Undead and Unwelcome

Chapter 55

Dude,

You are not even going to believe what happened next. I was there, and I hardly believe it myself.

I pulled another one of the hooded jerks off Sinclair—there appeared to be an unending supply—but one of them fell back so fast he knocked me through a window. It was a little like being in a Western. The window, luckily, had already been broken.

By Betsy, whom I landed on. It was the closest thing to straight sex I’d experienced in years. Although I have to say, she was more bony than lush. It was those long femurs of hers.

Betsy, clearly squashed, managed a weak groan. I tried to explain what had happened, which is when she introduced me to the devil. The devil. Then she (Betsy) scrambled back through the window.

I decided there was a strong possibility that I was concussed, and reminded myself to watch for symptoms. Surely this was the result of a mind weakened by blunt-​force trauma.

“So, Marc. Let’s talk. How have you been?”

I gaped at her. This was Lucifer? The Fallen One? Samael? The Morningstar? She looked like a beautiful middle-​aged, gray-​streaked brunette with pretty shoes. And those ankles! I was getting straighter and straighter by the moment.

“What do you want with us?”

“Nothing at all.” The devil gazed thoughtfully at the broken window. “Laura’s my primary interest. The rest of you—you’re just wrenches in the toolbox of life. Things to use. Tools.”

“That was a terrible analogy.”

The devil gave me a decidedly unfriendly look.

“Why don’t you just leave Laura alone, to live her own life?”

“Dear boy. Even mothers who aren’t me can’t do that for their children.”

“She could have a happy life if you’d just leave her alone.”

Satan snorted through her nose. “Leave her alone? Never! She’s been poisoned by humanity. She actually thinks what happens to other people matters. I have the cure for that diseased worldview.”

I stood, brushing grass off my knees. “I don’t like you one bit.”

“Ooooh.” The devil smirked. “That one hurt. By the way, Marc, he knows.”

“What?”

“Your father. He knows all about you.” She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “He has always known. Oh, Marc. How you’ve disappointed him. You should see him cry when he’s alone and thinks no one’s watching. Like you do, sometimes.”

A sliver of ice pushed its way into my gut, but before I could think of a retort, or run away, the devil was gone.

Leaving the rest of us, of course, to clean up the mess she had instigated.