Page 90 of Hellbound

“Fine, stay gross and come downstairs.”

Only when Marian’s toes met the polished wood floor did she realize she was barefoot and her hair hung in a matted mess over her shoulder. Her shoes were waiting for her at the foot of the bed, and she quickly pulled them on before hurrying after Paul, who showed no intention of waiting for her to catch up.

She hurried down the familiar hallway, sparing a moment to take in the surroundings she might have noticed last night had she not been actively dying.

A high ceiling arched overhead, the space between skylights broken by thick wooden beams. Marian was no architect, but the design seemed odd. Beautiful, but odd.

She wasn’t given much time to inspect it or the doors they passed when they arrived at the top of the stairs. It occurred to Marian then as she stared at the back of Paul’s head that she had no idea who this man was.

“What are you?” She asked as she gripped the railing, stealing a glance at the enormous chandelier hanging in the foyer they’d entered. All iron rings and filament bulbs dangling at uneven lengths from braided cords.

“Watchdog, errand boy, occasional hitman,” Paul replied. “Human.”

He threw her a look as he led her through another doorway. “Though lately, I’ve mostly been babysitting you.”

At some point during her examination of the interior design, she realized she could ignore her bladder no longer. Paul shoved her toward the hallway bathroom. When she emerged, he waved her on.

Marian huffed as she eyed the art hanging from the walls. Art she knew better than architecture, and she recognized at once impressionist and postimpressionist pieces decorating the way to the kitchen. Some painters she knew, some she didn’t. Monet, Gauguin, Renoir. They hung against the black floral wallpaper from her memories, only now the begonias were no longer melting. “How have you managed all that? You can barely run a dive bar.”

“The bar is the least of my problems. Vale also had me make sure your landlord didn’t kick your ass to the curb all those times you didn’t make rent. That guy didn’t let you live there for free out of the kindness of his heart.”

Marian’s guts churned. The gratitude she ought to have felt was curiously absent. Vale had kept a roof over her head? A shit roof, but a roof. The roof she’d chosen for herself. But that wasn’t the realization that horrified her.

“You both knew where I lived?”

Paul groaned. “You get hung up on the dumbest things. Vale’s kept tabs on every diver for decades, always looking for someone with the potential to help him. It’s always been a very short list.”

The bartender led her into the largest kitchen she’d ever seen and an adjoining living space. The island alone was as big as her bedroom. Pristine white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and a hanging rack laden with copper cookware.

And there in the farthest corner of the u-shaped black sectional on the other side of the room, clutching an overstuffed white pillow to her chest like she’d drown if she let go, sat Tori.

Tori’s head swiveled as they entered, brown eyes widening. There came a high-pitched shriek as she vaulted over the top of the couch and ran for Marian.

“You’re alive! They said you were, but I …” The excitement in Tori’s eyes faded, supplanted by apprehension. “I knew something was wrong, that Paul was lying about that guy being a demon, but I didn’t understand. I thought that thing was killing you.”

“Hope you guys like green beans,” Paul said unceremoniously from the kitchen island. He’d put on a lime green oven mitt and produced a pan of sizzling vegetables. “Because I made way too many green beans.”

Tori’s expression hardened as she turned to Paul. “If the next words out of your mouth don’t explain what the heck is going on here, I swear to—”

Paul set the pan down on an immaculate stove. “Chill, lady. Grab a plate, sit down, and I’ll fill in some gaps.”

Marian and Tori obeyed. And it was somehow more awkward than any cafeteria or lunch line experience Marian had ever known, despite Paul behaving like this was an average Tuesday.

Was it Tuesday? Marian had no idea as she sat in a fine wooden chair at a long rectangular table with Paul at the head and Tori across from her, looking as uncomfortable as Marian felt. The bartender set out a platter of the promised green beans.

Paul caught Tori up to what Marian knew. Then he ventured into new territory that had Marian digging her fingers into her thighs under the table.

“Vale’s tried to do this before,” the bartender explained between forkfuls of green beans. “He got close years ago with another diver. But, surprise, that guy died before he could find the knife.”

“And I’m the replacement?” Marian asked miserably.

Paul shrugged. “You weren’t supposed to be. As far as I know, Vale just said you were reliable. But then you showed up with the mark on your arm and everything changed.”

“I’m the accidental replacement?” Marian slumped forward, bracing her elbows on the table as she stared down at her plate. “Fuck me.”

Paul’s eyes narrowed as he frowned. His expression aged him by a decade. “You have no idea the kind of trouble we’re all in. I get that you don’t want to be here; I don’t either. I want Vale and the Argent gone from our world so shit can go back to normal.”

Tori’s hands were wrapped so tight around her arms that there were little divots where her fingers dug into her biceps. “How do you know all this? How long have you worked for him?”