A Job From Hell (37 page)

"How long is this going to take, Dad? You know I've to get to my job."

A guy hanging from long chains in the ceiling yel ed like a pitchfork just stabbed him in the bum. I figured that was about the only answer I'd get.

Groaning, I averted my gaze, hoping Dad, dressed in his usual business suit, gaze fixed on the guy undergoing some major torture, wouldn't notice, but of course he did.

"This is your job, Cassandra. Are you watching and learning?" he asked.

Nodding, I curled my lips into a forced smile, grateful Dad couldn't read my thoughts because we were blood-related. My stomach turned at the metal ic smel of blood hitting my nostrils. You'd think after growing up here I'd be used to the whole shebang—torture, famine, death and so forth—but I stil flinched and gritted my teeth. Truth be told, I'd rather do my nails and smel of YSL than dust, sweat and what else not. Even at King Louis XVI's court, which we were forced to visit as part of a history project at school, I was the one who stayed inside and ate al the chocolate truffles instead of joining the cheering crowd to watch the henchman decapitate France's traitors. Trouble was, Dad didn't quite agree with my pastime choices of shopping and doing my nails.

"Looky here, kiddo." Dad pointed at the poor soul who had probably made a few wrong choices in his life. "If you tickle that spot right under his solar plexus, he'l be in painful giggles for days. That's enough time to come up with the next step in his endless loop of torture. We have a reputation to maintain, got to be versatile."

Groaning, I rol ed my eyes. I couldn't stand the yelping, shouting and crying any more, so I inched closer, holding my breath because the smel made me sick. "Dad?"

Dad's green eyes focused on me. "You know you're not supposed to cal me that when we're at work."

I nodded, careful y preparing my words. "Right. Sorry, Lucifer. Do you think you could let me finish this for once?" I ran a hand through my frizzy red hair, which I did mean to straighten in the morning, but let's face it, with the heat down here I wouldn't have done my split ends any favour.

Dad cocked a brow. "You want to—"

Not real y. "Uh-huh."

He beamed at me. "That's my girl. Want me to help you?" I rol ed my eyes again. He held out his hands. "Okay, I was just checking. If you need anything, cal me."

I waited until he disappeared out the torture chamber, then walked over to the guy dangling from some kick-ass chains, and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

His eyes darted about; I could smel his fear, or maybe it was just the sickening odour of someone who hadn't showered in at least a week.

Combine that with the heat, blood and a fair share of other body fluids, and you have a deadly combination.

I wrapped an arm around his neck, my sleeve barely touching his sweat-slicked skin. "Listen, mate. Here's the deal. I just got my nails done and I don't need them getting chipped when I practice one of the procedures from this little, old book." I held up my Torture Techniques For Dummies booklet, covering the Dummies part so he wouldn't think I was a complete beginner. "Do you think you could scream and moan a bit, you know, like you're in real pain?" I whispered.

He just stared at me, open-mouthed. I groaned inwardly. Was he dense or something?

"Yo," I hissed. "Either you do as I say, or the Big Boss's coming back. Trust me, you don't want that."

Dad's voice rang through the chamber, making me jump. "Less talking, more screaming, Cassandra!"

I puffed. Seriously, no pressure there. "Just warming up, Dad."

"Looks like you're the one that needs convincing," he roared. "Where's your Louis Vuitton handbag?"

"No, don't do anything rash, like cut my credit cards in half." I licked my finger, then leafed through the pages. My gaze landed on Impalement: A sharp pole is pushed through a victim’s body while alive. Who in their right mind would ever practice something that barbaric, not to mention disgusting?

"Please yel ," I whispered. The guy barely acknowledged me, so I held up the page to him, praying he could read. His eyes skimmed the large cal igraphy, pupils widening. I could see I was final y getting somewhere.

"Oh, that looks painful." I sighed. "I've got goose bumps just thinking about a nasty procedure like that. If you don't start acting, I'm going to cal my dad to show you how this little number works."

It took a few seconds for the message to kick in, but the guy final y let out an ear-piercing cry.

"Okay, cut it." I shot a last glance over my shoulder and turned back to him. "It's kind of late and I need to get to work. What do you say, you scream one more time, then fal into a nice coma? Doesn't have to be a deep one. They'l let you sleep for a few hours until I get back."

He nodded.

I counted to three and slipped out because I couldn't take it any longer. Dad thought one day I'd inherit the family business aka Hel , but I had other plans. I loved my customer service career. Soon, I'd have my own company and we'd give Amazon a run for their money.

The torture chamber was situated on the third plane, Acerbus. Hel had seven different dimensions, each coming with its own perks of physical agony and mental misery. By the time I reached our mansion on the first level to change for work, I'd be covered in grime, sweat and what else not.

Before I wasted any more time, I took out my high-tech phone, and beamed myself onto the second upper plane, Distros, where the heat was stil bearable. Usual y, I tried to avoid it because Distros is one spooky place, but I had no choice other than to travel through only one dimension at a time since I hadn't yet come up with the right programming on my phone.

Proud of myself, I peered at the tiny electronic item, which I invented in a rare moment of utter ingenuity. It looked like any other cel phone, albeit a very chic one in a sleek 'n silver way. But, based on its functionalities, it resembled an electronic genie. However, since I had designed it not long ago and it hadn't passed its beta stage, it was more unstable than Windows Vista. But I figured it'd have to do until I got my fal en angel powers for my eighteenth birthday, which was only a few weeks away.

The wide plane was covered in a thick layer of grey dust blocking out the sun. A strong wind whirled the decaying leaves on the ground, blowing them toward the dilapidated cottages in the distance. Many deceased people lived in Distros, souls who would be accepted into Heaven once they sat out a certain amount of time for their petty crimes, such as lacking faith and having the wrong priorities in life. I knew for sure none of Dad's demon employees were around because Distros was home to our temporary visitors that didn't require torture for their sins, meaning there was almost no supervision. Dad figured, being here in this semi-darkness instead of with their loved ones was enough punishment already.

As said, Distros gave me the creeps even more than the torture chambers on the lower planes. The emotional turmoil and suffering was too strong for an angel. So I didn't usual y linger here, but today something made me hesitate.

Beelzebub Girl: Dating a demon by Jayde Scott – out June 30th, 2011

You might also enjoy After Eden, a stunning young adult paranormal romance by Katherine Pine. After Eden is the story of Devi, who has a preference for bad guys. Only, this time said bad boy isn't just the hot heartbreaker; he's a demon, caught in a war between Heaven and Hel , whose affections come with a price. Devi might just get more than she bargained for. Read an exclusive preview below.

The two of us used to reenact The Snow Queen in the woods behind our house. We'd begin by lying on the lawn, and his cool fingers would squeeze my hand until my eyelids grew heavy and my breathing slowed. Then he would let go.

"Where are you going?" I'd cal out as I grabbed his ankles, causing him to stumble when he tried to stand.

"Stop," he'd tel me. "I don't love you anymore. I love my queen." He didn't want to say such things, he didn't even like the game, but I loved it and so he indulged me.

After that he would run into the woods. I would count to ten, and then go find him.

Once I found him in a pile of autumn leaves. He'd hidden in the tal branches of the old oak, and then fal en and skinned his knee. He didn't cry, he never cried, but I did.

Sniffling, I rol ed up his pant leg and picked up a yel ow oak leaf from the forest floor. It wasn't medicine, we both knew that, but stil my brother let me rub it on his skin. "You found me," he said.

"I wil always find you," I promised, and my little heart meant every word. It loved him more than it could stand, and so it could not conceive of a world where those words wouldn't be true.

"I love you, Devi," he said. I wanted him to cal me Greta. Greta was the girl from The Snow Queen. She was the brother of Kai, the boy in the fairy tale who shared my own brother's name.

Things would have turned out differently if my name real y had been Greta. She was the bringer of spring. She could suffer the winter and melt the ice around her brother's heart. She would find Kai regardless of where he'd gone or who'd taken him.

But I'd been named Devi, and so after he was stolen I couldn't find him, no matter how hard I tried.

No other girl under the age of 18 would be caught dead outside Morrison's after 5pm, especial y when the sky looked like a backdrop from the opening scene of a hardboiled mystery. The used bookstore's turquoise and mustard yel ow exterior had always reminded me of my grandmother's psychedelic kitchen, and so conjured memories of unconditional love, burnt cookies and salmonel a poisoning. Maybe that's why I chose to spend Friday nights shuffling through the sale books on the outdoor rack instead of getting ready to hit the clubs or crash a party on the East side.

Unfortunately al they had out were the usual suspects--science fiction novels featuring giant reptiles shooting lightning from their bloodshot eyes, techno-thril ers, and old school romances a la Lilac Lovelace's magnum opus Sweet Savage Sentiments. I skimmed a few chapters before closing it with savage disappointment.

You won't find him here.

My fingers trembled, suddenly aware of the cold air, and the trashy book almost fel from them. That voice was so lonely and quiet--the voice of a child. I stumbled back. Don't do this, I commanded, but I'd already shut my eyes, gone completely stil , and made my breath as quiet as possible.

I listened for that voice to return. Only the sound of tires, the dul , throbbing beat from the strip club across the street, and my own internal silence responded.

He wasn't there. It was just my mind playing tricks. I shut my eyes and stood. Don't look, I told myself as my heartbeat raced. I just needed to keep my face forward, to bury myself in the pages of a book, any book. I couldn't--

I glanced over my shoulder. Above the line of skyscrapers I could just barely make out the gray silhouette of the West hil s. My house was hidden up there, behind the cedars, firs, and gnarled limbs of deciduous trees. Part of me longed to go home, drop my backpack by the front door, and curl up under the quilt on my bed to wait for sleep. But I couldn't go home. Not yet. Night wouldn't come for another few hours.

I looked away from the forested heights and returned my attention to the neon-lit heart of the city. The days were getting shorter, I reminded myself. Soon I'd be able to wander past that spot on the bluff where he'd disappeared without seeing every detail of the oak, the crumbling wooden gate, and the wide expanse of gray buildings far below. I'd stil know those things existed in the dark, of course, but at least the images wouldn't seduce my mind into playing that memory over and over--the one of my twin brother being taken by the man in white.

I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Thinking about it shouldn't have affected me this much after so many years, or at least that's what everyone kept tel ing me.

A gust of freezing wind blew at my back. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared into Marilyn Monroe's carefree smile. Ever since I was a kid the front window had featured that famous poster of her standing above the vent, pushing that little white dress over her legs. She looked warm and dry--I was kind of jealous.

The wind roared again. Marilyn's face didn't change but her dress seemed to twirl, perhaps due to the shadow of the twirling poppet nailed from a string on the overhang.

Wait, what?

I blinked. Alright, I hadn't just imagined it. A black dol no bigger than my hand danced in the breeze. Three pins stuck out of its chest, and pasted on its back were two feathers--one red, one white.

I suppressed a chil . That had to be new. Either that or someone was playing a joke on the pudgy, aging clerk; I doubted someone who wore freshly ironed polo shirts with little animals embroidered below the col ar was into that sort of thing. Then again, whoever owned the place seemed to col ect oddities. There was a dream catcher above the register, and the door to the storage room had been replaced by long strands of glow in the dark beads.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to go inside. They probably wanted to close early. The only customers they'd get on a day like this were lunatics--wel , lunatics and hopeless romantics with a fetish for the smel of dusty old books, which in their eyes probably amounted to the same thing.

My grip on the doorknob tightened. They hadn't official y closed yet. A light stil glowed from the back of the store and no one had flipped around that il egible, handwritten sign in the window I'd always assumed said "We're Open."

I glanced down at the florid pink book I stil held and decided to check their romance section before I left. They had to have something better than Sweet Savage Sentiments.

Right as the thought entered my mind something hot built up in my throat, increasing in pressure until I could scarcely breathe.

Panic seized my chest. I tried to grip the doorknob but I couldn't feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips anymore. Not now, I pleaded. It was always my first thought when the headaches started. My head pulsated as if my blood was trying to pump out of my skin. God, why did this have to happen--and so randomly, too? I was going to col apse. I had to get out of there before I passed out on the street. Already the gray, fal sky was blurring into the sidewalk. My palms hit my temple, slick with perspiration. Maybe the clerk inside...