Luck of the Devil Page 8

  “She goes every Thursday night and they have dinner together. She claims she has to work at the hospital on Sunday now and can’t go to church with them. So they’ve moved family dinner to the middle of the week to accommodate her work schedule,” he said.

  “Clever. Simple. Believable. And they have no real negotiation room. So who came up with that idea?”

  “That would be me,” I said.

  “I knew it wasn’t her.” Hope laughed, and I couldn’t help giggling along.

  “Anyway,” Tolliver said. “Spill about you and Boris. What’s up with the ‘sort of, maybe together’?”

  “Well, we’re sort of together. It’s complicated.”

  “Yeah, since one of you is a demon and the other one has reformed,” he said.

  I focused on my ice cream. If she decided to flip and kill Tolliver, I wanted to appear as non-threatening as possible.

  “Fine.” She set her empty bowl on my coffee table. “We’re obviously still living together because, well, he’s in the apartment with me. But we’re not actually, you know, living as man and wife.”

  “You mean you’re not sleeping together?” Tolliver asked.

  My ice cream lodged in my throat. They weren’t sleeping together? Hope was living in the same apartment as a male being and not doing the horizontal monkey dance with him? That was something I never thought would happen.

  “Or speaking civilly.”

  “O-kay.” I tried to force down the bite of ice cream, coughing at my burning airway. “So you’re separated?”

  “I don’t want to be. I mean, we had a good thing going. We were working a con, causing mischief, spreading evil, and the sex… well, he’s an incubus, so I won’t even go into the sex.”

  “Please don’t,” I said, still in shock.

  “And suddenly, boom. It’s over.” She sniffled, and I handed her a tissue from the box on my side table. This was serious. “One minute I thought we were perfect and the next he’s announcing he’s fallen up, and, by the way, he’s blown our entire con right out of the water. You know when I was running those cons in college with the cheating husbands?”

  “The ones where you would get them to cheat on their wives and file for divorce before you cleaned out their bank accounts and left them?” I asked.

  “It was like that moment.”

  “What moment?” Tolliver asked.

  “When those wives heard that their perfect worlds were a lie. They never had any clue their marriages were failing, and one day their husbands would come home and tell them it was over and their worlds would completely shatter.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t that bad,” I said weakly, and handed her another tissue.

  “It was just like that. One minute our lives were perfect and the next it was over. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  “Divorce him, let Dad transfer him out of the organization, and score a couple of easy wins,” Tolliver said, and stood to get more ice cream.

  “I don’t know. What would people say if we got divorced? It would look like I couldn’t keep a husband.” She dabbed at her eyes.

  “You love him, don’t you?” I wished she’d quit crying. Storm clouds already amassed outside, and I wasn’t sure what would happen if she really went into hysterics.

  She balled up her fist and growled. Lightning flashed next to the window and thunder rumbled in the distance. “I thought I did, but now I’m just so angry and I want to beat him to a pulp.”

  “You want to stay here tonight?” It was the last thing I wanted, but if merely talking about her breakup with Boris was causing the weather outside to go wonky, I couldn’t imagine what would happen if she had to go upstairs and face him. “Sleep on the couch?”

  “No, I’ve got the bed up there and Boris sleeps on the couch, mumbling and praying all night for the protection and salvation of Brother Ev.”

  “That’s got to be restful.” Tolliver carried a bowl loaded to the brim with chocolate ice cream when he rejoined us.

  “You sure?” The last thing anyone needed was another major meteorological incident. We’d already had hail hit nowhere else in Pittsburgh but my street, and in the middle of July, which had brought its own local news coverage. And with Dad here, we’d have at least one more freak storm in the next few days. The more cranky immortals, the worse it would get and the more people would notice. The more people who noticed, the less likely it would be for us to blend quietly into the background of everyday life.

  “No, but that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go upstairs and go to bed like nothing’s wrong. And tomorrow, I’m going to get up and think of a way to make this up to Dad. He’s pissed, and now I’ve got to come up with some way to get on his good side. Who would have thought one little cult in Idaho would be such a big deal? From the way he’s acting you’d think I was the one who fell up.”

  “It was a cult set up by a demon and their entire Bible was written at the dictation of Bael,” Tolliver said. “Their first four prophets were archdemons, and there’d been a demon running the whole thing behind the scenes, harvesting their souls for over one hundred years. With the spin-off groups spreading the message, the missionary groups, and the tithing, the cult was a major source of food and income. You had to expect he was going to be pissed at the loss. It’s not like you dinged his car, Hope. You lost an apocalyptic, Satan-worshipping cult.”

  “I know.” Her eyes shone red, and a tear hung ominously from her lower eyelashes. Thunder rumbled louder outside, slightly closer than before, and I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her close. When she didn’t snap at me, I knew she wasn’t trying to con anyone by acting like she felt guilty. She knew she’d screwed up her assignment, her life had fallen into ruin, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “I just don’t know how to fix it.”

  “You better quit whining and figure something out.” Tolliver’s red eyes flickered. “And figure it out quick, because the Hellbound won’t be as forgiving as Dad when the food runs short.”

  “So what should I do?”

  Tolliver and I looked at each other, stumped, trying to come up with an idea that would reap big rewards in a short amount of time. His eyes returned to their normal black, and his shoulders slumped. “I got nothing.”

  “We’ve got to find you some low-hanging fruit,” I said. “Cheating husbands, maybe? You were always good at that.”

  “Takes too long,” Tolliver said.

  “Defense attorneys?” Hope suggested.

  “Same issue,” I said.

  “I’ve got it!” Tolliver clapped his hands together. The front door opened and Lisa stepped inside, her arms full of various boxes and grocery bags. “Bad priests!”

  Lisa kicked the door closed behind her and made her way to the kitchen, struggling with the pans of leftovers her mother had sent home for us. “What about bad priests?”

  “We’ll find some for Hope so she can steal their souls,” Tolliver said.

  I tried to think about any bad priests I may have heard about in the neighborhood.

  “Are there a lot of those hanging around?” Lisa asked.

  “Not really,” Hope said. “And they take a bit to harvest. But once you do, they’re a big catch.”

  “We’re trying to find a quick and easy way for her to harvest a lot of souls to get back on Dad’s, and the rest of Hell’s, good side,” I said.

  “Why don’t you go to the prison?” Lisa said.

  I froze, amazed at the genius of what she was suggesting.

  She put the leftovers in the fridge and then grabbed the chocolate ice cream out of the freezer. She opened the carton and peered into it with a pout. Instead of grabbing a bowl, she snagged a spoon out of the dish strainer and dug in. “Aren’t those guys basically doomed to begin with?”

  “Not necessarily,” I said. It was simple. Basically foolproof. “Some of them are murderers, rapists, that sort of thing—but the petty guys aren’t necessarily on the expres
s train to Hell.”

  “But they’re already halfway over the line, for the most part,” Tolliver said. It was a brilliantly simple plan. She’d just need a way in.

  “Hold up.” Hope held her hands in front of her. “Back the crazy train right up. I’m not going to prison. I look horrible in orange, and Dad will flip if I get arrested.”

  “Why would you get arrested?” Lisa asked. “They’d put you in a women’s prison and there isn’t one of those nearby.”

  “So how am I going to get into a men’s prison?”

  Lisa took another spoonful, shrugged, and said, “The State Prison System puts up flyers at the community clinic. They’re looking for volunteers to go in and teach classes for GED programs and life skills, things like that.”

  I smiled. She could pull it off. It was so simple a newborn imp could do it. “You have a communications degree, and good communication is a life skill.”

  Tolliver’s eyes were the size of silver dollars and glistening with excitement. “And they wouldn’t let the violent offenders in the class. It would be low- and medium-security prisoners. And those are the guys you’re targeting.”

  “They aren’t necessarily ours, but they are easy to corrupt,” Hope said.

  “And you could use your ability to inspire unholy lust as the final tipping point to secure them,” I said, knowing how much she enjoyed using that particular skill. It was her signature move.

  “Yes!” She stood and marched toward the door, her platinum hair crackling with static as the entire apartment grew bright. Outside, the black clouds dissipated, making way for the sunshine.

  “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “Taking control of my life.” She raised her fist in the air. “I’m going upstairs to tell Boris exactly what I think of him and his stupid ideas. Then I’m going to bed so that bright and early I can volunteer to teach a class in communication and public relations at the prison to help those poor, unfortunate suckers get their lives on track. And once that’s done, I’m going to plan how I’m going to harvest their souls in an unholy orgy of wickedness to feed Hell for a month and make everyone forget about that stupid cult!”

  “All right,” Tolliver said, clapping his hands in delight. “We have a plan.”

  “We have a plan,” Hope said, and stalked regally out the door.

  “Apparently, we have a plan,” I said. A surprisingly good one. As long as she could pull it off. “And with that, I’m going to bed.”

  My door popped back open and my sister stuck her head in the room. “Hey, Faith?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Our car is a rental, and it’s in Boris’s name, so I can’t really keep driving it with the whole separated thing.”

  No, she wasn’t even suggesting what I thought she was suggesting. “And?”

  “I’ll just take your Civic tomorrow, okay? Since you’re on vacation, you won’t need it or anything.” Hope snagged the keys off the table next to the door, twirling them around her index finger. Apparently, she was suggesting what I thought.

  “But how am I supposed to get around?”

  “Well, take the bus, silly. Or just don’t go anywhere until I get back. Duh.” She closed the door, taking my car keys with her.

  “Why can’t she take the bus?”

  Tolliver chuckled and patted me on the back. “Because she’s Hope and Hope is evil? It’s late so I’m going to bed myself. ’Night all.”

  “But I’m evil,” I said as he started to fade.

  “No, you’re a wimp.” He faded out of sight before I could open my mouth to protest.

  “I am not!”

  “Of course you’re not,” Lisa said.

  I turned to look at her, my jaw working, but no sound coming out.

  “Just ask that beauty-school student who screwed up your highlights. You only left her a 10 percent tip instead of your usual 20 percent. That’s pretty wicked.”

  I groaned. “Oh man, I am a wimp.”

  “But thankfully, we went back the next week and got the instructor you really like who redid your hair for free. So now you’re a wimp with really cute highlights again.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Chapter Eight

  My cell phone woke me the next morning. Who was calling me at the obscenely early hour of—I glanced at the clock on the bedside table—9 a.m. on a day I didn’t have to work? I grabbed the phone and flipped it open before flopping back on my pillows. “Yeah?”

  “Faith? Oh, thank God I caught you,” Sally, the head of human resources for Rogers Hospital, trilled through the phone speaker. Her fake Southern accent jangled my nerves. Why did women try to fake Southern accents? They were only cute on actual Southerners because actual Southerners were the only ones who could pull them off without sounding like jackasses.

  “Sally?” I mumbled. “What do you want? I’m on vacation. Remember?”

  “Oh, I know, honey, but we’ve got a bit of a situation and we need you to come in. It’s about that thing we discussed yesterday.”

  “The thing? Could you be more specific about which thing you’re talking about?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are we talking about my formal complaint about Harold’s inappropriate behavior, or the missing medication I reported?”

  “We’re taking your complaint very seriously, Faith, but that process takes a bit of time. Unfortunately, we need you to come in to talk about the missing medication issue today.”

  “Right, right. What is it that you need from me? Another statement? I did my drug test and submitted to the security check of my belongings yesterday. You should have all the results in your inbox.”

  “We’ve got those,” Sally said quietly. “And the statement you gave to the security officers and the head of nursing.”

  “So?”

  “Faith, I hate to tell you this, but two young men died last night over at Presby.”

  “O-kay.” Young men died every night at Presby Hospital. Usually through tragic circumstances. Presby was the main hospital serving Pittsburgh’s inner city and while it wasn’t busy like New York Metropolitan or L.A. County Hospital, it still had a booming business in young men with violence-related injuries.

  “They died of drug overdoses.” Once again, I wasn’t surprised but stayed quiet. Obviously, this was leading somewhere important. Or at least I hoped it was. “From morphine.”

  “And?” My stomach dropped. It wasn’t completely unheard of for someone to die of a morphine overdose, but it was one of the narcotics I’d reported missing, in large quantities. “They found more morphine bottles in the boys’ clothes.”

  “It’s ours, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, it has our serial numbers and labels still on it. You were right—someone is stealing morphine.”

  “Shit.”

  “Funny, that’s the same thing Doris said.”

  I tried not to laugh at the thought of our straitlaced head of nursing cussing. The woman routinely acted as Mrs. Claus for local Christmas programs and events. Then again, there weren’t too many words that could sum up this situation. And all of them were what a Sunday school teacher would have considered bad.

  “So what do you need me to do?”

  “Well, the police are looking into it and, because you were the one who reported the medication missing, they need to talk with you. They’ve agreed to wait until after you’ve made another statement to security, but they’re asking for your cooperation. And while we have the right to search your locker at any time without your consent… ”

  “Doug in security doesn’t like to do it that way,” I said.

  “Especially since you were so good about it yesterday.”

  “Let me get dressed and I’ll be in.”

  “They’ve agreed to come in about 10:30, so if you could be here a little before then, it would be really helpful. And again, I’m really sorry about this.”

  “Don’t be, Sally. It’s part of the job. I’ll see you in less th
an an hour.”

  “Wait,” she said hurriedly. “Dr. Turnbow asked me to find out if you wanted one of the hospital’s lawyers present during your police statement. He wanted you to know we all stand behind you and we’re sure it will be cleared up in no time.”

  “I hope so, too. But I don’t need one of the lawyers. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll just go in, make a statement, and that should clear everything up.”

  “Exactly.” She sounded cheerful, but it was forced. Someone in our hospital was taking medication from sick children and selling it to people on the street. We hadn’t managed to catch them before those drugs killed someone. Once this was over, someone’s medical license—and his or her head—was on the surgical table.

  “Right,” I agreed, and hung up. I slid out of bed and stretched, letting my wings unfurl before I focused on lapsing into my human visage. No way could I take a shower and make it to the hospital within an hour, even if I had my car. I would have to phase in behind the alley again.

  Scurrying around the room, I tugged on a nice-looking red cami that was cut lower in the back to accommodate my wings, jerked on a pair of black trousers, and threw a baggy black hoodie over the whole mess. Jamming my feet into a pair of black London Sole flats, I grabbed my purse and opened the bedroom door.

  “Oh, sweetheart.”

  I heard my father moan and I turned the corner, coming face to face with him sitting on my couch, dress pants around his ankles, and my mother face down in his lap. And, oh my God! Was her head actually moving? Oh, yuck, it was.

  “Agghh,” I yelled and turned away, throwing my hands over my eyes. “What are you doing? Actually, never mind. I know what you’re doing. And I really didn’t need to.”

  “Honey,” my father choked out. “We thought you were sleeping in today.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” I said, rubbing my eyes and trying to get the mental picture of what I’d just seen out of my mind.

  “We didn’t think you’d notice,” my mother said.

  “You’re giving Dad a blow job on my couch.”

  “Well, dear, your father and I have a chemistry together that’s just instinctive.”