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Undead and Unforgiven(91)

By:MaryJanice Davidson


“I might not have had control over how that went, or what happened after. You, though. You’re almost trainable, and occasionally close to being bright. And you know what they say.” One eye closed in a slow wink. “The devil you know, right?”

“Ugh.” Overdone, but it was all I could think of to say. Then: “So all those times you said you were praying on one of my ideas, you were never praying.”

“Duh.”

“We’re done,” I decided. I turned to check with my friends. “Unless you guys had anything to add?”

I never saw so many heads shake so quickly: no, nope, definitely not, we’re good, carry on.

“I’ll leave when I’m damned good—”

“You were never good.” I took a deep (unnecessary) breath. It helped. Kept my knees from shaking, anyway. I’d half wondered if at this point in the festivities, we’d be fighting to the death again, or if the devil would have just tossed me out of Hell on my toned butt. “I want you gone. I want you away forever.”

“You can’t—”

The archdiocese directory wasn’t the only thing I’d studied. “I command you, demon. Get you gone from here. Leave Hell behind, now and forever.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.”

I drew myself up and, unlike the Ant, didn’t need pineapple-colored hair to look imposing. “You are cast out. Get you gone!”

It wasn’t at all dramatic. She’d didn’t explode, or vanish in a flash of light or a puff of brimstone, or let loose with a cackle like Maleficent and stay right where she was. She just faded. She got lighter and paler and her expression went from pissed to surprised to astonished to frightened and she just faded away.

You know the saying “you could have heard a pin drop”? Not this time; at least a thousand people were murmuring and gasping. You couldn’t have heard a platoon of pins dropping.

“Oh, good,” I managed. I turned so my back was to the damned, so I was facing my family and could let my expression relax. “I was kind of afraid that wouldn’t work.”

“What was that?” Marc managed. “Did you look up some kind of spell book?”

“No. It’s from The Eyes of the Dragon. You know, Stephen King?” At their combined incredulous gazes I added, “What? I don’t do magic. And it’s not about the words, anyway. It’s about the will. My will. Which reminds me.” I turned to the king of the vampires, who looked equal parts staggered and proud. “About Hell: I got this. Okay?”

“Yes, dread queen.”

“Okeydokey, then.” I turned back to the damned. “Lawrence, could you come over here for a second?”

He was on his feet at once, and if he was nervous about Satan 2.0 calling him out in front of everyone, he didn’t show it. He looked as he had when he was one of mine (although he still was, but this time not as a vampire): dark suit, carefully groomed, immaculate. When he got close he dropped to one knee. “Majesty,” he murmured at the floor.

“None of that,” I said and stepped forward to seize him by the armpits and ungracefully haul him up. “Sinclair, you were asking about Lawrence. Here he is.”

“My king,” he said, smiling.

“My old friend,” Sinclair replied. They clasped hands in a vigorous handshake, the way older men did when what they wanted to do was hug.

“Lawrence, Sinclair was telling me all about you—your old nickname was Never-Tells-a-Lie or something—”

“No-Sugar-in-Your-Mouth.”

“Right. You were really good at going back and forth between the Native Americans and the army.”

“That was my duty and my honor, my queen.”

“Well, as it happens I’ve got a spot on my committee, and I could use someone with your skills. Interested?”

He bowed. Man, these guys knew how to class it up. “My duty is again my honor, good lady. I thank you.”

“Welcome.” Then: Now, don’t sulk, Sinclair. I don’t need you on the committee. I need you in the real world, our world.

Of course, my own.

Oh, sure, “of course.” All I had to do was outwit the devil—again—to earn your respect?

You’ve always had it, my own. But now you have my unshakable confidence. It goes hard with me, letting the woman I love fight her own battles. But, like you, I am learning.

All I can ask. I smiled at him, but the smile morphed into a scowl when Marc whispered to Lawrence, “They do that a lot. Stare at each other silently while sending vampire vibes back and forth. It’s beyond creepy.”

I rounded on him. “You know, I did just thoroughly defeat evil again. Would a teensy bit of deference be out of the question?”