My Fallen Angel (19 page)

“But Garrick, why?”

From somewhere deep inside, Garrick found the strength to paste a look of derision on his face. “Why, look at you. You’re no lady, you’re a trollop in a lady’s clothing.”

She gasped. For a moment she looked incapable of words. Then the anger slowly clouded her eyes; it grew and multiplied until it turned into a hurricane of fury.

She slid from the bed and before he knew what she was about to do, she drew back and slugged him. Not a maidenly slap to the face—no, she hauled back and hit him with everything she had. Garrick’s breath escaped in a rush.

“How
dare
you?” The words dripped like poison from her lips. Yet beneath it all, Garrick could see the hurt and devastation swimming among her tears. “I’d do anything for you, Garrick Wolf. I love you. And if that makes me a trollop, so be it. I’d rather be a trollop who’d followed her heart than be a
lady
trapped by convention.”

And with that she hastily reached down and pulled on her clothes, dressing with sharp, angry motions, allthe while refusing to look at him. Every once in a while she reached up to swipe at a tear, the action only bringing home all the more how badly he’d betrayed her.

He forced himself to stand still, even when she left.

“I don’t believe I’ve seen so much white since the Blizzard of’66.”

Arlan looked up from his paperwork and resisted the urge to groan at the sight of the red-robed, horned figure standing before him, a figure complete with pitchfork and goatee.

“Good hell, even the chair’s white,” Belial went on to say.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why, Arlan, what a way to greet a friend. Especially one as old as I am.”

Arlan rolled his eyes. “I repeat. What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe I’ve decided to repent?”

“No.”

“Hmm. I didn’t think so, but it was worth a try.”

Arlan firmly told himself not to let the devil get under his skin. “If you have something to say, I suggest you speak. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to resort to drastic measures.”

“Oooh.” The devil pasted a look of mock terror on his face. “Are you going to singe me with a bolt of lightning? Or better yet, make locusts swarm around me? Or perhaps you’re going to drown me in a flood?” He pretended to be horrified, before suddenly straighteningand waving a hand in dismissal. “No matter. I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that to keep
me
away.”

He took a step forward and, before Arlan could stop him, picked up the sheet of paper resting on Arlan’s desk, a smile spreading across his face.

“Give that to me,” Arlan said, trying to grasp the document.

Belial took a step back, holding the document above his head. His thin lips spread into a smile. “Actually,
he’s
the reason I’m here.”

“If by that I’m to assume you mean Garrick Wolf, then we have nothing to talk about. Everything is going according to plan. Even your attempts to bribe him didn’t work. Now, give that back to me.”

“Ahh, but I’m not done bribing him yet.”

Arlan released a long sigh of impatience. “Spare me the details, Belial. We’ve nothing to discuss.”

“Care to place a wager on that?”

“No.”

Belial arched a pointed brow at him. “Still sore over losing that bet on Lot’s wife?”

“Not at all. We warned Lot what would happen if anyone looked back.”

“Yes, but you were so sure nobody would. I’ll never forget the look on your face when you had to turn his wife into that pillar of salt.” He froze, a wide-eyed look pasted on his pointy face, then he dissolved into laughter.

Arlan watched, unfazed. The day was going to … well, hell.

“Are you through?” he asked a long while later.

“Oh yes, yes,” the devil said with wave his taloned hand. “Thank you. I haven’t laughed that hard since I set loose the Black Plague.”

“Glad I could be of service.”

“Now where were we? Oh yes. About this bet. It’s just a simple one. I wager that Garrick will accept my next offer. If I lose, I agree never to bother the man again.”

“And if you win?”

“You agree to hand his soul over to me.”

“No.”

“Come now. Surely your boss won’t mind another bet?”

Arlan snorted. “I told you, no. Now, please leave. I’ve work to do.” He leaned over his desk and reached for the document again, but Belial drew it toward his chest.

“But it’s such a simple bet, Arlan. A soul for a soul. Either Garrick agrees or he doesn’t.”

“No.”

Thunder rumbled inside the little room and Arlan looked up in surprise. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his ears. “You want me to do what?”

The thunder rang out again, louder this time. He looked back at Belial, unable to keep the amazement from his voice. “He wants me to agree.”

“Excellent!” Belial applauded, crushing the document. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “Why?” he asked.

Arlan shrugged. “Perhaps he’s foreseen that Garrick won’t agree.”

“Hmm, perhaps. But perhaps
I’ve
foreseen that he will.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “No matter. Thebet will be that Garrick will accept the standard soul-for-a-soul agreement.
When
he says yes, you will not—in any way—interfere with my taking of it.”

Thunder rang out again and Arlan reluctantly nodded. “He agrees, however, one false step and he will force a Moderation.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Though I’ve no intention of getting into a Right to Claim case with you. Hell forbid. No, I’ll just be on my way. The goodness floating around this place fairly chokes me.”

And with that he stepped back, snapped his fingers dramatically, and was gone.

“You bastard!”

It was the next morning, and the heavens were crying miniature tears, the drops falling from the sails above and landing on the deck with soft splats of sorrow.

“Do you know what you’ve done to her?” Beth continued, standing near the prow of the ship as if she were a figurehead, a wet strand of hair managing to escape from the confines of her chignon to blow about her face. She swiped it away, the motion conveying a crackle of anger.

“She’s been crying all night. Lucy, who never cries for longer than two minutes, has been sobbing her eyes out.
All night.”

Garrick didn’t move. Drops dripped off the sheets of canvas to land upon his shoulders and head; a few missed him and splattered against the deck, the sound mixing in with the steady roar of the ocean. Garrick ignored it as he stood in front of Beth. The surging seaexactly matched her rage, rage which grew by the minute like the swell of a wave, especially when he remained silent.

She took a step forward and grabbed him by the shirt. He could have moved away from her, told her to leave, but he didn’t. In his opinion, he deserved her scathing antipathy, deserved the scorching anger in her eyes.

“You sicken me.”

No more than I do myself.

“How dare you almost seduce her and then discard her?”

I dared because when I looked down at her, I realized I loved her.

“You should be shot.”

If only someone would.

“If I was a man I’d do it myself.”

And I’d let you.

“Say something, damn you!”

There were tears looming in Beth’s eyes now, tears of frustration and anger. That she loved Lucy almost as much as he did was patently obvious.

“Well?”

When all he did was shrug, Beth looked beyond furious. She looked livid. Her cheeks filled with color, her hands clenched at her sides in impotent fury. “You bloody bastard,” she spat. “I could just hit you, except you’re not worth it. Lucy is better off without you.”

Yes, Garrick admitted, she was, but not in the way Beth thought. He had released her from the chains of his love. Now he could leave her knowing she was free to love again. How noble it sounded.

Too bad he felt less than noble.

Beth continued to stare at him contemptuously, her eyes trying to slay him alive. Then she turned away, long hanks of her black hair spinning out like the wings of an avenging angel. He almost laughed at the metaphor. Instead, he turned toward the rail in frustration.

He forced himself to stare out at the waves as they bowed and dipped like dancers at a ball. For years the sound of the ocean as she crashed into the prow of his ship had been a source of comfort; now all he heard was Lucy’s pure voice as she proudly stood before him and declared her love.

I’d rather follow my heart….

If only he could follow his.

But he couldn’t. He was stuck on his course as surely as a ship sailed up the Thames. But God, she’d been incredible. So fearless, so absolutely unafraid to tell him how she’d felt, even though he knew how much it had hurt her to do so. She was everything he’d ever looked for in a woman and more. If only …

If only what?

If only I wasn’t dead?

Too late for that. Far too late for that.

His eyes grew unfocused as he stared out at the sea. He had no idea how long he stood there, his mind replaying their final scene over and over again. The cold began to seep into his bones, eating at his soul. He could see the pale outline of England upon the horizon, the coastline peeking between tendrils of mist like a fairytale land of old. The sight gave him little comfort.
Soon,
he thought.
Soon we will sail into Dover. Soon this living hell will be over.

“Poor, poor, Garrick. You really are feeling sorry for yourself, aren’t you?”

Garrick turned toward the voice, the words having whipped over his skin like the forked tongue of a snake. Belial stood only two feet away, a brackish odor rising up around them, whether the sea or the being himself, Garrick couldn’t say.

“Tell me, Garrick. Was she worth it?”

He didn’t answer, had grown good at holding his tongue and keeping his feet firmly planted to the deck.

“You’re a tough one. I’ll give you that. I thought I had you in my grasp so many times. So close,” he murmured reflectively. “Well, never mind. Now I have a deal I know you won’t refuse.”

This time, Garrick wouldn’t allow himself to be drawn in. Belial could ply him with all the sly innuendoes he wanted, but he’d refuse to bite.

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious to know what I’ve planned?”

What now?
Garrick thought, turning toward the rail again.
A sudden squall to sink the ship? The sun to blacken and fire to rain up from hell?

“Dear me, no. Nothing quite so melodramatic.”

Startled, Garrick swung toward him.

“Yes, it’s a handy little trick, I admit, being able to read your mind. Arlan can, too, in case you didn’t know. Rather unfair of us.”

Garrick stared across at him in stunned silence, then turned away, flatly refusing to cowed by such a feat.

“So you think. But I know differently.”

“So I think what?”

“That you can resist me.”

“I don’t think, I
know.”

“Garrick, Garrick, Garrick. When are you going to learn I know you better than you know yourself?”

“Go away, Belial.”

“But don’t you want to hear about Lucy’s death?”

Garrick stiffened, then slowly turned back toward Belial.

“Yes, Lucy will die today. Now as a matter of fact. In front of you.”

The words hung in the air like the smell of sulfur. Garrick blinked. “You lie,” he hissed, but what he saw in the devil’s eyes chilled him like an ocean in winter.

“A snap of my finger and it’s done.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh no? I believe you’ve been told ‘tis the boy you must help.
He
is the one under protection from angels. I can do anything I want to Lucy.”

No. He refused to believe it. “You would have done so before now if it were possible.” He said the words as bravely as he dared, though it was hard with his heart pounding like a hammer against a blacksmith’s anvil.

Sweat beaded upon his forehead and trickled down the sides. It mixed with the rain as it ran down his neck.

“Perhaps I didn’t sense the desperation within you that I do now.”

“I’m not desperate.”

Turning away, Garrick focused on trying to appear calm, even though the devil’s words sent fear skidding through his veins and anxiety pumping into his heart. “I don’t believe Arlan would allow you to do such a thing.”

“You don’t, hmm? Well my friend, look there. The object of our conversation has come into view. Oh, and my, my. Doesn’t she look awful? Those bags under her eyes, and that blotchy complexion. She looks as if…
No,
it couldn’t be, could it? Why, she
is.
Look, Garrick, she’s crying.”

The rail had become Garrick’s anchor in the last few moments. He clutched it now like a man about to tumble overboard. The image of her face as he had last seen it kept clouding his mind. So proud. So defiant.

“You
have
broken her heart, haven’t you? Do you think she’ll recover? She certainly doesn’t look as though she will. Why, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she didn’t notice something swinging toward her head, something big and heavy. Maybe a boom—”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Somehow, the words managed to escape, a hoarse whisper issued from between dry lips.

Belial went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “Wouldn’t that be sad. Look, she’s climbing up to the poopdeck. Isn’t that where you almost kissed her? How touching. And she just swiped at her eyes again. Isn’t that just the most heart-wrenching thing you’ve ever seen?”

Still, Garrick refused to turn and look at her, didn’t need to, really. In his mind’s eye he could see her red hair flying about her face, her eyes—usually so sparkling and filled with life—clouded with tears.

“Come, Garrick. Take a look.”

“No.” The words were almost a gasp. “And if you harm her I’ll—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

“Oh my, there’s a threat.”

“Silence!” Garrick roared.

“Oh, look, Garrick. She’s standing below the mizzen sail now. How careless of her. What do you suppose would happen if the line to the spanker boom broke?”

“Don’t you dare,” he repeated. He tried to take a step toward the devil, tried to stop the words, but a strange buzzing began in Garrick’s ears. He couldn’t move. Invisible chains snaked around his arms and ankles and held him firmly to the deck.

Suddenly, he faced Lucy, could see her small form huddled near the back of the ship. She had her back to him, her gray cloak drawn tightly around her. Her shoulders were hunched, as if in defeat. He tried to force her name past his suddenly numb and bloodless lips, to warn her, but no sound emerged. It was as if things were moving at a slower rate of speed. A sound pierced the air, and Garrick tried harder than ever to force her name out, to shout a warning, for he recognized the sound.

A line was breaking.

“You could have avoided this, Garrick. All you’d have to have done was give me your soul.”

Lucy!
The word reverberated through his mind, louder than the loudest of shouts, but no sound escaped from his throat. He was helpless to do anything but watch as he stood rooted to the deck.

“Behold,” the devil taunted. And with a snap of his fingers, the rope snapped.

Lucy whirled toward the noise. Garrick had a perfect view of her terrified expression just before the boom slammed into her.