The_Demons_Wife_ARC (40 page)

During the
third week of June, something unusual happened.

It was
Wednesday night. The weather was much warmer than usual for Maine with the
humidity climbing so high that even at night it felt more like August in
Philadelphia than June in Maine. As she did every day, Claire had driven from
Falmouth to Warren and visited with Samael, who—as usual—told her that he was
holding up just fine, all things considered.

It was so good
to see him she let his little white lie pass. She could tell by the expression
on his face that being separated from her was hurting him as much as it was
hurting her.

Claire matched
him lie for lie and told him she was doing fine, too.

The lies
became a game between them, but each of them could see through the other’s
façade. One June day, though, before she left, she turned to him and said, “So
tell me—honestly. Did you lose your supernatural powers or are you purposely
not using them.”

“Things
are…changing,” he said.

Claire didn’t
appreciate the evasion.

“All I want to
know is, could you get out if you wanted to.”

He didn’t
answer for a long time, and then he finally said, “You wouldn’t or couldn’t
understand the forces I’m at the mercy of.”

“You mean
inside? They’re still trying to get to you inside?”

Samael shook
his head.

“You don’t
have to worry. Honest.”

“So what’s
changed?” she asked.

“You’ll find
out all in due time,” was all he said…rather cryptically, but that wouldn’t
satisfy her, and they both knew it.

Late that same
night after this conversation, exhausted from the drive and the visit, Claire
was lying in bed, unable to fall asleep. The house always seemed much too big
and empty without him…as did the bed. The night air was sticky with humidity.
Claire found it odd, but somehow unsurprising that such an elegant home would
not have central air. She was restless, feeling desperately lonely for Samael.

Like tonight’s
any different from any other.

She still
hadn’t figured out where their maid Michelle kept herself during the days or
nights, but she had the uncanny ability to appear whenever her services were
needed and then disappear just as quickly and mysteriously. She did, however,
notice that Michelle’s attitude had improved. She was almost cheerful and
chatty these days. Maybe she’d made an arrangement with Michael.

Thinking and
worrying about Samael kept Claire tossing and turning until well past midnight.
She was despairing because she was going to have to get up early again tomorrow
morning and drive to Warren.

But the harder
she tried to fall asleep, the more awake she became. She lay there outside the
covers, listening to the leathery rustle of oak leaves, stirred by a few fitful
gusts of wind. She hugged the pillow to her chest and inhaled, convinced that
faint traces of Samael’s scent still lingered on it, even after all this time.

“I’m like a
damned dog,” she whispered to herself in the dark and smiled.

At some
point—she wasn’t sure when because she had finally started to drift off—the
sound of the leaves fluttering outside in the wind took on a steadier sound
that gradually invaded her awareness. After a long while, she thought that it
sounded like a mass of buzzing insects—hornets, perhaps…or flies—somewhere in
the room…in the window, perhaps.

Claire stirred
uneasily in bed, tossing from side to side, her mind coasting along with the
sound as it rose and fell in the darkness. It created a white noise that lured
her further into a dreamlike state until—finally—she remembered that she had
heard that sound before.

On a bus…

Leaving
Houlton!

What the hell
is that sound?

She jerked
awake, sitting bolt upright in bed and looked around.

The bedroom
was perfectly silent. A thin trace of moonlight spilled through the
south-facing windows, lighting the curtains with a gauzy light. The memory of
the sound remained like a faint echo or a buzzing inside her head.

“Is…is someone
there?” she called out.

Her eyes
shifted back and forth as she tried to pierce the darkness in the room. She
could reach across the bed and turn on the bedside light, but she didn’t dare
move. She didn’t want to feel any more exposed in the sudden burst of light.
She felt totally vulnerable, like when a bloodthirsty predator has fixed its
attention on its prey…only she was the prey.

Is the house
still safe?

Are Michael’s
defenses still up?

Her body
stiffened, and she let out a faint whimper when she saw a dark shape filling
one of the bedroom windows. A blacker-than-night silhouette was etched against
the glowing night sky.

Her first
thought was that it was Samael, leaning in through the opened window and
watching her. She almost leaped from the bed, but then it hit her.

He couldn’t be
outside a second-story window, standing like he was on solid ground.

“Is that…you?”
she called out in a dry, strangled whisper.

There was no
answer, but the silhouette in the window shifted.

And as it did,
the steady humming sound of buzzing insects that had awakened her got louder.
She also heard faint clicking sounds, like dozens or hundreds of insects were
bouncing against the window screen.

Moving slowly,
she got up off the bed and, still keeping all of the lights off, approached the
window. When she was about halfway there, she stopped and, peering into the
darkness, tried to make out the figure.

It was still
there. It hadn’t moved. Its edges were rough, irregular, and the whole
silhouette appeared to be vibrating along with the steadily rising buzzing
sound that filled the room, setting her nerves on edge.

Claire wished
she had a flashlight she could shine on the figure. There was one in the
bathroom for emergencies when the power went out during a storm or whatever,
but she didn’t dare turn her back on…whatever this was outside her window.

She sucked in
another breath and whispered, “Samael?”

The buzzing
sound paused for a moment, leaving behind an eerie vacuum that made Claire’s
ear thump in time with her rapid-fire pulse.

Then—

Is this really
happening … or am I dreaming?

—the solid
black figure in the window shifted and became more solid.

“…Claire…”

He whispered
her name so softly she didn’t believe she actually heard it, but it had
definitely sounded like Samael’s voice.

Is it in my
head?

She was
convinced now that she was dreaming, but to determine if she was awake, she
pinched the back of her hand. It felt like a bee sting, and when she looked
down at her hand, she saw a dark insect shape—a large wasp—crawling up the back
of her hand to her wrist.

She let out a
shrill scream and swatted it at the same time, feeling the hard shell of the
insect’s body crushed against her flesh.

When she
looked at the dark figure in the window again, it was darker than a shadow in
the night. The features were impossible to see, but the silhouette certainly
looked like Samael.

Her gaze was
transfixed as she stared at the dense, black shape.

“Aren’t you
going to let me in?” Samael said.

His voice was
oddly distorted, as if it was being made not by vocal cords, but by the
synchronized buzzing of the insects that were massing against the window. The
dark shape was pulsating in the darkness. Claire was swept by a feeling of
vertigo and felt as if she would suddenly pitch forward and fall into it.

“It’s your
house,” Claire said, deciding to put whoever or whatever it was to the test.
“Do you need to be invited inside?”

“Not at all,”
a voice that sounded incredibly like Samael’s said. “Only vampires need an
invitation. I just didn’t want to frighten you if you saw me in my original
form.”

Without
another word, the dark figure pressed against the screen, making it bulge
inwards. The buzzing sound dropped away, and Claire watched, fascinated, as the
dark shape oozed through the fine metal mesh and began to take form in front of
her.

The human—or
demon—shape was darker than ink, but patches of it—especially the eyes and
face—were flaking off, and a dull, luminous glow shone through.

When she
recognized Samael’s face, Claire was filled with joy. She started moving toward
it, her feet sliding like in a dream, but then she suddenly halted.

“How can I be
sure it’s really you?”

The glowing
figure standing before her was hazy, difficult to focus on in the dark. It kept
jumping around, shifting from side to side.

“This is the
only way I can appear to you right now,” Samael said. “My true form after I
sided with Evil.”

The odd
distortion in his voice was unnerving, but Claire was convinced this was really
Samael, not an imposter.  A rush of cool wind surrounded him like a cyclone,
and the glow coming from his form grew steadily brighter as the figure
consolidated in the darkness of the bedroom.

“It is you,
isn’t it?” Claire’s voice slid up and down the scale.

“It is, my
love,” Samael said, and he held his arms out to her.

“Say ‘Honest
to God.’”

Without
hesitation, he said the words: “Honest to God.”

Claire went to
him and wrapped her arms around him. It wasn’t arms at all that embraced her,
but she was enwrapped by something warm and powerful and loving.

“You have to
have faith,” Samael said simply.

“I do,” Claire
said, and then she raised her face to his. The darkness was peeling away, flake
by flake, and a warm, glowing blue light emanated from him. It was warm on her
face…insubstantial…prickling like pins-‘n-needles.

Claire
couldn’t believe it, but the sensation of pure joy being with Samael once again
was almost too much to handle.

“So this is
it, huh?”

She shifted
closer and wound her arms around his waist, pulling him tighter. His hug was
warm…passionate.

“It’s the best
I can do…for now,” Samael said in a warm, honey voice.

He paused, and
in that pause, Claire sensed that there was something he still wasn’t telling
her.

“What is it?”
she asked, tightening her hug and pulling him so close the rapidly receding
darkness all but engulfed her.

“What’s what?”
Samael said.

“You’re still
not telling me everything,” she said.

For a long
time, Samael said nothing. The only sound in the room was the gentle sighing of
the wind, blowing through the leaves outside in the darkness.

“This is who I
really am,” Samael said finally.

“But you’re
changing. I can see it happening.”

She looked at
him and felt an overpowering stirring of love deeper than anything she had ever
experienced.

No regrets
.

“And in the
end, it doesn’t matter. I love you for who you are,” she replied.

But instead of
embracing her tighter, Samael shifted away from her.

“You don’t
understand,” he said, his voice low and flat. “For however long I’m in jail, I
can come to you…I can be here with you, but only in my true form.”

He extended
his arms wide, but then the truth hit her…hard.

He isn’t human
at all!

What she
saw…what she had fallen in love with…was nothing more than an illusion.

This mass of
dark emptiness is who or what he really is.

 “I can’t make
love to you in this form,” Samael said with a trace of sadness and bitterness
distorting his voice. “I can’t be with you the way…the way I want to be.”

“The way I
want you to be, too, but it doesn’t matter,” Claire replied.

“You’re not
afraid? You don’t think I’m hideous?…Most people are horrified when they see my
true form.”

Claire was
surprised that she didn’t feel the tiniest bit of revulsion as she pulled him
close, crushing herself against him. Tilting her head back, she placed both
hands on his jaw and brought his face down until their mouths met. The warm
tingling of his touch intensified until it raced throughout her body like a
powerful electrical current. Her knees grew weak, and she wondered again if
this might not be real…It couldn’t be…It had to be the most intense dream she’d
ever had.

But the kiss
went on…and on.

She had no
idea how long it lasted.

It could have
been for less than a minute…It could have lasted for half of eternity…

“I’m your
wife,” she whispered huskily, “and I love you…no matter what.”

She gazed into
his eyes, which were shining now with streams of liquid silver light. The
tingling sensation of his touch raced all over her body.