Despite the fact that Clyde looked as though he wasn’t going anywhere, and with all that duct tape around him, he might never go anywhere again, she wasn’t even a little ashamed to admit, she hated the prospect of violence during expulsion. And if screaming fireballs and iffy attempts at levitation were involved, especially where Marcella was concerned, Clyde was leaving this plane violently if not expertly. It just took Marcella time to warm up.
“Then he chose well, no?” she purred again from deep within her throat, the rasp of her words slow and sensual.
Delaney nudged her with an exaggerated sigh. “Focus, tart. He’s gotta bounce. Where he goes or if he goes with you before he gets there isn’t for me to judge.” Looking down at Clyde, fastened to her radiator with more duct tape than a Home Depot shelf and a circle of thick salt around him to keep him from escaping, her heart began to speed up. What could Lucifer possibly gain by sending him? Unless Clyde was just letting her think he was a lesser demon . . . “Now, suggestions on how to do that?”
Marcella shook her head stubbornly, bracing a hand on the small of her back. “Not until we find out what’s going on. Your message said he came here to bring you back to that scum Lucifer. I want to know why. Is the head badass all of a sudden upset that you’ve kept a few souls from his slimy clutches? Or is he doing this because I help you keep spirits from ending up just like me? That worries me, D. That worries me all the time. That maybe that weenie Beelzebub will exact revenge on me through you. I won’t have it.” She returned her smoldering gaze to Clyde. “So, handsome,” Marcella looked down at him and purred, “spill.”
Delaney reached for the robe she’d left in the corner of her room last night, never taking her eyes off Clyde. The Clyde who’d mastered a very convincingly baffled expression.
Bra-vo, ba-by.
He was crazy tight with the “I don’t get it.”
She didn’t need to hear why he was here. She was almost certain why he was here. To make good on a threat the devil’d made almost fifteen years ago. A threat she’d never shared with anyone but Kellen. A threat that now made her wonder if she’d drawn unwanted attention to her friend who always dropped everything on a dime to help her.
Oh, hellz, no.
Involving Marcella might make an already hinky Lucifer take out his ire on her. There hadn’t been a lot of thought about repercussions when she’d dialed Marcella last night. The last thing her bound-to-Hell pal needed was Lucifer’s attention focused on her.
The last.
He wasn’t one hundred percent in love with the fact that Marcella refused to spread his evil, but he let her be, in favor of bigger havoc to wreak. She was small potatoes compared to most demons, who willingly followed Lucifer. According to Marcella, each new demon, upon creation, came readily equipped with a fireball or two, maybe some levitating abilities, but if you didn’t hone those skills, create chaos on a regular basis, you didn’t get much further than that. Sort of a use it or lose it rule.
Marcella flat-out refused to play demon games, and so far, the horned one hadn’t seemed terribly interested that she helped Delaney cross people over, or even that she’d stopped a bunch of possessions in her time. The theory they’d concocted about Lucifer’s indifference to it was simple. No demon wanted to go back to his level-four Hell boss and tell them they’d screwed up something as simple as a possession or talking someone into their way of life. Don’t ask, don’t tell. What your level boss didn’t know couldn’t hurt him—or, in the end, you. And it couldn’t be reported to Satan.
So Marcella’d become a mere blip on Hell’s screen.
But Lucifer might not be so in the game if he knew Marcella was helping to thwart an effort that had obviously been a long time in the making. One he’d ordered by sending Clyde with a specific message.
If she’d been a trifle concerned last night, that all changed with the idea that Marcella could be hurt. Fear sliced through her—fear and indecision. Delaney put a hand on Marcella’s shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the fact that she was about to tell her a major, honkin’ lie. “Know what, Marcella? Forget why he’s here. In fact, forget I called you. I think I can handle this all on my own.” Her words were clearly unsteady, absolutely unsure, but she wouldn’t risk Marcella’s involvement.