A Good Demon Is Hard to Find Page 2

  “I did not,” Erin said.

  “You did so. When you cursed your lover.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  Erin picked up the wine bottle from the table and pointed it at him. “Ugh. Don’t call him that.”

  “Your beau? Your inamorato?”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I don’t socialize much,” admitted Andy.

  “So, I called up a demon to curse my ex-husband and now he’s here in my kitchen and won’t leave.” She set the wine bottle down with a bang.

  “In a nutshell. What were you thinking about in terms of the devil taking him? I’m assuming something really big and splashy. Hang on, let me get my notebook.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking notepad and an old-fashioned pen. He flipped open the notebook. “Okay, go.”

  “I don’t want demon help, Mr. Demon.”

  “It’s Andy. Or Andromalius if you’re feeling formal. And of course you want help, you laid the curse in the first place. What type of revenge shall we start with? Boils? An unscratchable itch? That’s always a good one.” He looked at her hopefully.

  “I’ll pray you away.”

  “Go ahead and try,” he said cheerfully.

  Erin eyed him skeptically. She folded her hands and closed her eyes. “Dear Lord, please remove this demon from my kitchen. Amen.” She opened her eyes and gazed upon the very much still-present demon.

  Andy cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

  “Why didn’t it work?”

  He poured water into the coffee machine. “There’s a part of you that wants me to fulfill my duty.”

  “Your duty? Demon duty?” Erin laughed with a hysterical edge.

  He pointed the coffee scoop at her. “You’re the one who called for demonic help.”

  “I didn’t know the universe would take me seriously. So, what, you help me get revenge on Mark somehow, and then you’ll leave?”

  The coffee burbled into the pot. Andy didn’t respond until he had filled a mug and placed it in front of Erin. “Exactly.”

  Erin picked up the mug and looked inside it as if she expected it to contain spiders. “Cream, two sugars,” she said.

  He wordlessly collected the mug, added a shot of half-and-half, stirred in two teaspoons of sugar, and returned it to her. He slid into the seat across from her at the kitchen table. “Do we have a deal?”

  She sipped her coffee and looked into his eyes, which were a deep brown color with almost imperceptible flecks of garnet. “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice,” he said.

  She set down her mug. “What? I told you to get out when I first laid eyes on you.”

  “You told me that before you had a chance to think about it.” His voice slid into a lower register, which did strange things to her ability to think clearly. “Ask me to go and I will. I’ll never darken your doorstep again. But I think”—he ran one fingertip around the rim of his own mug of coffee—“I think we might have some fun with this.”

  Erin stared at the demon seated at her kitchen table. Her gaze swept over his ridiculously combed hair, his well-trimmed beard, and his absurd red bow tie. “I got rid of my husband,” she said. “And I suppose I could get rid of you, too. If I needed to.”

  “You certainly could,” he murmured.

  “But you can’t do anything without my approval,” she added.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, flashing his perfect teeth.

  “And you’d have to stay out of my hair.”

  “But of course,” he said. “Do we have a deal?” He reached his hand across the table.

  She took his hand. It was warmer than she expected, almost but not quite hot to the touch. “It’s a deal.”

  3

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” Andy asked.

  Erin, fresh out of a shower and facing the mirror examining herself in a navy tea-length dress, looked over her shoulder at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  “You should make him regret he left you. Show a little leg or something.”

  “You may not be familiar with the concept, demon, but I’m going to church. You know, a house of God?”

  “Why would God have a problem with your leg?”

  “As far as I know, God doesn’t have a problem with my leg.”

  “Then why not show it off?” Andy extended one trouser-clad leg in a way that was clearly intended to be enticing.

  “Why does a demon sound like my mother?” Erin muttered.

  “Does your mother want you to show some leg?”

  “No! I mean, sort of. At first, she wanted me to give up on the divorce and get back together with Mark.”

  Andy approached her from behind as she faced the mirror. He peered at her in the reflection. “Do you want to get back together with him?” His expressive eyes widened.

  “Of course not. He’s a dog.” Erin smoothed the front of the dress. “Sorry, Nancy. No offense,” she added in an aside to the dog, who had returned to her spot at the foot of the bed.

  “Well, then.” Andy patted her shoulders in a comradely way. “What shall we do first? We discussed boils and itching, but an audience opens up all sorts of exciting possibilities.” He whipped out his notebook and flipped through the pages.

  Erin laughed. “You think you’re going to church with me? You can’t even set foot in there.”

  Andy smirked. “I am a Great Earl of Hell and the Discoverer of Wickedness. You’d be surprised where I can go.”

  “Oh, what, anywhere with wickedness?” Erin raised her eyebrows.

  Andy bowed. “Naturellement.” He turned to Erin’s closet and rummaged enthusiastically, flinging clothing across the bed.

  “Wouldn’t people see you?”

  “Only if I wanted them to.” He waggled a little black dress in her direction. “Can I interest you in this chic number?”

  Erin shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do there, anyway.”

  “Fine.” Andy pouted. “Can we at least do your hair?”

  Erin looked at him like he’d sprouted an extra head instead of a set of wings. “A demonic hairstyle?”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it. Sit down.”

  Erin lowered herself into the chair facing the vanity mirror.

  Andy reached into another pocket and retrieved a handful of silver hairpins. “Hold still.”

  Erin felt his warm fingers slide up from the top of her neck deep into the hair on the back of her head. He gripped and twisted in one smooth movement, gathering stray locks with his free hand and pinning them artfully into the twist.

  It all happened so quickly that Erin barely had time to register the goose bumps that rose on her arms. She couldn’t, however, avoid the sight of her reddened cheeks in the mirror, especially when his warm hands brushed past them to arrange a loose tendril or two.

  “There,” said Andy. “That’s better.”

  “Thanks,” said Erin, and tore her gaze away from the mirror to stare at the surface of the vanity instead. “What will you do while I’m gone?”

  “Talk to Nancy. Stretch my wings. Come up with plans to torture your ex-husband.”

  Erin smiled ruefully. “Maybe I should have fixed him breakfast more often.”

  “How often did he fix you breakfast?” said Andy.

  Erin searched her memory and came up with nothing.

  In her silence, Andy got his answer. “You’re well rid of him. More coffee before you go?”

  Erin parked in the lot adjacent to the church and took several calming breaths before opening the car door. She picked up her Bible—with a slim romance novel tucked inside—and joined the trickle of parishioners making their way into the building.

  If she was lucky, she could avoid her mother until th
e last possible second.

  She threaded her way through the lobby, past the ushers, into the sanctuary, and down the aisle flanked by sturdy wooden pews. She took a seat in the back, next to the aisle, far from the front rows preferred by her mother—and, of course, Mark.

  “Darling! What are you doing here? Come sit up front,” said her mother, who swept up from behind and seized her arm.

  Since diving under the pews wasn’t an option, Erin freed herself and spoke in a quiet but firm tone. “Not now, mother. Don’t make a scene.”

  “Nonsense. Who’s making a scene? Can’t I sit with my only daughter?”

  “Sit here, then.”

  “And miss Pastor Patrick? You know I can’t see that far.”

  “You can watch him on the video projection screen, Mom.”

  “Fine,” her mother huffed and plopped down next to Erin. “You win. Oh look, there’s Mark and Genevieve!”

  “Quiet!” Erin gritted out. She pretended not to watch them make their way down to the front.

  “She looks a little chubby,” her mother observed.

  “Mother, can you not?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  The service began with music, followed by prayer. Erin wondered if God would forgive her for speaking in anger.

  And for accidentally conjuring a demon.

  And for letting said demon do her hair.

  Perhaps, she decided, she should save up all her sins and ask forgiveness for all of them at once, when this was all over.

  She paid less attention than she should during the sermon, which was on the subject of “Fresh Starts,” because she was too busy trying to watch Mark and Genevieve without it looking like she was watching them. The video projection screen helped a lot, since the camera frequently panned over the front rows.

  When the sermon concluded, the ushers stood to prepare to hand out the offering plates after the next hymn.

  She glanced at the ushers on her side of the sanctuary—and froze.

  One of them wasn’t an usher. It was Andy.

  He waved at her.

  Her mouth fell open. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed a demon in a red suit and bow tie.

  No one else acted as if anything were amiss.

  Andy walked to the front of the church. He pointed at Mark, and then gave Erin a double thumbs-up signal.

  She shook her head vigorously, not knowing what he was up to but that it was almost certainly a very bad idea.

  The audience stood to sing the hymn. The camera panned over the front rows, but Andy was invisible to the camera. Erin looked from the big screen to the scene unfolding in real life as Andy briefly ducked out of her view.

  And then Mark’s pants fell off.

  The congregation gasped.

  Erin could see Mark’s novelty “Check Your Fly” fishing boxers clearly on the big screen before a red-faced Mark pulled up his trousers. The camera quickly pivoted away.

  A smattering of giggles broke out across the room, quickly muffled but unmistakable.

  Erin’s mother pressed one hand to her chest and used her other hand to fan herself with a folded church program.

  Andy walked nonchalantly up the aisle and leaned over the side of Erin’s pew to whisper in her ear. “Caught with his pants down, am I right?” He had the nerve to grin at her before sauntering out of the church.

  Erin didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or sprint after the retreating demon and strangle him with her bare hands.

  Could you strangle a demon?

  There was nothing else to do but silently fume her way through the remainder of the service, until it finally wrapped up with a rousing—and unfortunately ironic—version of the old hymn “It Is Well.”

  The moment the congregation rose from the pews, Erin tore down the aisle in pursuit of Andy, with her mother’s cries at her abrupt departure echoing behind her. She crossed the parking lot at a near run and found Andy sitting inside her car with the music turned up so loud she could hear it outside the vehicle.

  She tugged at the driver’s side door handle, realized the door was locked, and yanked her purse off her shoulder to rummage in the bottom for the keys. Only then did she realize that the car was already running.

  Andy leaned across and popped the lock from the inside.

  She slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and mashed the button to turn off the car stereo. “Just what did you think you were doing? And how did you get my keys?”

  “You left them in the car. In addition to being a Great Earl of Hell with authority over wickedness and revenge, I am also the Finder of Lost Things. You’re welcome,” he said.

  “‘You’re welcome’? Are you kidding me?”

  Andy turned to face her with an impish expression. “You realize you look like you’re shouting at no one?”

  Erin growled and threw the car into reverse. “Why don’t you just fly home, demon?”

  “Because this is much more fun,” he said.

  “Not for me,” Erin spat.

  “You didn’t like it?” His eyes widened innocently.

  “That’s not the point!”

  “You did like it,” he said, clasping his hands together with deep satisfaction. “I knew you would.”

  “I thought you were staying home to stretch your wings.”

  “I was. I did! But then I came up with this great idea, so—”

  “So you barged in without asking me.”

  His cheery demeanor faltered. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  She slammed the steering wheel with one hand as she peeled out of the parking lot. “You don’t think you were overstepping just a bit? Do you even know what happened to me before you showed up?”

  “No,” said Andy in a small voice.

  Erin laughed. “You’re a supernatural being. How do you not know?”

  He sank down further in the passenger’s seat. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Oh, yeah, Mr. Demon? Then maybe you should explain how it works. Better yet, maybe you should be quiet and listen for a bit.”

  “Okay,” said a very contrite Great Earl of Hell.

  4

  Erin pulled into the deserted parking lot of a fast food chain that was closed on Sundays.

  “I can’t talk about this and drive at the same time,” said Erin.

  “You want me to drive?” said Andy.

  “Do you know how to drive?”

  “No.”

  They sat in silence.

  Andy peered up at the billboard overhead.

  Erin propped her arm against the door and leaned her head on her hand. She closed her eyes. “Go ahead, then. Explain to me how this whole demon thing works.”

  “I was just going to sit quietly and listen,” said Andy.

  “No, go ahead. I want to hear this first.”

  Andy inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “What do you want to know?”

  “Surprise me.”

  “I’m sorry I upset you.”

  Erin waved the apology away. “It’s fine. You meant well. Which is kind of surprising, considering you’re a demon and all.”

  “I was just trying to do my job.”

  “Your job.” Erin looked at him skeptically.

  “I don’t get work often,” he said.

  “What are you, some sort of freelance demon? How are you not busy all the time?”

  “Demons have always been obsolete, Erin. Humans don’t need demons for inspiration. They never did. You manage to do horrible things all on your own. I’ve spent ages just—I don’t know—mucking about. Waiting for the call.”

  “And I called.”

  “And you called. So here I am. Trying to do a bad day’s work in a world that doesn’t need me anymore.”


  “If you don’t have anything to do anymore, couldn’t you”—Erin paused, searching for the most delicate way to phrase it—“go back?”

  Andy snorted. “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, first of all, from what I’ve heard about Hell, it doesn’t sound like a great place to be. Secondly, I’ve never been there and wouldn’t even know how to get there.”

  Erin looked at him with undisguised surprise. “You’ve never been there? But you’re a demon.”

  “I’m almost as tethered to Earth as you are. I don’t remember anything else, no matter how far back I go.”

  Would it be rude to ask his age? Instead, she settled for a less pointed question. “If you’re stuck here, what do you do with your time?”

  “Wander around. Learn things. I took a massage class last year.” He perked up. “Do you know what trigger points are?”

  “Yes. No. Not really. Don’t change the subject.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you. Unbuckle yourself.” He turned in his seat to face her.

  “How did you get the money to take a class?”

  “I’m the Finder of Lost Things, remember? Money turns up all the time.” He reached under the car seat and pulled out a quarter. “See?”

  “Convenient.” Erin’s hand drifted to her seat belt buckle. What was she thinking? You can’t accept a massage from a demon you’ve just met.

  Right?

  “Look, Andy, I’m sure you meant well. But I don’t need your help to get back at Mark.” She stole at glance at Andy.

  A small smile played around his lips.

  She hadn’t noticed that his lips were so finely shaped.

  “Of course you don’t. But wouldn’t it be fun to have help?” He leaned toward her ever so slightly.

  In the close space of the car, he smelled like cinnamon and smoke.

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned awkwardly toward the driver’s side door. “Maybe,” she said, sweeping her hair off her back and pulling it over one shoulder.

  He placed his hands lightly on her shoulders. His thumbs kneaded her shoulder blades as his fingertips pressed away the tension in the thick muscles of her shoulders.