The Devil's Playthings (6 page)

“Good evening, Emma,” he smiled brightly at her. He bent to kiss her forehead,
and she looked up at him longingly. He paused, caressed her cheek, then chuc
kled. “Beautiful girl, you do
make my heart flutter.” His smile grew wider, like he told a private joke only he would understand, then sat down at the head of the table.

They ate light, simple grilled chicken and pasta with a light salad. She picked at her dinner, but drank liberally of the sweet blush wine. When the young server came to fill her glass again Luc almost imperceptibly shook his head.

“Emma, is something wrong?” Luc sounded genuinely concerned.

“It’s just…” she choked back. “It’s just so much…” she whispered and looked at him.

“I enjoy your quiet qualities, Emma, I really do.” He smiled at her and reached over to tip her chin up. “Your silence is so beautiful. But there are times when a woman should talk. When her man asks her what is wrong, she should answer him honestly.” His
onyx black
eyes twinkled at her. And when he said “her man” her heart stopped. Was he her man?

“Why am I here? How did you find me?” She blurted out.

“Don’t you like our apartment?” His eyes continued to twinkle.

“I love it, it’s more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” she whispered, but when she stared at him she had to admit, nothing was more beautiful than him.

“Anything,” he whispered the question. Then he reached forward and softly kissed her lips.

“No, not anything,” her voice
was
barely audible.

“I will tell you why you are here in just a little while,” he assured her. “Now be a good girl a
nd eat your dinner
. You have a long evening ahead of you.”

She did as she was told. She finished her dinner and Rosa escorted her to her room. She dressed carefully, protecting her carefully coiffed up do. She had to admit, she looked impeccably groomed, and almost as expensive as Luc himself.

Rosa escorted her down to the main floor she had become familiar with, then down another set of stairs she hadn’t seen before.

At the landing was a formal sitting room, a place to receive guests as rich and powerful as Luc himself. The flooring was a deep rich wood with a soft intricate rug that covered almost the entire room, which
was huge. The room was the width
of the entire floor, as both sides had sweeping views of the
city
from floor to ceiling windows.

On the wall opposite where she
stood
was another huge
mantle and
fireplace
which were both gilded
, on either side hung
gold framed paintings. The walls were deep, rich burgundy brocade, and the French style furnishings were burgundy and white and gold. She felt like she’d been transported to a castle in France she’d seen in some textbook.

Rosa took her elbow and led her to
the left side of the room, through a set of double doors, to
a
nother room with huge oak doors
.
Luc waited for her inside.

This room was decorated in the same French style, with a grand piano in one corner, and a beautiful harp in the other.
A gilded mantle and fireplace also centered this room, and a huge gilded mirror hung on the opposite wall.
She could see a terrace through French doors across from her. She was drawn to only one thing in the room; Luc.
He stood by the piano with his back to her, absently stroking the keys. When she entered the room he turned to her and smiled.

“Come here, my beautiful girl,” he extended his hand to her, and patted the seat by the piano. Goosebumps formed when his hand touched her skin. She’d almost become accustomed to the mixture of fear and attraction she felt for him. He looked down at the bumps on her skin and
lightly rubbed his fingers over them, enjoying the feeling.

“Do you want to know why you have this feeling of fear around me?” His words were serious, but his voice was light. He almost enjoyed saying it. Her eyes flew to his, wide eyed and waiting. “You don’t know?” She shook her head in silence.

“Humans are born with very unique gifts from the Father,” Luc stated after several
seconds
. “They have a sixth sense that warns them of danger, the gut feeling many people get
before something bad happens
. It can keep them from getting on a plane that is doomed to crash, or change their mind about going into the city the day of a terrorist attack.”

Emma listened intently,
but didn’t realize
the importanc
e of his words. “Humans are
born with the voice of God in their hearts and minds. Psychiatrists have described it as the conscience, but it is actually the link between God and humans.
” He paused and made sure she was listening, before continuing. “
Poor humans, though, they also have my voice in their minds, telling them to do what feels good, not what feels right.
That voice is what
psychiatrists call the Id.
That voice is their link to me.
”

“You
?” Emma lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear, even though they were the only two in the room.

“Yes, Emma, didn’t you figure it out yet?” His voice became lower like hers, but she heard the amusement there.

“I, well…” If she said yes, she was a liar. If she said no, she sounded like a fool. “I didn’t think about it,” she stated truthfully. She believed there was something different about him, but didn’t think he was evil. Did she even believe in God, or Satan?
“What is your name?”

“I have many names,” he answered honestly,
“Beelzebub, Devil, and Satan.
A
nd
I have
many faces.” He changed shape right in front of her, and she
saw
her own reflection, but in physical form
.

She walked toward him in the shape of herself, amazed by the sight. And, she could not help herself; she reached out to touch her own reflection. The face felt like her own skin, soft and young and firm. And the eyes were the same blue.

Then he changed shape again, to a young and attractive man. Even though she
had nearly forgotten
her father, she knew in some deep sense it was him. She gasped, and then he changed again. The shape he took was her mother.

“Oh God,” she gasped, and then shocked, she covered her mouth.

“No, not God,” he growled, and then took the shape she feared most.

“No!” she screamed out and turned away.

“He’s dead now,” the now familiar voice stated. “I made sure he died very painfully. I wish you could have been there to see it. But believe in your heart, if you believe nothing else, he died screaming.”

And then she turned to him, eyes wide. “If you are
evil
, why do you punish those who are evil?”

“I do not punish them,” he countered, “I only inhabit the Earth. God punishes. God inhabits the heaven
s, and has power over the after
life. Those who are evil are not persecuted in Hell; they are only turned away by their Father.
Their souls experience an emptiness and hollowness that can’t be described.
”

“Then why do you try so hard to make them do evil things?” She pondered the idea only momentarily before she spoke. “Are you jealous of those who are accepted by God? Are you jealous of humans?”

H
e stared at her with empty brown
eyes,
her grandfather’s eyes. She felt fear, but not just fear of him, or fear of her grandfather.
After being spoiled for only a few days, she’d become accustomed to it. The last thing she wanted was to be sent back to the streets.
She feared more than anyt
hing that he would send her away
.

“Perhaps,” he agreed after several moments, but didn’t explain further. “I do enjoy watching men crumble mentally and physically. It makes me rejoice to see the powerful fall.”

“Like yourself?” She wondered aloud
, then wished she hadn’t. But he simply nodded
and shrugged. He returned to his stunning physical self, or the outer shell he chose to show her.

“Maybe I want you all to be rejected and turned away like me,” he said as he walked toward her.

“And your name?” she
whispered
. He walked the few steps to her and touched her chin to tip her face up to his. He searched almost desperately into her eyes like she had the answers to his questions but could never help him.

“Lucifer, the fallen one,” he said with all seriousness. He touched his lips softly to hers, and her knees nearly buckled under the slightest of pressure.

“And is this your true form?” Her hands shook as she reached up to his shoulders to stabilize herself, and she was reminded of them dancing the night before. That made her close her eyes and hope that he would kiss her again.

He slowly shook his head. “Your mind could not comprehend my true form,” he whispered.

“At times I need help,” he admitted reluctantly and stepped away from her. “There are delicate situations that my acquaintances cannot help me with. There are projects that need a woman’s touch, and you are the woman I need this time.”

She tried not to respond, simply staring back at him. “This time,” rang through her head. She fretted with the idea of asking him about the other times, but he took her hand and led her down a hallway she hadn’t yet seen. He opened a door, and stopped there.

“You are one of a very few people who have seen these paintings,” he informed her. “You need to be very respectful of the history you see here.” Her eyes grew very wide, and she stayed silent as she entered the room, half expecting a shrine. But it was not a
shrine;
it was more like a museum.

“Can you tell me who I’m looking at,” she asked softly. He stood in front of one of the paintings, a gorgeous olive skinned woman with sparkling brown eyes and brown hair curling over bare full breasts. Her body was very round and feminine, and her middle was covered by a bright red veil of silk. She wore beautiful pearls around her neck, and the letter B as a pendant. “She’s beautiful.”

“Anne Boleyn,” he stated unemotionally. “Her attitude was fiery, but her heart was cold as ice. And in bed, she was like a dead fish. But, on a good note, she took down the Catholic Church in England.”

A blonde woman stared back at her with hazel eyes from the next painting. Her hair fell to her knees, barely covering full breasts and not covering at all her blonde pubic area. She stood in the Venus de Milo pose, one hand behind her head, the other toying with her flowing hair. “She is amazing,” Emma couldn’t think of another word to describe her.

“That is Lucrezia Borgia,” he supplied. He had an almost wistful gaze as he stared at her painting. “She was another woman who put the opinion of the church in the gutter.”

“Am I seeing a pattern?” She wondered aloud.

He shrugged, but watched her quietly as she studied the other paintings in the small studio. All the women were amazingly beautiful, with strong alluring features, and perfect bodies. Until, she came to the last painting. It hung under a blue light, making it stand out. As if it needed any special treatment.

The woman in the painting was supremely beautiful, above all others. Her hair flowed in long gentle curls. Her skin was a pale white that nearly glowed from the inside. But her cheeks and lips were distinctly pink.

How the artist created the effect, she had no idea. She coyly looked
away, but somehow her eyes still captivated
the artist. She gently pulled the flowing hair away from her breast, showing her cleavage with her left hand, and in her right hand, she held a fruit. Emma squinted, and took a step closer, but couldn’t tell what the fruit was. And then, she gasped.