The_Demons_Wife_ARC (11 page)

A sudden blast
of cold wind off the ocean grabbed her by the neck and blew her red hair
forward so she was looking at him down a long, flickering red tunnel of flames.
The view made her shiver. Before he could answer her, though, she noticed the
Starbucks across the street and said, “Come on. You want a coffee or
something?”

Samael nodded
and, still holding her hand, waited for the traffic to pass and then guided her
across the street.

When he opened
the coffee shop’s door for her, a tiny bell jingled. Claire noticed that Samael
winced when the bell rang, and she was about to say, “What, did another angel
get his wings?” but she didn’t as they walked up to the counter to order.

She did file
that little fact away, though…that tinkling bells seemed to bother him. She
might be able to use that if he ever got out of hand. The first chance she had,
she would get a small bell and place it on the table next to her bed…just in
case.

~ * ~

“So,” Claire
said, “as Ricky Ricardo used to say to Lucy, ‘You got some ‘”splainin’” to
do.’”

Samael looked
at her from across the table and shrugged.

“
I Love
Lucy
. I loved that show,” he said. “But that was a bit before your time,
wasn’t it?”

“Whenever I
was home sick from school, I’d watch reruns of it on cable,” Claire said. “But
you’re avoiding the subject.” She leaned close, her hands folded in front of
her.

“What?” He
looked around the café as he shrugged. “There’s nothing to ‘splain.’ I wanted
to see you again, to make up for—you know, for what happened, and I thought
it’d be an interesting and memorable way to go about it.”

Claire lowered
her gaze and, sighing, shook her head. She sipped her coffee. It was good.

“Why?” she
finally asked, and when he looked at her blankly, she went on, “I mean—how did
you even know I was going to be there? And how in the name of—” She caught
herself before she said either God or Christ. “How did you get into the
lineup?”

“You want the
truth?” Samael asked.

Claire nodded
even as she wondered if he was ever capable of telling the truth.

“I went down
to the police station to finish giving my statement. I was talking to Detective
Trudeau. He’s an old friend of mine. Anyway, we were talking before your
appointment, and when he said you were coming in for the lineup, I told him
that I’d been trying to get in touch with you, but you didn’t want to have
anything to do with me after Sunday night.”

You got that
wrong!
Claire thought, but as she considered what he’d said, she began to see there
were truck-sized holes in his story. Maybe he wasn’t such a good liar, after
all.

It would be
irresponsible for Detective Trudeau to put a civilian at random into the
lineup? And he wasn’t just any “civilian.” He was a witness to the very crime
they were having the lineup for. If the case ever went to trial, Samael
would—no doubt—be called upon to testify. If he said or did anything in the
lineup room to Ron LaPierre—or had any contact with him at all before the
trial—it would ruin the state’s case against LaPierre.

So then what?

Was he trying
to get him off?

A suspected
rapist would go free…to rape again.

What was a
city detective doing playing Cupid so Samael could see her again, anyway?

This was all
complete and utter bullshit, and she was tempted to tell him that to his face.

For one thing,
how could he have seen her through the one-way mirror? He couldn’t…unless he
was able to see through the reflective glass.

But even if he
could, when would he have an opportunity to speak with her? She and the
suspects were separated by thick walls and bars and glass because he would have
been in the secure holding area along with the others, LaPierre included.

“Bullshit,”
she said, keeping her voice low so the people sitting around them talking or
wanting people to see them writing their screenplays wouldn’t hear her.

“What’s that?”
Samael said, raising one eyebrow.

Claire was
positive he had heard her the first time, but she leaned forward and, folding
her hands together, said, “I said ‘bullshit.’” She hissed the last word.

Samael’s smile
didn’t fade, but he eased back in his seat and stared steadily at her for the
longest time without blinking. Maybe it was the lighting in the coffee shop,
but for the first time Claire noticed something weird about his eyes. The
pupils weren’t round, like a normal person’s. His were dark, oval slits with
flecks of gold in the irises, like cats’ eyes.

Is this how he
appears to everyone
,
she wondered,
or—like the tail and the tongue—is he only allowing me to see
him like he really is?

How much can
he change or alter his appearance to…anyone? And what is his real appearance?

When she found
out the answer to that last one, she was well past being shocked or terrified.

Now, a
stirring of disquiet filled her as she wondered how much he could control
things—even the way he appeared to humans. She wasn’t sure where she found the
courage or fortitude—it wasn’t like her—but she stared right back at him and
never once blinked. She could see her reflection in his eyes, but even now, she
had the impression he was looking at her from behind a reflective one-way
mirror.

She would
never be able to see behind it to glimpse the real him because—

Well, you have
to admit it
,
she told herself,
no matter how much you don’t want to

—he has no
soul.

Chapter

6

Two Kinds of
Hell

Two hours later, they were
bathed with sweat—at least Claire was—and naked in her bed with Samael on top,
bracing himself with his hands on either side of her. If she had thought the
first time with him had been mind-blowing, it paled to insignificance compared
to what she had just experienced. She had held open the possibility that she
might have exaggerated that first experience, but—no. This one had rocked her
world even more…and much better—more fulfilling and satisfying, if that was
possible. It was like nothing she had experienced or even imagined before with
a man.

Then again
, she had to
remind herself,
he’s not a man.

Under any
other circumstances, she might have used the word “heavenly.”

Samael’s skin
was flushed, and in the dimming light of a late winter afternoon seeping
through the curtains, tinged with a deep reddish glow that seemed to come from
inside him.

Like he’s on
fire on the inside.

Whenever she
touched him, no matter what part of his body, an intense heat radiated from him
that was almost to the point of being uncomfortable. But he never seemed to
sweat. Even now, after an hour-long bout of lovemaking, his flesh was dry and
warm.

“Wow,” she
said, smiling at him as she gazed up into his eyes. As it turned out, she
hadn’t needed to ring a little bell to slow down or stop him. There had been no
time to get one, anyway.

“Um-hmm…I’ll
say,” Samael replied, not even a bit breathless.

“Yeah.”

He rolled off
of her and flopped down on the mattress, making the bedspring squeak.

As satiated as
she was, Claire decided they needed to talk. It bothered her that she could
never figure out if he was lying to her…Maybe he didn’t say the exact opposite
of what he meant, and maybe he didn’t really lie to her, but he twisted his
words, giving them nuance and shades of meaning that hinted at things below the
surface, sometimes sinister. It was something she was going to have to get used
to if they were going to spend any more time together.

And she did
want to spend more time with him.

She cleared
her throat, determined there wouldn’t be any “elephants in the living room,” as
they say; but she also didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and
pushing—or driving—him away again.

She chuckled
to herself and, sighing, shook her head.

“What is it?”
Samael asked.

Claire almost
said, Come on. You can read my mind…so you already know, but she wasn’t
absolutely convinced he could read minds. Maybe it was a simple case of him
having a much deeper understanding of human nature, having been among humanity
for…

How long?…She
had no idea.  Maybe thousands of years?

He easily
could be centuries…even millennia old. She wanted to ask him, but not yet…not
now…

Why ruin the
afterglow?

“I was
thinking…about what you did today…about getting into the lineup.”

There you go,
she thought,
having—like him—successfully avoided what she really wanted or needed to talk
about. Now you’re getting the hang of it.

She was
privately amused and pleased with herself.

Let’s see if I
can lie to or at least try to deceive a demon and get away with it.

“What were you
thinking, pulling a stunt like that?”

Samael rolled
over onto his back and laced his hands behind his head, smiling as he stared up
at the ceiling. His profile was stunning…statuesque, even. Greeks and Romans
should have—may have—sculpted him. Claire looked at his thick, dark hair and
reminded herself to check for any horns when she got a chance.

Maybe when
he’s sleeping…if he ever sleeps.

When he
sighed, she could have sworn a faint puff of smoke drifted from his mouth and
nostrils like if he was exhaling the smoke of a postcoital cigarette. She
chuckled again—louder this time—wondering if that constituted smoking after
having sex.

“I wanted to
see you again,” Samael said almost dreamily. “It’s that simple. So I did what I
had to do.”

“Seriously?”
She wanted to believe him, but after all, he was a being who existed to screw
around with people…create mayhem and get them to damn themselves.

Well he’s
certainly created enough mayhem in my life!

“Yeah.
Seriously.” He shifted on the bed as though trying to get comfortable. Maybe he
was lying on his tail.

“And you don’t
think you could have come up with something a little less…dramatic?”

“What do you
mean?”

“I mean, I was
there to identify the man who tried to rape me. He could have killed me. You
didn’t think that might—you know, upset me at least a little that you’re
just…playing around?”

“I didn’t
think I was playing around…I guess I didn’t think that all the way through.” He
turned away for a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly, and then looked at her
with an intensity that was palpable. His gold-flecked eyes glistened. “I’m not
sure what’s happening here." His fingers lazily twirled through her red
curls. “But I—I find myself genuinely attracted to you, and I think maybe…maybe
for all the wrong reasons.”

His words
stunned her. A comment like that—“for all the wrong reasons”—was not what she
wanted to hear…especially when she was lying in her own bed next to the man who
had just pleasured her so intensely.

Samael looked
away again, his eyes focused on some far-off point in the distance.

Uh-oh,
she thought…
Here
it comes. He’s gonna use this to leave and never come back, now that he’s had
his conquest
.

“Well, right
or wrong,” Claire said, not sure where the words were coming from, “I’m glad we
met and…did this.”

“You have no
idea how much I do, too.”

Again, Claire
had to wonder how much—if anything—he said was true and how much he was still
toying with her, trying to manipulate her. For the first—but not the last—time,
she considered that it might be a simple fact of their relationship that she
would always be left wondering.

That is, if
this even is a relationship…

“I guess your
little ploy worked, then,” she said, brushing her hand across his chest and
marveling at the smooth hardness of his flesh and the rock-solid muscles
beneath. As much as the simple act of touching him turned her on, she checked
herself because she was filled with a sudden urge to ask him point-blank if he
really meant it. She didn’t say a word, though, because she still believed she
couldn’t trust his word on anything.

Rule Number
One when dealing with demons, she decided, was: Never take what a demon says at
face value.

“So what happens
next?” she asked, after a long silence where he just lay there on his back
looking up at the ceiling, and she caressed him. She resisted the temptation to
take his tail in hand and maybe—she smiled at the terrifying and beautiful
attraction of the thought—starting in again.

“What, you
mean with LaPierre?”

No! I mean
about us, you dummy
!
She wanted to say but didn’t.

“Uh—yeah…What’s
gonna happen to him?”

She looked
directly into his eyes to see if he gave any indication that he knew she had
just…well, maybe not lied to him again, but certainly “diverted” him again.

 “The police
have statements from you and me, and now that you’ve positively identified him,
the DA’s office will move ahead and prosecute him. He’ll be arraigned in
District Court—if he hasn’t been already, and they’ll determine if he can post
bail before he stands trial.”

“Post bail?”
Claire was stunned. “Are you kidding me? He might get out?”

A faint smile
touched the corners of Samael’s mouth, but he looked at her, his gold-flecked
eyes flat, his expression impossible to read.

“All part of
the Great American Legal System, don’t yah know.”

The way he
said that reminded Claire of a movie she’d seen years ago called
The Devil’s
Advocate
. She wondered if Samael hadn’t told the truth about what he did
for work and was, himself, a lawyer. It would make sense. He had told her he
was in business of buying and selling and maybe trading…but he easily could
have lied to her.

“But he—you’re
telling me a man who…who attacks and…and molests a woman in alleyways may walk
free?”

She couldn’t
accept that her attacker wasn’t facing mandatory life in prison or even the
death penalty for what he had done. It’s what he deserved.

“It all
depends,” Samael said, and the way he spoke so casually sent a ripple of chills
racing through her. She had the distinct impression he was hinting or
implying—without coming right out and saying as much—that he could easily take
care of things for her if she wished…or maybe even if she didn’t wish.

“What do you
think should happen to him?” he asked.

His question
drew her up short because the first thing that popped into her mind wasn’t the
terror she had felt that night when she was convinced she was not only going to
be raped, she was going to die. That memory was still sharp and clear inside
her, and she had no doubts that it would remain inside her for the rest of her
life, a kind of PTSD, which—she knew—was very real for many victims of rape and
attempted rape.

No, the first
image that came to mind was the expression on Ron LaPierre’s face when he ran
toward the one-way mirror and started screaming at her because he knew she was
behind the glass. There was no way he could have seen her, so he must have been
looking at the reflection of his own terror-stricken face. She hadn’t heard
anything he said because of the soundproofing, but she had no doubt what it
was.

He had been
screaming that he was innocent…that he’d been framed…that he could never have
done such a horrible thing to her…that he didn't deserve to be in jail.

That’s what
they all say, once they’re caught
, she thought, but as much as she
wanted to hate him, her first and strongest reaction was to pity the man.

She couldn’t
imagine the fear and terror he must be going through even now, while she was
comfortably in bed with a man. He was an accused rapist. If he ended up
convicted and doing any time in the state prison, a man so weak and frightened
wouldn’t last a month unless he was in solitary.

He had
protested his innocence, and the crazy thing was—even not hearing his voice,
part of her believed him.

“What do I
think should happen to him?” she said, shaking herself, suddenly aware that she
had drifted off and hadn’t spoken for some time. Samael had waited patiently
for her response. “I have no idea, and I’m glad it’s not up to me. I guess I
thought he should get, like, life in prison or something, but…I dunno.”

“Too bad Maine
doesn’t have the death penalty—even for first-degree murder,” Samael said
sounding almost sad about that fact, and—once again—she had the disturbing
feeling that, if she asked, he would be more than willing to do something about
it.

And then she
had a sudden thought.

“You were in
the room with him.”

“The lineup.
Yeah.”

“What was he
yelling when they dragged him off?”

Samael took a
deep breath and was quiet for a long time. Claire thought he might have drifted
off to sleep. In the lengthening silence, she convinced herself that if he
wasn’t asleep, and again she wondered:
Do demons ever sleep
?

No. He was
trying to concoct a plausible lie.

But she
knew…and he knew that she knew…he would be lying if he said something like that
Ron LaPierre had been cursing her and vowing to hunt her down and do
unimaginable things to her when he got out of jail.

“Garbled
nonsense, mostly,” Samael finally said.

“Nonsense?”

“Yeah. He was
raving like a lunatic, not making any sense at all. I think—” Samael drew one
hand out from under his head and circled the side of his head with his
forefinger. “—being in prison has broken down whatever shreds of sanity he had.”

“That’s so
sad,” was all Claire had to say.

“Sad? He tried
to rape you! And he would have, if I hadn’t been there.”

“I know,”
Claire said, but her mind was already squirming with the unsettled idea that
maybe…just maybe she had identified the wrong man.

No!…That’s not
true!…I saw him!

But what if he
is innocent?

“Do you think
he’s the type of person who really could—”

“He’ll get
what he deserves,” Samael said simply, cutting her off. His voice was still
flat…perfectly emotionless. “Either in this world…or the next.”