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Get Tommy and Jasmine together
Unfortunately, changing the list didn’t brighten my mood. Even if I used my succubus to charm Tommy and Jas into becoming a couple, it wouldn’t work for long. The demon realm alienated people; it didn’t bring them together.
Defeated, I put the book away. I logged onto my laptop, hoping to find an e-mail from Grace. To my amazement, when I clicked on my inbox, I found 140 unopened messages. Generally, I didn’t receive 140 messages in an entire month. I groaned, wondering if my computer had caught a virus.
I cautiously clicked on the first message. It opened to show a somewhat blurry picture of a sandy-haired man wearing sunglasses. Under the picture was the message: Randy K. loves to live hard and play harder. He can’t wait to meet you!
What the hell? I clicked on the next message. This one contained a portrait of a gaunt man wearing an old-fashioned smoking jacket. The message said: Chester L. can be rough, but oh-so gentle. He wants a woman who can take his kicks.
When I read the signature line at the bottom of the message, things clicked. Jas had signed me up for that dating website! I opened a few of the others, both horrified and fascinated by the invitations.
Duane M. loves leather and lace and wants to drive a woman to her knees.
Kerry G. wants a girl who loves rough play and knows how to handle herself.
Tony S. needs a partner whom he could, ‘control like a well-tuned race car.’
Disgusted, I deleted all of the messages. What on earth had my stepsister posted in my profile to make these men think I wanted hand-to-hand combat instead of a relationship? Logging onto the Internet, I found the X-treme Matching website. My eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Although, X-treme Matching boasted ‘comprehensive dating services for every kind of relationship need’, my stepsister had linked my profile to their ‘hot ‘n kinky’ section.
Only Jas could make such an epic fail.
I frantically tried to log into my own account to delete my information, but I didn’t know what Jasmine had used for a password and user ID. When Delilah waved to me from the otherworld, I quickly shut down the Internet and closed the lid of my laptop. The website would only convince her that I really
was
a sex-crazed demon slut.
Delilah, however, wasn’t interested in my computer. “You know the assignment you had the other night?”
“How could I forget?” I swore the smell of sushi still followed me wherever I went.
She wrung her hands so hard her knuckles cracked. “I think there was a hitch.”
“A hitch? What do you mean ‘a hitch’?” I mentally went over the details of the temptation. Although the experience had been humiliating, I’d completed it exactly as ordered. Then I remembered how I’d force fed Milo his sushi instead of letting him take it himself. Well okay, the temptation went
mostly
as ordered.
Delilah avoided my eyes. “I may have sent you after the wrong person.”
As calmly as I could, I asked, “When you say ‘the wrong person’, you mean…?” Don’t panic, I told myself. Whatever you do, don’t panic!
“I mean, I got confused and messed up your instructions. You tempted a man who wasn’t meant to be tempted.”
I panicked. It was bad enough to seduce the men Helen had in her crosshairs. I didn’t want to cause pain to innocent bystanders as well.
I put my hand on Delilah’s arm. “Are you sure – absolutely sure – you gave me the wrong name?” Delilah was already so overwhelmed by her job that maybe she was confused about being confused.
She chewed her lower lip. “Before I turned in my report to Miss Spry, I re-read some of the charts and realized what I’d done.”
“No! No, no, no!” I pressed my hands to my forehead. Milo had been a revolting jerk, but that didn’t mean I’d wanted to drag him to Hell!
Delilah looked near to tears. “It’s a terrible mistake, and I’m sorry. But this job! I can’t figure it out.”
If there was ever a time I wanted Patrick Clerk back, it was now. He would have fussed and moaned and complained for hours over the mess we’d made, but he would have fixed things.
Delilah twisted her silver bangles around her wrist. “Now, I guess I’ll have to tell Miss Spry.”
“No, we definitely
cannot
tell her!” I said. Poor Delilah didn’t realize how close she was to being shipped off to oil the bearings on the Catherine wheel. And if Helen found out how badly I’d botched the job, she’d put me
on
the Catherine Wheel. “What we need now is damage control,” I said. “You’ve got to figure out who the real client is, and I need to tempt him.”
Although it was against my policy to use the doorway in my bedroom, I risked a quick visit to the otherworld. In Delilah’s office, we examined the charts that were spread out on the drafting table. I immediately understood why she’d made her mistake. Most humans’ charts were inconceivably complex, but when a person came into contact with another individual, it was necessary to lay a transparency of person B over that of person A. When the charts were paired, they created astonishingly complex patterns. For the party I’d attended, there were no fewer than fifty different transparencies, all superimposed on each other. The stack they created was over an inch thick.
“Incredible,” I said. “No wonder you had a hard time.” With so many layers, the entire mess was nearly a single smudge of black grease pencil. “What were Helen’s instructions?”
“She told me there was a man at the party who needed to be seduced into doing something he didn’t want to,” Delilah said. “Now you tell me, how was I supposed to know which man it was?”
I shrugged.
“I’ve asked her a hundred times how to read these things,” Delilah said, “but she keeps telling me to figure it out on my own. Yet when I do it wrong, she gets upset.” Fear entered her dark eyes. “Have you ever seen her get angry?”
“Plenty of times,” I said. Leave it to Helen to be as obscure as possible. No doubt she reveled in issuing vague orders and then screaming at her assistant for not following them to the letter.
“Do you think you could talk some sense into her?” Delilah asked.
I glanced at Helen’s closed door. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to assert myself. All I had to do was explain that this job couldn’t be completed and then hold my ground until she gave in.
However, as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t make my feet move across the floor. Just the thought of confronting Helen again sent my heart into arrhythmia. All my boasting to William the night before had been foolish bravado. Besides, Helen would never give in to me. Not again.
I wiped my damp palms on my jeans. “I can’t.”
Delilah sighed as if expecting my answer. She flipped through the transparencies. “Then I’ll have to go through these one by one and find anyone who’s close to a crisis point since crisis points are the only things I’ve been able to read on these damned charts.” She bit her lip again. “Does Hell have its own IT department? Or maybe an HR office? I could sure use some extra help.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. Despite the office setting, Hell was more about pain and torment than synergy and staff meetings.
“This isn’t going to be easy.”
When were our jobs ever easy? “Do what you have to,” I said knowing that Helen wouldn’t give us a moment’s peace until the assignment had been completed.
When I arrived back at the door to my bedroom, I saw Ariel seated on my bed, watching the doorway. She stared at it so intently that her eyes watered.
My heart nearly stopped as I realized my niece’s sensitivity to the otherworld was increasing. She knew a little about me, and she’d recognized Harmony as otherworldly, but now that she could spot
doorways
, there was no telling what powers she had. Next, she might try entering those doorways.
Wondering how much she could see, I leaned closer to the shimmering barrier that separated us. When I did, her eyes widened even more. “Aunt Lilly?” she asked.
Shit.
Ariel jumped off the bed and walked towards the doorway, her arms outstretched. For a moment, I thought she’d pass through it and end up in the hallway with me. To my relief, however, she kept walking until she reached the bedroom wall. Frowning, she tried it again and again, each time passing across the otherworldly doorway as if it wasn’t there.
Quickly, I left that doorway and found the one in the basement. No way was I going to let her see me appear from the otherworld. As I climbed the stairs to my flat, I realized I needed to have a talk with my niece about how human girls should
not
try to enter doorways leading to strange, otherworldly places.
I planned on having that talk with Ariel as we drove to Midtown Ink, but she drowned out my attempts with her own nervous monologue. “You’re suppose to let your ears heal for six weeks before you wear real earrings.” She tugged on her earlobes. “That’s what everyone said on the Internet. But it doesn’t hurt too much, and you need to clean them twice a day every day, and you…”
“Honey, you’ll be fine.”
“I know,” she said but continued to pull on her ears.
Neil’s shop lay in a suburb where trendy people too poor to afford the rent in Royal Oak or Berkley lived. On his side of the street stood a resale shop, a vintage book seller, and a small, vegetarian restaurant. This strip was hip in a seedy, thank-goodness-I-don’t-have-to-live-here, kind of way.
Ariel pushed past me so she could enter the store first then stood, awed, in front of the spotless, glass display case full of jewelry. “When I’m older, I’m having that done.” She pointed to a poster which, to my horror, showed a woman with piercings in the thin membranes above and below her teeth. I shuddered. Even Tommy didn’t have anything so radical.
“One step at a time,” I told her.
No one manned the counter, but two people were arguing inside the private office.
One of the angry voices belonged to Tommy. “Why not?” he demanded.
“Because you’ve just had surgery, that’s why not.” Neil sounded even more upset than Tommy. “And because if Jasmine found out, she’d set my store on fire and then throw me into the flames.”
Tommy had been wanting more ink, but I had no idea his obsession had become this bad.
“Then I’ll go somewhere else,” Tommy said.
“You’re a damned fool! Didn’t I warn you this would happen? You, of all people, should know the first rule about getting tats.”
Tommy didn’t reply.
A large woman came out of the employee bathroom. Her red-dyed hair had been shaved at the sides and hung long in back. “Can I help you?” Her voice implied the store was far too cool for someone like me.
I’d opted for conservative, soccer mom clothes, but Ari had gone full-out Goth by wearing her favorite Marilyn Manson t-shirt, torn jeans, and black high tops. She’d spiked her bangs, and her eyes were covered in so much dark eye shadow she resembled a football player who had put his blacking on the wrong way.
Ariel approached the woman without hesitation. “I’m here to get my ears pierced.”
The woman lifted her eyebrow which had been pierced with four, silver studs. “Most little girls have that done at the mall.”
Ariel squared her shoulders. “I’m not most girls. Plus, I’m a friend of Tommy Lefevre’s,” she added proudly.
The woman rolled her eyes. “Of course you are. Tommy!” she bellowed. A moment later, Tommy came out of the office. When he saw me, he gave a guilty start, most likely wondering how much of the argument I’d overheard.