would never have justice.
“Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber, 1970, I believe.”
She raised a bewildered stare at him.
“You said Jesus Christ Superstar,” he offered reasonably, the sudden directional change in conversation appearing completely normal to him. “It was an album, then a musical—”
This demon . . . “Yeah, yeah. Broadway. I got it. Okay, how about we move on? Because if I linger over what you just told me, I’ll never sleep again.”
Clyde cupped his jaw, then ran his hand up and over the planes of his face to scratch his dark head. “Right. Anyway, I switched the files because I knew it meant coming back to this plane or whatever you call it if I did. I need to find out what happened the day I died, Delaney. I was a chemical consultant doing freelance research, for God’s sake. I was about as tame as the Dalai Lama. I wouldn’t hurt someone physically or otherwise. Ever. ”
Said the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Maybe. “And how did you die again?”
Everything about his demeanor changed with one sheepish grin. “I wasn’t the most coordinated man . . . I had an accident . . .”
“Clearly. But there’s more . . .” she coaxed. Because there always was with Clyde.
“Uh, I blew myself up.” He held up a hand to stop her from what he must have known was coming next. “I know, I know. The particulars of what I was researching are probably far more detailed than you’d care to hear and about as evil as a newborn kitten. Just know I did something unbelievably stupid, and I should have known better. I was always careful, if not about my paperwork, that’s what Tia was for, anyway, then definitely about my surroundings and my chemicals. But I sure didn’t intend to end up dead—so forget the suicide theory I just know is milling around in that pretty head of yours, and nothing about what I was doing for research was diabolical or important to anyone of importance, if that’s where you’re headed next. So I took this mission because it put me back here on Earth, first and foremost, but I also took it because there’s no way I’m living out an eternity down there . I don’t know that in life I was much of a believer in Heaven and Hell and everything they teach you in catechism because it just isn’t logical to me, but in death, I believe.”
Yeah. Death had a way of conforming nonconformists.
And the demon had called her pretty. Christ, was she so hard up for male attention she’d preen over it when it was served up by a demon? “And again, who says you couldn’t have made this all up? I hate to keep bringing up the treacherous deceit your kind are known for, but wellllll, I have to look out for my ass, too. Ya feel me? For all I know, this biz about me and Clyve and Chihuahuas is all just so much crap.” No doubt she wished the bit about little Katie was just that. Crap.
“And again, I’d have to agree. But if that wasn’t enough, there’s more.”
“Wow. How much better does it get than when a demon says he’s here to convince you Hell is the new Paris?”
Clyde snickered a deep chuckle. “You know, sometimes, you’re pretty damned funny.”
Delaney slapped her hands on her thighs and nodded. “Yeaaaah. I’m a fucking riot. All the demons say so. I have to have a sense of humor or I’ll go batshit in my line of work. Now get on with it before I lose my patience again.”
Again, Clyde looked around with caution as if someone might hear what he was going to relay.
Delaney’s reaction was to reassure, stemming from years of guiding spirits, a reaction she couldn’t seem to help. “It’s okay. I can feel an entity for the most part—good or bad. It’s just you and the entity you are, for the moment. No worries we’ll be overheard.”
The intake of breath Clyde sucked in was long-winded, the stiff set of his shoulders relaxing but a hair. “They talk about you in Hell—that’s how I recognized your name on the file, too. I’ve only heard short
“Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Webber, 1970, I believe.”
She raised a bewildered stare at him.
“You said Jesus Christ Superstar,” he offered reasonably, the sudden directional change in conversation appearing completely normal to him. “It was an album, then a musical—”
This demon . . . “Yeah, yeah. Broadway. I got it. Okay, how about we move on? Because if I linger over what you just told me, I’ll never sleep again.”
Clyde cupped his jaw, then ran his hand up and over the planes of his face to scratch his dark head. “Right. Anyway, I switched the files because I knew it meant coming back to this plane or whatever you call it if I did. I need to find out what happened the day I died, Delaney. I was a chemical consultant doing freelance research, for God’s sake. I was about as tame as the Dalai Lama. I wouldn’t hurt someone physically or otherwise. Ever. ”
Said the wolf in sheep’s clothing. Maybe. “And how did you die again?”
Everything about his demeanor changed with one sheepish grin. “I wasn’t the most coordinated man . . . I had an accident . . .”
“Clearly. But there’s more . . .” she coaxed. Because there always was with Clyde.
“Uh, I blew myself up.” He held up a hand to stop her from what he must have known was coming next. “I know, I know. The particulars of what I was researching are probably far more detailed than you’d care to hear and about as evil as a newborn kitten. Just know I did something unbelievably stupid, and I should have known better. I was always careful, if not about my paperwork, that’s what Tia was for, anyway, then definitely about my surroundings and my chemicals. But I sure didn’t intend to end up dead—so forget the suicide theory I just know is milling around in that pretty head of yours, and nothing about what I was doing for research was diabolical or important to anyone of importance, if that’s where you’re headed next. So I took this mission because it put me back here on Earth, first and foremost, but I also took it because there’s no way I’m living out an eternity down there . I don’t know that in life I was much of a believer in Heaven and Hell and everything they teach you in catechism because it just isn’t logical to me, but in death, I believe.”
Yeah. Death had a way of conforming nonconformists.
And the demon had called her pretty. Christ, was she so hard up for male attention she’d preen over it when it was served up by a demon? “And again, who says you couldn’t have made this all up? I hate to keep bringing up the treacherous deceit your kind are known for, but wellllll, I have to look out for my ass, too. Ya feel me? For all I know, this biz about me and Clyve and Chihuahuas is all just so much crap.” No doubt she wished the bit about little Katie was just that. Crap.
“And again, I’d have to agree. But if that wasn’t enough, there’s more.”
“Wow. How much better does it get than when a demon says he’s here to convince you Hell is the new Paris?”
Clyde snickered a deep chuckle. “You know, sometimes, you’re pretty damned funny.”
Delaney slapped her hands on her thighs and nodded. “Yeaaaah. I’m a fucking riot. All the demons say so. I have to have a sense of humor or I’ll go batshit in my line of work. Now get on with it before I lose my patience again.”
Again, Clyde looked around with caution as if someone might hear what he was going to relay.
Delaney’s reaction was to reassure, stemming from years of guiding spirits, a reaction she couldn’t seem to help. “It’s okay. I can feel an entity for the most part—good or bad. It’s just you and the entity you are, for the moment. No worries we’ll be overheard.”
The intake of breath Clyde sucked in was long-winded, the stiff set of his shoulders relaxing but a hair. “They talk about you in Hell—that’s how I recognized your name on the file, too. I’ve only heard short
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