Читать книгу Straight To Heaven - Michelle Scott - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Surprisingly, Mr. Clerk didn’t look much better than I felt. Normally, he was impeccably groomed, but now his white T-shirt was badly wrinkled and there was a coffee stain on his pants.

“Tough afternoon?” I asked.

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said. “Helen won’t leave me alone. I haven’t seen her this worked up about a client in years.” He paused, thinking. “Make that decades.”

“But you scheduled a new appointment?”

He gave a tired smile. “Yes.”

“Let me guess. That time would be now.” Going on an assignment was the last thing I wanted to do, but there was no way to avoid it. In the past six months, one simple rule governed my life: Always do what Miss Spry said.

“Yes. And you’ll need to change.”

“Something backless and sexy?” I asked. “With strappy sandals?”

“No.” Like a magician performing a trick, Mr. Clerk reached behind him and pulled out a large white box topped with a shiny red bow. “I’ve brought you something else.”

Presents always thrilled me. Especially presents wrapped as nicely as this. I tore off the bow and opened the box, expecting a lovely treat from one of my favorite designers. That’s not what I found. “Is this a joke?”

“No joke.”

I held up a pair of jean shorts so small that they might not have fitted Grace. “These aren’t my size.”

His eyes sparkled. “They will be. Come with me, and I’ll show you something new.”

Because Mr. Clerk claimed that I stank of booze, I showered while he sat on the toilet and shouted advice. I’d objected to him coming into the bathroom – “Boundaries,” I’d reminded him – but he’d rolled his eyes. “Lilith, I promise that you don’t interest me in the least.” Because I’d seen him fawning over William, I knew he wasn’t lying.

“You’ve already approached your client looking like yourself, and if you show up in the same form, it will make him suspicious,” Mr. Clerk said. “You need to look different.”

I stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a towel and dripping wet. “What do you want me to do?”

“First,” he said, “I want to work on your height.”

“My height?” I laughed. “You’re expecting me to grow taller?”

“No. Shorter.” He looked completely serious. “How tall are you? Five five? Five six?”

“Five six.”

“Okay, see if you can become five foot, two inches.”

I shook my head. “I have no idea how to do that.”

“Your succubus does,” he said. “Trust her.”

The idea of trusting my demon wasn’t comforting, but I complied with a sigh, closing my eyes and ordering my demon to compact my body.

At first, nothing happened. Then I felt a slight buzzing in my joints, followed by an abrupt plunging sensation, like I’d pressed the ‘down’ button on an express elevator. I opened my eyes just in time to see my head lower about five inches.

Mr. Clerk clapped his hands, delighted. “Nicely done!”

I wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at myself. Yes, I’d lost some height, but my weight had remained the same, giving me a nice, round figure. Horrified, I immediately instructed myself to drop twenty pounds. The muscles along my belly and butt pulled tight, momentarily giving me terrific cramps. The results, however, were amazing. Deciding that Mr. Clerk wouldn’t object, I dropped the towel for a really good look. I’d gone from 5’ 6” and 130 pounds to 5’ 2” and 110 pounds. I was nearly as petite as my mother had been.

I put on my robe and then worked on my facial features. I made my nose a little smaller and my lips a little poutier. I opted for a heart-shaped face that made me look like a pixie. I was even able to adjust the length of my hair, making it shorter in order to add to my elfin appearance.

“Wonderful! Even William isn’t that adept,” Mr. Clerk said.

Ha! Take that, William. I narrowed my eyes and smiled, pleased when the pixie in the mirror did the same.

“Are you sure that I have to wear those clothes you brought?” I asked. It seemed a shame to waste a perfectly good new look on a cheap halter and a pair of Daisy Dukes.

“Yes. They’re perfect for tonight.” He made little shooing motions with his hands. “Go ahead. Try them on.”

Grumbling, I pulled on the tight jean shorts and halter top. Even in my shrunken state, the shorts were so tiny they nearly showed off the bottoms of my butt cheeks. And the cotton halter was so poorly made that it wouldn’t sit right on my body no matter how much I tugged on it. “Where did you get this stuff?”

“Not every job requires designer fashions,” he said. “You need to dress like the people you’ll be meeting.”

“I look trashy.”

“Not quite yet, but you will.” And when he told me what I had to do next, I argued with him for nearly ten minutes. He held firm until, at last, I caved in and gave him what he wanted. When my demon finished, I looked over my shoulder in the mirror, chasing my back end like a dog chases its tail as I tried to get a look at my tattoo: a pair of feathery wings with a flowery wreath in the center. It lay far down on my back, just above the low rise of the shorts.

“My very own tramp stamp,” I said. “I feel so special.”

“You look like a tart,” he agreed, “but the man will never recognize you.”

I didn’t even recognize me. The idea was unsettling. Who was I now? Not Lilith Straight, that was for sure.

“Now about tonight,” Mr. Clerk said. “You are to make sure that your client stays at the bar until it closes. Got it?”

“Got it.” Once again, I fought with the tank top, willing it to stay put. “I don’t understand how that’s going to make Miss Spry happy, though.”

Mr. Clerk shook his head. “You’re not seeing the big picture. These little acts may not seem like much, but added together, they can create something darkly wonderful. If a human makes enough wrong decisions or allows more and more breeches in his moral code, his ethics will crumble. I’ve watched saints turn into monsters simply by refusing to listen to a cry for help. One small sin can add fuel to a holocaust.”

Tommy’s face slipped, unbidden, into my mind’s eye. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t gotten into this conversation.

“Lilith, I know what you’re thinking.” I glanced at Mr. Clerk’s reflection in the mirror. “But remember, this is all about free will. Even the Devil doesn’t want an automaton. It’s much more fun to capture someone’s soul when they’re begging you to take it.” He patted my arm and then stood. “We have a lot at stake here, Lilith. I don’t want to pressure you, but this job is very important.”

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the new me. Looking into the mirror and seeing a total stranger looking back was unsettling. “No pressure. Got it.”

“You can do this,” Mr. Clerk said before he left. “I have faith in you.”

At least one of us did.

Following the directions Mr. Clerk gave me, I passed from one otherworldly corridor to the next until I found myself looking into a redneck roadhouse called The Dirty Duck. Even at eleven o’clock, the place was crowded with Saturday night drinkers. Every table was full, and they were three-deep at the bar. A live band played country music while men and women shuffled through a line dance. There were plenty of cowboy boots and cowboy hats, not to mention John Deere baseball caps. A number of heavy women were stuffed like sausages into the tight casings of their T-shirts. This was not my type of crowd, but at least I’d fit in.

I still had twenty minutes before the window for temptation opened. I’d arrived ahead of schedule in order to soften my client up before the big moment. No way would I fail this time. After a final tug on the cheap halter, I stepped through the barrier that marked the human realm from the supernatural one. Immediately, the band’s music became deafening, and the smell of fried food nearly clogged my arteries. I edged my way through the crowd, peanut shells crunching under my feet, as I looked for my victim.

He sat alone on a corner table, several beer bottles scattered in front of him. He’d dressed up for the evening, wearing new jeans and a leather vest over his T-shirt. He looked unhappy.

Or so I thought until the band finished their song. Several dancers broke away from the lines, and two of them came over to his table. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man, and the other was a curvaceous blonde. She sat on my client’s lap, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him. They broke apart just long enough for him to smile and kiss her back.

I stood and stared like a junior-high kid who had watched her first crush ask out her best friend. Why hadn’t anyone thought to mention that my client already had a girlfriend? Suddenly, my night got a whole lot more complicated.

The other man at their table drank his beer and tried very hard not to watch my client and his girl making out like a couple of teens in the back row of a movie theater. He glanced wistfully at the single women sitting at the bar, but didn’t approach any of them. He wasn’t bad-looking, but his long face and large teeth made him miss handsome by a long way. He had nice thick hair, though, and a terrific set of biceps that probably came from hard labor rather than working out at a gym. I wasn’t in the market for a man, but if I had been, I could have done worse than my client’s friend.

Which gave me an idea. If I couldn’t reach my target, I could at least use their third wheel to lever myself inside their cozy circle.

I walked up to the table and leaned over the friend’s shoulder. “Wannna dance?” My succubus threw off charm like she was Tinkerbell with an armful of pixie dust.

“Okay…sure!” He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the dance floor.

I was actually a pretty good dancer, but that night, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t make sense of what was going on. The line would zig right, and I’d zag left. When they backed up, I’d go forward instead. Twice, I staggered off the edge of the parquet floor and bumped into one of the tables. Apparently, my inner demon had no sense of rhythm. Either that, or I wasn’t used to the proportions of my new body.

Luckily, my client’s friend wasn’t the best dancer himself. His body flopped around like an inflatable tube man on a used car lot. But the grin on his face told me that he was enjoying himself.

Mercifully, the song ended, and my partner asked if I cared to join him for a drink. I gratefully accepted and was finally able to sit down at my client’s table.

“Looks like you found someone who’s a worse dancer than you are, J.T.,” the woman sitting in my client’s lap said. She winked at me. “No offense.”

I smiled sweetly. “None taken.” Bitch.

J.T. glared at her, obviously not appreciating her comment either. Then, to me, he said, “What can I get you?”

Since I’d already spent much of the night drinking, I asked him for soda water with lime. He disappeared into the crowd.

I reached across the table to shake hands. “My name’s Lilith. Nice to meet you.”

The woman had one of those faces that had aged prematurely, and I bet she was a good fifteen years younger than she looked. Twin lines of blush, much too dark for her complexion, striped her cheeks, and her hair was dark at the roots where her bleach job had grown out. I might have felt sorry for her if not for the comment about my dancing. “I’m Darla,” she said, without bothering to shake my hand. “This is Craig.” My client nodded at me, his expression guarded.

After our introductions, my client and his girlfriend sat in stony silence. I attempted small talk to break the ice. “So Craig, where do you work?”

He glared at me. “I don’t.”

“He got laid off today,” Darla said. “Permanently.”

That explained his bad mood. “I’m sorry to hear it,” I said. “Where did you work?”

“Packaging plant,” he said.

“Did you like it?”

“Not really.”

For the next ten minutes, I did my best to draw them into conversation, asking if they came there a lot and if they liked to dance, too. They responded in monosyllables, and eventually stopped answering altogether. An uncomfortable silence settled while I waited for J.T. to return.

When he finally did, he slid into the spot next to me and set a sweating glass of soda on the table. “You from around here?” He had to shout above the music in order to be heard.

“No, I’m from Detroit.” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it. I winced inwardly, cursing myself for my mistake. Giving personal information on a job was not a good idea.

“So what brings you to Orland?” J.T. asked.

I may work for the Father of Lies, but personally, I suck at it. Plus, I was still a little bleary from all the wine I’d drunk earlier. To give myself a moment to think, I took a long swallow of my soda. Then I noticed that the roadhouse was decorated with an outdoorsy motif. There were old fishing poles and snowshoes mounted on the walls, and a moose head hung behind the bar. “I’m visiting up here because I like to fish,” I finally said. “And hunt.”

J.T. laughed. “Well, I never would have guessed that.” Luckily for me, he was not only half in the bag, he was also under the allure of my demon. Unfortunately, Craig and his date were not buying my ridiculous lie. “You ever go out to the range?” J.T. asked.

I had no idea what a range was, but I grinned. “All the time.”

J.T. was lighting up more and more. He probably felt that he’d met his soul mate. “What do you shoot?”

A shooting range! Okay, that made sense. At the same time, my spirits plunged. If I had been a pilot on board an airplane, the dashboard would have been covered with blinking lights all warning me that I was about to crash. It had never occurred to me to prepare an alibi because, until now, my assignments had all been short and to the point. However, I was starting to sense that Craig was going to be a much more difficult project. I needed a better story, and I needed it pronto.

“Well, I’m also a journalist,” I hurriedly added. “I’m writing a piece on sportsmen.” Yes! It had taken a while, but my succubus had finally come to my rescue. “The story’s about how Michigan’s poor economy is taking a toll on tourism.” It was the perfect lie, offered up with an enormous serving of sangfroid. Grateful for my demon’s cunning, I gave her a mental high-five.

At this news, Craig leaned over the table and grabbed my wrist. Hard. His flinty eyes were those of a convicted felon. “What are you really writing about?”

“Sportsmen, like I said.” I locked stares with him. “I’m a journalist for The Detroit News doing a piece on hunters and fishermen.”

“Ease up, man,” J.T. said, but he, too, looked wary.

I smiled and attempted to send a charge of my demon’s allure at Craig, but my confidence was wavering, and as a result, the succubus’s power was limited.

Craig gripped my wrist tighter. “If you’re only here to write an article, then why give us the bull crap story about being a hunter?”

For a moment, I worried that Craig would drive me away from the table before I had a chance to tempt him, but at that moment, a waitress passed by with a tray of beers. “How about I buy the next round,” I offered. I waved the waitress over, and Craig finally let go of my wrist.

Darla looked at her watch. “We can’t stay for another round.” She stood up. “C’mon Craig, let’s go.”

The moment of temptation had finally arrived. It was time for action. “Where are you two off to in such a hurry?” I asked.

Darla gave me a ‘none of your damn business’ look before turning to Craig. “Home by midnight. That’s what you promised.”

Craig remained stubbornly seated. Maybe my job would be easier than I’d expected.

“C’mon,” Darla insisted. “One of us has to work tomorrow.” She tugged on his hand.

“If you need to leave now, I’m sure J.T. will drive Craig home,” I said. Then I glanced at the man sitting next to me, taking in his crooked smile. “Or maybe it would be better if Craig drove J.T. home.”

“Good idea,” Craig said. He gave Darla an evasive look. “I should probably stay.”

Darla glared at him. “You promised to be home by midnight.”

Although Craig obviously did not want to argue with his girlfriend, an argument was just what I needed to drive her out the door and keep him in the bar. Plus, I felt that I owed Darla for the smart remark about my terrible dancing. So I said, “I never met a man so eager to have his girlfriend tell him what to do.”

It worked like a charm. “You still haven’t,” Craig said. “I’m staying.”

Darla put her hands on her hips. “Why do we go through this every week? If you don’t leave right now, it will be the last time you see me. I’m not kidding around.”

“If you make me choose,” he said, “then you’re definitely going home alone.”

As I was inwardly crowing over my triumph, my demon cried out a warning. But it was too late. A waitress carrying a large tray of beers walked past. She clipped the edge of our table which caused her to lose her balance. The tray tilted, and the beers tipped over, drenching Craig.