Page 5

Chapter 4

Dinner and a Devilish Show

SJ

“S he’s following,” Beezle hissed at my ear. My chest constricted. “She’s … she’s running. Her skirt is flapping all over the place!”

I almost choked on the mouthful of the surprisingly light and fluffy ringed treat Jemma Bliss referred to as a ‘donut’. A memory appeared in my mind of the scrap of red underneath that skirt when it had flipped around her hips earlier in the day.

Usually, wayward winds were not my friend (because they were more often than not the result of one of Hellen’s tantrums). Today, I was thanking all that was evil for that glimpse of Jemma Bliss’s tiny undergarment.

I forced myself to continue strolling, taking another bite of the donut. A small moan forced its way out of my throat. Whatever the little, slightly crunchy grains were that were stuck to the outside of it, I wanted more of that. Lots more.

She’d followed me. The perky, pink-haired person had followed me.

“Stay cool, Boss,” Bub added, his whiskers tickling my neck.

“Who says that I’m not cool? I’m completely cool. Now, stay under my collar,” I ordered them both through a mouthful. They huddled into the fabric, the tiny claws of their mouse forms gripping my skin. I still was unsure about whether bringing my pet Hell Hounds, with their shifting abilities, had been a good idea. Yes, it meant they could go incognito … but it also meant they’d decided to lurk by my ear in all their mousey glory and rudely remark on my state of mind.

I drummed my fingers on the ridiculously large cardboard donut box.

I hadn’t intended to enact this part of my plan so soon. I had wanted simply to observe what her reaction would be when faced with not being able to fulfil her need for these disgracefully moreish delicacies.

I should have known the second I took that first bite, and the sweetness hit my taste buds, that she would react exactly this way. I had to admit, I probably would, too.

And then she’d licked her lips, watching me chew, her small, lush body splayed out on the grass after colliding with me.

My plan was not yet fully baked.

And still, the urge to act on it was intense. Undeniable.

An electrifying shudder ran down my spine at the thought.

No. Rodent claws were the reason for that tingling. It absolutely wasn’t anticipation.

I reached the far side of the road and turned, striding down the sidewalk, past cafés and bars. I snorted at a store named ‘Angel Blessings’. Humans and their delusional worship of the Heavenly fiends. Blessings were certainly not what those menaces bestowed.

“Hey, you! Douchey, smirking gargantuan!”

My steps faltered at the fury in her tone.

“Ooooh, she’s a feisty one!” Bub squealed.

“Yeah, the demons will have a field day with her soul!”

I let out a low, rumbling growl.

“Silence,” I hissed, continuing to walk as if I hadn’t heard her.

A flash of pink hair and a delicate finger poked me in the chest. Right where I kept feeling that strange fluttering.

“Did you just tell me to shut up?” she demanded. She glared up at me. Her eyes appeared enlarged by her enormous glasses. The irises were vividly blue. Her cheeks were pink, her mouth … also pink … was pursed crossly.

It looked nothing like a cat’s rear end. It looked like …

“Stop glaring at me, you big buffoon! I will not shut up!”

“I-I … didn’t …” I stumbled over my words, unable to tear my eyes away from those pink lips.

“Oh, so growling ‘silence’ like you’re some sort of cartoon villain, that was just you speaking to yourself? Do you often tell yourself to be quiet?”

She poked me in the chest again. The box of donuts tilted precariously, but I managed to save it in time. Her eyes darted to it, then back up to me, blazing with indignant fury.

“You had better be feeding an entire suburb of starving orphans with those!” she snapped. Her chest rose and fell rapidly in her anger.

I tore my gaze away from the parts of her that bounced along, drawing on the devil lurking deep inside this human suit.

“Had I, now?” I smirked down at her, cocking an eyebrow jauntily. I thought I caught a tiny, amused titter from somewhere in the vicinity of my shirt collar. I ignored the wayward Hell Beast who made it.

Her eyes slipped to my mouth, and that tightness in hers melted … for just long enough to make my stomach churn. Or was that the unfamiliar treat putting up a fight against my digestive system?

And then her eyes narrowed. “Yes, because if you had no altruistic purpose … what sort of sadistic lunatic tells the donut guy to use up all his mix, no matter how many it makes?”

“Sadistic lunatic, you say?” I taunted, feeling an odd sense of unbridled glee bubbling in my throat as I slid another donut from the box. I stuffed the entire thing into my mouth. Her lips fell open again, and she watched me chew in fascinated horror.

Which was exactly the emotion that I needed her to be feeling.

“What is wrong with you?” she squeaked. My grin widened when she stomped her little foot to emphasise her words.

I shrugged. “I’m simply a good Samaritan. I did not wish for his mix to go to waste, and the market stalls were packing up for the afternoon.”

“Ugh!” Her hands darted out, clawing into the sides of the giant box, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she grunted, trying to wrestle it from me. It briefly took me by surprise, but she was far smaller and so much weaker than I.

I tightened my grip minutely and watched in amusement as she tugged and tugged and got absolutely nowhere.

“You do … realise,” she puffed, her fingers slipping against the smooth cardboard, “that they can … keep the dry mix, and use it again … next time!”

She readjusted them, tugging harder. I chuckled, cocking my head to the side.

“But then I wouldn’t be having this delightful conversation with you!”

She let out a little growl. “If this is your idea of delightful, you really are a sadist!”

“Oh, Mouse, you have no idea.” The words burst out of me, called forth by some strange urge swirling deep within me.

The two Hell Mice lurking in my collar tittered.

Her eyes widened under her glasses. “Don’t you DARE call me Mouse, you ridiculously overgrown … blond!”

On a mad whim, I leaned closer until my mouth was beside her ear. “What else do you expect me to call you,” I whispered, “when you squeak at me like that?”

Her hair smelled like strawberries. I wondered if she managed to attain that vibrant pink shade by rubbing the fruit on her hair.

That would be ridiculous, though. Wouldn’t it?

A tiny breath left her lips. She loosened her grip on the box. Disappointment zipped through me. Was she really giving up so easily? Things were just getting interesting!

Then her small, warm fingers wrapped around mine.

I almost dropped the box until I realised she was trying to pry my hands away from it. The thrill of witnessing her valiant fight (one which she could never hope to win) bloomed in my chest.

“I’d really love to stay and do … whatever it is you think you’re doing here,” I remarked. “But I have important places to be. With my box of donuts.”

“Just—give me—one! And I’ll leave you alone!” she snarled, her delicate nails, decorated with some sort of sparkling coating, scratching against my skin. I suppressed a shiver.

Her hands were dwarfed by mine. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her creamy skin. What would it look like against the skin of my true form?

We would likely never find out.

“Uh … Boss?” Bub squeaked near my earlobe. “You gonna answer her?”

I blinked, muscle memory taking over. With very little effort, I plucked the box—and my hands—out of her grasp, lifting it above my head. Far higher than she could ever hope to reach.

Unless she climbed me …

The human denims grew tight, and I gritted my teeth. I needed to end this interaction. For my own sanity.

“No,” I grated, my voice gone dark and rumbly. The voice of the devil within. “You will get nothing from me.”

She blinked up at me, and the anger in her expression melted into something forlorn that squeezed my chest.

But this was part of the plan. Deny her the one thing she seemed to want above all others … and see what we could manipulate her into giving up to have it.

I steeled myself against the disgraceful softness that lurked inside me, glowered down at her, and pushed past. I kept walking until we reached the corner. There, I stopped.

“Ooooh, that was some performance, Boss!” Beezle snickered, his little mouse tail curling around the back of my ear. I fought the urge to flick it away.

“Is she still watching us?” I asked softly, pretending I was checking the road for a break in the motorised carriages that zoomed past when really I couldn’t think around the tickling certainty that her eyes were burning holes into my back.

“Her, and about twenty others who just got dinner and a devilish show!” Bub cackled.

“How does she look?”

There was a long pause, during which that fluttering in my chest became urgent, more like a beast trying to claw its way out of me. “Well?” I demanded.

“She looks like she wants to slap you … really badly.” Bub’s teeny mouse voice was filled with glee. “I’d give my soul to see that go down, Boss!”

The clawing feelings eased slightly. She wasn’t upset. She was angry.

Which potentially made my task much more difficult. Unhappiness turned to desperation so much easier than rage. And desperation was something I could work with.

So why did I feel relieved?

I shook my head, turning the corner and ducking into the dingy alley that we had portaled into that morning. I blew out a long breath.

“So, what now, Boss?” Beezle asked, scuttling down my arm and popping out my shirt cuff. “Is she ready to sell her soul?”

I shook my head. “We must follow her. The next few hours may bring her there, but only time will tell.”

Bub’s head appeared at my other wrist. “Hooray! Stalking it is!”

I sighed, rolling my eyes. “Stalking it is,” I agreed wearily. They had been a great help to me today; I would let them have this one little win.

* * *

I could no longer deny that we were stalking Jemma Bliss.

We’d followed her back to the markets, observing from the shadows as she packed up her car and hopped into it with the red-haired sausage dog man from the hospital.

We could have lost her then, except for the delightful accident where I’d sniffed her hair. I had her scent now, and the Hounds could track her.

They stopped at a liquor store, and they both got out. He returned with a tall bottle of something the colour of blood. She was lugging a large box decorated with green grapes.

“A tiny thing like her, drinking that much all on her own? I don’t buy it,” Bub growled. “I bet she’s inviting someone over to share it with her.”

My jaw twitched, and I flexed my fingers, willing away the insane urge to do violence.

Finally, they returned to their dwelling. It was a tall, dilapidated-looking red-brick monstrosity. There was a musty blue sofa, the springs exposed on one side, resting haphazardly on the curb outside.

We watched them park on the street and enter through the ugly glass and metal door before we followed. I wrinkled my nose as we passed the sofa. It smelled of human urine and vomit.

Inside, the foyer floor was a mosaic of chipped tiles, and one wooden staircase led upwards. Beezle sniffed.

“Third floor,” he barked, and we ascended the creaky stairs.

The third-floor hallway was shadowy, only one measly electric globe illuminating the yellowing walls and the threadbare carpet.

“This is a pretty crummy abode!” Beezle commented. I turned to shush him when he stooped to scoop up a discarded, mouldering, crumbly, half-eaten … something into his mouth. “Get it? Crummy … crumby?”

The thing in his mouth disintegrated all over the worn, uneven floors.

Both the Hounds fell into howling laughter.

“It’s very lucky no one else can hear you,” I hissed. “We’re supposed to be incognito right now!”

The door Jemma had slumped through not five minutes before slammed open. Holding my breath, we all melted back into the shadows.

The red-haired man stuck his head out. “Anyone there?” he demanded, his expression dubious. After what felt like an eternity of holding my breath, he turned back into the apartment.

“There’s no one there, Jem. I think you’re hearing things,” he called out, the door shutting and the lock snicking into place behind him.

I glared at the Hellhounds, who looked ready to roll about in fits of mirth once more.

“Don’t even think about it,” I warned, my blood throbbing.

My instincts told me that her soul would be weakest tonight. That the grape juice she had bought would make her extra susceptible to … suggestion.

“We do this tonight,” I whispered to the Hounds, who immediately sat up straighter, ears pricked, eyes bright. Ready for anything. “I need you both inside, reporting back to me. I’ll make the rest happen.”

“Yes, Boss!” they yipped in unison, and before my eyes, their canine bodies morphed, shrank. Fur became a scaly exoskeleton. More legs sprouted.

Two small, black cockroaches scuttled away, slipping under the door to Apartment Thirteen. I settled myself in the shadows, closing my eyes. I had a lot of plotting to do in a very short space of time if I wanted this to work.

I needed this to work.

Jemma Bliss didn’t know it yet, but her soul belonged to me.