Chapter Nine SPURNED
Sixt had her people clear her meetings for the day, which wasn’t easy because there was a quarterly board meeting in the afternoon and lunch with the ambassador from Namibia to discuss adding diamond mining to the WC6 lengthy list of enterprises.
“Give the Board apologies and tell them there will be a very nice end of year bonus for the trouble of delaying a day. Any of them who don’t keep a place here, get them a suite at the Waldorf and whatever else they want. Show tickets. Drivers. Just do it,” she told the handsome young man who was a CEO’s dream of a guy Friday.
Carlton never missed a beat. Nothing threw him off track. He was as efficient and unemotional as a robot and could work magic, at least the human variety. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a professional tone that was the envy of every other CEO that rated a mention in Forbes.
Once her agenda was free for the day, she spent the morning planning. She’d worn a shin length black dress because she thought it offset her red hair and coloring and paired it with red fuck-me heels. She’d agreed to no touching, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the demon know what he’d passed up. Twice. Even though the contract had nothing to do with that.
She’d given Graydon the sort of surprise every employee dreams of; paid vacation until further notice that included the equivalent value of his residence, an expense account, and an extremely generous bonus. The only condition was that he had to be packed and gone before noon, all personal items removed from his quarters, which were to be prepared for immediate occupancy by someone who would be temporarily taking his place.
Graydon was speechless. At least that was the conclusion Sixt drew after watching him stare at her without saying a word. “Graydon? Are you speechless?”
“Yes.” He nodded then blinked three times. “I think perhaps I am.”
“Get in touch with Carlton. He’ll arrange credit cards for your expense account and bank transfers to deposit your salary monthly. I will expect you back when I call.”
After Graydon got hold of himself and processed the offer, he grinned in a way that Sixt would have said wasn’t possible for Graydon. “Yes, ma’am. I will report for service when I hear from you.”
“Good.”
“And thank you.”
“Pisssh. Have a fine time.”
“Yes, ma’am.
“Go see Paris.”
She sat at her desk and began to compose some guidelines for how their time together would be spent. As her hands went to the keyboard, she was gripped by an intuitive feeling that her list should be composed the old way. Pen. Paper. Cursive. Before the turn of the nineteenth century, she’d learned to listen to her intuition. It rarely spoke out of turn.
So she shoved the keyboard aside and reached into a side drawer for paper that resembled parchment, at least in looks, and a felt tip pen that wrote with the fluidity of thought. She lost track of time as she labored to cover all the bases, as baseball fans would say. When she’d embarked on her present occupation, she’d bought a range of companies and reorganized them under the present conglomerate, WC6. It was a person according to the Supreme Court. That thought always served to remind her why humans were so dangerous. They were insane.
It hadn’t taken her long to understand that she couldn’t conduct business in America without speaking the language of sports metaphors, which is largely the language of men.
The corporate world of money and power was a challenge that had held her interest for a time, but it was nearing the end of usefulness to her. Sixt lost interest in pursuits every twenty years or so. Conveniently that was the length of time before moving on would be prudent, lest the inevitable questions about her unchanging appearance arose.
She didn’t feel a shift of air or hear a sound, but she knew when Deliverance arrived. The change in energy could only be described as electric.
Her eyes shot upward and locked on the demon who was leaning casually against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. And, even after so long, she remembered instantly why she’d once thought he was surely singular among all creatures ever created.
In simple jeans, scruffy boots, and a midnight blue Henley, he took her breath away. Just as he had two and a half centuries before. The last time they’d met.
Deliverance came into being so perfect physically as to be dazzling to the eye. But magnetism requires more than dazzling good looks. Magnetism requires a dose of something else so esoteric as to be both unnamed and indescribable. It is a quality, an essence, possessed occasionally by humans, but always by incubi.
It is that unnamed elusive thing that makes it almost impossible for women to look away when an incubus is in their presence. Unless a woman is girded with the armor of having found her own true love, her heart and eyes are filled with such longing that she may experience a sense of loss when the incubus takes leave and is no longer within sight.
Witches are no less likely to fall victim to the attraction of incubi merely by virtue of being witches. If anything, their exaggerated range of experience would be likely to make an encounter all the more intense. Because, as everyone knows, for witches pain is more painful, joy is more joyful, desire is more consuming, and sorrow is more debilitating. If a witch happened upon an Abraxas demon such as Deliverance and fell victim to his appeal, misfortune would likely follow.
Such was the case with Sixt.
For several hundred years Deliverance had lived according to the typical habits of an incubus, occasionally selecting a lover and bestowing upon her delights of the flesh remarkable enough to inspire great art and works of literature. In that way, one could almost make the claim that sex demons are muses of sorts.
Sixt was young and impulsive when she’d cursed Deliverance. Like Deliverance, she was no longer young, but gave that appearance, having chosen to use some of her gift on long life and a youthful look.
“Demon,” she said simply.
Deliverance gave nothing away. His expression was guarded, unreadable, as his eyes traveled over the part of her that was visible as she sat behind her desk, and back to her face.
In a flat, emotionless tone, he replied in kind. “Witch.”
“You look good.”
He smirked and said, “Wish I could say the same about you.” Truthfully, he thought she looked as delectable as a display of French chocolates in a glass case. He wasn’t sure why that thought had crossed his mind. He liked chocolate once or twice a year, but not enough for it to come to mind unbidden.
Deliverance knew women well enough to know that negative comments about personal appearance pierced straight through the heart. And he was out to hurt the witch who’d hurt him.
He had to give it to her though. If it hurt, she didn’t show it. That meant she had pride. He filed that away for future reference. There would be a way to use that against her. He was sure of it.
“Don’t you owe me something?” he said.
“You mean the curse?” She chuckled. “You’re as out of touch with your feelings as a human, Deliverance. Do you feel uncomfortable?”
His cold demeanor wavered as confusion flashed across his beautiful face. It resolved quickly when he realized that he did, in fact, feel… comfortable. At ease in his skin for the first time in so long. He wanted to laugh out loud, from the sheer joy and relief of it, but would never give her that satisfaction.
He dropped his arms and sauntered toward the window. “Seems you’ve done well for yourself.”
“Hmmm,” she said noncommittally.
“What does WC stand for?”
“Wylie Coyote.”
“No.” He shook his head. “That’s not it.” He brightened. “Got it. WC for British toilet. Water closet.” He smiled. “Do I get a prize for guessing? Something like, oh, release from this farce?”
She matched his smirk. “You might as well get comfortable because you’re not going anywhere. And, if you think you can hurt me with words, you’re mistaken. Or maybe naïve.”
He smiled. “I know.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s witch cunt, isn’t it?”
She barked out a sharp laugh. “Yes, demon. You found me out. I named my company witch cunt. Now if you’re done with the word games, let’s get on with establishing some ground rules.”
He flopped into the chair nearest her desk. “I’m not good with rules. Actually I’m kind of surprised you don’t know that. Seems like most witches worth their brimstone would.”
“You’ll be good with rules or you’ll leave with a curse. And let me make myself crystal clear. This was a onetime offer. Fuck this up and you’ll never get another chance at freedom. Are we clear?”
Sixt watched his nostrils flare slightly as he glared with dark eyes that flashed with an inner light. She was thinking that she could never get tired of looking at him, not even his mean face.
His eyes flashed in anger, but Sixt wasn’t afraid. She was fascinated.
“Crystal,” he said through clenched teeth. “I keep my bargains.”
“Good. As do I. So ground rules.”
His eyes dipped to the paper in front of her. He gestured to indicate that he was waiting.
“When I’m not at the office, you will be available to me. To do whatever I ask.”
“No touching.”
“That was agreed. Like you, I keep my bargains. I will arrive home around six in the evening.”
“Every day? Seven days a week?”
“Five days a week Monday through Friday. You will spend time with me for up to four hours a day, as per contract. Weekend hours will be determined.”
“Will they?” He lowered his eyelids to half mast, clearly able to sustain anger for longer than a few seconds at a time. “What does ‘up to’ mean?”
“It means that sometimes I may not have that much time.” She cocked her head. “Or that much patience.”
“And what will we do for this ‘up to four hours’?”
“If I stay in, you will be my companion. If I go out, you will accompany me. You will converse with me while I dine in or out. We might go to movies. Or theater. Or ballet.” He snorted. “Maybe we’ll watch TV. I heard that you like fifties reruns. Especially I Love Lucy.”
“Who told you that?”
“Your charming granddaughter.”
“My granddaughter can be charming when she doesn’t have a big mouth.”
“Hmmm. Well, there are lots of things to do in the world.”
Deliverance harrumphed. “As I’m considerably older, I would know that better than you. However, interesting pastimes are limited when you’re restricted to one dimension.”
“No doubt. You will also be on the premises at night, seven nights a week, while I’m sleeping.”
“Why?”
“No questions. You will also accompany me when I travel. You can use your own mode of transportation if you wish.”
“What is it that you hope to gain from this?” Deliverance said with more impatience than he intended to divulge.
“I said no questions, but since you asked so nicely I will tell you that my motives are my own,” she said without hesitation, which meant she’d anticipated the question and decided how to answer it before it was asked. “The household staff will come during the day, but will be gone by the time I’m home for the evening. At night, only you and I will occupy my apartment. There is a butler’s residence within the penthouse that you are free to use as you see fit.”
Actually, one of Graydon’s duties, if not the principal requirement, was to live in and sleep there at night. Ashes kept Sixt from feeling alone, but she never felt completely secure unless a two-legged person was there at night; meaning a person who was two-legged more often than four. She knew it was unrealistically phobic, and she knew the entire world would have a good laugh if they knew a Fortune 500 CEO was afraid to be by herself at night, but childhood trauma is highly resistant to cure and often it flatly refuses to die.
Sixt needed to know someone else was there in order to relax completely. And sleep.
“Oh? I can have guests then?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then you need to decide what is meant by ‘as I see fit’.”
She flushed. “I meant that you can… decorate it any way you wish.”
Deliverance looked at her like she was insane. “Decorate it.” He repeated the phrase drily then laughed softly while shaking his head. “You intend to keep me as an unwilling pet.”
“No. I do not. You’re free to go whenever you wish, but the curse will reattach itself the first day that you fail to adhere to the rules.”
“Tread carefully, witch. When you seek to enslave a demon, you are playing with fire in the truest sense of the phrase.”
“I will abide by the terms of the agreement we struck. I expect you to do the same.”
“To the letter of the contract. If you ask for more, the deal and the curse will be nullified, whether the time is done or not.”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“I doubt that.”
“You’re thinking that I’ll get tired of your bullshit and kick you out.” He smiled wickedly. “To express the challenge in modern terms, bring it on.”
He laughed. “Mark my words. You will rue the day you picked a fight with me.”
She cocked her head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
He raised both eyebrows. “Should I?” She looked away quickly to hide her flush just as realization swept over him. “Did I hurt your feelings somehow? Spurned you maybe? And all of this was because you felt slighted?” He was sounding a little incredulous. “All this time… If I didn’t know what I’d done or who I’d done it to, how do you imagine your curse was a fitting reaction?”
“I’m not saying it was well thought out.”
“Then why didn’t you release me? Or at least tell me what I’d done. That would have been too just? Too merciful? Or just too much trouble?”
“None of those. I was young… in witch terms.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not that young. A curse that works on a demon, especially one that attaches and follows everywhere, takes power.”
“I didn’t say my power was pitiful. I said I was young.” She was getting flustered. The demon had been there for less than twenty minutes and had already managed to flummox her. Not going the way she’d planned.
“You may as well tell me what I did. Personally I think I deserve to know.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you tonight at dinner.” She rose from her desk. “Right now I want to show you around the apartment. Get you settled in.”
“Settled in.” He repeated those two words with such venom that she almost had second thoughts.
Almost.
“Yes. Would you like to ride or walk?”
When she rose and walked around the desk, he got a look at her from head to toe and whistled at the red shoes. Not the shapely ankles.
“You would walk in those? How far?”
“A few blocks. And no. If we’re walking, I will change shoes. And what would a demon know about the tortures of high heels?”
He lowered his chin and locked gazes with her. “I’m an Abraxas demon. An incubus. I know a lot about women. All kinds of women.” She flushed again. “Ah. Ah. Ah,” he said in singsong. “Looking, but no touching. Meaning that you cannot touch me. Even if my proximity gives you feverish fantasies and feminine wet dreams.”
“Are all incubi so smug?”
“When it comes to sexual desire, yes. Of course. You do understand that I’m a sex demon. Right?”
Since the question was rhetorical, she ignored it. “I know the rules.”
“Simply reiterating.”
“Understood. Walking it is.” She put the red shoes in a bottom drawer and withdrew a pair of charcoal gray cross trainers. After lacing up, she said, “Shall we?”
He motioned for her to proceed ahead of him. She pulled the strap of her one-of-a-kind Italian designer messenger bag over her head so that she could wear it cross body. Safer on the streets of New York.
As they made their way to the elevator, Deliverance drew the attention of everyone who looked up in time to see them, just as she’d known he would. It seemed to her that he went out of his way to smile at her female employees, who either blushed or looked like they might swoon. Fucker, she thought, though she knew jealousy was beyond silly. She had no right or cause to be possessive of the demon. She was no longer the young witch, practically an adolescent, who had cursed him impetuously without real regard or understanding of consequences. Truthfully, it had slipped her mind until the pretty demon-witch had confronted her.
Yes. She’d taken advantage of the opportunity to see the demon squirm up close and personal. Was it playing with fire, as he had said? Oh yes. And she knew it, but the prospect was too juicy to resist.
It was a beautiful Indian summer afternoon as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. She could have used a light sweater, but didn’t have one so she was motivated to walk faster than usual. With long legs that made for long strides the demon had no trouble keeping up. In fact he made it looked effortless to the point of boredom.
“How long since you walked on the streets of New York?”
“I think I may have strolled to Twenty-One in the thirties, but I can’t be sure. I’ve been afflicted with an addiction curse and, as everybody knows, they interfere with memory.”
Sixt sighed and said nothing else until they reached her building. The doorman smiled and Sixt stopped to introduce Deliverance.
“Riley. This is my new butler, Del.”
The doorman couldn’t help allowing his eyes to run over Deliverance. It was clear that he was having a hard time hiding his true thoughts, that the Fortune 500 CEO had hired a boy toy, but he made an effort to look nonplussed. “Good afternoon, sir.” He nodded to the demon.
“Del will have a key to the elevator, of course. Please see that everyone is aware that he’s to be given full permissions.”
“Of course.” Riley held the door open while they passed through.
In the elevator, Deliverance said, “A key to the elevator?”
“Did you expect me to say that you’ll be poofing in and out?”
“Poofing?” He suppressed a chuckle as soon as he realized he was about to give in to the impulse. He had no intention of allowing the witch to believe he was okay with the arrangement on any level. He had every intention of making her life as miserable as his had been. For her the year and a day would be a cakewalk compared to what he’d do to her when his sentence was up. He smiled to himself at the visions that formed.
“Welcome home.” It wasn’t meant to sound sarcastic, but that’s how Deliverance took it. A comfortable cage is still a cage. She gave him a tour of the penthouse and told him to make himself at home. “You’re free to come and go,” she said, “just as long as you respond to my call at any hour of the day or night.”
“What is that?”
She followed his line of sight to Ashes who was presently curling herself around a door jamb.
“It’s a cat.”
“No. It’s not.”
“What do you think it is?”
He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know, do you?”
“She’s my familiar. Has been for a very, very long time.”
“Hmmm.”
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t think she likes you either.”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like… her.”
“Well, she made it clear that she’d prefer you not occupy our space.”
“Did she now? How did she ‘make that clear’?”
Sixt gave him her most engaging smile, which was very engaging indeed. “Witchy secrets.”
“Whatever. You going back to work?”
“Want me to?”
“If it means you won’t be near me, then of course I want you to.”
“Wow. That hurt.”
“Good.”
“Okay. I get that you’re mad.”
“You think?”
She sighed. “We’ll eat in tonight.”
“Whatever.”
“Is that one of your favorite words?”
Deliverance looked at Sixt like he’d love to throw a fireball and incinerate her where she stood. He looked that way because that’s exactly what he was thinking. “That word is a favorite of just about everybody.”
“Okay. To answer your question, I’m not going back to the office, but I will leave you alone. I’m going to change clothes and work from home. I’ll be in my study, which is the room…”
“I know where it is. I got the Cook’s Tour. Remember?”
“I do.”
Having had as much bitter repartee as she could stand for the moment, Sixt left Deliverance standing in the kitchen. He reasoned that his four hours hadn’t commenced. Reluctantly, he established a connection to the witch so that he would know when she called, and be able to return instantly.
The thought ‘dog whistle’ caused the humiliation to burn even more deeply. It pierced through his softer side and crystallized his resolve to make the witch pay. He was one of the most powerful creatures to be found in the grand scheme of things. It was bad enough that the witch had made him a slave to addiction for two-plus centuries.
The insult of being a demon on a leash hardened his heart until it was cold as stone. The fact that the leash was held by a pretty, redheaded witch would not distract him from his new purpose, his mission.
He would bide his time. For a year and a day. And savor the pleasure of planning his revenge.
When the witch retired to her study and closed the door, he disappeared.
She emerged a few minutes past six. Reaching out with her senses she knew she was alone in the apartment. Though she would never have admitted it, on some level she was relieved. She went to her closet straightaway and changed into lounging clothes, which meant gray leggings, and a nubby silk lavender tunic.
She opened the refrigerator to see what had been left for her dinner. Salmon salad. A basket of fresh garlic toast was on the table set for one. She selected a bottle of red wine from the wine closet, then said, “Deliverance.” And waited.
In a few seconds the demon appeared next to the table.
Ashes was startled enough to let out a yeowl that would put a howler monkey to shame. That was followed by a spit-laden hiss. When Deliverance snapped his fingers, a candle-sized flame extended from his pointer finger. Seeing that, the cat decided to retreat by backing up, never taking her eyes away from the ‘intruder’.
“I didn’t order for two because your, um, granddaughter said you rarely eat. If you’re hungry, I’ll share.”
After giving Sixt a contemptuous look, he said, “I’m. Not. Hungry.”
“Alright. Well, sit and keep me company.”
He gave a little bow from the waist and said, “Only because I have no choice.”
When both were seated, he stared out the window.
As Sixt was putting her napkin in her lap, she said, “Would you mind opening the wine?” Deliverance didn’t move a muscle and didn’t take his attention away from whatever he was looking at. “Deliverance?”
“What?” he looked at her.
“The wine.”
“It’s open.”
She looked at the bottle sitting next to her goblet. Indeed it was open. The cork stood on the table next to it. “How did you do that? I didn’t hear a thing.”
Deliverance took in a deep breath. “I suspect there are a thousand things about demons that you do not know, arrogant witch. You may have overreached. Ever heard the expression tiger by the tail?”
A light came to her eyes when she smiled, but Deliverance told himself it wasn’t attractive in the least. Nothing about her was attractive. In the least.
“You think of yourself as a tiger, demon?” She laughed.
“Why is that funny?” he said defensively.
“Because,” she poured half a glass of wine and took a sip, looking at him over the rim as she did so, “tigers go to sleep dreaming of being demons.”
He crossed his arms over his middle, having nothing to say to that.
“So what were you up to this afternoon?”
“If I understand our arrangement, and I believe I do, I’m not obligated to account for my personal time.”
“Personal time,” she repeated. “No. You’re not. I’m just making conversation.”
“The only conversation that holds interest for me is the conversation you promised.”
She finished chewing the bite of salad in her mouth and set her fork down. “This is really good. You sure you don’t want a taste?”
He didn’t know if she’d intended a double entendre, but thought he’d better address it. “Just to be clear. There will never be a time when I want a taste.”
She took another bite and smiled slightly. “Never is a long time.”
“I would know that better than you. How old are you?”
“So you can ask me questions?”
He shrugged. “You’re free to decline to answer. As am I.”
“I don’t mind answering. I’m three hundred ninety-seven years old.”
“You’re a child,” Deliverance said. “A child playing with matches.”
“Whatever.” She took another bite. If she’d been needled by his comment, she gave no appearance of it.
“A good word, whatever. Are you going to tell me why I was cursed? I believe I have a right to know.”
“A right?” She looked at the ceiling as she took another drink of wine. “I wouldn’t take you for the sort who believes in such things as rights, or fairness and the like.”
“I’m not an idealist. In general, I don’t believe in those things. But when it comes to me, I’m very clearheaded about what’s right and wrong.”
She laughed out loud. “Do you mean to be funny or are you just naturally entertaining?”
It infuriated Deliverance that the witch found him amusing. The last thing he wanted was to amuse her.
“I can be very entertaining when I want to be. This is not one of those occasions. Are you going to tell me or not?”
She raised a shoulder. “Sure.” She set her wine glass down. “It was Paris. I hadn’t been there in a long time, but had returned for a visit believing all those who might recognize me to be long dead. I didn’t stay long because it was all very distressing. The suffering. The tension. Humans get out of sorts when they’re cold and hungry.
“I’d been living in Denmark for a time and had grown close to the court there. Close enough to have been given a title by marriage.”
“You sold yourself?” the demon sneered.
“In a sense. It was arranged by a friend. My husband was old, infirm, bedridden, and too demented to know if he occupied this world or the next. I gained a useful title and a useful fortune without having to give up a thing.”
Deliverance had to admire that, grudgingly. She’d made a deal worthy of a demon. Just as she had with Rosie, come to think of it. “What does this have to do with me?”
“For somebody so long lived, you’re short on patience. What’s the hurry?”
He huffed, then said, “Go on.”
“My husband died within six months. I took my title…”
“Which was?”
“Duchess of Schleswig. And my expanded fortune and went to Paris expecting it to be much the same as when I’d spent time there before. But things had changed. The city was swollen with tension. The people were hungry, cold, and hopeless while the rich engaged in obscenely lavish and decadent costume parties.
“The French court made me welcome and invited me to a ball honoring Jefferson.”
“President Jefferson.”
“Well, he wasn’t yet President at the time. I found the party tawdry and distasteful, but Jefferson’s description of America, presented with persuasive passion sparked an interest in seeing the New World. That, combined with the fact that the American Revolution was perhaps contagious. Revolt was in the air and, since I had the means to avoid it, I decided to do just that.
“The next day I booked first class passage to Boston. The trip was miserable.” Her eyes drifted to Deliverance. “You wouldn’t know about such things. Between the sea sickness and the primitive conditions… Ugh. The smells. And leers of sailors.”
“But you survived.”
“Yes.”
“And, apparently the myth that witches can’t cross water is untrue.” He was being facetious and she knew it, but she laughed anyway.
“I’ve always wondered how the purveyors of that idiocy thought witches had traveled to New England.” She shook her head. “When humans are afraid, they become as illogical as dogs.”
When Deliverance said nothing to that, she continued. “When I arrived, I checked into a hotel and spent a couple of weeks recovering before venturing out. I was in search of some enterprise to maintain the nest egg I’d gathered between my own endeavors and my late husband’s fortune. Of course maintenance is a worst case scenario. Growth is always the goal.
“I hired an escort to accompany me on my venture shopping. An Irish fighter. He was every bit as unattractive as he was large, but that served to enhance his purpose. Even ruffians don’t want to get crossways with a monster. Of course, I was fully capable of using magic to protect myself, but extranormal occurrences always draw attention. I’m sure you know about that.”
As she sipped wine, Deliverance didn’t confirm or deny the truth of that. So, again, she continued without encouragement.
“After a few weeks of having a good and thorough look around, I concluded that a dockside tavern would be the most lucrative investment. The world, even the New World, was not yet ready for women entrepreneurs or business owners.” She laughed. “Well, hel. The world is barely able to continue spinning even now when a woman amasses the means to be independent.
“By that time I’d repeated the silent ownership model many times, hiring men to be the face of my businesses, sworn to secrecy that the owner and real manager was none other than moi.
“Selection of those persons, whom I thought of as my masks, always depended on the business. If I wanted to appeal to women, I chose a ladies’ man. If I wanted to appeal to men, I chose a man’s man. In the case of the tavern, I wanted to nurture a reputation for gritty with a hint of dangerous.” Sixt chuckled. “I called it The Harbor Harlot. We didn’t offer prostitute services, but the name had a ring to it along with a strong suggestion that you wouldn’t take your mother there on Sunday.
“Now, MacNamee, my Irish fighter, had been good enough in his day that he’d managed to keep a few brain cells. He was considerably smarter than he looked. Sufficient brains paired with his fearsome looks was the exact right recipe for a Boston bar intended to attract ruffians and sailors who’d just come off a sea voyage and been paid. When I offered him the job, he was so grateful he got tears in his eyes.
“I found a property in the perfect location, where sailors had to pass by to go to and from ships, and set about converting it to its best possible presentation. During the renovation, MacNamee was learning bartending. I’d paid a bar owner some distance away to teach him everything about running a drinking establishment. During the final days before opening, he interviewed bar maids while I sat at a table in a darkened corner far enough away to seem harmless, but close enough to make a judgment call about suitability. I’d give him a nod or shake of the head.”
“Are we coming to what this has to do with me sometime this millennium?” Deliverance clipped.
“I see you have no appreciation for storytelling.”
“Not really.”
“Every ‘I Love Lucy’ is a story.”
He smiled with unmistakable meanness. “And yet those stories managed to be interesting.”
Sixt smiled. “That hurt, demon. Just hang on to your big girl panties. I’m almost to the part where you come in.
“MacNamee hired people to keep the drink flowing. We had a kitchen and two cooks, but our customers had more interest in getting sloshed than replenishing a vacancy of nutrients. He also hired two thugs who looked the part as bouncers.
“Sometimes I’d stop by to observe and see how things were going. I like to stay close to the operations of my investments. I’ve found that business doesn’t thrive when owners lack interest.” Deliverance made a circular motion with his hand. “So a corner table, out of the way, but with a vantage point of the entire establishment, was reserved for the bouncers. That’s a modern term. We called them peacekeepers.
“Anyway, I would sit at their table. That was perfect for me because I could see everything and no one would think to approach.
“One night my eyes were drawn toward the doorway. And there you stood. Maybe I was curious because I sensed you’re a demon.
“Your eyes cast around the room and came to rest on me. Just as you had drawn my interest, I’d drawn yours. The sense of being near another non-human, I guess. I got up and walked toward where you stood, not really knowing what I was going to do or say.”
She paused and smiled softly, a faraway look suggesting that she was reliving the moment. “You whispered in my ear, ‘Come walk by the water with me tonight.’ I think I was probably helpless to do anything but agree. I said I’d get my cloak and be right back.
“That’s what I did. I told MacNamee that I was leaving and said to compliment the cook on the meat pie. But when I returned you were nowhere in sight. I stepped outside. Something, I don’t know what, drew me to turn to the left. I walked a few paces, but spotted you soon enough. Fucking some human against a wall in the darkness.”
Deliverance’s head angled to the side. “Jealousy?” After a few seconds the demon threw back his head and laughed. When it was out of his system, he said, “We’d barely spoken, but you were vindictive enough to rob me of choices for centuries?”
Sixt had acted impulsively and flung a curse at the demon without thinking it through. Because it had been fueled by the strong emotion of hurt combined with petulance, it was powerful. And stuck.
After having spent time crafting fairy tales, Sixt believed she understood consequences and, at that moment, thought it would be a righteous use of magic to give the demon what he apparently wanted. Sex all the time. Without respite.
MacNamee gave her a curious look when she stormed back to the table she’d just vacated, still seething at having been passed over, thinking, He couldn’t wait three minutes?. The tavern stocked very little wine, but kept some for her. She ordered a glass and fumed while she drank. After a few minutes of cooling off, she had second thoughts about the hex she’d hurled at the unsuspecting demon. She decided it was, perhaps, a little bit of an overreaction.
She returned to the street to find him and reverse the curse, but he was gone, leaving behind no way to find him. She didn’t know his name, didn’t even know what kind of demon he was. It was a lesson on impetuous behavior for Sixt at the expense of Deliverance. Although she still spoke without thinking, occasionally, she’d never after used her power in irresponsible ways. At least not intentionally.
When the time was right, she would confess her crime to the demon and beg his forgiveness. Meanwhile, she shrugged and lifted her glass. “Like I said. I was young.”
He shook his head. “Look, I don’t know why I snubbed you. I actually have a thing for witches. Maybe she needed attention more than you did.”
“Needed attention?” Sixt laughed, beginning to feel a little less bad about the hex. “Are you hearing yourself?”
“Like I said, there’s a lot you don’t know. Like that incubus demons are good at sexual healing.”
She burst into laughter. “Okay. That clinches it. You apparently do not hear yourself.”
He was clearly offended. “It’s a calling. Unmated Abraxas demons fix people. Women,” he added, just in case he wasn’t being clear.
“Fix people. Uh huh.”
“Believe what you want. I’m sure I thought you were pleasant-looking at the time. If I didn’t know that you’re a black-hearted bitch, I might find you marginally attractive even now. But I do know what you are and I also know this. The punishment did not fit the crime. Instead of binding me to this ridiculous servitude and depriving me of freedom for yet another year, you should be begging forgiveness and asking what you can do to make up for the wrong that’s been done to me.”
It was odd that the demon had voiced her very plan. She looked around for Ashes, wondering if the cat was telepathically transmitting, carrying tales.
“Well,” Sixt said nonchalantly, “like you said, it’s easy to believe you see right and wrong clearly when it’s being applied to you personally.” She rose and took her dishes to the sink. “So tell me, how did you get your name?”
His body language left no doubt that he would not be answering that question. “Let me go. End this foolishness. I’ll tell you how I got my name and then we’ll go our separate ways. No harm. No foul. One time offer.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Very generous,” she said sarcastically. “You’re dismissed. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll be more agreeable.”
Deliverance couldn’t decide which word made him angrier, dismissed or agreeable. Both made his teeth grind together hard enough to create sparks like they were made of flint. Understanding that the only way out was through, he vowed again to bide his time with as much reserve as he could muster. Rosie was right. What was a year, really, relative to the long free-from-hex life he had still ahead?
He smiled at the witch in a way that left no doubt that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking and disappeared.
At thirteen minutes past three, Deliverance was passing the time studying dark web tactics on Graydon’s computer when he heard screaming. At first he thought the security system was going off, announcing an intruder, but after another second of listening, he realized it was Sixt.
Within seconds he was standing by her bedside watching her live through some terror in her sleep. The cat, Ashes, was curled up in a French bergere chair nearby looking on, but making no move to wake the witch who sustained her magically.
The scene should have delighted him. After all, seeing the witch experience discomfort to the extreme was exactly what he wanted. Wasn’t it? Impulsively, without the self-analysis the situation deserved, he reached down and shook her. Perhaps a tad rougher than necessary.
Sixt immediately stopped screaming and opened her eyes slowly.
She didn’t seem the least afraid when she saw Deliverance standing by her bedside. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Her voice was raspy. Sexy. He didn’t know if that was from sleep or screaming, but he felt the stirring of interest against his crotch seam and it infuriated him. He’d had enough sex to last a thousand demons a thousand lifetimes. The choice to not engage in sexual activity was a luxury he’d been dreaming about for a very, very long time and, for the moment, he was very content to be abstinent as a monk.
He mused that, if Sixt could interest him, it was a clear sign that it might be time to consider resuming normal Abraxas behavior. He couldn’t be interested in his persecutor otherwise.
“The matter is not with me, but with you. Some kind of nightmare I suppose. You were screaming loud enough to wake the dead.” He glanced at the cat. “And that thing just sat there. You should read it that story about the cat who saved his mistress from the Mount Vesuvius volcano.”
Without moving her body, she swallowed, blinked a few times and said, “Thank you.”
Deliverance didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to do the witch a service, much less a kindness. And he certainly didn’t want to be thanked.
The demon scanned the room, not that he hadn’t been there before. He’d looked at everything in the penthouse at various times when Sixt was at the office and he was feeling curious. He told himself he was doing research.
“Don’t bother me again. I’m busy,” he said just before disappearing.