Luck of the Devil (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-one

“So.” Matt watched me while I wiggled into my jeans. “Do you have plans for lunch?”

I searched the clothes scattered all over the floor for my shoe. Where had it gone? It couldn’t have just disappeared. “Lunch?”

“You know, the meal between breakfast and dinner. We tried having it together once and ended up in Paris?”

“Right, lunch. I am, in fact, familiar with the concept. And yes, I do plan to eat lunch today. Would you like to join me?”

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me,” Matt said.

I tugged on my shirt and glanced around for my left shoe some more. How had it ended up on the top of the dresser? I shouldn’t have been surprised, what with the way Matt threw clothes everywhere last night. Grinning, I picked it up, sat on the bed, and slipped on both shoes. I combed my fingers through my hair, and wrestled it into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck. Not that I should’ve been too worried about how I looked. It wasn’t like anyone would notice my ‘phase of shame’ from one apartment to the next.

“Today?” I said.

“That was the thought.” Matt collapsed on the bed, sounding so annoyed I couldn’t help but pat his hand. Obviously, no one had told him how frustrating it was to date a demoness.

“Not sure if you meant today, or what?”

“Are all demonesses this complicated?”

“Yes.” I leaned over and kissed him, rubbing our noses together. “It’s part of our unholy charm.”

“It’s unholy, I’ll give you that.” Matt laced his fingers through my hair and kissed me, his tongue probing the inside of my mouth.

“You like me anyway,” I said.

“Yeah, I do.”

“That’s all that matters, then.” Closing my eyes, I pictured my living room and began phasing.

“Hey!” Matt grabbed my fingers.

I opened my eyes and let my focus drop back onto him. “What?”

“You didn’t answer me about lunch.”

“I didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah, I’d like that. Where were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” He let go of my hand, leaning up to kiss me one last time. “Think about it and let me know when I pick you up?”

“Okay.”

“About 12:30?”

“I’ll see you at 12:30.” Closing my eyes again, I focused on my living room and, when I pictured it clearly in my mind, relaxed my body so it would shift. Once the image was fixed, I tried to step into the threshold. Damned thing was stuck. It was like the window between Matt’s bedroom and my living room had been shut and locked.

“Good morning, Faith Anne,” my father said. He appeared suddenly from the living room side of my window, glowering like he had the time he’d caught me sneaking home at dawn after homecoming my sophomore year.

I stifled a groan. This couldn’t be good.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said.

“Dad,” I hissed and glanced over at Matt, who was staring wide-eyed at the vision of my father projected inside his bedroom. He didn’t move, and I wondered if it was because he really was brave, too shocked to think straight, or the most likely possibility—terrified the movement would alert my father to the fact he was naked underneath the sheet.

Regardless, I hoped he didn’t decide to make a mad dash for the door. Running stark naked from my father would not end well for either of us. I’d get a stern talking-to. And Matt? I didn’t even want to contemplate what my father would do to Matt.

“What? Am I supposed to pretend you weren’t out for the entire night, who knows where, doing who knows what?”

“I had a date.”

“I see that. What I’m curious about is what fool is both brave enough and stupid enough to have a sleepover with Satan’s youngest daughter? Does he have some sort of death wish?”

“Dad, I am an adult. I make my own decisions, including whether or not my dates will turn into sleepovers. And I don’t have to run it by you for approval first.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t have a say in certain young men and their appropriateness.”

“And if you, in any way, mess with one of my dates I will personally call Mom and tell her about the trip to Petra you took with Lil and how affectionate the two of you seemed when I met you for dinner.”

My father’s jaw dropped. Then, narrowing his eyes, he said, “You wouldn’t dare.”

I couldn’t help smiling—I had him on the ropes with that one. “Tell your new fiancée, future consort, and the mother of your two grown daughters you went on a romantic vacation with your former consort? You bet your flaming red ass I will, buster.”

“Faith! I’m your father. You wouldn’t do that to me.”

“I would. In a heartbeat.”

“Fine, fine,” he said.

The tension left my shoulders.

“If it weren’t for the fact you’re using them against your own sire I’d be proud of your ability to devise seemingly simple, but still airtight, traps on the fly. But since it is me, we’ll discuss this when you get home, young lady. And by ‘when,’ I mean now.”

“Then quit blocking my phase window and I will.” It was best if I tried to keep up a brave front. Dad couldn’t just show up here and throw my life into complete disarray without consequences.

“No, no.” He smirked. “I don’t think I will. I think maybe you should remember who gave you those demonic powers.”

“So what? You’re going to make me walk over there instead of phasing as punishment?” Really? This was what he was going to throw at me? Oh, the horror. I shall have to walk across the hall.

“Basically, yes.” My father closed the portal with a decisive
snap
.

I growled.

Matt cleared his throat, still frozen in place. “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

Mr. I-Control-My-Own-Destiny wasn’t going to back out on me now, was he? “What happened to ‘screw it’? When I brought up potential death by the Prince of Darkness last night, the fact he might kill you was only a minor consideration.”

“The death part is. It’s the torture and the agony beforehand I’m worried about.”

“There will be no torturing of anyone. Unless it involves you and me, naked, with a bottle of chocolate syrup and a bowl of strawberries,” I said, and leaned in to kiss him again.

A whoosh of air hit my back. Which could only mean one thing. Damn it.

“You always ruin my fun,” my father said. He stood at the foot of the bed, giving him a clear view of Matt and me.

“Dad. I thought we were done talking about this. I’ll be home in a moment.”

“We are done.” My father smiled sweetly. “I wanted to pass along to Mr. Andrews that the block on the use of powers is for the entire building. So don’t even try to sneak out by phasing.”

Subtle, he was not.

“You put a magical block on the entire building?” Matt asked, his voice cracking.

“So if I wanted to use my—” I tried to release my wings, but they stayed stubbornly plastered to my body. Focusing, I tried to let my tail descend, but it, too, stayed where it was. “Damn it.”

“Entire building.” He pointed at Matt and then back to his own two eyes. “So you will have to face me if you intend to get to work today.”

“Dad!”

“Yes, sir,” Matt said, nodding. “But perhaps it would be better if we had this particular discussion without your daughter present, and when I’m wearing pants?”

“Hmm, I do see your point.”

“I don’t.” I turned to focus on Matt. “You don’t need to explain anything to him. He is not a part of this.”

“Faith.” He took my hand and kissed it. “I think this relationship might work better if your father isn’t torturing me in the lower depths of Hell. So if he wants to talk with me, I’m fine with that.”

“Relationship?” At what point had we formally declared this a relationship? Not that I minded, but still. Shouldn’t there have been some sort of memo?

“Misogynistic assholes, both of you,” I said, before facing my father. Better to stay focused on dealing with one crisis, and worry about panicking on the relationship thing later. “Could you give us a moment, please?”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and the portal closed.

“Relationship?” I bent down for a final kiss before going home to commit patricide.

“Misogynistic asshole?”

“I don’t need you to run interference with my dad.”

“And I don’t need my girlfriend’s dad to think I’m too big of a coward to face him,” he said.

I wanted to gag at the stench of testosterone rolling off him. If I wasn’t careful, someone was going to pee on my leg before my parents went home.

“That would be true, with anybody else’s dad. But my dad
isn’t
anybody else’s dad.”

“He’s Satan, yes, I know. Although he has to know I’m going to respect you, but at the same time not cower in fear of him. It’s a guy thing.”

“It’s one step above sniffing each other’s butts.” I rose and walked out of the bedroom. Crossing the hall, I shook my head and tried to focus on the fact Matt obviously saw this as a relationship instead of my father’s sudden decision to take such an active interest in my life.

“Hello, Daddy,” I growled when I opened the door and found him slumped on my couch.

“Honey.”

“Would you like to explain, precisely, and in as few words as possible, exactly what in the combined names of the Alpha and the Omega you thought you were doing?”

“You mean right now? Or a few minutes ago, with the whole
Phasing Into Your Boyfriend’s Room
thing?”

“Maybe you should start with last night.”

“What about it?”

“Why were you sleeping on my couch and not with Mom at the hotel?”

“Full moon.”

“And Mom was chanting.” I sighed and sat on the couch beside him, feeling the tiniest amount of sympathy for the guy. “So why didn’t you sleep in your hotel room?”

“Your mother checked out of her room and moved into my suite. And when I tried to check into a new room, they told me the hotel was booked. Apparently, there’s some sort of conference in town and all the local hotels are full, so I thought I’d come hang out with my two best girls. Except neither one of my girls was here.” His face morphed into a slight pout.

“We went out for drinks,” I said. We’d all agreed not to involve Dad, and I didn’t want to make him suspicious. But I sucked at lying, so it was best to keep my answers brief and fuzzy.

“Good,” he said. “Your sister needs you right now. She isn’t going to say so, of course, but she’s taking this breakup hard and she needs someone to lean on. You two don’t always get on, and I know your mom nags you about it, but you have a bond no one can break. I don’t think your mom gets it, but I do. It was the same for me and my brother, you know.”

“Yeah, Dad, I get it.” I leaned on his shoulder, relaxing into his strength. He infuriated me most of the time, but I could honestly say he’d never stopped at least trying to be a good father. Even if he did have no idea about what was going on in our lives. “But it doesn’t give you the right to scare the shit out of my dates.”

“What? Bassano’s brat?”

“His name is Matt,” I said, my voice taking on a warning edge. “Not the nephilim. Not Bassano’s brat. Matt.”

“Fine. He seemed like a nice-enough boy. Stupid, and obviously suffering a death wish, but nice. Lawyer, isn’t he?”

“Labor law.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Oppressing the little guy, or fighting for him?”

“Fighting for him.” I knew dad didn’t have a problem with lawyers—a good proportion of his tenants were lawyers—it was the
Helping the Little Guy
bit that made him squirm.

“Of course, you’d choose a do-gooder. You were always the one with the soft heart in the family. Always bringing home strays.”

“He’s not some stray, Dad.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard. I heard he struck out on his own, left the Angale.”

“He thinks for himself and he thinks what they believe is wrong. You can’t fault him for that.”

“All right, all right. You really like him, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I said softly. “I really like him.”

“He is a gutsy little shit,” my father said, his voice full of amusement. “If he was talking to anyone else I would have applauded the pants comment.”

“So applaud it.”

“But it’s my daughter he had a pants-optional sleepover with.”

“I love you, Dad,” I said, and kissed him on the forehead, “but I’m going to get a few more hours’ sleep.”

“I love you too, kiddo.” He pulled me into one of his fierce hugs.

For the briefest moment, I thought about blurting out everything and telling him about my crazy stalker, that Tolliver was in love with Lisa and I was pretty sure she was in love with him, too, and the entire crazy mess my life had become lately. But he appeared so happy, so content, I couldn’t ruin it. For one, short-lived minute, we were Faith Bettincourt and her father sitting on my couch. And it felt so good, I couldn’t bring it up and watch him shift from being Dad to being the Devil.

Instead, I walked into my bedroom, intent on a few more hours’ sleep before I had to get ready for my lunch date. “I’ve got lunch plans with Matt.”

“And?”

“You either need to be gone by lunchtime or start working on your ability to play nicely in the sandbox with other young men. Understood?”

“Yes, dear.” He swung his legs onto the couch, laying back and pulling up the afghan to his shoulders.

I rolled my eyes at the sight of my father, the Devil, curled up on my ratty blue sofa, cuddling a watermelon throw pillow and lying under a rainbow-striped blanket. “And Dad?”

“Yes?”

“That magical block?”

“What about it?”

“Not cool. I don’t come in your house and mess with your minions, do I?”

“No, dear.” He rolled over, facing the back of the couch, and tried to fake sleep.

“So remove the block.”

“Done.”

“Thank you. I’m only asking you to show a little consideration. Can you do that?” I knew I was pushing it.

“It will be exceedingly difficult.” He let out long-suffering sigh. “But if it makes you happy, consider it a foregone conclusion. For now, at least.”

Chapter Twenty-two

I awoke to the sight of Malachi hovering over me and yelped.

Who knew why I was shocked, really? More often than not, I woke up with some sort of paranormal being nearby. Usually they weren’t close enough to breathe on me, though. If Malachi could breathe, that is. Which he couldn’t, and that made it even creepier.

“I hear our young nephilim friend has declared himself to your father. Brave. Very brave.”

“Shut up,” I said, burying my face in the pillows. Creepy has a short lifespan with me. He’d now moved into annoying territory. “It’s 10:30, and I have two hours before lunch, which gives me another hour to sleep.”

“I can imagine you need it. You’re fairly reeking of sunshine and cookies. What? Did you bathe in it somehow? You know what? Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I cuddled with my pillow and squeezed my eyes tight. Was it too much to ask for another hour of sleep? “Go away.”

“I would, but your father ordered me to tell you lunch will be at Primanti Brothers today. He thought it would be best for you to call Matt and let him know the family will be joining the two of you.”

I bolted into a sitting position and stared at the demon floating around my room like a manic dust bunny. “Pardon me?”

“Your father said you will be eating at Primanti Brothers for lunch, because it is his favorite restaurant, and the rest of the family will be joining you.”

“On my lunch date?” I repeated, watching him bouncing around my room. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I knew this wasn’t some sort of poorly thought-out joke on his part. They were actually coming to lunch with me. “Dad is hijacking my lunch date?”

“Yes,” Malachi said. He floated to my computer desk and rearranged the papers. “When I asked, he said something about how, if this was a relationship, he felt it was only right for the young man in question to meet your family. Unless said young man has something to hide. And when did this angelic booty call become a relationship? I thought you were done with those? Don’t you think you should have consulted me first? After all, who was it that picked up the pieces the last time you went down this whole relationship road?”

“I am done with those.” Resigned, I fell backward into my pillows. “Well I was. I haven’t really thought about it. I guess a relationship wouldn’t be such a bad thing.”

“Uh-huh, says you,” Malachi said absently. “At least this one didn’t freak out and turn into a gibbering mess when he learned you were a demon. Because I am not looking forward to attempting another memory wipe like the one I tried on the last poor schmuck. It didn’t work and it made me feel all do-gooder-like. And I just can’t handle that clean feeling. The Angale is on his own with his mental demons if he can’t hack it here at Evil Central.”

“Hey,” I said, still defensive about the failure of my last relationship. “That’s not what hap—”

“And he won’t age, so no worries about the whole
Growing Old and Dying
bit.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“But he is the son of an angel, so there’s always going to be that insufferable compulsion to do good,” Malachi said.

“From what I understand, being a do-gooder isn’t a necessary part of being a nephilim,” I said. “His mother sounds like she should be on our side and not the other way around.”

“Really?” That got Malachai’s attention. “Do you think she is?”

“Think she is what?”

“One of us?”

“Excuse me? One of us?”

“Well, your father did send some demons to infiltrate the Angale. It was years ago and most of them failed, but a few never returned. We always thought they were trapped in the Shadow Lands, left with no power and no way to get out.”

“Wait, wait, you’re telling me there are, or were, demonic spies among the Angale?” I pulled a pillow over my face and thought about trying to smother myself. When had my world become so damn complicated? All I wanted was a week off to watch television and sleep.

“You didn’t know that?”

“Until Matt told me he was an Angale, I didn’t think they actually existed. You knew they did, though.” I filled him in on what Matt had told me about his side of the family.

“If Matt’s mom is evil,” Malachi said, “she might actually be a demonic plant, which would explain why he’s so good at being devious.”

“Or you could be a complete nut who’s taken in by a conspiracy theory?” My life was becoming its own reality television show.
Real World: The Paranormal Season
. All we needed was a fairy, two werewolves, and a vampire with sexual-identity issues. It’d be a guaranteed a hit.

“Also a possibility. Either way, I’ve done what your father ordered me to do. Your romantic lunch has been canceled for a
Let’s Meet the Family
one, and now I’m going to get some coffee before I decide what I’m wearing for this little shindig.”

I wondered if he’d wear his Pierce Brosnan getup again. “What you’re wearing?”

Malachi twirled around and, with a great show of drama, let his cowl flare. “You can’t expect me to enjoy the deliciousness of an actual meal in this old thing, can you? No, I was thinking more subtle, but still fabulous.”

“I don’t want to even contemplate.” I closed my eyes and focused on going back to sleep, even though I knew the idea was a bust. “Not until I’ve had a shower and at least one cup of coffee.”

“Fine,” Malachi said. “But you better hurry. Your mother is here, and you know how she is about coffee.”

“She wouldn’t dare.” I jumped out of bed, threw on my bathrobe, and ran into the living room, my bathrobe flaring behind me like a second pair of wings. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have already started brewing one of her nasty ‘herbal blends’ to replace my lovely, precious coffee. Fucking crackpot.

“Good morning, darling,” my father said, smiling brightly. “Coffee?”

Panting, I glanced at the machine and noticed it held the beautiful, black liquid that was my miraculous, life-affirming Kona Select. I sniffed the air, still not entirely convinced. The only way I could know for sure though was—

“I don’t see how you can drink that swill,” my mother said from the love seat, flipping through a gossip magazine.

Yep. Definitely Kona Select.

“It’s horrible for your body. All those chemicals. Do you know that when you die, your body won’t decompose? Coffee prevents your body from returning to Gaia like it’s supposed to, because you’re embalming yourself before you die.”

Beside the point, seeing how I wouldn’t die, let alone decompose. Not that I wanted to get into that conversation first thing in the morning.

I made my way into the kitchen, poured myself a cup, and added the barest hint of milk and sugar. If we were dealing with Mom’s crazy-person lecture on the chemicals, we were both going to need caffeine. Lots of it. “Dad?”

He nodded. “Yes, please, darling. Did Malachi tell you about my decision?”

“He did.” I grabbed a second cup and filled it with coffee. “Black, or cream and sugar? And don’t you think you should have asked my opinion first?”

“Black is fine. Thank you, sweetheart,” he said. “We’re trying to be supportive parents.”

“Please don’t do this.”

“Honey,” my mother said, shooting him a glare that made him wince. “I can’t believe she’s actually roped you into pouring that junk into your body. Do you know how bad it is for your chi? And your cholesterol? Your arteries are probably clogging right now from the smell alone. How you expect to see old age, I’ll never know.”

“Mother.” I took a long drink of coffee. Only she would be worried about the Devil’s chi. Or his cholesterol, for that matter. Neither of which were probably an issue, considering the whole Satan thing. “One, I’m pretty sure it’s fat that clogs arteries and raises your cholesterol—not caffeine. Second, Dad do you even have arteries to clog?”

He held out his arm, his palm facing up, and inspected his vein-free wrist. “No, I actually don’t think I do. How can we tell?”

“I could have Lisa bring home a syringe and I could try to draw blood?” I couldn’t help grin when he shuddered. The Devil hated needles.

“I’ve gone this long without knowing whether or not I have arteries. Ignorance is bliss, you know.”

“Well, even if you did, I don’t think they’d clog.”

“Well, you don’t know that for sure, darling,” my mother said.

“Your mother isn’t convinced I’m immortal,” Dad said, and drank his coffee.

“Excuse me?” I glanced back and forth between the two of them.

Mother flipped the page of her magazine, a smug little smile playing on her lips. “We have no definitive proof your father is immortal.”

“He isn’t dead now, is he?”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said.

Dad tried to hide a smile by sipping his coffee, but his eyes twinkled.

“And just how old are you, Dad?”

“That is a good question,” he said. “And one I don’t feel comfortable answering. Why ruin the debate by giving up the answer? Besides, you should know better than to ask a demon his age. We’re very sensitive about those things.”

“Okay, if you’re done beating around the bush, can we at least agree you’re old?”

“It depends on how you define old.”

“More than 1,000 years old?”

“Of course.” He sniffed, acting offended. “You don’t think I lied to you about my adventures in Ancient Rome, do you?”

“No, of course I believe you taught Nero how to play the violin.” I knew that story was true because I’d seen the violin in his office. He’d even tried to teach me how to play it. Apparently, demonhood doesn’t make one musically inclined. “And that you took a bubble bath with Cleopatra. Why would I ever doubt such things?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Okay, then.” I placed my coffee cup on the kitchen island and turned to Mom. “If Dad is old enough to get raunchy with Cleopatra and teach Nero how to play the violin, I’d say he’s relatively old.”

“I never said he wasn’t an old soul,” my mother said. She lifted her magazine so it covered her face. “I said I don’t think he’s immortal. For all we know he could be as mortal as they come.”

Right. “And his life span? How does that work?”

“He could be a separate species that lives an extremely long time. How do I know? I don’t think we have enough proof to say definitively that he and the Alpha Creator are immortal. It would be against nature.”

“Against nature?” I repeated, my hands on my hips.

“I told you,” my father said in a singsong voice.

“I can’t imagine Gaia would surrender her power so willingly.” Mom slapped the magazine on the coffee table and pierced him with a glare. “She may allow you two to live a long time, but she wouldn’t take them completely out of her Great Stream.”

I gaped. Why had I let this conversation go on? “Great Stream?”

My father widened his eyes and shook his head. “Let it go,” he mouthed.

“Yes.” My mother continued with her crazy and I tried to hide my smirk. That’s what Dad got for barging in on Matt and me this morning. “The Great Stream of Life Gaia controls and that all things flow through. Everything within the Great Stream is connected, but only if they live a spiritually clean life and don’t allow unnatural elements to pollute their bodies or their souls.”

“And Dad?”

“What about him, dear? I’m sure he’s part of the Great Stream. But if the two of you don’t quit guzzling that poison, it’s sure to numb your ability to interact with others and make connections within its healing waters.”

As I took another drink of my precious, numbing coffee, I sat next to her on the love seat. It was time to try reorienting her like any other delusional mental patient. “You know there is no such thing as Gaia.”

“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “She’s the Great Mother Spirit and she controls the Great Stream of our lives. You’ve closed your mind to her because of your backward philosophy.”

“Mother.” I took her face in my hands, felt her tiny spark of life crackling along my skin, and forced her to look me in the eye. “There is no Gaia, no Great Mother Spirit. There is no such thing as fairies, or nature spirits, or anything else. You know that.”

“But—”

“This Wicca offshoot you’ve decided to dedicate yourself to is a bunch of bullshit.”

She pushed my hands away. “It is not!”

My horns poked through my forehead, and my tail descended. I thought about letting my wings come out, but I wasn’t wearing anything beneath my bathrobe. Probably not a great idea to flash my parents to make a point. “Mother, you are engaged to become the wife of Satan. Satan, Mother. You have given him two children, both of whom have horns, tails, and large black wings. We can fly. And phase between places. And my best friend is a succubus who eats men’s souls during acts of sexual depravity—the more depraved, the better. You have personally met the Alpha.”

“So?”

“So, that proves there is no Gaia, no nature spirits, and, more importantly, you know it.”

“I do not know that.”

My father flopped in the recliner with a loud sigh and picked up the remote.

“Yes, Mother, you do.”

“But—”

“Mom, you are not going to pull this crazy today.” The last thing I needed was to subject Matt to her, on top of everything else. Turning to my father, I said, “Tell me you’re not going to let her pull this crazy today. I will agree to let you ruin my date but that’s where the concessions stop.”

He smiled at me. “Your mother will behave. I swear it.”

My mother glared at both of us. “Don’t make promises about things you have no control over.”

“Ruth Anne Wannamacker,” my father growled, his nostrils flaring, his eyes glowing red.

I sat up straight, rethinking my decision to sit next to her.

No one used my mother’s birth name. She decided to take the name Roisin when she was pregnant with Hope as part of her ‘spiritual journey’ and she’d switched to using her mother’s maiden name of Bettincourt. She’d said it was so much easier than bothering to explain the whole
Impregnated by the Devil
thing. But no one—and I do mean no one—called her by her given name.