Chapter Two

 

Emma stepped from the shower and dressed quickly, convinced the owner of the apartment would appear out of the shadows at will and determined not to be naked when he did so. She used his comb to work out the tangles in her hair and opened the door from the small bathroom to the bedroom to allow the steam to escape, wearing a pair of boxers and a T-shirt she found atop his plain, worn chest of drawers.

Her hellhound waited on the bed. Sightless white eyes turned toward her, and her tail thumped in greeting.

She felt rested for the first time in two weeks. The room was pleasantly scented, the dark, earthy musk of a mysterious man. His scent clung to her skin; she had not tried overly hard to scrub it free. She liked the way he smelled. She’d forgotten how comforting a man’s scent could be after two years eschewing the opposite sex.

The simplicity of his neat and clean bedroom bordered on sterility. His drawers contained folded, organized clothing, and pairs of shoes peeked from beneath the bed. There were no pictures, no wall hangings, no trinkets, doodads, or decorations.

She hesitated before opening the door into the hall. The Great Dane climbed off the bed and nudged past her, starting down a narrow hall with a cool wooden floor. She followed, peering into a tiny living room with an awkwardly massive couch. The dining area, a round table with four chairs, sat squashed in the corner of a narrow kitchen.

Her stomach roared to life. She took in the empty dish drainer and spotless sink, the aligned appliances on the countertops, and the spacing of towels hanging off the oven. It was not what she expected, though how she expected the devil to live she didn’t know. No fire and brimstone or minions roasting humans over a spit.

She opened a small pantry. Herbs hung from the ceiling and jars of creams and pastes lined the wall before her. The scent of the pantry was strong, and she recognized rosemary, basil, and mint before the urge to sneeze made her grab a box of cereal and close the door. She crossed to the refrigerator and grimaced as she looked over the contents of his fridge.

“Who knew the devil was a health nut?” she muttered. She retrieved soy milk, fished out a bowl and spoon from cabinets, then turned at the hellhound’s whine. The Great Dane stood with its nose at the cabinets under the sink. Emma opened it to reveal a folded bag of dog food and clean dish.

“Your master is a bit on the anal side,” she told her.

After breakfast, further exploration led to the discovery of her shoes sitting with his under the bed, and her purse tucked away in one of his drawers. She changed back into the clothes she’d been in the night before and debated leaving her dirty bowl in the sink to break up the creepy organization around her or rinsing it and putting it away. He had, after all, taken her in.

He’d also drugged her after blackmailing her into having sex with him. But she’d do anything to have Sissy well again, even sleep with some weird stranger. After all, her last boyfriend had been a stranger to her even after their time together.

She left the bowl in the sink and put on her shoes without making the bed.

“C’mon, angel,” she called to the dog and started to the door in the kitchen. She held it open for the Great Dane, who led her down a narrow hall lined with three more doors to a set of stairs. The scent rising from the floor below caught up with her as she descended the stairs. It was different from that of the night. Jasmine, she mused, and something she didn’t recognize. Sultry, exotic scents, like the shadow man himself.

She entered the store. It was as small as she remembered, though bright and non-threatening in the light of day. There were no corners with impenetrable shadows, no gleaming eyes, no devil.

Same clerks. Emma almost rolled her eyes but looked to the back of the shop. He did have Coke.

“Will you tell Tristan if he leaves his coffin that I’m going to call a tow truck for my car?”

They both gave her looks more hostile than previously.

She ignored a hiss of bitch and stepped into the sunlight. The street was as she left it: possessed. There were plenty of vampire and fairy wannabes, more than she had ever seen concentrated anywhere except during Halloween, mingling with the tourists cheerfully strolling in and out of shops with names like Witch’s Brew, Demon Delicacies, and World’s Smallest Portal to Hell.

Distracted by the weirdos, she didn’t realize her car was gone until she reminded herself why she’d come outside. She muttered a curse, her gaze lingering in front of the store where she’d parked.

No keys, no car. It was fully insured, though that wouldn’t get her home today. Unease stirred within her. Tristan didn’t seem like a very eager host, and his location of living quarters left much to be desired. Most of the caped and winged people on the street deserved to reside in a mental institution at the very least.

Her phone rang. She pulled it free of her pocket.

“Hey, sis. How are you?” The woman’s voice on the other end was strained, tired. Guilt engulfed Emma. She’d had a good night’s rest and had managed to avoid the pain and sorrow at the edge of her thoughts. Her sister had no such opportunities.

“How are you? Have you gotten any rest?” she asked.

“Some,” was the evasive answer. “You sound good; you needed some sleep.”

“Thanks, Amber,” Emma said.

“Hey, look, someone called today claiming to be a friend of yours. I’ve never heard you talk about him, so I wasn’t sure. He said your car was being towed and that you asked him to help my baby.”

“Yes,” she said slowly, wondering how Tristan had figured out her sister’s phone number and address. “Tristan, right?”

“Yeah. Pretty accent. Is he French or something?”

“No idea.”

“So is he okay?”

“He’s there to try and help,” she hedged. “He’s different, so don’t be surprised.”

“None of your friends surprise me, not that I’ve met more than a couple. What’s the story?”

“I’m kind of seeing him,” she said, unable to voice the truth.

“Boyfriend?” The surprise in Amber’s voice was apparent. “I’ve been so worried about Sissy I haven’t paid any attention. You think he can help Sissy?”

“I think if anyone can, he can,” Emma said honestly. Pain filtered through her at the desperation in her sister’s voice.

“Is he a doctor?”

“Not quite.”

“I trust you, Em.” Amber’s voice was quiet. Her words tore at Emma’s heart. She took a deep breath and felt her eyes water. She’d invited the devil into her sister’s home, to meet with her four-year-old, dying niece.

What if I made a mistake?

“We’ve never met anyone you dated. Is it serious?” Amber continued.

“Most of the guys I date turn out to be idiots. I’m doing a favor by not introducing you to them,” Emma said, her mind going to Adam, the last man she’d dated. “No, it’s not serious.”

“You trusted him with your car, and he’s coming to meet us!” The hopeful note in her sister’s voice was too sweet, too long absent for Emma to correct her.

“Yeah, well, this one might be useful,” she said lamely.

“This is really cool. I’ll have Mama drop by to meet him,” Amber said.

“That’s fine,” she managed, growing even more unsettled by the thought of introducing everyone she loved to a stranger who wasn’t quite normal. “Maybe I’ll drive over, too, and, uh, introduce him or something.”

“You’ve made my day.”

“Thanks, Amber. Take care of baby and tell Mama I said hello.”

“I will. You’ve done enough, Em. You need to get back to your life,” Amber lectured.

“Sis, you and baby are my life.”

“Yes, but if this guy is serious, don’t lose him on account of us.”

“Oh, no problem there,” Emma assured her. “I’ve never let a guy come between my family and me before.”

“You ought to. Someone needs to take care of you.”

“I know, sis.”

“Well, have a good day,” Amber said.

“You, too. Please take care of yourself.” Emma hung up and stared at the phone then glanced at the Great Dane sitting patiently beside her. “Your master has a lot of nerve, angel. He better not be some wacko.”

The dog stood as she started forward, and Emma pocketed her phone. She passed through the shop, ignoring the poisonous stares from the clerks. She trotted up the stairs and to the apartment. His scent lingered where it hadn’t before. Her cereal bowl was no longer in the kitchen sink. Her eyes settled on the fridge, where a note that hadn’t been there when she stepped out was held in place by a black magnet.

Emma -

I called your sis to tell her where you are and had your car towed to her house. I rented you a car. It’s out back. Bring Isolde. The keys are on the dresser and my cell number below.

T

Emma shivered. Not only could the man read minds, but he must’ve been invisible or gone in and out a back way in the five minutes she spent downstairs. What was he?

“Your name is Isolde?” she asked the dog, forcing her mind on something other than a sense of panic and foreboding building within her. The dog thumped its tail.

“I hope you like car rides.”

Thump, thump, thump.

“God help me,” she murmured and turned away from the note from the fridge.

 

* * *

Tristan understood Emma’s exhaustion and sense of urgency the moment he entered the small apartment. He stood in the doorway of a brightly painted child’s room. The bed across from him held a sleeping girl as pale as her white pillow and covered in a cartoon character sheet. Her hair was a mass of soft, dark curls, her chubby face heart-shaped. The room smelled of her, an innocent, pure scent, tainted with the heavier scent of sickness. Toys were organized in an open trunk and fat picture books stacked on one bookshelf. Stuffed animals had been banned to a beanbag in the corner, and a large dollhouse took up the area between the bed and one wall. An empty wooden rocking chair sat close to the bed.

He took in everything with a critical glance and knew without stepping into the room what afflicted her. Darkness, like that in Emma’s box, hovered around the girl and throughout the room in patches. It called to him as a brother, its presence familiar and soothing. He stepped away, hands sweaty. He’d never faced anything this strong, wasn’t sure he could suppress the evil within him and the evil of the room at the same time.

Emma’s sister, a pale woman with dark blond hair, stood over the bed. Despair clung to her. She had already given up on finding a cure for her daughter.

“Emma swore she’d find a way to help,” Amber said in a distant voice. She straightened. “Thank you for coming.”

Tristan was not unaffected by the scene before him or her words. How would he feel if he sensed the danger without understanding anything about it?

“Amber,” he said, drawing off his shadows to reach the woman’s exhausted mind. She turned, dark green eyes focusing. “Come with me.”

Tristan led her past the bright living room and into the kitchen. Amber slumped on a stool at the counter overlooking a double sink and watched him with glazed eyes. Tristan prepared a cup of tea to put her mind at rest long enough for her to get some sleep.

“Tell me what happened,” he instructed.

“A couple of months ago, Sissy started … to get sick. Fevers and such. Kids are always sick when in daycare, so I took her to the doctor. He gave her penicillin, and she seemed okay for a couple days. Then it came back, worse, and she slept for a few days, recovered, and seemed okay again. I took her to a specialist, to a few specialists, but they didn’t find anything wrong.” Amber’s voice was monotonous, her hand propping up her head. “She said she had nightmares, and one night she was crying. I went in to see her. She was okay, and I stayed until she was asleep. She didn’t wake up for a week. I took her to the hospital, and they hooked her up to machines but found nothing. When she woke, she seemed okay again, then … more fevers, more nightmares, more days when she slept without waking.”

“How long has she been out this time?”

“Over a week. The doctor …” Her voice broke. Tristan turned away to give her privacy and retrieved the water from the microwave. “The doctor says she can stay in the hospital or here at home, but that the chances … the chances of …” Amber blinked back tears and stared, unseeing. Tristan dipped a loose leaf strainer into the hot water. He said nothing for several moments, withdrew it, and handed her the tea. She offered a ghost of a smile.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I’m sorry. Emma’s the strong one.”

“You’re strong, Amber,” he assured her, touched. Even if he wasn’t sure he could control the darkness within him, he’d do whatever he could to alleviate the sisters’ pain. “Did Sissy tell you about her nightmares?”

“She said there was a man by her bed, a dark man with snow clouds. She was afraid of him, but I didn’t understand why exactly. She said he just stood there and watched her. He wanted her to go somewhere, but she didn’t want to go.”

A knot of understanding sank into his stomach.

“Emma came back two weeks ago from a business trip. I thought … I was too tired to think much, but she heard Sissy talk about her dreams, and she acted really weird. Wouldn’t go into her bedroom even when Sissy asked for her. I yelled at her. We were both stressed, but she actually cried. I’ve never seen Emma cry, and she’s-- we’ve-- been through a lot. She’s been working so hard to find someone to help.” Amber paused then added drowsily, “Emma and Sissy are so much alike. They have the same hair and are afraid of the dark.”

Tristan leaned his hips against the counter across from her, watching. The tea was taking effect, and tension eased from the slender woman’s frame.

“Go rest.”

“Mama will be here in a bit,” she said in a thin voice as she rose. “Make yourself at home. Em never brings people to meet us, especially not boyfriends. You must be special.”

“We’ll talk more when you wake up.” His eyes followed her shape until the door to her room closed. He returned to Sissy’s room and took in the patches of shadows. Emma was hiding something from her sister and him. There was more to her than he expected, but had the darkness within him not warned him of such?

He stepped into the room, at once inundated with hot and cold as shadows and darkness were propelled to him like paperclips to a magnet. He paused a few feet from the bed and let the darkness acclimate to him. He hesitated, then let the darkness within him enough freedom to greet the evil in the room to keep it from targeting him next. He shuddered in uneasy pleasure as the two essences merged.

Welcome, Tristan. The voice was so soft, he barely heard it. His body recognized this darkness, though he didn’t know how. He moved forward slowly once again, feeling the shadows swirl around him like a soft night breeze. He sat on the bed and touched the girl’s clammy forehead with a steady hand. Her breathing was shallow and uneven, her body laboring.

It was evil that afflicted her. The shadows that clung to the teddy bear in the box Emma carried had also crept into the little girl’s body. Removing them wouldn’t be hard for him. Ridding the room and apartment would take more time, unless he could identify what object in the apartment had been tagged by evil. The shadows were guided to their target by something touched by a curse, and he needed to find whatever that was. This was no accident. Emma had known enough to know she needed to seek out someone like him. He couldn’t help feeling she had a few things to explain.

“Hello?” a cheerful voice called out.

Tristan shook off the shadows and strode to the door. An older woman with fluffed brown hair highlighted with silver and Emma’s stunning green eyes behind large glasses entered the apartment. Her smile brightened as she saw him, and he waited for her to recoil in the usual horror people displayed when they first met him. She hesitated and then crossed the room with her hand extended.

“You must be Tristan,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, surprised she’d approached him.

“Call me Mama. The girls introduce me to everyone as Mama,” she said and studied him. There was intelligence behind the shining eyes, and Tristan suspected she was assessing him even as she smiled. She would’ve seen and felt his darkness like everyone else did. Instead of running away screaming, Mama’s eyes went to Sissy’s room. “Is Amber …”

“Resting,” he supplied.

“Good. Don’t think she’s slept in a couple of weeks. Emma will be here today, right?” The older woman searched through the bag she carried as she walked to the kitchen.

“She’ll be in about four.” Tristan followed her.

Mama withdrew several bags of cookies and looked at him closely before choosing one bag. “You look like an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie type,” she decided.

“How is that?” he asked and accepted the bag, puzzled.

“Complex,” she said and flashed a smile. Her interest turned to the pouches he’d placed on the counter. “Did you bring tea?”

“I did. Do you like herbal teas?”

“I do! Where’d Emma find you?”

“Maryland coast.” He braced himself for the typical rejection he faced when dealing with normal people.

“I think it’s a good thing,” she said.

Her attention turned to the contents of his bag, and he realized he’d passed whatever test protective mothers gave the men dating their daughters. It was a first for him. He watched her explore the herbs and salves in the pouches with the curiosity of a child. Most who met him either ran or tried to kill him, believing him to be a vampire, and yet Emma’s family had accepted him. For the first time in his life, he thought someone other than himself was weird.

“I was about to start my trade. Would you like to join me?” he asked.

Mama nodded. Tristan secured a small bag resting on the adjacent stool, took his cookies, and went to Sissy’s room. Shadows welcomed him and gathered once more. He missed a step, still uncertain about his own ability to control the shadows, but forced himself to Sissy’s side. The middle-aged woman followed and pulled up a chair next to Sissy.

Tristan set to work. He placed candles and incense oils around the room, smeared soothing balm on the little girl’s chest, and sent Mama to the kitchen to prepare a special tea. His actions were mainly for show. What he did to cure Sissy had nothing to do with anything Mama and the girls understood, but seeing physical signs of his trade might comfort them.

When she left, Tristan touched Sissy’s forehead again and closed his eyes. Her mind was dark and quiet, as if blanketed by night, and he probed to get a sense of the black magic that held her. It was potent, he realized as he stirred it like a gust of wind stirred clouds.

Tristan forced it to answer to him, manipulating it, moving it, gathering it, like he did the shadows within him when they became too restless. He drew away when Mama returned. Sissy’s breathing was deeper, less strained, the breathing of one in deep slumber and not battling illness.

“What kind of tea is it?” Mama asked.

“Healing tea,” he answered. “It soothes and cleanses the body.”

“There’s ginger, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He took it and tested its heat, found it to be lukewarm, and shifted forward to lift Sissy’s head and chest from the bed. Her body was warm but not fevered. Tristan placed the cup to her lips and softly whispered commands for her body to take it and the shadows not to interfere. Both responded, and he tilted the cup until its contents were drained.

“You must be a magician of some sort,” Mama said quietly. Tristan said nothing and lowered the girl back to the bed. “It’s devil’s work, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe in the devil,” he replied.

“Evil, then. I imagine you’re not um, Catholic,” she said. “But you believe in evil and good, I’m sure.”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s evil.”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, wondering if she’d ask about him next.

“And you are a dark angel.”

He looked up with a surprised chuckle. “I’ve been called many things, Mama, but never an angel,” he admitted.

“If you can help our Sissy …” Mama’s green eyes fell to her grandchild, and her smile faded. “Thank you for coming, Tristan.”

Tristan pulled out one of the cookies.

“Are you hungry?” She roused herself from her sorrow.

“Maybe a little,” he said, sensing her restlessness.

“Do you eat home cookin’?”

“I’ll eat anything.”

“Good. I’ve got a casserole to make!” Mama said and left. Tristan placed a hand on the girl’s arm, communicating with the shadows. Emma was probably pissed he’d left her there, but he’d long ago found it easier to assess a situation involving the occult without the charged, negative energy of his client interfering. She didn’t seem to be the kind who liked surprises overly much, though she didn’t seem to mind leaving him in the dark about whatever evil it was that invaded Sissy’s room and body.

 

* * *

“I found her.”

Hunched over the ancient spell book for the past few hours, Olivia grimaced as she straightened. She’d spent another long day in Jeffrey’s extensive library, where he’d collected and translated books older than she could guess on mythology, occult, and witchcraft. His library was the reason she sought him out; he was known throughout the occult world for his seemingly deep pockets he used to build an occult library the size of an apartment. She’d hoped to find the spells she needed to bring back Adam and destroy the woman who took him from her. After two years in the musty library, she’d almost found the last incantation.

“Found who, Jeffrey?” she asked, irritated at being disturbed to hear about his latest witchy floozy.

“Emma.”

She whipped around, her mouth dropping open in silent words. Jeffrey flung himself onto the couch across from the table at which she sat.

“I thought you were just interested in bringing back Adam,” he said. “You should’ve told me about her. I know quite a bit about revenge.”

“How did you find out about Emma?” she managed at last, her face warm with anger.

“I heard,” he said vaguely. “One of your shadow demons tried to pull one of its friends from Hell into the basement. We had a little talk before I sent both of them back.” The shadows in the room lazily drifted toward him, drawn by the same darkness she saw in his eyes. Lately, she’d felt more and more uneasy around him.

“It’s none of your business,” she said.

“So you’re not interested in knowing where she is?”

“Of course I am.” Olivia wanted so much to turn around and ignore him. The raw meat he dangled in front of her was too much of a temptation, but oh, how she hated his smugness! “I don’t need you, Jeffrey. My shadow messengers will tell me.”

“How’s that working for you after two years? You grow uglier and weaker by the day, Olivia. You don’t have another two years.”

“You son of-- ”

“Just saying. I know you’ve read enough of my library to know you can use her blood to bring Adam back. He had no family; she was the only thing on this earth he loved.”

“He loved me!” she retorted, anger rising. “And yes, I know that!”

“Look, I’ll make this easy for you. You’re a member of my little family here. I’ll help you bring her in and bring him back. I’ll even do it for-- ”

“Get out!” she shouted. “I don’t want your help, Jeffrey! I want you to leave me the hell alone!”

Fire flashed in Jeffrey’s eyes, and he rose, crossing to the table. He planted his hands on the table and leaned close to her.

“It’s too late, Olivia. You cracked the gates to Hell. Only I can keep Hell from taking you.”

She started to argue. He grabbed her around the neck with one hand and hauled her to a mirror, ignoring her kicks and punches. Thrusting her in front of it, he squeezed her neck until she stilled for fear he’d snap it.

“What do you see, Olivia?”

She was beautiful, dazzling, with sleek, long, blue-black hair, large blue eyes, flawless porcelain skin, and full red lips. Surprised, she saw herself, and her own beauty took her breath away.

“Me,” she whispered, touching her face in awe.

The mirror changed suddenly, reflecting a haggard woman whose blue eyes were faded beyond their twenty-one years. Her skin was grayish and splotchy, her hair a mix of black and yellow, her eyes baggy.

“Look at what you’ve become,” Jeffrey whispered. “Even a dead man would want nothing to do with you.” He released her and stepped back.

She remained in place, stunned once more. She’d avoided mirrors for about a year, not wanting to see the impact black magic had on her. Even last year, she’d looked nothing like the worn woman in the mirror.

“Adam would love me anyway,” she said, trying hard to ignore the whisper of doubt in her mind.

“Not if he had to choose between you and Emma. She’s beautiful and you’re …” He drifted off, letting the mirror complete his thought. “Even at your best, Adam chose her. I can make you better, more beautiful, invincible.”

Her heart ached at his words. Adam had chosen another woman over her, even when she was at her most beautiful. She’d kill Emma, but what if he did it again? Emma had been one of half a dozen women she’d punished for trying to take Adam from her. If she were able to keep him from straying in the first place, she would never have to deal with them again.

“How?” she asked.

“I have the incantation you’re looking for, and I have the power to give you what you want.” At his words, the image in the mirror turned again to the beautiful woman. “Just say yes.”

He moved forward again, his warm body at her back. He touched her shoulders and then let his hands roam downwards, over her arms, to her waist. She gazed longingly at the beautiful woman in the mirror and watched as he kissed her neck. A woman as beautiful as the one peering back at her could have anything-- and anyone-- she wanted. Adam would never leave her.

The thought of a night with her lover made her heart leap and her body grow weak. She closed her eyes as one of Jeffrey’s hands traveled across her belly. He pulled her against him hard, and she felt the length of his erection against her backside. His other hand slid into her jeans. Strange fire flowed from his hands into her.

“You’ll give me Adam and help me destroy Emma?” she whispered, beyond aroused.

“I will. He’ll be yours forever.”

“Yes, Jeffrey.”

“Come to bed with me. When you awaken, you will be beautiful again.”

She turned and kissed him with passion she’d only shared with Adam. He groaned in pleasure and pushed her onto the table. Unable to control the unnatural heat building in her blood, she pulled him on top of her.

“Now, Jeffrey!” she ordered hoarsely.

 

* * *

Emma stared at the apartment building with a sense of foreboding. The fall sun hovered low on the horizon, casting long shadows around her. She would rather sleep in the breezeway than step foot in the apartment. Guiltily, she touched Isolde’s head.

“C’mon, angel,” she murmured.

The dog followed. Emma climbed three flights of steps, guiding the animal with touches, and paused outside the door to Amber’s large, bright apartment. Her house keys were on the lost keychain. Doom and fear made her shudder. She mentally pictured herself stuffing each negative emotion into a bottle and then corking it.

Face the devil unafraid, Emma, she ordered herself. Of course, this devil could read minds.

“Dammit,” she muttered and beat on the door. Mama answered.

“Hello, Emma-doodle!” Mama called.

“Mama, don’t call me that,” she sighed. “I’m not five.”

Mama smiled brightly and hugged her. Emma hugged her back, relaxing in the safety of her arms. She pulled away.

“You brought a friend.” Mama looked down to Isolde. “Hello there!”

Isolde thumped her tail and sniffed, taking a hesitant step forward to find the source of Mama’s voice. The apartment was already too dark for Emma’s comfort, with the shadowy doorway to Sissy’s room darker than the rest. She eyed the lamps above the entertainment center.

“Her name’s Isolde,” Emma said. “She’s Tristan’s.”

“Did she fit in the car?” Mama asked. “I’ve never seen a dog that big!”

“Yes, Mama,” she murmured. “I smell dinner.”

“My weekly experimental casserole.”

Emma groaned and entered, closing the door behind her. She turned on the nearest light and set her bag down by the door before removing her shoes. Isolde started forward, following the sounds of Mama’s retreat and the scent of food.

“Where’s Amber?” she asked, glancing around.

“Tristan gave her some relaxation tea, and she went to sleep.”

“I forgot about his drugged tea! But at least she’s getting some sleep,” Emma said darkly. Mama looked at her curiously from the kitchen.

Emma turned on two more lamps and glanced apprehensively at Sissy’s door. He was there, with the rest of the darkness. Emma started toward the half-closed door, paused, and turned on another lamp. She pushed the door open, not certain what to expect but awaiting a scene from Poltergeist.

Sissy slept deeply, her room much more organized than Emma had ever seen it. Tristan sat in the rocking chair beside her, dressed in a light blue polo shirt, unbuttoned to reveal curls of dark chest hair, and stonewashed khaki pants that clung to his lean form.

In the darkness of his shop, she hadn’t noticed his body. He was lean with wide shoulders and chest and thick thighs. How had she not noticed his looks? He was beautiful in a wild, animal-like way with the sense of deceptively relaxed dark power.

His piercing eyes pinned her in place. Emma stood in the doorway, arrested once more by eyes darker than night. They glinted with something too raw to be natural. It thrilled her as well as unnerved her. Her body responded to the sight of him, grew warmer and aware. He seemed unable or unwilling to look away from her, and Emma was more than aware of the way the shadows of the room all pointed and angled toward him, as if stretching to reach him where he sat.

I brought the devil into my sister’s home.

One eyebrow twitched. A look of amusement crossed his face. She’d almost convinced herself to disregard the strangeness of their first meeting, that she’d been too tired to understand much of anything.

“You look rested.”

Likewise, she had forgotten the softness of his dark voice, how it traveled like a dark caress on a fall breeze, grazed her, made her shiver.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied with effort. “I see …” …you’ve met Sissy. A sense of guilt washed over her, and she stepped back, struggling to keep her emotions bottled. What was she doing?

Seeking help from the only man capable of giving it. The thought was not entirely hers, but she accepted it. It was the truth; there was no one else who could help. She had made a deal with the devil. As long as he kept his part, she would keep hers. There was no more debating.

Tristan smiled and blinked, releasing her from his spell.

“You can save her?” she ventured, uncertain if she were ready for an honest answer.

“Yes, Emma.” The calmness of his dark voice soothed her. She looked away and glanced around at the burning oil. It smelled of musky earth and fresh ocean. The window above the bed was open.

“I brought Isolde,” she said awkwardly. “I don’t think she likes long car rides.”

“I don’t either,” he said.

“Used to turning into a bat and flying?” she asked.

“You have a charming family,” he said with a chuckle.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t know how else to explain you. I told them … well, that we’re dating.”

“I have no problem with that. Why don’t you come in?” His voice changed, as did his face, and Emma felt again they were on a fence and he was assessing her. The air tensed until even the shadows were wary and waiting. The feeling made her queasy. She glanced around.

“No,” she said. “No.”

His eyes were hot enough to make her skin warm. The sense passed, and she met his gaze once more.

“You feel it,” he said. “It was meant for you?”

“I’m going to eat now,” she told him. She closed the door until she could no longer feel his eyes on her. Shivering, she crossed the living room to the breakfast counter at the edge of the kitchen.

“Isolde likes my casserole,” Mama said.

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor, where Isolde stood devouring a plate of meat, noodles, cheeses, and vegetables.

“I like him, Emma.” Mama lowered her voice. “He’s reserved but very nice.”

“Don’t get used to him, Mama,” Emma advised. “Think of him like every other man, a commitment-phobe.”

“Emma-doodle, you’re the commitment-phobe.”

“Mama, don’t call me that.” Emma flushed. Mama had a way of making her feel like she was waist high, yet Emma also felt as if she were twice as old as her mother, that in the absence of her father, she was their only buffer between the sweetness of Amber and Mama and the evils of the world.

Her eyes strayed to Sissy’s room. First a curse from a black witch, then the devil. She was doing an awful job of taking care of her family. Depressed, she sighed.

“Really, Emma, you haven’t dated in so long, and you didn’t even tell us you started seeing someone new,” Mama went on. “I didn’t know about Tristan; neither did Amber.”

“It doesn’t matter, Mama,” Emma said. “I’m not bringing riffraff to meet my family.”

“You don’t bring anyone to meet your family.”

“Don’t get lippy, lady,” Emma warned. “Besides, there’s a man here now, isn’t there?”

“You still haven’t told us anything, like where you met, how serious you are, or anything about him,” Mama said pointedly and dropped the plate of casserole in front of Emma.

“Mama!” she exclaimed as casserole splattered across the counter. “It’s not serious. We’re just dating. His name is Tristan, and he owns an … herbally type store and has a dog. He’s a health nut. I met him when he pretty much saved me from a gang of street urchins after I lost my car keys. Happy?”

“You’re as stubborn as Sissy in the toy aisle.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Emma asked in exasperation.

“Your feelings.”

“I don’t have any,” Emma replied gruffly. “I stuff them all in my toes so they can’t come out.”

“I’ll get answers from Tristan,” Mama said.

“Oh, you’re welcome to try.”

“I’m just happy you finally got over that one guy, Adam. It’s been long enough. We talked about the devil today.” Emma choked on her mouthful of casserole at Mama’s words. “Tristan is a really interesting person to talk to.” Emma nodded, coughing until her face was red, and pounded on her chest. “You okay?” Mama asked, pouring a glass of water.

Emma swallowed a mouthful of water.

“He’s been with Sissy all day, but he came out once, and we talked about a few things,” Mama went on. “He’s nice and sharp, I think maybe even as smart as you.”

“I’m glad you like him, Mama. You can keep him and toss me back.”

“Emma!”

“How’s Amber?” she asked, wanting to change the subject away from Tristan.

“Stressed, exhausted,” Mama said. “I’ve been coming over to make sure she eats, but she wouldn’t sleep before today.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” she murmured.

“Darlin’, you’ve done what you could. It’s in God’s hands,” Mama said gently. “We need to concentrate on taking care of your sis, too.”

Emma nodded. Her appetite fled at the thought of her tormented sister. She pushed the plate away.

“Have you called into work?” Mama continued.

“I told them a few days ago I’d be gone a month. They won’t call for another week and a half or so,” Emma said.

“You’re not getting paid, though.”

“Don’t worry about it, Mama. I’m good enough with my money.”

“Well, if it gets to be too hard on you to send me money, stop doing it,” Mama said firmly. “You sacrifice too much sometimes.”

“No, Mama,” Emma assured her. “I’ve got the money. I make more than enough, and it’s just me and my car. I’m able to save quite a bit.” And I can sell the car next month, when I’m totally broke.

“All right,” Mama said, unconvinced. “My old boss called and said the admin support staff should only have a few more weeks on furlough. I know he can’t type, so I wonder who’s been writing his memos for him.”

“That’s good, Mama. Fortunately, no one is willing to lay off a computer tech, or I’d be worried about mine.”

She finished eating and changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt, brushed her hair and teeth, and tied her hair in a ponytail at the base of her neck. It wasn’t even six-thirty yet, and her tired body was ready for bed. Mama was in the chair watching a movie when she returned to the family room. Emma plopped down on her side on the couch. Isolde stood beside the kitchen for a long moment, sniffed, and made her way to Sissy’s room. She nudged her way in, and Emma turned her attention to the movie.

 

* * *

Tristan left Isolde with the sleeping girl and stepped into the living room a couple hours after dark, surprised to see Emma sound asleep on the couch and Mama dozing in her chair. His movement caused Mama to stir. The matriarch of the family rose and smiled before shaking her daughter awake.

“Emma!”

Emma grumbled. Tristan gazed at the sleeping woman, once more caught by her classic features and the pure aura. Her curvy shape was clad in running pants and a T-shirt. Her long, silken hair was captured at her neck. His eyes drank her in, and he felt a stirring in his loins as he realized she was the prize for this job.

Mama succeeded in rousing Emma at last. Emma swung her legs over the side of the couch with a sigh and rubbed her face.

“I’m up, I’m up,” she muttered.

“I made up the front bedroom for you both,” Mama told Tristan.

“He gets the couch, Mama,” Emma said with a pointed-- if drowsy-- look at him.

“Nonsense.” Mama eyed her. “He’s a guest, and I don’t have a problem if you share a room.”

“What? It’s against all your Biblical principles!” Emma argued.

“Emma, I’ve watched enough TV to know how things are.”

“Mama, TV has nothing to do with this,” she objected. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“If Mama doesn’t mind, it’s not a problem with me,” Tristan ventured.

“I know you’re an adult,” Mama said and started down the opposite hallway.

“Shall we keep up appearances?” he challenged as he stepped beside the stubborn woman. Emma frowned but rose. She crossed her arms and strode forward, out of his reach.

“I know you like pillows, Emma,” Mama said from the hallway, voice muffled as she dug through a linen closet. “Here are two more.”

“Thanks, Mama,” Emma said grudgingly and accepted them.

“Sleep well, stubborn one,” Mama said and kissed her cheek. Emma mumbled in response and marched into the guest bedroom. “You, too,” Mama told Tristan with a gentle squeeze of his arm.

“Thank you, Mama,” Tristan said with a small smile. He followed Emma and closed the door. She glared at him from the opposite corner of the room.

“You get the floor,” she snapped.

“You get the floor,” he replied. He removed a pillow from the bed and tossed it to her. “We made a deal. I won’t break my word, even if you’re lying beside me.”

Her jaw clenched. She stayed where she was, staring at him with beautiful, large green eyes, then snatched a blanket and tossed it on the floor.

“I sleep with the lights on,” she informed him crisply.

“I don’t,” he countered and flicked off the switch.

She swore, and he smiled, sensing her unease. Tristan stripped to his boxers and slid under the covers, not at all tired. His mind swam with awareness of the sultry siren a few feet away. He could smell her, the musky scent of warm honey water and amber, the scent of a woman with a body he would gladly plunder once this was over.

He forced his thoughts to Sissy, to the source of darkness. He needed some information and suspected Emma would be his last resource. He feared releasing his shadows into her to learn the truth. He didn’t like dealing with his darkness anymore than he had to. Perhaps a secondary approach would work with her, a subtler one, through Mama and Amber. They, too, might know what he needed to learn about Emma’s history and when her first brush with darkness had been. The shadows in Sissy’s room might tell him if he asked, but shadows knew only what their creator told them, not the entire story.

She tossed and turned. He sensed her negative energy: fear, anger, anxiety. It was more than him that caused it; it was the darkness itself.

Em and Sissy are both afraid of the dark.

Tristan sensed no threat aside from that within him. He sat and crawled to the foot of the bed, seeing her as plainly as he would during daylight. She was curled in a ball on her side, surrounded by a small fort of protective pillows. Her eyes were open, staring, her body far too tense for sleep.

It was not a natural fear, he assessed, but one caused by trauma. She appeared no older than a child huddled in the dark against the threat of an elusive boogeyman. Only Emma was too old for fanciful fears or boogeymen, and something about her drew both the man and shadows within him. He sensed her passion, buried with her emotions.

In her toes, he recalled overhearing with some amusement. She was the kind of woman a man didn’t let go.

Mine. The sense was natural, applauded by the darkness and human parts of him as well.

“Beware the monsters under the bed,” he whispered.

Emma jerked and looked up at him, raw terror crossing her face. He knew what she saw when she looked at him in the dark: the gleam of demon eyes and nothing but shadows.

“Son of a bitch!” she swore. Anger and apprehension warred, but anger won out, and Tristan drew back to lie down as she rose. “I swear, Tristan, if you’re … Christ, I don’t even know what you are, but if you hurt anyone in my family-- ”

“Rest, Emma.”

She paced. Tristan relaxed and folded his hands behind his head, letting her fume and debate over what was the lesser of two evils: the boogeyman under the bed or the one in it.

Finally, Emma slung a pillow at him and climbed onto the far side of the bed. Tristan watched in amusement as she created a small wall of pillows between them and then curled up into a tight ball once more. He waited until she stilled before summoning the shadows and commanding her to sleep. Her body responded, unfolding like a flower. He rolled to face her, disassembled her fort, and hugged a pillow, content.