Delaney moved closer to the woman, squinting her eyes to bring her into focus. “Clyde,” she threatened, “if you breathe the wrong way, I’ll hack your limbs off.”
Moving with cautious steps, she approached the woman. Whoever she was, sucked to be her in that drab dress, wearing a doily on her head. Clearly she was from another century. Though the outfit didn’t ring any history bells with Delaney. The woman’s lips were moving, but the words rang with only the slightest whisper. Delaney leaned in as far as she could to try to catch what she seemed so desperate to say, watching her lips move as she did. “DasKomadasKomadasKoma,” she said, her face filled with a sense of urgency.
Was that German? Oh, fuck. What did she know in German? “Uh, Volkswagen. Oh! Sauerkraut and Wiener schnitzel—oh, oh! And knockwurst. And, uh . . . Der Kommissar!” she shouted as though they were playing charades.
“Falco, 1981, After the Fire, 1983.”
She tilted an ear up at Clyde. “Who? Never mind, demon—shut it. I’m working here.”
“DasKomadasKomadasKoma,” the woman repeated with fierce insistence, extending a hand toward Delaney as though summoning her.
Pinching her temples, Delaney gave them a hard squeeze. “Aww, crap, lady. You are foreign. That so sucks. You know, as a medium, I’ve given a lot of thought to taking some foreign language courses. I’ve had a visit or two from a group of Dutchmen, and once, even some gondola driver from Italy. But I just can’t seem to find the time, ya know? Shit. If you tell me how to spell it, I can go look it up online.” Which was probably ridiculous to ask because the woman wouldn’t understand her any more than she understood the woman. But the image began to fade before Delaney could turn to retrieve her laptop.
Her shoulders slumped. “Damn. She’s gone.”
“And this would be my fault, too, I suppose,” Clyde stated dryly.
Delaney rolled her eyes at him. “No, Clyde, though whatever mojo you have going on is screwing up mine. Did you catch a glimpse of her? Do you know if she was speaking German?”
“Foreign languages were one thing I didn’t tap in my lifetime. And how do you get used to something like that? People just showing up out of nowhere?”
“You mean like you?”
His blue eyes colored with amusement, and he conceded. “Touche.”
“Are you sure you didn’t see her?”
“You did tell me not to move. I listened. And I definitely couldn’t hear her because I was concentrating on not moving.” His tone held a glint of accusation.
Delaney scratched her head, deciding she’d just have to hope the woman came back. “That’s right, I did. Okay. Forget the lady with the sucky dress and doily hat for now. We have other business to attend to. So I have a thought.”
Clyde pulled the throw around his shoulders, letting the ends fall to his lap. “Which is . . . ?”
She backed away, setting her butt on the edge of the stool she kept behind the counter. “Why the fuck do you suppose I’d believe anything—anything—you tell me about your story? You know firsthand that demons are liars. You said that yourself. How do I know you’re not yanking my crank, making me think you’re all jacked up by some mistake so you can hoodwink me and drag me back to Hell with you? Maybe you’re just playing the ‘I don’t belong in Hell, poor me’ story to court me into believing you. So I want an answer. And I warn you—your answer better be really, really solid, or I’m getting the prism and the salt.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Maybe you’re lying?”
“Maybe.”
Her face went slack with disbelief. “That’s all you have to offer?”
Clyde’s lightly bronzed shoulders hitched upward, allowing the blanket to fall to his biceps. “Yep. That’s it. As you said, demons are all liars. I won’t even bother to try and deny the truth of that statement. Yes, I could be lying to you. Yes, I could be trying to pull the wool over your eyes with a song and dance. I’ve tried to explain my situation to you under some abominable circumstances, like the potential loss of my eyesight and the peeling of my skin by way of pillars of salt, but you refused to listen. It’s like beating my head against a brick wall with you. The more I say, the deeper I dig myself. So yeah, that’s all I have to say. But there’s just one more thing.”
Delaney made an arc with her hand. “Please. Do share.”
Clyde’s glance was evasive at first, but then he appeared to gather some steam. His shoulders pulled back, and his eyes held a hard determination she hadn’t seen before this. “I have no intention of leaving this plane without figuring out why I ended up in Hell, Delaney. I have limited time and limited resources. I don’t want to do it, but I will if I have to.”
Her head cocked to the left. “Will what?”
Clyde hopped down from the armoire, his feet slapping the bare floor hard. He caught a toe on the rug, pitching forward for a moment before stumbling to right himself.