Page 22 of Hellbound

CHAPTER SIX

Marian drummed her fingers against her coffee mug as she checked her phone again. She’d snagged a corner booth inside the bustling Norms on La Cienega while she waited for a demon to walk through the door.

She could practically hear the veins bulging in Craig’s forehead through the phone when she’d refused to meet the demon in her territory, opting for a public place. To her surprise, Verinne agreed to her terms—through Craig—without further negotiation.

Now Marian nursed a tepid cup of black coffee as she eyed the throng of customers that gathered in the entryway shortly after she sat down. They glared at her as she occupied a table intended for four.

Her stomach growled when the waiter, the most haggard-looking teenager Marian had ever seen, came to take her order. Marian hadn’t even opened the menu; she assumed she’d throw up whatever she ate when Verinne arrived, given her stomach’s tendency to revolt in the presence of demons. The coffee, however, seemed like a safe splurge. She shook her head and pushed her cup out for a warm-up with a half-swallowed “thank-you.”

It didn’t take much to trigger her anxiety, but prolonged delays ahead of unpleasant tasks were a surefire way to make Marian chew drywall. She took a careful sip of coffee, which was now hotter than the surface of Venus.

When the entrance doors opened, Marian forgot all about her mouthful of magma. The world narrowed to the supermodel strolling down the aisle toward her and the sweeping wave of revulsion that followed.

Time stuttered as a demon with white-blond hair trained in luxurious waves down her shoulders strode through Norms wearing a knee-length marigold skirt, pale pink blouse, and strappy white sandals. Marian sat stupefied in her black trucker hat and grease-stained Laker’s tee from three championships ago as one by one, every other eye in the restaurant swiveled to the petite woman with a perfect tan who’d just walked in and slipped into the booth opposite Marian.

Marian wrapped her hands tightly around her mug as the demon set a black handbag on the table—Saint Laurent—and pulled off her sunglasses with a captivating smile that made her honey-brown eyes twinkle.

“Hey, girlie. Sorry I’m late. The 405 was a parking lot,” said the demon, her Angeleno accent engulfing every vowel. She folded her glasses and placed them inside a case while Marian’s gaze flitted about the room.

The other patrons resumed their conversations, all interest lost in the woman whose aura assaulted Marian’s senses like a swarm of locusts.

“Verinne?” Marian said once she managed to unstick her burned tongue from the roof of her mouth.

The demon placed a manicured hand over her heart, her long silver nails filed to dagger points. “I keep forgetting we haven’t actually met in person. We emailed back and forth so much, I feel like I already know you.”

Marian leaned into the booth, the glossy vinyl clinging to her bare arms as she looked at the demon. “What do you want?”

Verinne’s smile held.

“All business and no bullshit, I love it. My colleagues are so big on intimidation and long speeches, and I’m just like, ‘Where have you been for the last three hundred years? Why are we bullying our only links to Hell?’ It’s so stupid.” The demon laughed a nasal titter that rained pins and needles down Marian’s back.

She hadn’t expected the demon to be so …

Friendly.

But like every other demon stuck on Earth, her nausea-inducing aura contradicted her comfortable manner. Maybe she wasn’t a sadist like the Butcher or a domineering freak like Mr. Vale. But she was still a demon, and demons only ever wanted one thing from Marian.

Marian braced her elbows on the table. “You’re not wrong. But, again, what do you want?”

Verinne beamed. “I have a very trustworthy source who’s informed me that Vale recovered a memory of a specific artifact. I want you to find out what it is, get it out of Hell, and bring it to me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

A discomforting chill fell over Marian. Her jaw clenched to keep her poker face in place.

This key was already the worst-kept secret Marian had been asked to keep. She’d put a few feelers out for new spotters, but that was it. Nothing that ought to raise suspicion; she’d kept her word thus far. The fact that Mr. Vale already had a demon gunning for him heightened her anxiety.

Marian reached for the ramekin of sugar packets at the end of the table to occupy her hands. “I don’t poach. Never have, never will.”

The waitress chose that exact moment to return, her coffee pot half-full as she turned her weary but cheerful gaze to the demon. “Can I get you anything?”

Verinne’s head snapped toward the waitress, her pretty face twisting in disgust.

“No.”

The word—sharp and low—sliced through the air like a knife. The demon’s lips tightened as the strength of her smile doubled, and the air cleared of the horrible feeling burrowing into Marian’s bones. “I don’t do grease. Thank you.”

The older waitress stood there for a moment; her expression momentarily vacant before awareness returned. She gave the demon a silent nod before moving to another table.

Verinne tucked a strand of blonde behind her ear and turned back to Marian as though she hadn’t just compelled a woman.