The Road To Hell Part 5

I tugged Paul's arm, urging him to walk faster down the block. "Sweetie, you said you wanted to take me out, right? Out means dancing, not shooting pool."

"Out means out of the apartment. Out means getting you out of your funk."

Funk, he said. Hah. Funk nothing. I was a freaking basket case. Dinner itself had been very tasty-to think there'd been a time when I'd thought that "Chinese food" meant chopped-up Asians, sauteed over a medium flame-but I'd been too paranoid to really enjoy it. I couldn't stop myself from scanning the restaurant, wondering if Lillith or Daun were watching. One thing about eating hot and spicy food: that made it a royal b.i.t.c.h to smell brimstone nearby.

Daun I thought I could handle. Sort of. Okay, so now he was getting all Evil and possessive (in more ways than one), but hey-he was an incubus. What did I really expect? Of course he was going to attempt to tempt me. And I could handle temptation, as long as I was on my guard. If it came down to it, Daun would never hurt me (unless we were in the middle of a particularly active bondage and discipline scenario). So I just had to practice saying no and meaning it. No problem.

Lillith, on the other hand, would cheerfully rip my spinal cord out through my throat and wear it as a belt. She'd had it in for me ever since I could remember. To this day, I didn't know why she hated me so much. Some things weren't worth questioning, and this was one of them. To me, it was enough knowing that the former Queen of the Succubi despised me. Maybe Daun had been lying about her coming after me. He was a demon, so there was a good chance he'd been less than truthful. The thought cheered me somewhat.

And then there was Alecto, with her taunt about her sister. No matter how I tried to convince myself that I didn't care what was happening to Meg, I knew deep down that was Grade A bulls.h.i.t. Worst of all, I kept wondering why Alecto wanted to take me back to the Pit in the first place. Had the King of h.e.l.l put out another contract on me? No-if that were the case, Alecto simply would have scooped me up with her serpents and bamfed us to the Abyss.

Never let it be said that I forced you to make this choice.

She wanted to take me back... but she also wanted the decision to be mine.

Bless me, what in h.e.l.l was going on?

"See that?" Paul's voice jolted me out of my thoughts. "You're still in a funk."

I squeezed his hand. "I promise I'll get out of my funk if we dance. Come on, we look too fine for a pool hall."

"You, maybe. Me, I look like a goober in this shirt."

"I think you look yummy." And he did. At my urging, Paul was garbed in a silver, long-sleeved woven mesh shirt that I'd bought him a few days ago. It was perfect for clubbing: it hugged his form, showing off his lean torso and broad shoulders to maximum advantage. Of course, it was also currently hidden beneath his leather jacket. He'd been only too happy to do the black jeans and black boots thing, but I'd had to coax him into the shirt.

"Terrific. I look like a yummy goober."

"I promise to slurp you up later," I said, already thinking about how my body would move to the music. Maybe dancing wasn't actually s.e.x, but it was a close second. Feeling a beat throbbing through your body, moving in time to a melody that builds and builds... All that sweat, all that pa.s.sion. "Come on, love. I want to dance."

Paul groaned. "You dance four days a week."

Lifting my arms, I did a shimmy-bop as I imagined a heavy ba.s.s thrumming around me, in me. "I take off my clothes four days a week," I said, "for guys I don't care about. Tonight, I want to dance with you."

He reached over and pulled me close. I gazed up at him, loving what I saw shining in his eyes as he looked at me. He said, "I'm not much of a dancer."

"Just follow my lead. It'll be fun, you'll see."

"Can't we just go to a bar, stand beneath the speakers?"

"Come on, sweetie," I said, pulling him along. "The night's young."

We trekked to East 23rd Street. It was brisk for early November, with winds that insisted on ruining my hairstyle. I clutched my black trench coat closed with one hand and the other twined in Paul's.

"How about an overpriced cup of bad coffee?"

"Paul..."

"Or maybe go to a dentist, get a root ca.n.a.l without Novocain. That's a lot more fun than dancing."

I opened my mouth to say something appropriately witty, but I closed it as we approached a newsstand at the corner of the street. My footsteps slowed, stopped. I felt something dark pa.s.s over my face, twisting my mouth into a scowl and narrowing my vision until all I saw were headlines screaming in their self-important bold all-capped letters.

THIRTEENTH VICTIM FOUND announced one; ARSON SUSPECTED IN BROOKLYN INFERNO insisted another. In a national daily, a headline swore that the murder rate in America was at AN ALL-TIME HIGH. Sandwiched between these tidbits were articles dedicated to the latest war, the latest man-made biological disaster, the latest fear gripping the world. Oh look, here's a story about how a five year old shot his grandmother because she wouldn't let him watch a television show.

We can't let the world be more Evil than the Abyss.

Maybe it was too late for that. Maybe the humans would dance for the Devil and destroy themselves, no matter what h.e.l.l did.

You could go back, a voice whispered in my mind. Leave the mortal coil behind and go with Dawn. Hide in the halls of Pandemonium and screw your brains out in the Red Light District. The King of h.e.l.l would never know.

No. I love Paul. I got a soul so I could be with him. Whatever's happening to the world, I'll stay by his side.

What about Meg?

My lips tingled, feeling the barest whisper of flesh as Meg kissed me and left me to die.

Stop that. Meg would be okay. She was an Erinyes.

"Jess?" Paul squeezed my hand. "You look sick. You okay?"

"Yeah," I said, sighing. "Just... sad."

He glanced at the papers, then pulled me away. "Come on. We're going dancing."

"Really?"

"If me making an idiot of myself on the dance floor will help cheer you up, then I'm all for it."

I loved my man.

I'm sorry, Meg. But I'm not saying goodbye to him. Not for Daun, and not for you.

I smiled grimly. Tomorrow I'd tell Alecto that I wasn't going back to the Underworld. Decision made. Time to celebrate.

We tromped along, heading toward the train station. Nine o'clock on a Thursday night, and New York City was getting ready to party. Groups of people strutted with us, around us, away from us, laughing and talking, contained in their own bubbles of energy. The streets hummed with cars and the distant thunder of the subways hidden below. Garbage peppered the scenery, poked between buildings and stores, littered the curb-here, overflowing cans and swollen trash bags; there, stray wads of used napkins and crushed cigarettes. The refuse, like the people in the streets, made the city more real, more awake. New York chortled with antic.i.p.ation; New York reeked with life.

A h.e.l.l of a town, indeed.

Various peddler stands splattered the sidewalks, dotting the streets with leather purses and hot watches, with watercolor paintings of New York City, with bootleg CDs and DVDs. Ooh, lookee at all the jewelry!

"Uh oh," Paul said. "Jesse wants something."

"Jesse wants you," I said, staring at the most fabulous gold bracelet.

"Jesse's got me." He squeezed my hand. "Jesse's also speaking in third person."

"That happens when Jesse's depressed. Jewelry's a surefire cure for depression."

"I thought that was chocolate."

"Jewelry trumps chocolate."

"So do shoes, and new clothes..."

"Be nice to me. I'm depressed."

Paul planted a sloppy kiss on my cheek. "I can tell. You've got waves of depression rolling off you."

To the peddler, I said, "I really like this one," pointing to the gold bracelet that had caught my eye.

The heavyset woman smiled, and her chins squished as she nodded. "It's a lovely piece. It's the links that make it special. Go on, pick it up, take a look."

Well, if she insisted. I carefully lifted the bracelet, ran my fingers over the chain. The craftsmanship was spectacular-the links had been masterfully wound together, giving it the illusion of being a braided golden rope.

"Pretty," Paul said. Gorgeous was closer to the mark.

"That design's very special," the peddler said. "See how thick the links are? Strong bonds, promising a strong life."

"I don't know," I said. "I have this tendency to lose jewelry..."

"Also a strong clasp."

"Yeah, but will it turn my wrist green?"

The woman smiled. "Not likely. It's eighteen-karat gold."

"How much?"

The woman tapped her chin as she looked at me, her eyes sparkling. c.r.a.p, I shouldn't have said how much I liked this piece. She named a price.

"Allow me." Paul pulled out his wallet.

I laughed softly, my breath misting in front of my face. "My White Knight in training."

"What, I'm not your Cabin Boy anymore?"

"You can moonlight as a White Knight."

"You're too kind." He winked at me as he handed money to the peddler.

Her eyebrow arched as Paul paid her, and with a rather knowing smile, she looked at Paul, then at me. "How long have you two been in love?"

"Forever and always," I said, blowing a kiss to Paul. He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face.

"You two are good together," she said. "Here, allow me."

She wrapped the bracelet around my left wrist, then fastened the tiny links. When she finished, the golden rope was snug, but not too tight, and the clasp holding it in place was cleverly hidden. "It looks wonderful on you."

I kissed Paul and thanked the peddler, and then Paul and I started walking again to the train. Behind us, the woman called out, "Blessed be."

Heh. To me, a blessing still felt like a curse. But I appreciated the intent.

Winding our way through roughly a million people between the ages of twenty-one and forty, Paul and I finally arrived at the bar on the second floor of Dance Hall Daze. Me, I didn't want or need any alcohol beforehand; already I felt the draw of heavy synth as Soft Cell's "Tainted Love" blared from the speakers. But my man needed some liquid courage before his feet found their groove. So I waited patiently against the bar, my head bopping with the beat as Paul knocked back a vodka shot and ordered another.

The smells of booze and sweat filled the dance hall, mingling to form a heady, s.e.xy scent. Above me, screens silently begged for attention, each mutely depicting a music video that had nothing to do with the song pounding on the dance floor.

People filled every crevice, clamoring to be heard over the music until their words merged with the melody and created a continuous buzz.

Bless me, how I loved to watch the humans dance. They celebrated life, practicing rituals of worship with their bodies as they moved and writhed and pranced. Dressed in their first impressions, they flashed smiles and offered promises of flesh as they gyrated. Some moved self-consciously, too wrapped up in their anxieties of the meat market to even think about letting themselves have a good time. Others lost themselves to the moment. Some flirted obviously. Others did so unintentionally. But all acknowledged the power of the music-the heavy backbeat that demanded attention, compelled movement.

I couldn't wait a moment longer. Grabbing Paul's arm, I pulled him onto the floor as I elbowed people out of my way. And then I hurled myself into the music-now the Bangles, telling us to "Walk Like An Egyptian." I let the song wash over me, through me, let it command my body as I danced. My only self-imposed restriction was to make sure I kept my clothes on. Sometimes it was tough to remember that I wasn't always a stripper.

Paul moved with me, his large feet glued to the floor as he worked against the beat. Ah, bless me, my White Knight was blissfully unaware of his tendency toward white man's over-bite.

"Cutting in."

I barely registered the words before some bimbo b.u.mped me out of the way and wrapped her arms around Paul. Too surprised to react immediately, the music pounded in my head as I watched this blonde with legs up to her chin dance with a bemused-looking Paul. My Paul.

My now-I'm-happy-to-dance Paul Hamilton.

I shouted, "Hey!"

Paul either didn't hear me or didn't care. Not his fault; she was practically falling all over him. It was all he could do to untangle her body from his own... not that he was trying all that hard to do so.

Unholy ire bubbled in my veins. That nasty b.i.t.c.h! Let's see if that s.h.i.t-eating grin would still be pasted on her face after I clawed her eyes out.

I took two steps toward them before someone clamped a hand onto my shoulder and spun me around. He was short, just a couple inches taller than me, but he radiated such presence that he seemed to loom over me. Like me, he wore all black. Like me, he had thick, curly hair, but his was short and sandy. Barrel-chested, bow-legged, he grinned down at me as if he'd just gotten a fabulous present.

"Dance with me." His voice made it clear he'd had at least thirty drinks too many.

The last thing I wanted to do was dance with some drunken slob. I had to go skin me a blonde. "Maybe later, sweetie," I said, shrugging out of his grip and turning away.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed my hand and yanked me back to his side. Spinning, I lost my balance and crumpled against his torso.

"Come on, babes," he said, all traces of drunken slob gone. "Just one dance."

Oh c.r.a.p. "Daun?"

"In the flesh."

And he was, too-no human possession this time. The incubus Daunuan himself was on the mortal coil, dressed in mortal form. And that meant only one thing: he was on a soul collection. That didn't bode well.

I tried to pull away, but he held me tight. "You following me?"

"Heh. Babes, believe it or not, I'm a working demon. That you're here's just a coincidence."

Uh huh. Sure it was.

Daun grinned. "I had to break in one of your replacements. So we came here, scouting for new blood for Downstairs."