pain of battle for one last round, have Devina win, and rule Hell as one.
Win-win-win-win.
Instantly, her hideous true self disappeared and the plump young flesh of that model she’d killed back in the eighties sprouted from every atom of her disgusting form, her biddable-beddable-beautiful mask back in place again.
“Oh, Jim,” she whispered. Tears were still flowing, the red drops falling onto his cheeks, but now she knew nothing but joy. “My love … you’re doing it for us.”
God, this was such a poignant moment, she thought, bending down and sealing his warm lips with her own. And how fucking great that it was happening in front of Sissy.
She glanced up and smiled at the virgin. “To think he would risk so much just to be with me. Love is so inspiring.” Then she focused on Colin and ditched the Barbara Cartland moment. “So you’re saying he needs help getting back with Nigel in tow?”
“No.” The archangel’s oddly colored eyes narrowed. “I do not believe he can get back a’tall.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one passes from Purgatory without the permission of the Creator. You know that. Whether or not he can find Nigel is the least of his concerns.”
Cue a dose of cold, hard panic. Which was absolutely, totally not relieved by the silence that followed.
After a long moment, she glanced at Adrian. “You have something of mine.”
“Do I.”
“A book,” she muttered grimly. “Your friend Eddie took it from me—by the way, how
is
he doing? Still hoping for some kind of an Easter miracle? A risen-from-the-dead deal for him?”
The goddamn angel gave her nothing. Not even a facial tic. “Easter’s long over. And what book are you talking about?
Our Bodies, Ourselves
, maybe? No … in your case, probably a
Walking Dead
comic, right.”
“Fuck you, Adrian.”
“We tried that a couple of days ago, and it didn’t work for me, did it.”
The memory of her on her knees, trying to suck off his limp dick, made her snarl. “Maybe you’ve just lost your edge.”
“More likely your appeal is up in smoke. But we digress. What book are you talking about.”
The way he arched a brow was such disrespect. And she almost went at him with her bare hands, but she didn’t want to disturb her lover—
“I have the book.”
As Sissy spoke up, everyone looked at her. And Adrian started cursing. “Sissy, shut the fuck up—”
The demon smiled. “Yes, you know the one. Don’t you.”
As the demon and Sissy locked eyes, Adrian dragged himself off the floor, his body aching like he’d gotten a hot-stone massage using a tire iron. “Sissy,” he hissed. “Do not—”
But he couldn’t get across to her fast enough.
Sissy went over and picked up the ancient tome from where it had fallen, righting its pages and reclosing its cover from having been blown open.
“So this is yours,” she said.
Devina’s black eyes sparkled as she stared up from her Mary Magdalene-with-the-dead-Christ routine on the floor: With Jim’s head in her lap and his body splayed out, she had arranged herself with portrait-like precision—but he could give a shit about her Agnolo Bronzino moment.
“Sit down here,” Devina purred, indicating the floor beside her.
“Sissy,” he snapped. “Don’t go over there.”
“There’s nothing in here about Purgatory.” Sissy didn’t look in Devina’s direction and didn’t make a move toward her. Thank fuck. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been reading my work?” the demon asked.
“No one else knows Latin.”
“It’s not written in Latin.”
Sissy shot a glare over. “Fine, whatever, I’ve been able to make it out, okay.”
“Interesting.” Devina leaned down and whispered something in Jim’s ear. Then laughed as if she and the dead guy had shared a private joke. “And as for Purgatory, I haven’t been there, so of course I didn’t write anything about the place.”
Man, Adrian was thinking seriously of throwing himself out the nearest window. And
Win-win-win-win.
Instantly, her hideous true self disappeared and the plump young flesh of that model she’d killed back in the eighties sprouted from every atom of her disgusting form, her biddable-beddable-beautiful mask back in place again.
“Oh, Jim,” she whispered. Tears were still flowing, the red drops falling onto his cheeks, but now she knew nothing but joy. “My love … you’re doing it for us.”
God, this was such a poignant moment, she thought, bending down and sealing his warm lips with her own. And how fucking great that it was happening in front of Sissy.
She glanced up and smiled at the virgin. “To think he would risk so much just to be with me. Love is so inspiring.” Then she focused on Colin and ditched the Barbara Cartland moment. “So you’re saying he needs help getting back with Nigel in tow?”
“No.” The archangel’s oddly colored eyes narrowed. “I do not believe he can get back a’tall.”
“Excuse me?”
“No one passes from Purgatory without the permission of the Creator. You know that. Whether or not he can find Nigel is the least of his concerns.”
Cue a dose of cold, hard panic. Which was absolutely, totally not relieved by the silence that followed.
After a long moment, she glanced at Adrian. “You have something of mine.”
“Do I.”
“A book,” she muttered grimly. “Your friend Eddie took it from me—by the way, how
is
he doing? Still hoping for some kind of an Easter miracle? A risen-from-the-dead deal for him?”
The goddamn angel gave her nothing. Not even a facial tic. “Easter’s long over. And what book are you talking about?
Our Bodies, Ourselves
, maybe? No … in your case, probably a
Walking Dead
comic, right.”
“Fuck you, Adrian.”
“We tried that a couple of days ago, and it didn’t work for me, did it.”
The memory of her on her knees, trying to suck off his limp dick, made her snarl. “Maybe you’ve just lost your edge.”
“More likely your appeal is up in smoke. But we digress. What book are you talking about.”
The way he arched a brow was such disrespect. And she almost went at him with her bare hands, but she didn’t want to disturb her lover—
“I have the book.”
As Sissy spoke up, everyone looked at her. And Adrian started cursing. “Sissy, shut the fuck up—”
The demon smiled. “Yes, you know the one. Don’t you.”
As the demon and Sissy locked eyes, Adrian dragged himself off the floor, his body aching like he’d gotten a hot-stone massage using a tire iron. “Sissy,” he hissed. “Do not—”
But he couldn’t get across to her fast enough.
Sissy went over and picked up the ancient tome from where it had fallen, righting its pages and reclosing its cover from having been blown open.
“So this is yours,” she said.
Devina’s black eyes sparkled as she stared up from her Mary Magdalene-with-the-dead-Christ routine on the floor: With Jim’s head in her lap and his body splayed out, she had arranged herself with portrait-like precision—but he could give a shit about her Agnolo Bronzino moment.
“Sit down here,” Devina purred, indicating the floor beside her.
“Sissy,” he snapped. “Don’t go over there.”
“There’s nothing in here about Purgatory.” Sissy didn’t look in Devina’s direction and didn’t make a move toward her. Thank fuck. “Nothing.”
“You’ve been reading my work?” the demon asked.
“No one else knows Latin.”
“It’s not written in Latin.”
Sissy shot a glare over. “Fine, whatever, I’ve been able to make it out, okay.”
“Interesting.” Devina leaned down and whispered something in Jim’s ear. Then laughed as if she and the dead guy had shared a private joke. “And as for Purgatory, I haven’t been there, so of course I didn’t write anything about the place.”
Man, Adrian was thinking seriously of throwing himself out the nearest window. And
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