The_Demons_Wife_ARC (19 page)

 “But while
you’re willing to admit that you intended to kill him, you’re going to tell me
you didn’t, right?”

“That’s
correct.”

“And you can
prove you didn’t kill him…how?”

Samael let
loose a low, rumbling laugh that sounded to Claire like distant thunder.

“You already
know I didn’t do it,” he said.

The casualness
in his voice astounded Claire. She hoped Samael knew what he was doing. He was
one cool customer, that’s for sure…He’d already said enough to get himself
arrested.

Then again, he
was a demon.

Even a
detective as slick as Trudeau probably wasn’t going to trip up a demon.

Probably…

“How’s that
again?” Trudeau asked. He was still leaning forward in his chair, the cup of coffee
untouched.

“You already
checked the time stamp on the security camera, and you know that I left more
than an hour before Mr. LaPierre jumped from his balcony. The time of that
event is well-established because more than a few neighbors heard his scream
and the thump he made when he hit that pavement.”

Trudeau looked
at him for a long time and then—finally—picked up the coffee cup and took a
sip.

“Mmm, it’s
good,” he said, savoring the taste after he swallowed.

“Jamaican Blue
Mountain. Nothing but the best,” Samael replied.

But of course
, Claire
thought wryly.

Samael and
Trudeau talked a while longer, the detective asking, probing from several
directions, trying to get Samael to reveal what he and LaPierre had talked
about, but Samael was too wary to fall into his trap, and he evaded every
question about that night with aplomb. For her part, Claire was concerned that
Samael would trip up on something—a tiny detail that only a detective would
notice—and that would be that. Eventually she relaxed and, the visit ended with
pleasant but pointless conversation. After an hour or so, Trudeau thanked
Samael and left.

Samael and
Claire saw him to the door.

Then…finally…they
had the house to themselves.

Chapter

9

Quitting Time

The tour of the rest of the
house took the better part of three hours and left Claire absolutely
breathless. There was no denying the beauty and grandeur of Samael’s estate.
Each spacious room looked to Claire like it came from the pages of a magazine.
The living room ran the entire length of the house on the west side. It looked
out on the vast lawn and bordering woods and the ocean beyond. The furniture
was antique but comfortable…inviting. The kitchen was state-of-the-art with
granite counters, stainless steel appliances, even a ten-burner chef’s stove
with three ovens. And everywhere she looked, there were paintings on the
wall—gorgeous paintings, some of which she recognized, including a Pontbriand
and two Weigles. She didn’t have to ask if any of them were originals.

Upstairs, the
master bedroom and bath were beyond her wildest imaginings. The bed alone was
close to the size of her entire bedroom back at the apartment. The bathroom had
a shower with twelve independent shower heads. Next to the shower was a Jacuzzi
that could hold at least half a dozen people.

“Do you swim
laps in that to stay fit?” she asked, smiling.

“Cannibal
soup,” he said, but when he laughed, there was something in his laugh that
unsettled her. As they continued their tour of the house, she couldn’t help but
wonder how many women over the years—over the centuries—he might have
entertained here.

She certainly
wasn’t the first…of anything…for him.

And what was
she doing in a ritzy house like this with a man—No, a demon.

—like him?

She thought
about the amazing diamond ring he had bought for her and that they planned to
pick up tomorrow.

She wondered
if she could pull off being the lady of the manor.

Could she ever
order servants around with Samael’s cool assurance without feeling guilty and
apologetic?

The idea that
a “County” girl shouldn’t aspire to such riches nagged at her. She thought she
knew her place in the world, and it certainly never involved living in a house
like this…not one where the living room had more square footage than her entire
apartment.

But who says I
don’t deserve this?
She asked herself.
Who makes the rules, anyway?

“So…” Samael
said once they had finished their inspection of the upstairs and were on their
way back down the wide flight of stairs to the foyer. “There’s still the
finished-off attic and the basement.”

“I’m
exhausted. Let’s at least take a break.”

“Sure thing.”

“But it…it’s
gorgeous beyond words.” She was dazzled in spite of the doubts still plaguing
her. “It’ll take a while for all of it to sink in.”

“I
understand,” Samael said. He grinned as he said this and appeared satisfied
that she was suitably impressed.

“You want to
go home now, don’t you?”

Claire looked
down at her feet and said nothing. She didn’t dare look at him because she was
still embarrassed about how inadequate she felt. This was going to take some
time getting used to.

“I can tell,”
he said. “You’re tense. You’ve been tense ever since we got here because—”

“Because maybe
a detective and two cops showed up, for starters?”

“Ahh—” Samael
waved his hand dismissively. “Screw them. I was thinking more because of all
of…this.” He indicated his house with a wide sweep of his hand. “It’ll probably
take a bit, but you’ll adapt.”

Claire looked
at the daylight spilling in through the windows to her right. There weren’t
even any dust motes, spinning in the beam of sunlight, and she realized that
throughout the tour, she had never once seen or heard even a hint of any of the
staff, however many there were.

“Where are the
people?” she asked.

Samael
appeared to be confused by her question, but then he smiled and said, “Oh, you
mean the help?”

“Yes.
The…help,” Claire said.

The words
sounded so pretentious to her…as if she was some high-class woman or something,
not the daughter of an oil delivery man and a kindergarten teacher from Fort
Kent, Maine.

Is “people”
the right word to use?...What do you call maids and servants these
days?…Probably still maids and servants…

 So far, she
had only seen Michelle, and she hadn’t been introduced or spoken to the woman.
She hadn’t noticed anything obviously demonic about her, but Claire wondered if
she would ever be able to tell human from demon.

 “They’re
quite good at staying out of sight unless they’re needed,” Samael said…as if
that explained it all. Claire couldn’t help but think it might be easy for them
to “disappear” because they were probably lesser demons who could become
invisible. She shivered, wondering if any of them were invisible now, in the
foyer, watching and listening unseen to them now.

She wasn’t
sure she could ever get used to always wondering who or what might be close by,
invisible to her, if no one else in the house.

“So?” Samael
said. “Would you like to go back to your place now?”

“I…” She shook
her head. “I’m not sure.”

“I was
thinking, now that that bothersome detective is out of the way, we might relax
and enjoy ourselves. You saw the home theater. Are there any movies you’ve been
wanting to see?”

“I dunno,”
Claire said, shifting her gaze away and wishing she could sound even the tiniest
bit decisive. She wasn’t used to feeling like this, but the truth was, Samael
was right. This house and all it represented was intimidating, not least
because of how she assumed he had gotten it by doing Evil—with a capital
E—things.

Get over
yourself
,
she thought.
Relax and enjoy yourself for as long as this—whatever it
is—lasts…Enjoy his company and sharing a bed with him…Take it for all it’s
worth…Just don’t give anything away…Especially not your soul.

“Yeah. Okay.
Let’s watch a movie…what have you got?”

“How about the
new DiCaprio?”

“That’s still
in the theaters,” Claire said, not surprised that he knew she was a fan of
Leo’s. She didn’t recall ever mentioning it to him…but she might have.

“No, I have
the next one,” Samael said.

“How did
you—?” But she knew it was futile to ask.

Just go with
it…

“Come on,
then,” Samael said, hooking her arm with his. They turned in unison and headed
down the hallway, past the dining room and den, and down into the basement to
the home theater.

~ * ~

Claire thought
the movie, what she saw of it, anyway, was excellent, but she was going to have
to ask Samael to play it again for her…or maybe—like old times—she and Sally
would go to the theater to see it when it came out because also, like old
times, Claire and Samael got very comfortable on the couch.

And that tail
of his…!

~ * ~

Claire spent
the rest of the day and night at Samael’s. Sometime around eleven o’clock that
night, she called Sally to let her know that she wouldn’t be home and not to
worry.

“What makes
you think I’m worried?” Sally asked.

“Because I
know you do. You pretend not to, but you do.”

“Well I don’t.
Oh, and by the way, have you seen Mittens?”

Claire’s
stomach tightened as she remembered that ball of fur and flesh in the shower.

“No, I…I
haven’t been home.”

“I’m starting
to get worried she might not come back.”

“Don’t worry,”
Claire said, almost choking on the lie. “I’m sure she’s all right.”

Sally
harrumphed, but then, when she pressed Claire to tell her where she was, what
she was doing, and why she wouldn’t be back that night, Claire became evasive.
Sally was no fool, and she guessed correctly that she was with “that dickhead
we met last weekend.” Claire lost her temper and told her to mind her own
damned business—a bit harsh, perhaps.  After Claire hung up, she felt terrible,
and she wondered if spending so much time with Samael was making her act
uncharacteristically less caring…more callous toward her friend.

She wondered
if this could be the slippery slope of evil.

“You’ll hardly
know you’re damned.”

She shivered
as Samael’s words echoed in her memory.

Claire’s
mother had drilled it into her head that evil never announced itself. It had a
way of sneaking up on you when you least expected it and, once you finally
realized what was happening, it was too late to turn back.

But thinking
about Sally, she knew they had been drifting apart as friends long before she
met Samael. Of course they were still friends, and they certainly cared about
each other, but Claire was beginning to see Sally as being stuck in a certain
mindset…wallowing in immaturity. Especially since she met Samael, she realized
that life wasn’t about working to support your weekends of partying and trying
to meet Mr. Right.

There was much
more to it than that.

With such
thoughts tumbling around in her head, at the end of a long day, she and Samael
made their way up to the bedroom.

~ * ~

As usual,
Claire awoke shortly before dawn and leaped out of bed, thinking she had to get
back to her place to get ready for work.

“Are you sure
you want to go today?” Samael asked sleepily.

Claire wasn’t
convinced he really slept but decided not to ask.

“Either I do
or I get fired.”

“Uh-huh. And
would that be such a bad thing?”

“Getting
fired? You bet your ass.”

“There are
worse things,” Samael said.

That drew
Claire up short. Not because she didn’t want to quit her job. Far from it. For
years, she had fantasized she would win the lottery, walk into Marty’s office,
tell him to stuff it, and maybe spill hot coffee into his lap for emphasis. But
she would never do something like that. It simply wasn’t her style.

That didn’t
mean she didn’t think about it…or wish she could muster the courage to do it.

“I have to…I
need the money.”

Samael grunted
and rolled over onto his side. The cotton bed sheets rustled as they shifted,
exposing the bright red tip of his tail. Claire experienced a rush of warmth in
her lower belly.

“I said it
before, and I’ll say it again—” He sat up, reclining on his elbow so the sheets
draped loosely around him, contoured to his body. “I’m absolutely, totally
serious. I’m rich, Claire…richer than you can ever imagine. I can take care of
all your expenses with my pocket change.”

“But what if I
want to pay my own way…a pride thing.”

He sat up in
bed and looked earnestly at her.

“I can…I want
to take care of you.”

Claire cast
her gaze to the floor and couldn’t help but notice that she was standing
barefoot in a carpet so plush and luxurious it was probably worth more than she
earned in a year. She sighed and shook her head, thinking how insane she’d be
to say yes or no to him.

“For how
long?” she asked, her voice a rasping whisper.

“What do you
mean?”

“I mean…how
long will you take care of me? Until you get tired of me? Until I get old and
fat and ugly? Or only until you find another woman…someone…more interesting?”

Or only as
long as it takes for you to claim my soul for your Master.

“I’ll tell you
what,” he said, throwing the bed sheets aside, exposing the full length of his
naked body. The sheets fluttered to the floor like a silk parachute, and Claire
had a brief impression of a magician waving his cape to distract and bewilder
the audience.

Seeing him
standing there—naked—Claire couldn’t help but feel a powerful urge to go to him
and embrace him and let him possess her body, if not her soul. When her vision
cleared, he was down on one knee with his hands extended to her like a sinner,
imploring to a saint.

“Claire…I
swear I will love you and care for you until death does us part.”

“You…you
really mean it, don’t you?” she said. Tears filled her eyes.

Samael stared
at her, his gold-flecked eyes gleaming brightly.

“I do,” he
said, his voice twisted with barely contained emotion. “I—”

His voice
caught, and the surprised expression that crossed his face looked genuinely
painful, as if he had the worst case of heartburn in history.

“I swear to
God, I love you.”

When he said
the word “God,” any doubts Claire had instantly evaporated. The Devil…or any
demon…could say whatever he, she, or it wanted to in order to seduce someone to
Evil, but there was no way…no way a demon could say God’s name if he were lying
and trying to corrupt someone.