My Way to Hell (3 page)

Now that made her pause. Huh. Not that she’d have begged for anything from that puke to begin with. No one was more yippyskippy than she was when someone managed to keep that freakazoid from wreaking more havoc. She’d gone into it knowing full well she might end up in the pit for eternity. She hadn’t been a demon for seven and a half decades without knowing the risk she was taking by trying to best Lucifer and protect her friend. She’d never asked to be a demon to begin with, so rebellion of any kind would receive only kudos from her. In fact, nothing got her rocks off more than interfering with Lucifer and his fucked-uppedness.

Nothing.

She’d laid low during her demonic stint, and she’d managed to slip through the cracks of Hell going virtually unnoticed, for the most part. Marcella had ridden Hell’s fence for a very long time—but when she’d jumped off that fence, she’d jumped big.

When she’d landed—she’d landed here.

But no. The devil hadn’t handed down an edict for any kind of punishment . . . not that she was aware of. Fancy that.

Darwin pawed her dirty, partially shredded sandal. “So?”

“Fine. No. No, he didn’t, but if you’ll recall, after that night with Delaney—you know the one, right? The one with locusts, and flames licking at my pert butt? The one that in general is the shit nightmares are made of? The one where I tried to stop him from taking out my best friend? What happened after that was
this
.” She spread her arms wide. “This was where I woke up. I assumed, because I no longer had earthbound privileges, that he was the one who dumped me here. Or one of his ass lickers did it. Why else would I be
here
?” If picking planes had actually been an option she’d been aware of, this gray dive wouldn’t have been high on her list of plane picking.

“He may have banished you from
his
domain, genius, but he didn’t necessarily banish you to this plane. Believe you me, there are plenty of planes far worse than this, and if Lucifer was as hacked off at you as I think he’d be because you interfered and kept him from exacting revenge on Delaney for stealing a soul that was supposed to be his, I have to think he’d have left you somewhere much more horrifying. You know, a place where your worst fears come to life. Like maybe the plane where there are never any sales at Pier 1. This is like Candy Land compared to that for someone like you. You know, hit a girl where it hurts and all. He’s not as omnipotent as he’d have you think. Only the Big Kahuna has that kind of power. Satan only has control over Hell, Marcella—nothing more, nothing less.”

Only. “Then why don’t you explain to me why I can’t make contact with anyone like the other spirits can, Wonder Dog.”

“Okay, I’ll give you this much. Yes, you’ve tried. Yes, you’ve failed. Boo-hoo. But to believe Satan could tether you here when he has absolutely no jurisdiction to do so is an easy out, if you ask me. That would take stupid to a whole new level. Do you really believe that?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t fucking know. It wasn’t like I made it a practice to learn every rule in the demon handbook. I have mentioned a time or two that I didn’t choose the demon lifestyle with the intent of actually being demonic.”

“You have, and that puzzles me, too, my Spanish rose—”

Her head shook back and forth while her lips thinned. “Forget it. That part of my eternity is over and done. All I know is I had no one but Delaney when I was a demon, and she can’t see me anymore if I’m a ghost—which is, for the second time in this conversation, what I am now.” Marcella stuck a finger in her eye, pushing it through her skull and out the back side of her head with a dramatic flourish to emphasize her point. “See all the freaky stuff I can do on this plane? I can’t touch anything anywhere else but here. That makes me a ghost. So one more time for posterity: Delaney doesn’t see ghosts anymore. I have tried to do what everyone else here does and sucked so much wind for doing it. Try not to forget that. End of. Now go dig holes or gnaw on some mail-man.” To rag on her because she was just no good at this ghost thing, probably worse at the ghost thing than she’d ever been at the demon thing, was heinous. And mean.

“Oh, Marcella,” he said, disgust seeping into his words, “I always feel as though I’m the only one who puts any effort into our relationship. Weren’t you the one who just told me, for the second time in as many days, that the gift of sight Delaney once had was passed to her because she was her half brother’s oldest living relative and when he died it was transferred to her? Very soap-opera-ish when you say it out loud, don’t you agree? Anyway, you said it yourself. Satan whipped up some crazy contract with that scum-of-the-earth Vincent, and in that contract there was a clause that kept the power within Delaney’s family for as long as there was a
living
relative, right?”

Irritation prickled her skin. “Point, Darwin. Make it. Soon.”

“Didn’t you just get through telling me that Delaney actually
died
the night that she faced off with the pitchfork lover? Yes, yes, you did. With a dreamy-eyed, wistful look on your face, you told me Clyde resuscitated her. Oh, and then you sighed—also wistfully, I might add, leading me to believe you’re a bit of a romantic, despite the fact that you’d like everyone to believe your heart is nothing more than a shriveled-up piece of beef jerky. Again, I don’t want to be redundant, but might I point out the
contract
. The bit about the power staying in the Markham family for as long as there was a
living
relative . . .” He trailed off with an expectant look in his large, brown eyes.

Jesus Christ in a miniskirt.

Her jaw might have scraped the floor if she hadn’t the fortitude to clamp it shut with a clenched fist.

Darwin sat back up and peered into her eyes—eyes that were wide with disbelief. “I feel a defining moment approaching,” he drawled.

Marcella grabbed his jaw, cupping his muzzle. “Kellen . . .” she muttered. It was all she was able to manage.

Blowing out a breath that made his jowls flap, Darwin nipped at her finger. “Survey says . . . Right on, sistah. Kellen. When Delaney died that night, the gift of sight passed to her brother. Your favorite person in the whole wide world. If the trouble really is that all the mediums you’ve tried to reach so far are hacks—we know of at least one who’s anything but a poser. Kellen’s your target.”

Her grip on his muzzle tightened. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner, why? I’ve been here for three bloody months and you knew all along Kellen was the medium I should target.” She spat the words out at him through clenched teeth.

He let his wet nose graze her hand before jerking out of her grip. “Ahem. As I recall, you were playing the post-traumatic stress disorder card and just couldn’t bring yourself to talk about that night until
yesterday
. I wasn’t privy to all of the details, just bits and pieces I heard via Delaney and Clyde’s conversations. Oh, and the stray, lip-trembling comment from you. Until yesterday. You do remember our conversation, don’t you? It involved a tear or two staining your pretty, chiseled cheekbones. One even fell on that train wreck of a dress. Then you whined—which became a rather awkward moment for me. So I ditched your sissy ass and skipped off to the plane where Milk Bones shower me at regular intervals to give what went down that night some thought. When I was all thought out—which, P.S., took all of ten minutes, in case you’re wondering—I rushed over here to brain you with my genius discovery. ’Cause I haz skillz.”

“Kellen . . .” she whispered. His name on her lips, rolling off her tongue, made her knees weak and her hands shake.

“Bingo, darling. You remember him, right? Never mind, of course you do, sugar. He’s the man you secretly lusted for but never put the old Marcella moves on because he hated demons. The man you went to extreme lengths to rile with your sharp tongue because it kept him at arm’s length, and that way he’d never know your libido sang a chorus of hallelujahs whenever he was around. Indeed. He’s your man.”

Color rose in her cheeks, because Darwin was right. She hated that he was right. So she reacted with appropriate venom. “Fuck you, Darwin.”

“And again, not if you were a fuzzy Pomeranian who lived in a villa high on a hilltop in the French countryside and dined on canned food every day. Now, get over your shock and dismay, and get off your ass and do something.”

Marcella swallowed with a gulp, fighting the well of tears in her eyes. Jesus. Was she really giving even a little thought to crying? Her only defense was the frustration that knowing Kellen could see ghosts created for her. Yeah. She was frustrated. “I can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because Kellen hates—hated—my guts.” Hoo, boy, had he hated her guts, and she’d done everything she could to stoke the flames of his hatred due to her fierce attraction to him. He was the one man in all her years as a demon who’d made her wish she had just a week to be human again. A week that included a bed, some silk sheets, a bottle of expensive champagne, and not a stitch of clothing. Delaney was the one who had kept her from crossing the line during the ten years she’d known Kellen. No matter how much Delaney had loved her, treasured their friendship, she’d have never been comfortable with Marcella making a move on Kellen.

Her demonicness, even though it’d been a choice made out of sacrifice, would never fly, considering the Markhams’ past history with Satan. Though there’d been plenty of times when Kellen was sending daggers of death at her with his eyes that she’d wanted to throw him on whatever surface she could find and have her way with him. Have a big way with him. “Kellen hates me. Period. He hated that I was a demon. He hated that I was Delaney’s friend. He hated. Game over.”

Darwin huffed. “I hate you, too, but look at me now all making nice. And why do I make nice with you? It certainly isn’t because you have good fashion sense. It’s because of Delaney. Because she loved you, whether we all thought that was a total waste of emotion or not. I love Delaney. It’s why I won’t cross over. I can’t bear the idea I’d never see her again. Kellen loves Delaney, too. We both want whatever makes her happy.”

Darwin’s confession stung just a little, softened only by the notion that the hatred they felt for her was likely because of misinformation. If only Darwin and Kellen knew how misinformed they truly were. Still, there’d never be a time when she’d ever regret doing what she’d done to become a demon, no matter how much disdain and scorn was heaped on her.

“Do you honestly think he hates you enough to keep you from reassuring his sister that you survived that night? Kellen isn’t that kind of man, Marcella. You know that as surely as you know you wanted to get a good freak on with him. Stop stalling, pansy, and get on it.”

Energy surged through her for the first time in three months, making her jump to her feet. It was true. Kellen would never refuse to send a message to Delaney for her. He might not like it, but he’d do it.

But it meant she had to see him again. Be near him. Smell his cologne. See his hazel eyes fall on her with the same old contempt. Pathetically long for his sculpted fantasticalness all over again while he gave her the evil eye. Being here, thinking she’d never see Kellen again had almost been a comfort. Knowing she just might be able to connect with him shook her up.

Darwin nudged her thigh with his back end. “C’mon. Hike up your big-girl panties, and let’s get ’er done. You’ve stared Satan in the eye. Kellen’s easy-cheesy compared to that.”

Snapping her fingers together under his nose, Marcella narrowed her gaze at him. “Shut it. I need to think.”

“About what? If you think too long, you’ll set this plane ablaze from one end to the other. You’ve done nothing but think for three months. Clearly you did a half-assed job in the thinking department to begin with. It wasn’t you who figured this out—it was me. I know you’re gaga over Kellen, but I also know nothing can ever come of it, and so do you. Get over your case of lust long enough to let your best friend know you’re well. All you have to do is show up, state your case, and bounce. Simple.”

Right.

She sagged to the ground again, leaning back against the tree, strangely deflated.

Fuck.

The zing she’d felt just moments ago petered out and died.

“Get up, Marcella. If not for anyone else, then for Delaney,” Darwin urged, but his voice, growly and low, grew distant and warbled.

She reached for the base of the tree with fingers that sought to anchor her body to it. The odd sensation that she was being dragged grew. Yet she remained immobile, still clinging to the tree.

Her stomach began to swell, rising with sweeping surges in an odd concoction of butterflies and anxious rumblings. Marcella put a hand to her head, rubbing to alleviate the light, airy feel to it. Forcing her limbs to move, she struggled to stand, shimmying against the trunk of the tree for support. But her legs were like soft butter, caving and twisting beneath her, refusing to acknowledge the signals her brain sent to them.

Closing her eyes, Marcella swallowed hard to diminish the nausea assaulting her, the kind of seasicklike nausea she’d experienced when she rode the Teacup ride at Disney World.

Then the sensation shifted so suddenly and so swiftly, she had to take a deep breath. It was like someone had turned her inside out, then outside in. Reaching behind her to find a tree that was no longer there, she teetered on unsteady legs.

Her eyes fluttered open for a mere moment, scanned her surroundings, then closed in disbelief.

A surprised gasp slipped from her lips.

And then another surprised gasp slipped from someone else’s lips.

Which totally made the surprise-gasping thing a declaration of symbolic unification in astonishment.

Marcella forced her eyes back open and found herself face-to-face with Kellen Markham.

Standing right in front of her, holding an old scarf she’d once lent to Delaney.