To Hell and Back (Mel Goes to Hell Series Book 4) (13 page)

"Summon a demon? Don't we need a witch for that? You know, with spells and candles and herbs and animal entrails?" Luce laughed shakily. "You know that stuff rarely works for humans, unless there's a mischievous imp around. If Persephone's turned into a demon, then she chose her fate. Not even you can help her if that's what she wants, Mel."

"I helped you," she said. "Please, Luce. Even as a demon, she'll still speak to me."

He couldn't refuse her. "Fine. If you want her here, I'll summon her. But if she is a demon, I want to send her to Hell where she'll stay out of my way. I don't like her and the more I see her, the greater the temptation to snap her neck."

Closing his eyes, Luce concentrated on the nephilim as he'd last seen her in his lair in Hell. Dressed in an ankle-length dress that didn't tempt him in the slightest and with red, flashing eyes that had put him off more than her Hellish tattoo had. He wanted her here, now, to answer to him and Mel why she'd left the HELL Corporation and all her responsibilities, giving Raphael an excuse to try and order him around, and breaking up his first Heavenly idyll with Mel. She'd fit right in with Lilith and the other harpies in Level Seven.

He wanted her skinny arse here so he could banish her back to Hell. Right now.

Luce squinted at the rug, where he'd focussed his energy. It was mercifully nephilim-free. His breath hissed through his teeth. "She's not a demon. I can't summon her."

He felt Mel relax in his arms. "Oh, thank God. But if she could become one, we need to find her. I can't let that happen, Luce. I just can't." She lifted teary eyes to Patrick. "Did your prior friend say anything about where Persi was headed or even why she was looking for you?"

Patrick shook his head. "Nope. If she'd wanted to find me, all she'd have to do is look me up. Patrick Driscoll, political adviser, isn't a hard man to track down when my number's listed on the consultancy website. She's not after me,
Mel meum
. She's searching for something else. Something she didn't find at Loch Dearg."

"But what? Why would she disappear without leaving word for me, or even asking for my help? Persi never does anything without consulting me. Why now?" Mel looked troubled.

"Can't you look into the future and find out?" Patrick ventured.

Mel shook her head. "No. Whatever she's doing has rendered Persi's future dark to me. Which means it must have something to do with me, but I don't see how."

Or me, Luce thought darkly. Mel's future was intimately entwined with his and he wouldn't let her go lightly, so whatever trouble Persephone intended to bring to Mel's door, he'd be the one answering her knock. Being a nuisance in his life and domain was bad enough. Disrupting Mel's life when she needed rest? Unacceptable.

"Hey, go easy on the furniture, Lucifer. If you want to take your frustration out on anything, I know a couple of concrete eyesores in London that could benefit from demolition. Probably best if you wait until dark, though."

Luce pried his fingers off the sofa arm, surreptitiously trying to fill the gouges in the wood. "I could do with blowing off a little steam," he admitted.

"Not destroying buildings," Mel objected. "Surely there's something that'll draw less attention than that."

"Well, we could head up to the pub tonight. You, me and the devil." Patrick grinned. "It's been your favourite for centuries and it's still open. The new management has made some changes that I think you might like, Mel."

"Pub tonight then. Sounds like a plan," Luce said, stretching. "Anything that doesn't involve that nuisance nephilim sounds great to me."

"It's green," Luce observed, staring at the pub. "Matches your sweater, Patrick."

"It's a jumper. Got to speak the language or people won't understand you," Patrick replied. "Who cares as long as the beer's not green? Though on my name day, it usually is." He led the way through the worn wooden doors that Mel knew well.

"After you," Luce said with an elaborate bow.

Mel blushed, smiled and followed Patrick. She felt Luce's hands grasp her hips.

"Hell, you look sexy in jeans. The way the denim clings to your curves as if it was made for you. Are you sure you don't want to go straight home and help me get you out of them?"

She laughed merrily. "No, Luce. You need to blow off some steam and I admit I'd like to see you in action on the dance floor. From what I remember, this place has a good one."

"Ooh, it's good to see you back, Mr Driscoll," the girl at the entry desk said. "I've missed your accent. Just you, as always?"

Patrick grinned. "I brought some friends from Australia with me tonight, so it'll be three." He gestured at Mel and Luce, then offered his wrist for the girl to stamp.

"I hope you've been practising for tonight," the girl bubbled, inking a blurry birdcage on Mel's wrist.

"Oh, I'm more than good enough. I've had all the practice I'll ever need," Luce drawled, winking at the girl as he extended his hand for a stamp.

She giggled. "Someone's very confident. Good luck with the competition, then."

Competition? Mel wanted to ask, but Patrick urged them to hurry and Luce pulled her with him.

Patrick headed for the bar, shouting at them to get a table near the stage. As they approached, a group rose together and headed out of the pub, leaving one of the bar staff to collect the glasses and give the table a cursory wipe. Front and centre – perfect. Luce helped Mel before taking the chair beside her.

Luce picked up one of the menus on the table and leafed through it, then threw it down. "It's not a drinks menu, it's a music one. Seems they take their dancing very seriously here."

"Dancing? Hell no. Friday nights are for karaoke. With all the choir practice you two get, I figure I'll have some stiff competition tonight." Patrick set three pints of beer on the table and plonked himself on a chair opposite Luce. "I had you pegged for Miley Cyrus'
Wrecking Ball
, Lucifer. What do you think?"

Luce swallowed his mouthful of beer. "I think I can do better than that."

Patrick pushed Mel's beer across the table to her. "What about you, Mel?"

Her insides froze. Singing in public? If there was anything worse than public speaking, it was singing. And she couldn't sing. She'd be lucky to emit a squeak. "I'll just enjoy my beer and the show, I think," she said, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she lifted her pint. Some of it slopped onto the table and she sighed.

"A saint versus the devil? I like those odds. Care for a wager on the result, Patrick?" Luce asked. He scrawled a song choice on his paper and covered it before Mel could read it.

Patrick shrugged. "Sure. Loser pays for the last round of drinks and the cab home. And Mel can judge."

"You're on." Luce shoved back from the table and headed for the DJ booth to hand over his selection slip. He winked at Mel as he returned, slipping an arm around her shoulders as he lifted his beer in his other hand.

By the time they'd finished their first pints, the pub was more than half full and Luce had to wait at the bar for several minutes before he returned with their second round of drinks. "Looks like they're about to start," he said, nodding at the stage and a costumed Elvis impersonator.

The MC opened with an explanation of how karaoke worked and the rules of the competition. Even Mel tuned out a little before the end; but then again, the rules didn't apply to her. She definitely wouldn't be singing.

She clapped and cheered politely for the first few acts, feeling that the performers' courage deserved her applause even if their performance didn't. After all, who was she to criticise them for being brave enough to do what she couldn't?

Before she knew it, Patrick jumped to his feet. "That's me!" he shouted, jogging up the steps to the stage.

He got a healthy cheer from the audience, which made Mel wonder just how many times Patrick came here. He winked at her and launched into U2's
Beautiful Day
. He played to the crowd and not just her. The way he spread his arms and raised his eyes Heavenward for each chorus made her almost expect the ceiling to open up and let a blaze of light in. She knew he could do it, too.

Mel applauded until her hands tingled when he was done, and again when a beaming Patrick thumped into his seat. He drained his beer in one long pull, slamming it down on the table before heading for the next round. Both Luce and Patrick had made it clear that she wouldn't be buying – not when they were engaged in some sort of chivalric competition for her.

She almost choked on her beer when the MC announced, "Next up…Lucifer, who's
Bad to the Bone
!"

Luce released her hand and grinned as he ran his fingers through his hair. Was that…a horn? Two? They were hidden again before Mel could be sure, but surely Luce wouldn't…not if he'd given his real name! She grabbed Patrick's arm. "He's going up there as himself in front of what must be more than a hundred people! What if he breaks out his wings?"

Patrick just laughed. "Even if he did, this mob would probably just laugh and cheer louder. Costumes are normal here. Didn't you see Elvis? No one will believe he's really Lucifer, and they'll love the character they think he is."

Luce had left his jacket draped over the back of his chair, so he loosened the first couple of shirt buttons to expose his sculpted pectoral muscles. His growled imitation of George Thorogood was so good it was bad…or bad that it was good? It vibrated through her bones like powerful bass. By the first chorus, all his shirt buttons were history and he'd whipped it off, whirling it above his head as if he wanted to lasso himself a girl from the crowd. Instead, he tossed the shirt on the table in front of Mel, to riotous screams from what sounded like every girl in the pub.

"Impress me," she whispered, knowing he could hear her.

He grinned at her over the guitar solo and caressed his rippled abdominal muscles. The screaming increased in volume.

When Luce reached the second chorus, Mel clapped her hands over her mouth. Luce's tail poked out of the back of his pants and it was writhing and lashing in perfect rhythm to his song – no way in Hell would they believe it wasn't real!

Screams and cheers greeted his devilish appearance as he ran his fingers through his hair to reveal his horns. Every gyration of his hips, wink or blown kiss seemed directed at her – was he playing the crowd, or was he truly focussing his devilishly sexy performance solely on her?

He finished with a slide across the floor on his knees to her side, chest thrust out and slick with sweat from what had been a very energetic performance. The last notes of the song died away as he jumped up, grabbed her and planted a passionate kiss on her lips.

Panting, Luce seemed oblivious to the deafening cheer that erupted around them. His exhilarated eyes drank her in – Mel could feel the love fizzing through him.

"Well, I guess the devil has to win occasionally," Patrick said, sighing as he headed to the bar for more beer.

"Mel, singing
Angel
!" the MC shouted, startling Mel.

She laughed shakily. "For a minute, I thought he meant me."

Patrick was grinning. "Of course he does. When you were too shy to put in a request, I made one for you. You'll be great, Mel. Go on." He stood up and hauled Mel to her feet. "She's here!" he shouted.

Her knees liquefied as her insides froze. No. She couldn't. She couldn't go up on stage.

Luce's arms around her kept her upright. "It'll be all right, Melody. I'll help you."

"Luce, I'm not singing," she insisted.

"You don't have to. Just sit there and look angelic and I'll do all the work." He winked as he hauled a chair onto the stage, then lifted her up after it. He grabbed the microphone. "Mel's a little shy, so I'll help her out or we'll spend all our time waiting." Laughter and cheers followed.

Mel pressed her denim-clad knees together, willing them to stop shaking. No one was staring at her – it was Luce capturing all their attention. Her blood ran cold as the MC nodded to them. She closed her eyes as the opening notes of the Sarah McLachlan song rang out, but couldn't help smiling as Luce changed the words to leave everyone in no doubt that the broken man in the song was him. Every line was "I" and "me" and "my" – and as his voice soared effortlessly into the chorus, he made it clear that his angel was her.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she opened her eyes to the realisation that this was no performance. How could he bear to lay himself bare in front of hundreds of people? It didn't seem to matter how many people were watching – raw emotion radiated off him, engulfing her in its potency. Even Luce succumbed to the power of it, falling to his knees at the end of the second verse to wrap his arms around her as he delivered the chorus one more time.

He rose at the end of it, gathering her into his arms as he repeated the last two lines, but this time it was his angel in his arms and it was Heaven he wanted her to find there. He carried her down the steps back to their table, paying no attention to the cheering crowd.

Under the cover of the next contestant's spirited rendition of Nancy Sinatra's infamous boots, Luce leaned across the table to snarl at Patrick, "What in Hell were you thinking? You could have asked her before you put her through an ordeal like that! She's terrified of public speaking – and singing's one step further. Did you think a phobia like that would just vanish with a couple of beers?"

No. Patrick had had no idea what her greatest fear was, as he'd never seen her in a situation where she'd been forced to reveal it until now.

He quailed, turning terrified eyes on Mel. "I didn't know. Mel, I swear I didn't know. I thought you were just a bit nervous like most people are. I had no idea it ran deeper than that. You're so confident in everything else, I never thought that…"

Mel summoned a queasy smile. "It's all right," she began.

"No it isn't!" Luce interrupted. "You have the gall to have a go at me for not taking care of her and yet you do something bloody stupid like this. You're as much of a hypocrite as every other angel."

Mel grabbed his arm and yanked him down. "Luce, he didn't know. He didn't know. I never told him."

Patrick shoved back from the table. "I'll go get another round. Mel, d'you want another one?" He waved at her half-full glass.

"Just water, please," she said, not letting go of Luce until Patrick had vanished into the crowd.

"They think they're so perfect," Luce muttered. He eyed her beer. "Are you going to drink that?" When she shook her head, her half-pint disappeared down his throat.

"Patrick isn't perfect and he made a mistake that he apologised for. I understand that you're angry, Luce, but you can't blame him for not knowing. It's not something I like sharing. You only found out because…well, the lobsters. And then that awful presentation a few weeks ago. Hell, Luce, the whole point of tonight was to blow off some steam, not build up a new head of pressure. Just…let it go, please. You turned his mistake into a memory I'll treasure 'til the world ends. Please don't taint it. You have a magnificent singing voice and your performance is…mesmerising. Both as my sexy devil and a redeemed one."

Luce seemed to relax a little. He nodded slowly, but his expression didn't lighten. "I'll be right back," he said, slipping away.

Mel's gaze followed him through the crowd until she was certain he was headed in the opposite direction to the way Patrick had gone. She sighed and slumped in her seat. So much for a relaxing night. She rubbed her temples, trying to soothe away her worries. It felt like there was a storm brewing in her head. The sound of glasses clinking surprised her into opening her eyes.

"I brought your water, beer for us blokes and one of those fruit juice cocktails you liked so much in Sri Lanka. One with no alcohol, I swear." Patrick pointed at the obscenely pink pint glass between the golden ones. "Where's your devil gone?"

Mel shrugged and sniffed the pink concoction. "Little boys' room, perhaps. He didn't say."

"Well, these will have to be our last drinks. Last song, too. They're getting close to closing time." Patrick's eyes widened. "Oh, Mel, he's not in the loos at all. I think he's been bitten by the karaoke bug."

Mel followed his gaze to the stage. With his horns and tail out, Luce had somehow acquired an old-fashioned shirt, tailcoat and top hat. Luce caught her eye, grinned and swept off his hat as Mel recognised the opening bars of The Rolling Stones'
Sympathy for the Devil
.

She didn't know how he did it. With every bum-wiggle, thrust of his hips or wink, he had girls screaming his name. The lyrics only had him egging them on, detailing what she knew were only a tiny taste of his many sins, yet they loved him for it.

Off came the hat, then the coat, and the shirt soon followed, though he tossed them to the MC instead of into the crowd or at her. When he was down to just his pants, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and grinned at Mel.

She shook her head and mouthed an emphatic NO that he met with a wink, which sent the girl at the table behind Mel into hysterics. Mel remained resolute and it took him several seconds of tugging at his mysteriously jammed zipper before he gave up and kept his pants on, making up for their presence with even more erotic dance moves.

Luce's gyrations ceased as the music died away and he jumped off the stage to return to the table. He emptied his beer in three gulps, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I think I should take you home before someone else tries to," Mel murmured, jerking her head at the scrum of girls fighting their way from the foot of the stairs to their table.

Luce nodded and shrugged on his jacket, curling a possessive arm around Mel as they followed Patrick into the cool air outside.

A surprisingly smooth cab ride through the dark London streets ended at Patrick's flat. He followed Mel and Luce into the lift, mourning his upstaging. "Every time I go there now, all they'll remember is that I was the one who brought Lucifer, the man who stole the show." He shook his head sadly. "How was I to know you'd learned to be a secret rock star in your time on Earth?"

"You've forgotten your theology, saint," Luce said. "If you'd remembered, you'd know that I was a choirmaster in the Seraphim, one of the highest choirs of angels that did nothing but weave melodies for millennia. I used to conduct symphonies so complex they were outside the realms of human perception, long before humans were allowed into Heaven. And Melody…she'd inspire any man to sing." He tried to kiss her hand but missed. He managed on the third try. "Damn, I'm drunk."