Once You Go Demon (Pure Souls) (10 page)

“Thought you might be stopping by,” Jerry grumbled. “You can’t resist a good shake down. Just got to know every little detail, don’t you?”

Ramiel’s eyebrow arched. “This coming from a gnosis demon.”

“
Former
gnosis demon,” Jerry reminded him, throwing the hand towel in to the sink and flicking off the bathroom light. Ramiel’s whisper light footfalls followed him into the bedroom. “I got a pardon, or don’t you remember that?”

“Oh, I remember it, but you’ll remember I advised against it. Some would even say campaigned and rallied for the opposition. You don’t fool me, Jerry. Big Boss may have helped to rescue you from Hell, but I still sniff brimstone coming from your general direction.” Ramiel leaned against the wall as Jerry got into bed and covered his naked form—no immodesty coming from that direction—with the comforter. “Think I didn’t pick up on your obfuscation routine? Dish. What wasn’t Riona telling me?”

Jerry let out a sigh that slowly transformed into a hiss. “Look, Molly Dade is five drinks in to a crazy tab and six shots in to being a bitch at the best of times. And now she’s got Alzheimer’s to boot. It’s first stage, and Riona doesn’t know of course. Molly directed her doctor and the staff at Hanaford not to inform her until it became necessary.”

“A convenient excuse for Molly’s shady memory when Riona finds out later, then.”  Ramiel shifted his weight to the other leg. “You erased Molly’s memories, didn’t you?” 

“Wasn’t me, Chief. But yes, someone’s been fucking with her brain.”

Ramiel examined the floor as he brewed over that detail. “I don’t remember that suggestion having ever come up back then. In fact, I remember someone getting cut down for even hinting at it. Our regent at the time made it very clear that that sort of thing was a Grigori move. I wonder …”

“Fat bit of good it did, whoever’s responsible,” Jerry said.  “Riona’s magic is a hell of a lot stronger than mine. She almost unwrapped
everything.
You do realize sooner or later she’s going to pick up on how unique she really is, don’t you?”

“Thank goodness I have you to distract her from the truth. At least your childish charm kept her from finding out the biggest thing. You’re in danger of impressing me.” Ramiel’s lips pulled back in a grin, revealing teeth as perfect as they were temporal. “But I still have faith in your ability to show your true colors soon enough. So, did she do anything else in Salem except break the cardinal rule of magic?”

Jerry hesitated, preparing to wig out the heavenly host standing at his bedside. “There’s a witch there I used to schlep about a half-century ago. I sent Riona to her, told her Bunny might be able to tell her something about the dagger.”

As predicted, the angel bristled. “You
what
?”

“Oh, don’t fret your pretty little halo there, angel-boy,” Jerry said dismissively. “Riona left knowing no more than she did when she walked in. It could have easily gone the other way though. You know she’s not going to stop until she finds out what that thing is, right? I hope you’re planning a Texas-sized intervention at that point.” Jerry pulled up his covers, tucking himself in as best he could. “Now, I’ve had a long day, and unlike when I lived in Hell, I really will be cranky in the morning if I don’t get my beauty sleep. Please shut off the lamp as you leave.”

He closed his eyes, hoping for silence. What he got instead was Ramiel’s foot in his ribcage, forcing him on to his backside.

“What about that other thing?” he demanded.

Jerry cracked open an eye and gave him a Cyclops-styled glare down. “What do you think? Do you see her making moony eyes at me?”

“Don’t let me down now, Jerry.” Ramiel’s head turned slowly, surveying the room. “Did you attempt to seduce her and woo her yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I believe in this old-fashioned concept called ‘none of your fucking business’,” Jerry bit back. He propped himself up on his elbows, confident he broadcasted annoyance on all open channels. “I don’t get you, oh Holy Messenger. You hate my guts. You think my resurrection was a mistake. Yet you want me to hook up with your precious Keystone witch, even though she clearly thinks of me with as much warmth as a polar bear’s pile of shit in Alaska. Don’t tell me you’re actually happy with this plan.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want her.”

He guffawed. “I love her so much it brought me back from the dead. I know that little miracle has happened a few times before, but not to a fallen soul. Nevertheless, my love for Riona isn’t the point, angelwipe. She doesn’t want me, and I have it straight from the horse’s mouth on that one. You and I both know the man she wants is boiling in Hell’s kitchen, and on top of that is due to arrive back to Earth in a package of flesh you can bet your sweet bippy Lucifer will design to be instant seduction, aka a pathway to damnation for her.”

“But
you’re
the one,” Ramiel retorted. “As much as it pisses me off, it’s pretty fucking clear you’re the one the prophecy warned … I mean,
foretold
to us. The fact that I think you’re the lowest, scum-sucking, goat-kissing, disappointing fuck-up this side of the end times is irrelevant. I bow to the will of Big Boss, whether I like it or not. And if that means I have to oversee getting you and Riona to go sailing off into the sunset, then so be it. I’m going to be your personal Chuck Woolery from here until I do. Now get on your game and make her fall in love with you before Marc comes back, or so help you God, you will experience a new level of pain that will make Hell look like Disneyland.”

“Spoken like a man who’s clearly never been to Disneyland.”

The angel gave no further comment, though his glare could fill out about three profanity-laced paragraphs.

“Look, I can’t make promises, but I’m working at it. But I won’t sleep with her until she wants me for me, not because I’m an open lap living in her basement.”

“Nice time to decide to grow a pair of ovaries.” Ramiel reached out to the right and found the switch beneath his fingers. With a click, the room fell in to darkness, only a pale light falling from the book-sized ventilation window on the top of the street-side wall. “I can’t believe I have to convince you to pursue the woman you’re obviously in love with. I mean, why would you fight against having the woman you love?”

“
Because
I love her, ass. Maybe the whole concept of treasuring someone’s heart over what she does to your dick doesn’t make sense to you, but that’s the truth of it. I want her to choose me, not—what was the term you used—‘bow to the will of Big Boss, whether she likes it or not.’ In the meantime, she better do something about all that energy that’s building up in her and looking for a release. I have a feeling she’ll be pitter-pattering down the stairs before too long if she doesn’t vent that shit, and I’m not ready to convince myself to not be the lightning rod that grounds her charge. Any chance you can do something about that?”

The angel feigned confusion. “You know I don’t sleep with mortals.”

“Yes, I know you don’t sleep with …
mortals.
”

Ramiel’s eyes went wide, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been a gnosis demon for years. Did the angel really think Jerry couldn’t pick up on sexual tension between him and a hard-body nephilim like Persephone? At least he didn’t leap to deny it, but of course he wasn’t about to confirm it either. Ramiel’s shoulders dropped as his eyes went to his toes.

“I’ll work a charm. I can sideline her energy for a while. Not forever, though. It’s not her fault, it’s her nature. It’s our … It’s not her fault,” he repeated.

As the angel dissolved into mist, leaving Jerry alone, the question that Ramiel had posed repeated itself in Jerry’s mind: He wanted Riona, in every possible way the word want could be interpreted. Well practiced in the art of seduction, and being that her grief made her so vulnerable, why wasn’t she in his bed already?

Because she didn’t love him, she loved
Marc.

And because he couldn’t take the pain of losing her again when Marc returned.

Chapter 11

“At what point in the manual does it say, ‘Thou shalt dress as hicks and go forth in to the multitude’?”

Of the three of them, Dee had been the most upset by the emergence of flannel into their so-called “safe house.” It wasn’t as though their work didn’t lead them to occasional occurrences of espionage that came with a wardrobe. Secretly, in the back of Dee’s underwear drawer, a leather and chainmail thong and matching collar he’d had to endure about ten years before was tucked discretely behind a stack of standard issue boxer briefs. Blue jeans didn’t exactly shock his fashion sense, but the new pair of leather cowboy boots Ramiel had pulled out of his magical bag would put his footsies through a treatment so severe, celebrities could have had a telethon to raise awareness.

Streaming Youtube clips off of Riona’s phone on the finer points of rodeo lingo filled their time in the car down to Worchester. The crash course resulted in nothing more than letting them know how ignorant they really were.

“Who in the hell knew there were even rodeos in New England?” Riona took in a wide sweep of the DCU Center’s interior. “Aren’t we more about wasting money on bad construction projects and attempting to locate the perfect bagel than maneuvering an overly glorified camel around barrels?”

Her vantage point in the doorway leading to the stands provided a fairly decent view of the dirt-floored game ring. Two years ago, the National Associate of Statistics Professionals rented out this same space for their annual conference. She was curious which of the two events would prove to generate more bullshit.

Jerry’s concerns proved more pragmatic. “There must be three thousand people here. Finding a demon amongst this crowd is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Should we try that haystack, then?” Dee pointed to the ring below, where in the corner several workers forked into a heathery pile before tossing it over a fence behind which two horses stood serenely.

“Agreed, this won’t be easy.” After being chewed out more thoroughly than a cheap piece of teriyaki jerky, Riona had no desire to cause a scene in a crowd like this and piss off the Council of Seven again so soon. This mission must be addressed with the utmost level of professional conduct. “I think we should split up.”

Dee nodded. “I’ll take the concession areas.”

Jerry pointed outward. “I’ll survey the stands.”

“And I guess I’ll try to get back into the riders’ and animal area,” Riona wrapped up.

“Won’t you need a pass or something?” Jerry asked incredulously. “Maybe I should come with you. I’m a pretty smooth talker, you know.”

“I do know, but no need.” Looking down, she noted how well her curves filled out the flannel. “I’ve been led to believe by every horse-and-bull movie I’ve ever seen that cowboys like loose women. If they ask for a pass, I’ll just lean in with
shock
and
awe
.” With a waver in her voice, she took turns tipping her shoulders forward, letting each of the girls present arms and demonstrate a willingness to serve.

Jerry almost choked on his tongue. “Why would you rely on such cheap tactics?”

She huffed a laugh. “Well, that’s simple. Because it works. Shall we meet out by the main entrance in, what, twenty minutes?”

Adjusting to the smell proved surprisingly easy. She’d expected to be choked by the stink of manure, cows, horses, and sweaty men, but all that lingered in the air was a light yet pungent odor and the taste of dust. All in all, it was comparable to the odiferous characteristics of one of the locker rooms at Dee’s gym.

And, yeah, getting in to the restricted area? Easy breezy. The sixty-plus and skinny-as-skim-milk security guard in a ten gallon hat turned to Smuckers at the sight of her. Riona wouldn’t deny for a moment that she thought herself one sexy little minx, when she packaged herself correctly. That is, if she had been looking to hook up, her figure was as good a marquee as any for landing an interested party. But even she was often astounded at how men had a tendency to just melt at the first opportunity when she turned up the heat. Really, she wasn’t
that
attractive. Not stop traffic with a swish of your hair attractive at any rate.

The schedule flashing on the LED screen over the performance floor announced that the night’s rodeo would be played out in two parts: bucking broncos at the head, horsemanship in the rear. She suppressed a chuckle when she thought of that part as the ass-end of the program. The steady hum of the crowd burbled into a roar as the lineup of bulls and riders flowed from the speakers against a backdrop of hardcore, electric guitar-infused country twang.

As she began to slow her mind and center herself in the moment, letting the auras of the people around her take shape in her eyes, she realized how peculiar the world was. Prior to today, Riona knew only that there was such a thing as rodeos, but it had as much relevance to her life as the price of kimchee in Korea. There were thousands of people in the arena, a whole culture with its factions, fanatics, and freaks, deeply entrenched in a world heretofore unknown to her.

If she hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she’d walked in to the stables at Churchill Downs rather than the back of the Worchester Convention Center. Only here, instead of the stall’s walls being built of wood and nail, temporary plywood and steel erections delineated the spaces. Workers bustled up and down the aisles, carrying hay, hauling saddles, or chewing the fat. Everyone eyeballed her with some combination of suspicion, confusion, and/or humor. Clearly the newish quality of her flannels wasn’t fooling anyone into thinking she really belonged here.

Finally, one cowboy—complete with leather chaps, a checkered, long-sleeved shirt, and a dangerously sexy grin—stepped away from his station to accost her.

“Ma’am, you sure you supposed to be back here?”

“Um … No?” Schooling her features to tone down her traditional sarcasm, she tried to come off as civil and well-intentioned. And maybe, just a
tad
flirty. “I’m looking for someone. I’m not sure where he’ll be.”

“Well, I know most of the people back here. Maybe I can help you. Who you looking for?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t know his name or what he looks like. I just know I’ll know him when I see him.”

His teeth were so amazingly white. What did he do, gargle with bleach? “Do you know which event he rides in? He a rider at all? ”

“Not sure on that one, either.” She did her best to come off coquettish, because she definitely had this Rough Rider blushing now.

He nodded, cupping his chin with his hand. “I see. You’re looking for someone, but you don’t know what he looks like, and you don’t know what his name is. Isn’t that just … so odd.”

Tex put two fingers in his pie hole and let out the shrillest whistle she’d ever heard not produced by a dolphin in a waterpark. 

“Security!”

Riona turned in a panic and saw two uniformed men at the end of the corridor, leaning out from the wall and trying to eyeball her position.

“This young lady here needs help finding her way out.”

“What the fuck?” Screw being nice. “Listen, Rhinestone Crow-boy, I’m not doing anything to you. What the hell?”

“Ma’am, after what happened in Tulsa, we don’t take kindly to your type. Y’all come back here looking to save a horse so you can sell your story to the broadsheets and have a little memento that gets you a check every month. I’m tired of you bronco-loving betties making a floozy of yourself like this. Get on out to the stands and watch it from there, if you want, but
nonna
us gonna be your meal ticket tonight.”