The Road To Hell. Jackie Kessler

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СКАЧАТЬ my gaze away from the symbol burned into the floor, I glanced around the living room to see if anything else screamed “An Infernal Presence Was Here.” The black leather sofa and matching armchairs sandwiched a glass, black-framed coffee table—Modern Chic as defined by Ikea. Against the opposite wall, the black entertainment center housed a television, a stereo, and roughly a million CDs and DVDs. Over the sofa, three Nagels hung suspended, dressing up the white walls with stylized half-naked women. I always thought Paul had a fine eye for art.

      From the look of the room, anyone would think the only visitor here lately was the cleaning lady. As long as they didn’t look down.

      The hardwood floor was a smoking mess. Smack dab in the center, the pierced heart glowed faintly with dying red embers, giving it the illusion of winking. I gnawed my lower lip as I stared at the symbol. If Paul saw that when he came home, he’d…

      Blinking, I realized I had no idea how he’d react. Just because we knew each other’s bodies intimately and wanted to do the growing-old-and-gray thing together, that didn’t mean I could read his mind. But given that the love of my life was a cop, I had a nagging suspicion he wouldn’t just shrug off a symbol burned into his living room floor as the price one paid for living in New York City.

      Throwing one last look at the ruined floor, I scurried into the tiny kitchen and grabbed the receiver from its cradle on the wall. Wireless phones: proof that magic was all around us, slumming as technology. I hit the star button, the number 1, and then the talk button.

      A moment later, a warmth-inducing deep voice said, “Paul Hamilton.”

      “Heya, sweetie.”

      “Hey.” I heard the smile in his voice, and it made my nipples ache. Bless me, he had such a sexy voice…and that smile, ooh…“I should be out of here in five, ten minutes.” His words were punctuated by the clacking of fingers on a keyboard. That’s my Cabin Boy—quite the multi-tasker. “Just have to finish up a bit more paperwork.”

      “That’s okay,” I said, grateful that he’d missed the Erinyes. That would have made for an uncomfortable moment, to say the least. Paul, meet Alecto, Fury of Unceasing Anger. Mind the snakes—they bite. She’s here to take me back to Hell. By the way, I used to be a succubus.

      “Say, I was thinking about bringing back some Chinese.”

      “Great,” I said. “Listen, there’s something wrong with the floor.”

      “Maybe some moo shu chicken, a couple egg rolls.”

      “Fine. About the floor—”

      “Or maybe Szechuan wontons. I know you like them hot enough to melt your tongue.”

      “Sweetie, the floor’s sort of messed up.”

      “Damn.”

      Biting my lip, I ventured, “But I’m sure it can be fixed…”

      “I just erased my last two paragraphs. Stupid keyboard.”

      Huh?

      “Look, Jess, I have to go. I keep screwing up the wording on this report. At this rate, I’m never getting out of here.”

      “But what about the floor?”

      “Call George. I’m sure floors are part of the call-the-super list.”

      “Um, okay.” I wondered whether George would consider erasing a smoking, charred glyph as overtime. “I’ll do that.” Now that I thought about it, did I really want Paul to get involved in Alecto’s scheme, whatever it was? Non, nyet, nein, and fuck no. I shouldn’t have called him at all. Okay, I’d have George help me hide the symbol. No symbol, no questions from Paul.

      “Hon?”

      “Yeah?”

      “What’s wrong with the floor?”

      “Um. It’s probably nothing. Just some scratches.” In the pattern of a heart run through with a sword.

      “Scratches can be fixed. Definitely call George. Star nine on speed dial. Let me go so I can finally get out of here and pick up dinner for us.”

      “Thanks, sweetie.”

      “Love you.”

      That never failed to make my toes curl. “Love you too.” A ridiculous, lovestruck grin smeared across my face as I hung up the phone. It felt perfect.

      Paul Hamilton loved me. No matter how bad my immediate future looked, for the moment, all was good.

      That’s the crappy thing about good moments. They never last.

      Five minutes after I called George, the man himself stood in Paul’s living room, scratching his head as he looked at the symbol. The super was one of those pear-shaped men that always look like they’re wearing a girdle but really aren’t. His paint-splattered overalls emphasized his curves in ways that would make Jessica Rabbit jealous. While his body wasn’t exactly a paragon of manliness, his mocha skin looked delicious enough to slurp. Beneath a white baseball cap, he had mounds of black hair. I wondered if it was soft or wiry, how it would feel as I ran my fingers through it.

      I shook my head. Bad former succubus. No lookee, and definitely no touchee.

      But ooh, his hair was so black that it gleamed with blue highlights. Maybe he had blue-black hair all over that pear shape. Maybe he was more like a kiwi, furry outside and so succulent and juicy inside…

      Argh. Mental head slap. I’m a human. I’m in love with Paul. And I’m definitely not going to think about having sex with a man who had more curves than me.

      “Weirdest thing I seen since I been working here,” George said, his accent a consonant-twisting combo of Brooklyn and Boston. “You say you found it like this?”

      “Yeah.”

      “And it wasn’t like this before you got in the bath?”

      “No. I heard a noise, which is why I got out of the tub. And boom, there it was, right there on the floor.” Minus the visit from one of the three Furies, of course.

      “So someone snuck in, burned that into the floor, and snuck back out, all before you got out of the bath.”

      I did the Bambi Eyes thing. “Yes.”

      “Huh.” His gaze slid to my cleavage. “You want, you can get dressed while I look at this closer.”

      Whoops. I glanced down at my towel. Between being a demon of sex for four thousand years and working as an exotic dancer here on the mortal coil, I was used to parading around barely dressed. Actually, I preferred it. I kept forgetting that most people felt uncomfortable when they were naked.

      Mental note: Learn modesty.

      Looking back at the scorch marks, he asked, “You know who did this?”

      “Nope.” Lying believably was one of those demon traits that I didn’t lose when I became human. Maybe I should go СКАЧАТЬ