Soul Corrupted (6 page)

Keira

“So you’re a Demon?”

Noah’s finally decided to say something after sitting
on his unmade bed, staring at me for at least fifteen minutes.

I’m on the floor surrounded by dirty, male laundry, my
back against the door with a tiny basketball hoop hanging over my head. I was
told to wait here for Lucifer to return.

“Yup.” I pick up the nearest hoodie by the tip of its sleeve,
trying my best not to make contact with more than my fingernails, and then drop
it farther away.

“And you have to do whatever Lucifer says?”

I raise my head, resigning myself to the conversation
he’s intent on having. My whole purpose in playing with him in the first place
was to report back to Josh and keep Lucifer from finding out about my immediate
failure as a “distraction.” But that blew up in my face when Lucifer crashed
the party. Now he’s with Josh and I’m babysitting.

I need to play nice with Lucifer’s new prize though.
I’m in enough trouble for sticking my nose where he didn’t invite it. “Yup.”

He relaxes, leaning back on his elbows and laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You know I would’ve done anything you asked back at
the gym, right? Man, I thought you were seriously into me. Then I found out you
were only there because Lucifer sent you to lure me out to the car, and, I have
to admit, I wasn’t happy about being punked like that. But in, like, what—seventy
years?—I’m going to have to do shit like that, too.”

“Hold on. Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “I wasn’t
there just to get you into a car. Lucifer could’ve approached you anywhere.”

“Oh yeah? Then why were you there?” He rolls off the
bed, muscles moving beneath his skin, and I’m reminded why I was so interested
when I first saw him.

I stand to meet him. “Maybe I like watching you
sweat.” I run a finger down his arm, and he stares at me like an arsonist
stares at a match. “Or maybe I was there because I had another job altogether.”

“That would be quite a coincidence,” he says. His
voice is husky, much more mature than most sixteen-year-olds.

“Coincidences do happen.”

“I should’ve made the deal more specific,” he says,
closing the remaining breath between us.

“Why? What else could you want?” I ask, surprised.
Lucifer named all the typical stuff: girls, money, power, etc.

“What if I don’t want regular girls? What if I want
you?”

Noah just got a whole lot more interesting. “Then I’d
say you’re a smart guy.”

“And what if I want you to take me somewhere far
away?” he asks, leaning down.

“I’d love to, but I’ve been told to wait here. Maybe
if you ask Lucifer, he’ll let me, though.” I lift my arms and hook my hands
behind his neck before pulling him down to kiss me.

Noah lifts me by the waist, and I enjoy the feeling of
both feet dangling below me as he backs me into the door, making the small,
plastic hoop shake. I explore his mouth with my tongue as he presses into me
with his entire body, running one hand up my shirt and cupping my face with the
other.

 My skirt rides up to my hip as I wrap one leg
around him. We’re a tangle of limbs and skin and heat and I’ve almost forgotten
the real reason I’m still here when Lucifer clears his throat from behind Noah.

I crash to the floor like a cookie he was caught stealing.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself already,” Lucifer
says, ignoring my presence and focusing solely on Noah.

“You’re not mad, are you?” he asks, taking a step
back.

“Of course not. I don’t blame you for wanting Keira.
Many men have found their way into Hell because of her. But if you don’t mind,
I need to borrow her for awhile.” Lucifer adjusts his collar.

“Wait a minute,” Noah says, regaining some composure.
“Can’t you get someone else?”

“Ah. You’re horny,” Lucifer says. “Okay. Who’s the
sexiest woman you can think of?”

Noah’s mouth snaps closed for a moment. “That’s not…
Can you take another Demon so Keira can stay?”

Lucifer snaps and a girl with long, brown hair and
glasses appears in Noah’s bedroom dressed in a bikini. Of course I know it
isn’t a real girl, just a creation of Lucifer’s made to emulate one. But to
Noah, she’s the real thing, and he’s struck speechless.

“You’ll enjoy Emily Roberts’ company, I believe,”
Lucifer says. “Keira can come back when I’m done with her.”

I bristle at this. I’ve gotten used to Lucifer
treating me like bait he can dangle to get a dog to behave, but this time, I
feel more like a piece of meat than ever before. Maybe because he’s about to
torture me and then offer me to this kid like I have no feelings at all.

Noah swallows, eyes floating between Emily and me. Typical.
Some part of me is disappointed in him. Probably just my pride. I’m hotter than
this girl.

“Send Emily home,” he says, and I can’t help but drop
my mouth open. “Maybe you didn’t hear what I asked for. We made a deal and I
intend to get what I want. I’ll wait for Keira.” He meets my eyes, face
flushed.

That’s more like it.

Lucifer’s fingers sear into my flesh as he yanks me up
by the arm. In a moment I’m stumbling in his throne room, right between his
leather recliner and the giant, flat-screen TV.

“So you failed your assignment in record time and
thought you could hide it from me? On top of that, Josh admits to finding out
about my plans—a fact I would have preferred you come to me with
immediately. But no, you decide to snoop around on your own first just to save
your own skin.” He sits and crosses his legs, tapping his foot up and down in
front of me.

“I was trying to get on Josh’s good side. If I did
what he wanted I thought maybe he’d think I was on his side and then he’d—”

“Make love to you?” Lucifer laughs. “Josh has no
interest in trash like you. Why would he, when he has Grace? Luckily, I was
able to salvage the situation. You will continue to play his new girlfriend,
Hope.”

I try to minimize my trembling by hugging myself. “But…he
didn’t want me,” I say.

“He’s agreed to break up with Grace for awhile and
pretend to be with you.”

What? Just like that? Big brave Angel of goodness, he
is. “That’s impressive, Lucifer.” I try a smile. Maybe he’ll let me off the
hook now that it’s working out?

His eyes burn with Hellfire and I shrink back as he
uncrosses his legs and leans toward me. “I spoil you too much, don’t I, Mrs. Campbell?”

No—not this. He hasn’t called me by that name in
nearly a century, and I know what it means. I back away instinctively, even
though I know there’s nowhere to run.

“You don’t like that name? No, of course you don’t.
Remind me again how you died?” He stands and beckons me closer.

I don’t dare disobey, so I edge closer, willing the
words to come out like they mean nothing to me. “I drowned.”

Lucifer
tsk
s softly and puts an arm around me. I
press my eyes closed, trying to gather myself for what’s coming next. “In a
washbasin, isn’t that right?”

I nod, not trusting my voice not to waiver.

“Isn’t that unusual?” Lucifer asks. “How does one die
while standing over a washbasin? Typically once you feel the water enter your
lungs and you gulp for air, unable to get any…well, once that happens, a person
usually tries to get out of the water. How hard is it to lift your head from a
basin? Unless… Ah! Something or someone must have held your head under.” An
electric shock issues from Lucifer’s finger and jolts my eyes open.

We’re standing in my old bedroom, before the porcelain
basin set on its claw-footed stand in front of the gilded mirror. Everything is
gaudy and overdone, trimmed in gold and lace, velvet and satin, flowers and
paisleys. It makes me ill.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, tightening his hold.

“Of course you are,” I say, my throat constricted.
“Please, Lucifer,” I look into his eyes and let him see my pain reflected
there. “Please don’t make me watch it again.”

“Oh, my dear,” he says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

I let my body relax. If he weren’t holding me up, I’m
sure I’d be a puddle. “Thank you.”

“You’re going to relive it,” he says, his teeth glowing
white in the gas-lit room.

The smile melts from my face as Lucifer’s words sink
in. I panic, wanting to run, but his grasp is like iron.

“Let’s set the mood, shall we?” he asks, as though
we’re standing in the moonlight reliving some romantic memory. “You secured
your place by my side by making some very interesting choices. First, you
escaped the rural Virginia town in which you were born. Then you seduced the
richest man you could find in the big city of Philadelphia. Not an easy task
for a girl with African blood back then. But then you were trapped in a
loveless marriage. So what is it that you did next? Help me out, Keira, don’t
be shy. That’s not like you.”

When I realized all Maxwell Campbell felt for me was
lust, it was too late. I picture his face, so clearly infatuated with me, but
only physically. He was happy with me in his bed, though, and at least I had the
money I desired. But I wanted more. Lucifer knows all of this—but he
delights in making me say it.

“Come on, Keira. You wanted more than the wealth he
promised…” Lucifer prompted.

“I wanted love, too,” I say softly.

“So you looked for it by bedding everything young and
attractive in a fifty-mile radius, littering the city with jaded men.” He
stretches out a hand as though showing me a street lined with bodies. “Soon you
figured out that no one was interested in more than your body. But did you
stop? No. You continued on your quest, punishing men by framing them for
various crimes they never committed.”

They used me. They deserved what they got.

“You even found one of your favorites in bed with the mayor’s
daughter and accused him of raping her. He was run out of town.” Lucifer
tsk
s.

I refuse to feel guilty. She could have spoken up and
saved him if she cared. He deserved to learn how it feels to be scorned. Still I
remain silent, wondering at what point I’ll be forced to relive my death.

“What’s the matter, Keira? Why so quiet?” He takes me
by the shoulders and shakes me. I whimper, anticipating what’s to come.

I’d beg some more, but I know it won’t do any good. I
just have to take it. It’ll be over eventually. It always is. So why am I so
scared?

“Very well, then. I’ll continue.” Lucifer turns me
around and there’s Maxwell, sleeping in the four-poster, handlebar mustache
twitching in fitful sleep. The scent of his tobacco nearly chokes me, it’s so
strong, and even now the opium pipe on my dresser calls to me with the promise
of its comforting haze. “Chances are you would have died within the year from
drug addiction, anyway. But you found a much more entertaining way to go.” He
chuckles again.

I realize he’s no longer holding me and so I turn. Lucifer’s
gone, and I meet my reflection in the mirror above the basin. It’s me, on the
night of my death.

Stray tendrils of hair spray out from beneath my
bonnet, and dark streaks of makeup are smeared beneath my eyes. The basin is
full of water in anticipation of my return home from my latest tryst. Maxwell
always slept through my absences, so why bother freshening up before coming
home?

I seem to be in control of my movements. Maybe I can
do things differently this time and change the outcome? Of course, I’ll still be
dead, but I don’t have to play the part like the same naïve child I was when it
happened.

I strip, just like I did on that night. No need to
stay in such uncomfortable clothing no matter what I choose to do next. After I
slip on my gauzy nightgown, I pause, staring at my brute of a husband snoring
in the bed.

I remember my plan. Take the vial hidden in my dresser
drawer, climb in beside Max, and let the contents of the poison trickle into
his mouth. It would only take a minute and I’d be the widow, Mrs. Campbell.

But I know now that the vial’s contents are gone,
replaced with rosewater. I know that when he wakes, choking on the contents,
eyes bulging and nails scratching at the sheets and my gown, he’ll be faking, waiting
to see what I’ll do. And when I think it’s finally over and go to the basin to
wash up, he’ll come up behind me.

I wipe a tear from my eye. Where did it come from? I
didn’t cry then, so why am I crying now? This isn’t real. Maxwell already
killed me and sent me to Hell.

Anger flows through my body. So what if he killed me
because I’d planned on murdering him first? I’ve suffered hundreds of years for
it. I’ve paid my dues.

Instead of going for the harmless vial, this time I snatch
a letter opener from the rolltop desk and stalk toward Maxwell. I plunge it
toward his heart with a cry of anger, but his hand catches my wrist halfway to
his chest. He squeezes and twists, forcing me to drop the weapon on the bed,
then with a roar throws me onto the floor at his feet where I lay stunned. I no
longer have my Demon super-strength. I’m a helpless little girl and I hate it.
I hate him. I hate that the bastard never served a day for his crime.