Straight to Heaven (19 page)

I nuzzled his neck. “Let me guess, and if I’m right, will you tell me?”

“Maybe. What do you think it is?”

I had no idea what William would ask for. After all, he had everything any man could want: beauty, eternal youth, wealth, women…

Well, most women.

A terrible thought occurred to me. “It’s me, isn’t it? You want one night with me.” I didn’t know how Miss Spry could deliver such a prize, but I didn’t doubt that she had her evil ways. It wouldn’t take much to slip something into my drink or physically restrain me. The thought of it made me sick.

His eyes bored into mine. “A night with you? Is that what you think I asked for?”

“What else could it be?”

My mind didn’t want to take the next logical step, but my will was stronger. I had said that I would do anything to save my daughter, and either I meant it or I didn’t. Steeling myself, I said, “William, if that’s what it takes for me to win this contest, then…I’ll do it. I’ll spend the night with you if you promise to back out of this competition.” Prostituting myself was a horrible idea, but I would rather sleep with him willingly than risk being forced.

William let go of me and backed away. “You really
do
think I’m a monster, don’t you?”

“Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

His dark eyes smoldered. “Yes, but I had no idea that you actually believed me.”

“I didn’t before, but I do now.” I wrapped my arms around myself to keep from shaking. My only hope was that he wasn’t planning on doing this in the back alley. “So? Do we have a deal?”

“No.”

“No?!”

“I would never take you, or any woman, against her will.” A hurt expression lurked behind his angry eyes. “I had hoped you knew that about me.”

“Honestly, I don’t know anything about anything when it comes to you.” Feeling safer, I quit cowering. “So, what did you ask Miss Spry for?”

He looked away. “Ten minutes. Five to tell my wife how sorry I am, and five to hold my infant son.”

The pain in his eyes melted my heart. “Oh, William.” I reached for him, but he stepped aside.

“You might as well give up right now, Lilith,” he said. “I’m going to win this.”

If Miss Spry had offered me anything other than freedom for my daughter, I might have let William win. Everyone deserves absolution. Yet, rescuing Grace was too precious of a prize to let go of. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”

“
Let
me win? As if you could!” Once again, he wore that fiery expression. I had made him very angry. “You’ll never be able to isolate the situation. Once you realize what the real damage from this job will be, you won’t be able to go through with it.”

I hesitated. I actually hadn’t allowed myself to think that far ahead, but William was right. What if Craig and J.T. launched a home terrorist invasion? What if, because of me, a building was bombed and people were killed? I couldn’t have that on my conscience.

On the other hand, if I didn’t tempt Craig, William would. If Craig was going to fall into temptation even if I walked away, then I might as well take him down myself. Especially if it meant I would be able to save Grace.

“You’re wrong, William,” I said. “I
will
tempt this man, and I
will
do whatever it takes.”

Seeing my determination, his jaw tightened. “Maybe I was wrong. But I must warn you,” he continued. “I won’t back down, either. I’ll do whatever it takes to win this, and you will
not
stop me.” He glowered at me then went back into the bar, letting the metal door bang shut after him.

So the contest was still on. Damn my luck.

Chapter Thirteen

That night, as I lay in the dark, my thoughts ran in circles, moving from one unpleasant thing to another: my failures at tempting Craig, the fact that my stepsister was about to throw her life away, and the constant worry over Ariel. After a while, I gave up trying to sleep, and went downstairs to find my secret candy stash which I never raid unless I’m having a really bad day.

In case you’re wondering, I have a lot of really bad days.

I turned on the lights in the kitchen just in time to see Mr. Clerk laying a note on my table. He froze in place, startled to be caught skulking in the dark, and then handed me the note as if that had been his intention all along.

“I want you to know that my feelings for William will no longer affect my work.” He straightened his glasses. “I’ve even delivered this message to you first.”

“Well, isn’t that special,” I said. I glanced at the note. The assignment was to begin in about eight hours. It took place at the Militia’s public training session, the one that had been advertised on their website.

I stopped Mr. Clerk before he could leave. I had to at least
try
talking sense into him. “William doesn’t love you.”

Mr. Clerk’s shoulders stiffened. “No one in Hell loves anyone else, Lilith,” he said.

I tried again. “He was only buttering you up today. He isn’t interested in a
relationship
.” I raised my eyebrows meaningfully.

“I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,” he said and left the kitchen.

Forget it. I was done interfering. Nothing I said would change his mind anyway. I only hoped that when Mr. Clerk finally realized the truth, it wouldn’t destroy him.

Once again, the next day’s assignment was easy. At least in theory. All I had to do was convince Craig to let one of the other members of the militia borrow his gun. Although technically, the assignment didn’t take place until one in the afternoon, I once again decided to arrive earlier. If I could lay some groundwork, my temptation might be easier. I needed any advantage I could get over William.

I also decided to drive up to Orland instead of using the otherworld tunnels. Not only would the trip clear my head before this challenge, I’d also be able to arrive like a normal person and not have to worry about being caught appearing from thin air.

Changing my body shape was becoming easier and easier. At least, it pinched less. After working on my appearance, I put my dad’s gun in the trunk of my Lexus and headed out. Fifty minutes later, I pulled into the Everston Recreation Area which was nothing more than a dirt parking lot, a couple of beat-up picnic tables, and a trail leading into the woods.

Several cars were already in the lot. Most of them were Jeeps, but there were some pickups and even a minivan. People wearing camouflage were getting out of their vehicles and assembling near a red truck that had coffee and donuts laid out on its tailgate.

I was about to ask if anyone had seen Craig when the man himself came up. He walked with a swagger, his elbows slightly bent, like Popeye the Sailor.

“Hey, Craig!” I was all smiles.

There was a weariness around his eyes, like he’d had a string of sleepless nights. Which was no surprise, given all of the misfortunes that had befallen him over the past week. “Hello, Lilith.”

To gauge his reaction to the previous night’s episode at the bar, I carefully asked, “Have you seen Sam Butcher?”

Craig spit on the ground. “I told him he’s no longer welcome around here.”

I was thrilled. William would be forced to come up with a new disguise as well as a new backstory. “Smart move. If I’d known that Butcher had been bothering you, I would have said something sooner.”

Craig nodded and looked me over as if re-assessing me. “You’re still writing your article for the paper?”

“It’s almost done,” I said, adding a brilliant smile to my lie.

“Can I read it before you print it?”

“Absolutely! I think you’ll be pleased with it.”

He thawed a little. “Good. That would be good.”

J.T.’s pickup entered the parking lot and, a moment later, he joined us. His expression tightened when he looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

My stomach tensed. I’d thought we’d parted on good terms the night before, but he was looking at me like I was a zombie in his crosshairs. “I wouldn’t miss it.” I gave him a bright smile.

His eyes narrowed further. “Did Craig invite you?”

“No, I saw a post on your website and thought I’d come up for a look.”

For a moment, I didn’t think he believed me, but then he nodded. He scanned the group near the coffee and donuts. “At least someone saw that announcement. Pretty low numbers, today,” he said. “I’d hoped for a few dozen more people.”

“I sent out e-mails and listed the event in the paper,” Craig said. “What else do you want me to do?”

“How about hiring a skywriter?” I asked, trying to joke. Both men ignored me.

“I was hoping for a bigger turnout, that’s all,” J.T. said. He looked disgusted. “It’s probably because today is a Wednesday. I knew we should have planned this for the weekend. Everyone works on Wednesday.”

“It was the only day I could reserve the rec area’s shooting range,” Craig said, equally tense. “You want to have training without using the range?”

“No, but
Wednesday
?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you what. Next time you make the arrangements because I don’t need this bullshit.” Craig left us and joined the others clustered around the coffee and donuts.

“I always knew that he wasn’t serious about this,” J.T. muttered. Then, without another word, he went over to the group by the pickup truck and told them that it was time to get things started.

The militia training was disappointing. I’d been certain that we’d learn how to launch grenades, or plan sneak attacks on federal buildings, or build bombs from fertilizer and other household items, but instead, the morning was spent building rabbit snares. Then, for lunch, we ate burned hotdogs and lukewarm slices of watermelon. It was like Boy Scouts for paranoid grownups.

As I nibbled at my watermelon, I kept one eye on my watch and the other on Craig. Standing next to me was Larry, a wiry forty-something who wore wrap-around sunglasses and could make a rabbit snare out of a willow branch as easily as I could put a twist tie around a bagged loaf of bread. “You should pose for the Babes of the Militia calendar,” he said. He had told me this at least a dozen times since we’d met. “You’d look real good in a camouflage bikini.” His eyes slid up and down my body as if taking measurements.

“Uh, I have to go over there now,” I said, pointing to where J.T. stood talking to Craig.

It was almost one o’clock and time to tempt. Now that lunch was over, most of the other Militia members had trudged down the wooded path that led to the shooting range. I pretended to go back to my car to fetch my gun, but even though I was a distance away, my demon’s hearing was good enough to listen in on their argument.

“…and I’m telling
you
that I don’t want her around. She can’t be trusted.” This was from J.T.

“But when she writes that story…” Craig argued.

“Do you really think she’s going to write that?” J.T. said. “I’m telling you, there’s something weird going on with her. Last night, I checked her out. She doesn’t write for the
Free Press
. She’s not listed anywhere on their website!”

“She probably writes under an alias,” Craig argued.

J.T.’s outraged expression didn’t change. “You’ve been telling me all along
not
to trust her, and now you’re on her side?” His hands clenched into fists. “What gives?”

Craig glared back. “Nothing gives. I want her to write the article. Same as you.”

I worried that J.T. would beat his best friend to a pulp, but to my relief, J.T. and Craig’s exchange ended in a hostile standoff. J.T. stalked into the woods while Craig remained where he was.

It was one o’clock. I prepared to zip to Craig’s side like I was a rubber ball on an elastic thread, and he was a paddle. Before I could, however, something whizzed by my ear. I thought someone from the range had fired a stray bullet, but then another missile – a bright ball of lightning the size of an apple – hurtled towards my face. I ducked at the last instant, feeling it brush against my hair as it zinged past. It struck the grass behind me with a sizzle, leaving a smell of brimstone.

My heart pounding, I dropped to the ground and scrambled underneath the nearest pickup truck. I lay in the dirt, panting, and peered through the space between the vehicle and the ground. In a moment, I saw two pairs of sneakers so radiantly white they made me squint. Not even Mr. Clerk’s shoes glowed like that. My guts trembled.

I held perfectly still and would have ordered my heart to stop beating if I’d been able to. Even so, the owners of the shoes seemed to know where I was. Sick with fear, I watched the shoes split up, one pair going around the front of the truck, the other moving around the back. They meant to trap me in the middle.

I acted on impulse, squeezing myself from the space, and getting to my feet. There was no one in the parking lot, and I didn’t dare stop to look for my car keys. Where to go? Towards the range? The woods? I couldn’t see an otherworld doorway and feared that the assassins were blocking it. When another shimmering rocket hit the ground between my feet, I was off and running, not caring where.

Though it was midday, the light behind me intensified like someone had thumbed up the dimmer switch. My would-be assassins were on my heels. I dodged sideways, even as a lightning ball exploded in the space I had been occupying a moment before.

Apparently, the guardian angels were even more pissed off than they had been the previous night. I ran towards the edge of the parking lot, the assassins hot on my tail. Bits of dirt pelted my legs as the missiles hit the ground nearby.

“Over here!”

I saw Mr. Clerk frantically waving at me from a doorway off to my left. I put on a burst of speed. Even though my inner demon lent me extra stamina, my lungs burned, and my legs ached. I thought I would make it, but when I was only a few feet from the safety of the otherworld, one of the assassins slipped in front of me, blocking the way.

I finally got a good look at him. He was as bright as a fully-shining angel, but his fedora, dark glasses, and trench coat bespoke something else. My frenzied brain tried to figure out where I’d seen him before, but I couldn’t remember.

Then I saw a second otherworld doorway to my right. When the assassin lifted his hand, ready to launch another assault, I dove through the shiny membrane that separated Heaven from Earth. As much as I hated being in the enemy’s camp, it seemed safer than staying where I was. I could only hope that the angels would respect Heaven’s ‘no violence’ rule.