No,” Danny said at once. “She’s not crazy. I mean, she can be moody and all, just like most girls, but I don’t think she’d say something like that unless she really meant it.”

“So you think she’s telling the truth?” The disbelief in Asmodeus’ voice was clear. Nicely done.

Beelzebub tried not to look his compatriot in the face, because otherwise he’d run the risk of letting his own expression of disinterested concern turn into one of pure amusement. Danny wasn’t watching either one of them, but rather a blotchy stain in the center of the carpet. Still, one wrong step here, and the whole scheme could fall apart.

“Yeah, I think she is.”

“Do you believe in the Devil?” Beelzebub inquired. Good thing Victor’s delivery was fairly deadpan most of the time; it was a lot easier to ask that question when he could keep his tone flat and just barely accusatory.

Danny’s response was immediate. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

“For real?” Asmodeus put in, still playing the role of skeptic.

“Yeah, for real.” Scowling, Danny got up from the couch and stalked into the kitchen, where he pulled the last bottle of beer out of the fridge.

Interesting. None of the trio were big drinkers, although Zach tended to consume more than the other two. And of course Asmodeus had taken advantage of the fact. Danny was actually lucky even that one bottle of Anchor Steam had escaped unscathed.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Beelzebub asked, after Danny had taken a few bracing swallows of beer. Excellent. If he got himself somewhat tipsy, he would be in a far more suggestible state.

“Do?” Several hearty mouthfuls of Anchor Steam followed the first ones. “Um, this guy is the
Devil
, Vince. What exactly am I supposed to do about it? And I already didn’t have a chance, based on what you told me about his house and his cars. So on top of all that, he’s the Devil? I’m thinking the odds aren’t exactly in my favor.”

Beelzebub exchanged a quick glance with Asmodeus. Mortals were horribly weak, of course, but he’d expected this Danny to put up a bit more of a fight over his Lady Fair. If they couldn’t get the young human to stir things up, they’d have to resort to far riskier methods, ones that would increase their chances of getting caught.

To his surprise, he heard Asmodeus say, “Well, uh, what about her immortal soul and stuff?”

That got him, Beelzebub could tell. Danny’s head went up, and he paused in the middle of lifting the beer bottle to his lips. “Her what?”

“Her soul. You obviously believe in that, too — I mean, you still go to church every Sunday with your parents. What do you think your priest will say if you go to confession and tell him you let your girlfriend get stolen by the Devil?”

Nice, very nice. Beelzebub reflected that perhaps he had been too hard on Asmodeus previously — his fellow demon was showing a nice streak of low cunning that certainly hadn’t been in evidence for the last few centuries.

A tortured crease appeared in Danny’s brow. “I — well, probably he wouldn’t be too happy with me.”

“So do something about it,” Beelzebub put in. “Go talk to her.”

“What, now?”

By Tartarus, this young mortal was dense. “You have to wait for the right time. She saw me leaving her office today and wasn’t too happy about it. I think a cooling-off period is in order. In fact, I think you should just let things lie for a few days. Let her think you didn’t find anything. Then go get her when her defenses are down. You’ll have a better chance of success that way.”

Danny was still frowning, but he did manage a nod. “Yeah, that could work — ”

“Sounds like a great plan,” Asmodeus added.

Without replying at first, Danny upended his beer and drained the last of it. Then he looked down at the empty bottle with sorrowful eyes. “That was the last one.”

“Maybe you should go get some more,” Beelzebub suggested. It would be helpful to have the young man out of the house for a bit so he and Asmodeus could talk in private.

“Are you sure I should drive?”

“After just one beer?” Asmodeus mocked. “Give me a break.”

Danny squared his shoulders. “You’re right. It’s only a couple of blocks anyway.”

A sane person would have just walked, but Beelzebub had long ago come to the conclusion that the inhabitants of this so-called “City of Angels” were all crazy — they’d jump into a car to go a distance that should only have taken them a few minutes by foot. But he also knew that suggesting such a thing to Danny would look suspiciously out of character, since Victor Nguyen was the type who’d drive his car to the bathroom if he could get it to fit down the hallway.

“You want anything?” Danny asked as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

“I’m good,” Beelzebub said at once.
Now, there’s a lie
.

“Me, too,” Asmodeus added.

Danny nodded and headed out the front door after depositing his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. Both demons waited until they heard the sound of a car starting up in the driveway. After a few more seconds, Beelzebub let out a breath.

“That could have gone badly,” he said.

“But it didn’t.”

“I can’t believe
he
’s willing to throw in
his
lot with these pathetic mortals. I’d kill myself within a day.”

“Yes. Although — ” And Asmodeus hesitated.

Beelzebub was in no mood for his partner’s whimsical shifts in subject. “Although what?”

“There
are
certain distractions.”

Not that again. “Nothing is enough to distract me from the foolishness of these people.”

Asmodeus glanced away. “I agree that
he
seems to be wasting his time with this girl. She’s certainly nothing to write home about. If
he
had any taste,
he
’d be going after her friend Nina.”

“
He
shouldn’t be ‘going after’ anyone at all,” Beelzebub gritted. “
His
job is to run Hell, not to chase tail. Especially if that piece of tail is
his
means of getting back to Heaven.”

“Agreed. Only — ”

A low growl escaped from between Beelzebub’s teeth. Good thing Danny wasn’t around to hear it; nothing of this earth was capable of emitting such a sound.

But Asmodeus, having heard that sort of thing countless times before, appeared unfazed. In fact, he looked downright wistful. “I wouldn’t mind a chance at Nina’s tail.”

Focus
, Beelzebub told himself.
Focus. If you rip Asmodeus’ head off right now, someone will be bound to notice.

For of course doing such a thing would only damage the mortal body Asmodeus now inhabited. Danny’s grasp of the situation was shaky enough. The last thing he needed to deal with was a beheaded roommate awaiting him at the end of his beer run. That would most certainly distract him from his crusade to save Christa Simms from the Devil.

No, satisfying as it would be to show Asmodeus exactly what he, Beelzebub, thought of the other demon’s preoccupation with human women, he would have to control himself. He clenched his puny mortal fists and reminded himself of what was at stake here. It would all be worth it in the end. The possession of this paltry body, Asmodeus’ puerile obsessions — all of it could be brushed aside, as long as the status quo was preserved and Lucifer remained where he was meant to be.

In Hell.

A
ll my worry
seemed to be for nothing, since I didn’t hear anything else from Danny, and no screaming headlines appeared in any of the tabloids proclaiming that the Devil walked the earth (at least, no more so than usual). Maybe Danny had decided I was just kidding, although why anyone would make that sort of joke, especially in a private blog no one else was supposed to see, I had no idea. Or maybe (and this seemed more likely) he was huddled with the rest of the Gunmen, trying to figure out the best way to take down the Prince of Darkness.

Since Luke hadn’t said anything about getting together before we saw each other on Saturday night, I pried Nina out of the house, and the two of us went out to the movies on Friday. I didn’t want to eat a big meal, as I still felt a bit puffy, and I had to fit into the red dress the following night. So I used the excuse of having to stay at the office just late enough that we wouldn’t have time for dinner before the movie. I wasn’t sure whether Nina bought it or not, but she didn’t argue. At least I was able to feel virtuous about eating a Weight Watchers frozen meal instead of whatever calorie-fest we might otherwise have indulged in.

We met in Westwood, since it was a halfway point between my office and her place in Brentwood. It was also completely mobbed, but going to school there for four years had taught me the goat paths and less popular parking garages, and I was able to meet Nina in front of the theater with some time to spare.

She stood there, arms crossed as she scowled up at the marquee. Obviously, her mood hadn’t improved much. “Going to the movies this time of year sucks,” she said. “There’s nothing good out.”

“Hi, Nina, nice to see you, too,” I replied.

That made her stop and look at me. Then she shook her head and gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m a real party. Sorry — I’m still cranky.”

“Well, you have every right to be.”

She shrugged. “Maybe. In a weird way, it’s sort of a relief. She was getting awfully demanding there at the end. I think I’m going to switch back to guys. They’re not so high-maintenance.”

For which the entire straight male population of Los Angeles thanks you
, I thought. But I only said, “Well, whatever works.”

“Right now nothing is working for me,” Nina replied, tossing her heavy curls back over one shoulder. A few feet away, a couple of guys in UCLA jerseys stopped and stared. “I’ll get over it. Anyway, everything all set for the big date?”

“I think so,” I said. “Mani/pedi at eleven, and Bethany was able to squeeze me in at four for hair and makeup.”

I still felt sort of strange about all the preparations I’d made for attending the opera, but Nina had assured me they were necessary. It had taken me a moment to recall the last time I’d even had a manicure — I think it was right before my cousin’s ill-fated wedding a couple of years ago. Pedicures in the summer, sure, just because painting your own toes is a pain in the butt. Besides that, though, my hairstylist was taking care of my up-do, and another girl in the salon was going to do my makeup, since Nina had told me she didn’t really trust me to do an adequate job. I wasn’t one of those girls who never wore any cosmetics, but I liked keeping it simple. Simple, however, was not what you paired with an evening gown.

Turning away from Nina, I looked up at the movie listings. Unless we wanted to wait almost an hour, we were stuck between choosing a romantic comedy, which I would have liked but wasn’t sure Nina could handle at the moment, or a psychological thriller which, according to the reviews, wasn’t all that thrilling.

“So which is it going to be?” I asked.

Nina shrugged. “Whatever. Actually, shocking as it may sound, I’d rather watch the comedy. It’s got Gerard Butler in it. Even if it’s stupid, at least I can stare at him for the next two hours.”

So much for Nina’s journey to the “dark side.” It sounded to me as if she were pretty firmly back in hetero territory. Then again, I had to admit that Mr. Butler was definitely worth looking at.

We went up to get the tickets, and I couldn’t help feeling a little smug. Movie stars were fun to dream about, but I had someone equally stare-able taking me to the opera the next night. The thought sent a little tingle down my spine.

If nothing else, I couldn’t wait to see what Luke looked like in evening wear.

W
ell
, fabulous, naturally.

He’d told me he would pick me up at six, but I’d been ready for about twenty minutes by that point and was hovering nervously in the living room, occasionally stopping to peer through the blinds to see if he’d shown up yet. Thank God the weather had decided to cooperate. It was clear and cold, but the rain had taken itself off for a few days.

Then I saw the Bentley glide to a stop at the curb, and after a few seconds Luke got out. Looking at him in his tuxedo, I thought,
James Bond’s got nothing on you, baby
. It seemed a little childish to be watching him through the blinds like that nosy neighbor from
Bewitched
, so I stepped away from the window and waited, listening for his knock.

Even though I’d been expecting it, my heart beat a little faster when I heard the light rapping on my front door. Taking a breath, I stepped forward and opened it.

He looked even better closer up. I don’t know what it is about a guy in a tuxedo, but Luke just oozed gorgeousness.

His gaze fell on me, and I could see his eyes widen slightly. For a few seconds we both stood there in silence, partaking in mutual admiration, until he cleared his throat and said, “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you,” I blurted, and then he laughed.

“For you,” he said, handing me a bouquet of red roses from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Uh — thanks,” I said, taking them a little awkwardly. Maybe someday I’d get used to the way he made things materialize out of thin air. “They’re beautiful.”

The flowers matched my gown perfectly. I wondered what he would have come up with if I’d been wearing black.

“Let me just go put these in some water — ” I began. But the words had hardly left my mouth before a crystal vase appeared on the coffee table, ready to go with water already inside. I shot Luke an amused glance. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“I am?” Without waiting for a reply, he neatly plucked the roses out of my grasp and put them in the vase. “We should be going — the reservations are for six-thirty.”

“Reservations?” I echoed. “Really? How...mortal of you! What happened to doors opening and all that?”

“On special occasions I do try to observe the correct protocols.”

“And this is a special occasion?”

His gaze lingered on my mouth, and then flickered for the barest second to the low neckline of my gown. I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. “I hope so,” he replied, a world of meaning in those three small words.

I didn’t think I could manage a reply. Instead, I leaned down and picked up the little silver beaded evening bag I’d bought to go with my ensemble. After double-checking to make sure that my lipstick, ticket, and house key were inside (the purse wouldn’t accommodate much more than that), I turned to him. “All right — I think I’m ready.”

He glanced at my bare shoulders. “It’s quite chilly out.”

That particular point had been worrying me as well, but I said casually, “Oh, it’s all right. I couldn’t find a wrap I liked, so I figured I’d just go without.”

Something soft and indescribably warm draped itself around my shoulders. I looked down and saw that a coat of silvery-gray fur had, like the roses, appeared out of nowhere.

As beautiful as it was, I knew I couldn’t wear it. “Luke, it’s gorgeous, but I can’t wear fur. I don’t believe in it, and besides, if my mother found out, she’d skin
me
alive!”

His blue eyes laughed at me, at what he no doubt thought were foolish mortal scruples. “Don’t worry, my socially conscious little friend. It’s not real.”

“It isn’t?” I asked in dubious tones, and reached down to stroke the amazingly soft material.

There was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, but he sounded neutral enough as he said, “They do wonders with synthetics these days, don’t they?”

Fine — if I had to be a source of constant mirth for him, so be it. At least now I didn’t have to worry about freezing my ass off. I just hoped, as he ushered me out of the apartment and down to the car, that no over-zealous animal rights activists would do as I had and mistake my faux fur for the real thing. Dodging balloons filled with red paint wasn’t exactly my idea of a fun Saturday night activity.

Luke didn’t bother to head back to the freeway. Instead, he pointed the huge car east on Wilshire toward downtown Los Angeles. Street lights seemed to stay magically green for us much longer than they should have, and I reflected that, among other things, the Devil was obviously a handy person to have around when dealing with L.A. traffic. On a Saturday night, though, there weren’t a lot of cars heading into the downtown area. That section of town had a high concentration of financial buildings, law offices, and other commercial facilities, most of which didn’t have much business on the weekends. A little farther south than we were going lay the Fashion District, which was very busy seven days a week, but even those shops would have closed up by this hour.

I watched the buildings and other cars move outside the car windows as we made our majestic way through the streets. More than once I saw people on the sidewalk stop to stare at the Bentley as it glided past. Maybe I wasn’t quite Cinderella at the ball, but I definitely had the feeling that I’d stepped into another world as I sat there in my evening gown with the luxurious coat nestled against my bare neck.

We didn’t speak. I think Luke could tell I was enjoying the ride itself as I drank in the sights and even the smells. I love the scent of leather, and the car was redolent of very fine hides, as well as the slightest spiciness that I thought might have been Luke’s cologne. Soft classical music emanated from the speakers. I didn’t know what it was, but it sounded vaguely familiar. Mozart, probably.

A little while later we reached downtown, and we came to a stop outside an elegant older building. A valet hurried over and opened the door for me, extending a hand to help me out of the car, even as Luke came around to the sidewalk and gave him the keys. The kid’s eyes widened slightly — I had the feeling he didn’t get to park a Bentley every day — but he nodded and hurried over to the driver’s-side door.

Luke extended an arm. “Shall we?”

I took it, reflecting that a girl could definitely get used to this sort of lifestyle. He opened the door for me, and we stepped inside.

The building was lovely, old but meticulously restored. What surprised me, though, was that the maitre d’ led us through the main dining room and on into a separate chamber, an incredible room with a fountain in the center and gorgeously coffered ceilings. Only one table occupied the cavernous space, which had been decorated with some of the most amazing floral arrangements I’d ever seen.

Feeling a little apprehensive, I shot a questioning glance up at Luke. “All this, just for us?”

“Just for you,” he corrected, and pulled out a chair for me.

The maitre d’ handed me a menu as Luke took his own seat. Not even bothering to look at the elegant leather-backed bill of fare, Luke said, “We’ll start with the
capesante in padella
, and a bottle of the Schiopetto sauvignon blanc.”

“Very good, sir.” He gave the two of us a slight nod and then disappeared back the way we had come in.

I had no idea what he’d just ordered, but I figured I’d better just trust him and go with the flow. My surroundings almost overwhelmed me. What kind of strings had Luke pulled, and what kind of expense had he gone to, in order to procure this room for just the two of us? Under normal circumstances it looked like the sort of space that would have been used for banquets or possibly small wedding receptions.

“You don’t do things by halves, do you?” I asked.

“Not usually, no,” he replied. “Besides, I wanted to take you out to dinner, but I also wanted some privacy.”

“Heck of a way to do it,” I said, waving at the slightly echoing chamber around us. From somewhere I heard soft background music which sounded like a string quartet, but it couldn’t completely mask the slightly hollow sound of a large space that didn’t have enough people to fill it.

Luke smiled. “Perhaps.”

At that moment our waiter appeared with a bottle of white wine, which he deftly opened, and then poured out a precise quantity into each of our glasses. Task accomplished, he deposited the bottle in a silver wine bucket that had been placed off to the left of Luke’s chair and asked, “Anything else, sir?”

“Not for the moment.”

The waiter nodded and left. Luke raised his wine glass toward me, and said, “To trying new things.”

I wondered precisely which “new things” he was referring to, but decided it probably would be better not to ask. Instead, I lifted my own wine glass and smiled at him. “To new things,” I repeated, then drank. The taste was clean and cool, with the slightest hint of a mineral flavor at the finish.

“I think you’ll enjoy
Faust
,” Luke went on, as if the only thing in the world he possibly could have been referring to was the opera itself. “The music is really quite exquisite, and the story involving…even though it’s a pure fabrication.”

“So no one ever sold you their soul?” I asked, only half-joking.

For a second he was quiet, holding the glass of straw-colored wine in his hand. The reflection of the votive candle at the center of the table glimmered against its surface, gold on gold. “People have tried,” he said. “But you can’t sell that which is not yours to give.”

“Are you saying our souls aren’t our own?” That idea didn’t sound very appealing to me.

“You misunderstand me.” Finally he lifted the glass to his lips and drank, then replaced it on the cloth-covered tabletop. “Of course your soul is yours, and yours alone. That’s why you can never sell it or give it away.”

Frowning, I thought that sounded like circular logic. I sipped my own wine, then said, “I’m afraid I’m not following you.”