“Yeah, and I didn’t make you tell me why. I thought maybe it was because it’d look bad for you in the spirit world if the ghosts knew you were BFFs with a demon. Now I’m convinced that’s not what it was.”
And now for the big guns. The guns she never thought she’d use on someone who’d been one of the best friends she’d ever had. Dead or not. There wasn’t much they hadn’t shared in ten years, and within a matter of moments she’d create a gulf of distance between them that she might never be able to bridge once all was said and done. But if that long-ago threat from Satan still stood, if he’d taken the time and effort to send someone in to whip her like so much cream, it meant he was looking into her life. When he looked, he’d find Marcella. “Marcella. This is me not kidding with you. Go home or I will use the salt. I don’t want to, but I will.” May the forces that be forgive her for even thinking it.
Marcella’s mouth fell back open, her beautiful face openly showing her hurt. “You wouldn’t . . . You’ve never . . . Not even when we first met . . .” Her words stumbled, then failed her.
Delaney steeled herself for Marcella’s verbal outburst—the one she’d have once she caught her breath. Braced herself for the look of angry, hurt outrage Marcella was so gifted at. “I would.” Amazingly, the stutter in her voice she expected to hear didn’t make an appearance.
Yet her longtime friend surprised her, making her final statement a twisting knife in an open wound to Delaney’s gut. “I’m going to say one last thing to you, and then I’ll go, and I promise to never darken your doorstep with my stubborn, mouthy bad-ass self again. You’re the only friend I’ve had in almost seventy-five years as a demon. That’s a long time to be friendless, and I know it’s nothing less than I deserve for doing what I did when I bit the dust. I’ve always known that someday you’d go on to a much better place, and I’d still be here doomed for all eternity. But I made my peace with that because it’s the price I’ll always pay for shun ning Satan, and it’s my own goddamned fault. I would have sa vored our friendship long after you kicked the bucket—I guess I’ll just be doing it much sooner than I’d planned.”
Marcella turned her slender back on Delaney, disappearing into her stunned silence with a gentle fade to black.
She was left in her small kitchen with the wind sucked right out of her, and even knowing she’d done the right thing, the one thing that just might keep Marcella out of trouble, it didn’t make it hurt less. In fact, it hurt far more because Marcella’d left without a screaming match. She’d left defeated, and that was far worse than the spar of some heated words. It smacked of finality and that was something Delaney couldn’t bear.
All because of the demon.
The stupid, fucking, pain in the ass, nagging fishwifey, interfering, clingy demon.
“She’s gone?” Her back door slammed with a gust of October wind and a rush of sniffling, excited puppies.
She looked up at Clyde, his big hand encompassing six leashes, each dog dutifully sitting at attention. His short hair was wind-blown; his sharp cheeks had a healthy tint of color from the brisk autumn breeze. The dogs’ obedience only served to fuel the fire that lit her chapped ass. “Yeah. She’s gone, and you know what?”
“I’m not sure I want to know what, but what?”
“I’ve decided something.”
His eyes grew wary with caution. “Does this decision mean I should prepare myself for the dark and dreary promise of the planes again?”
“No. I’ve decided that today, you’re officially a stupidhead, and you’ve moved to the top of my stupidest stupidhead list. So go somewhere I’m not for the moment and just give me two whole minutes to myself.” She stomped off to her room to dress and simmer, leaving a surprised Clyde standing in her kitchen in her pink bathrobe.
Tears stung her eyes when she threw the bedroom door shut. Logically, it wasn’t really Clyde’s fault she’d had to send Marcella away, but the clench of her heart overruled common sense. If he’d just kept his supposed good intentions to himself . . .
You’d what, ghost lady? Be blindsided without ever knowing what hit you? That’s pretty bright. By all means, crack on the demon for giving you a heads-up. That makes all kinds of sense. If what he says is true, you’d be chicken fried without his input. Don’t shoot the messenger and all.
Okay, so she’d be stewed.
Knowing her enemy was definitely half the battle. Knowing there was an intended battle, better still. And that left Clyde all magnanimous and worthy of things she didn’t want to attribute to a guy she’d for sure thought was evil—lame evil, but evil all the same.
Now something had to be done to figure this out and there wasn’t time to diddle. The sooner she figured out what to do about Lucifer and his wish to see her in his palace of pain, the better off she’d be, and the quicker she’d be able to make amends with Marcella—who’d probably demand some begging and pleading and a shopping trip to Ferragamo.