Jingle Hells (2 page)

Her eyes widened, seeing the big pink mass
of colorful confetti. “I love bubblegum ice cream.”

I’m not psychic, nor was I using my innate
magic abilities to read others. Ice cream simply represents
people’s true personalities.

Marcia, the WA president, was true to her
personality as well. “I’ll take Lemonhead.”

Keisha shot me a look under her beaded
bangs. The Lemonhead ice cream was sour enough to make Shirley
Temple swear. Keisha’d ordered it by mistake, and we couldn’t seem
to get rid of the stuff.

Keisha dipped two scoops into a cup and
Marcia started to correct her, something she’s always ready to
do.

“It’s two for the price of one tonight,”
Keisha lied with a charming grin.

Marcia’s lips barely cracked in a return
smile. She didn’t seem to know where to look…at Keisha’s mass of
beaded hair, the red hoops the size of tennis balls hanging from
her ears, or her necklace of shark teeth interlaced with holly
berries. “Thank you, I think,” she mumbled, handing Keisha some
dollar bills.

As the meeting began, I started cleaning up.
Tonight, the other ex-witches were working on Step Nine of the
thirteen step program. I, however, was still stuck on Step
Two…believing a power higher than myself could restore me to
sanity.

First of all, I had had actual dealings with
a higher power, namely God’s right hand man, Gabriel, just a few
months prior. He’d sent Adam back to Earth for a redo behind God’s
back. The biblical mess that ensued caught me unprepared and out of
my element. Right before it all went down, I’d taken a vow not to
use magic in any form, and in order to fix Gab’s mess, I had to
renege on that vow and my WA commitment. In no way would he or any
other heavenly body restore my sanity, if my sanity were truly in
question. Hooking up with Lucifer might have been stupid, but it
was miles from insane. And as far as higher powers went, Lucifer
had definitely answered more of my, ahem, prayers during our seven
year history than God ever had.

Unfortunately, Luc was determined to spread
the love and his dark magic around, most recently with my sister
Emilia. Bring on the fire and brimstone, because I’m so not going
down that road of perdition.

Until Luc got his crafty hands on her,
Emilia was a dull, boring Wiccan. An overachiever who took her
older sister status to new and amazingly annoying heights. This
wasn’t the first time she’d told me to stay away from a bad boy
only to sneak in while my back was turned and welcome him into her
lair.

Now she made the Atlanta Housewives look
like saints. Recently, she’d destroyed the WA meeting place by
setting it on fire.

While our meeting was in session.

In order to save Adam and my WA companions,
I’d been forced to cast a spell to counter hers. That wasn’t my
biggest problem, though. Before and during that encounter, Gabriel,
angel of lies and deception, was hanging around. He’d convinced me
Adam’s redo could redeem humanity from sin. He left out the part
about wiping everyone born in sin off the face of the Earth if I
succeeded in keeping Adam on the straight and narrow. If I didn’t
know better, I would have sworn good old Gab was the one possessing
Emilia instead of Luc.

And now my sister was MIA. She’d disappeared
the night of the fire and I hadn’t seen or heard from her in weeks.
She was either pouting because she’d lost the game of annihilation
to me or she was too embarrassed to face me. Since her competitive
streak had never been dangerous, I was convinced Gabriel had played
a part in the attack, but until Emilia showed up and explained
herself, I had no way of knowing exactly what had happened to
her.

Interrupting my reverie, Liddy bounced up to
the counter. She had a swipe of pink ice cream on her upper lip.
“Come on, partner. It’s time to start.”

Marcia was calling the meeting to order,
apparently the Lemonhead ice cream failing to make her pucker too
much to talk. Feeling the dental drill stalking me, I pointed at
the dirty scoops and bowls in the sink. “First, I have to clean up.
I’ll be over in a minute.”

Keisha sashayed behind me. “Go ahead. Those
dishes won’t take me no time.”

I turned enough to shoot poison arrows at
her from my eyes. She smiled, deflecting them with a slap of her
dish towel on my butt. I flinched and returned a mental counterslap
that caught her by surprise. We both laughed, before I gave in and
said to Liddy, “Ready when you are. Partner.”

Liddy grabbed my hand and hustled me to a
table right up front.

Five minutes later, Marcia’s droning was
winding down. “And now I’d like to thank Amy for allowing us to use
her shop for our meeting.”

Since I was daydreaming, it took Liddy’s
pinch on my arm to make the words sink in. Then Marcia added, “Even
though it’s her fault our original meeting place burned to the
ground.”

Before I could retort, the ice cream shop’s
door swung open and a giant of a man barreled through. His dark
hair hung to his shoulders and his large brown eyes topped a broad
nose and hard-edged jaw. He was underdressed for the weather in a
leather tank top and matching skirt.

Yes, a skirt. The silver sword on his hip,
along with the sudden surge of pure testosterone flooding the
parlor, left no room to question his very male personality,
regardless of his clothes. In the world of ice cream, he was butter
pecan. With big chunky pieces of pecan.

He appeared to be straight out of a
gladiator movie.

Or quite possibly a biblical tale.

My heart seized at that thought.

“Amy,” he demanded, his gaze jumping from
Keisha to the WA group. “I seek Amy Atwood.”

His accent was as unusual as his costume. My
name sounded like Ah-me Aht-whood when he said it. Everyone’s gazes
swung to look at me.

I gave them a small smile and swallowed down
the lump of fear in my throat. “Um, could I ask who’s calling?”

He took two strides toward the table and
loomed over me. “I am Samson. I have need of Amy Atwood.”

A low murmur went through the crowd of
women. “Ooohh…”

Samson? Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Not another
Biblical man in need of a do-over. I shot Keisha a what the hell
look but she was staring at Samson, eyes bugged out and mouth open
again. She really needed to work on that gaping at gorgeous men
thing.

Clenching my hands in my lap, I looked up at
Samson through my lashes. “Why?”

He dropped to one knee in front of me,
making me jump. Liddy and the women behind me all gasped.

His eyes were now at my level, a mixture of
emotions warring inside them. “I must find the truth.”

Jack Nicholson’s famous movie line echoed in
my brain. You can’t handle the truth.

I frowned and ordered Jack to stand down.
“What truth?”

The door of the shop blew open again, a
fresh gust of cold air and swirling snow entering the room along
with an exquisitely beautiful redhead. Her long, flowing robes were
sheer and multicolored in soft hues like the sherbet in my freezer,
much better suited to harem life than my hometown of Eden in
winter.

Her large, almond-shaped eyes were heavily
fringed with black lashes. As they settled on Samson, he tipped his
head in her direction. “The she-devil.”

“Samson.” Her voice broke on his name and
her full bottom lip trembled as if she were about to cry. “You must
believe me.”

“Let me guess,” I said, massaging my temple
where a headache now bloomed. “She wouldn’t happen to be Delilah,
would she?”

He took my hand in his, cradling it between
his massive paws. They were rough and callused. And warm as sin.
“You will help me?”

His butter pecan eyes and earnest face,
along with the iron grip he had on my hand, were hard to say no to,
not to mention all the eyes of my friends on me. Still I didn’t
know what he was talking about, much less what he needed help
with.

As I opened my mouth to tell him no, Liddy
reached over and squeezed Samson’s massive bicep. “Of course she’ll
help you. Amy’s a good person.”

I frowned at her and shook my head. “Wait,
I, uh…”

Samson bent his head and kissed my hand.
Heat shot up my arm. “God’s blessings on you.”

God’s blessings on me? I almost snickered.
Then I caught Delilah’s narrowed eyes in my peripheral vision.
Jealous anger vibrated against my skin. If I didn’t do something, I
was going to need God and the Devil to survive her wrath.

With dread setting up shop in my stomach, I
ushered Samson and Delilah back to my office where Liddy’s new cat
friend stretched across my desk. Her green eyes flickered open and
she yawned at my attempt to shoo her off. Then her gaze locked on
Samson, her hair stood up like a mullet, and she shot off the desk,
hissing as she left.

“Sorry about that.” I motioned Samson and
Delilah into seats. My office was entirely too small for Samson’s
hulking muscle-bound body and Delilah’s petulant sulk. Add Keisha
trying to sneak in behind them and I was suddenly claustrophobic. I
glared at her and pointed at the door. She rolled her eyes, made a
rude gesture and left.

I sat down and picked up a pencil, hoping to
appear competent. “Before we go any further, I just want to say,
there is no guarantee I can help you with whatever your problem
is.”

“You assisted Adam,” Samson pointed out.

Boy, had I assisted Adam. In many ways and
unique positions. Outside of the sex, I’d assisted him with his
chance at redemption and resurrecting the original Garden of Eden.
While that hadn’t worked out like any of us, including Gabriel, had
anticipated, it sure had worked out to my advantage.

The thought of Adam and our growing
relationship made my heart tweak in that now familiar way. I missed
him and his sexy grin so much I could barely see straight, but he
hadn’t even called once in the three weeks he’d been gone.

Delilah waved a hand in front of my face to
bring me back to the situation. “I want to say, I am innocent of
the charges brought against me.”

Her accent was thick but her voice was
musical, perfectly matching her burlesque dancer’s body. Running
through the sparse number of biblical stories in my brain, I tried
to recall the one of Samson and Delilah. All I could remember was
the part about his hair getting cut off. Since neither of them
looked like they’d been in a fraternity hazing involving shaved
heads recently, I had to ask. “What exactly happened?

They both started talking at the same time,
Samson’s voice booming in the tiny office and overriding Delilah’s,
even though she kept raising hers. There was something about
marriage and filthy Philistines and seven locks of hair, but my
ears hurt so bad from the front stage center position, most of it
got lost in the echoes. All I knew for sure was Delilah’s face grew
more and more tormented with every accusation Samson made. I knew
that look. I’d had a similar one on my face when Luc denied hexing
it up with Emilia.

I raised my hands and did the time out sign,
but neither seemed to understand. Well, duh, of course they didn’t.
Finally I stuck my index and pinky fingers in the corners of my
mouth and gave a shrill whistle. All talking ceased, their features
motionless in a shocked tableau.

“Delilah.” I gave her a woman-to-woman I’ve
got your back smile. “Would you step outside and ask the gal with
the beads in her hair to get you a scoop of Java Brownie ice
cream?”

She started to object, then moved her lips
as she repeated, “Java Brownie ice cream?”

The best break-up version of ice cream ever
created. She was going to feel a lot better after a dose of that.
“Yes, tell her you need two scoops. I’ll talk to you as soon as I’m
done with Goliath, here, I promise.”

“Samson,” he corrected, his large forehead
wrinkling in a frown as his loud voice sent shock waves across the
desk at me. “Samson, the Nazarite. Dedicated from birth.”

As the door shut behind Delilah, I leaned
back in my chair and sized him up. “Okay, Samson the Nazarite,
what’s your story?”

As Samson raged on for the next fifteen
minutes, I tried to take a few notes, but my mind was still reeling
with the fact that someone—and I was certainly curious who—had
dumped another religious mess at my feet for clean up. A few months
ago, I’d been Lucifer’s main squeeze. Now all of a sudden I was
Heaven’s.

After Samson finished his story, I made no
promises and ushered him out to Keisha’s willing hands before
bringing Delilah back in.

While Samson’s account had been cut and dry,
Delilah put a different spin on the whole betrayal-by-hair story.
The authors of biblical times apparently left out of a few
pertinent facts, especially concerning Delilah’s involvement.

“They tricked me,” she claimed. “The
Philistines threatened my family. Said if I didn’t help them
discover the essence of Samson’s strength, they would kill my
father and force my mother and little sister to be slaves.

“Do you know what that means? They would
have beaten and raped them and…” Again her voice broke and her
lower lip quivered. “Worse.”

I’d seen some show stoppers in the drama
department. In fact, I grew up with one. But Delilah’s soap opera
theatrics were based in real emotion. I didn’t need my magic to
tell me that. Sending her a mental hug across the desk, I probed
for the rest of the story. “So you quizzed Samson until he finally
told you the truth about his hair.”

Her eyes widened. “The first few times, yes,
but it wasn’t me who tricked him into divulging the truth about his
hair. By that time, I’d convinced my family to leave their home and
run away.”

“But he claims he told you, and that you’re
the one who cut his hair.”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?”

She leaned forward as if to share a secret.
I found myself meeting her halfway. Before she spilled the beans,
she slewed her gaze to the left and then to the right. The only
other being in the office was the calico who had gladly returned to
wrap around Delilah’s leg. The cat stopped cleaning her face to
stare up at Delilah.