Deals with the devil the.., p.5
Deals with the Devil (The Devil's Due Series Book 1), page 5
“Soon,” he echoed, his breath warm against my lips.
I woke with a start, my heartbeat loud in my chest, my hand cupped between my legs.
Damn. That man.
I rolled over and pulled the blankets up, the smell of mulled wine fading from the air as I fell back asleep.
The trees remained perfectly normal on my walk to campus the next morning, although I did see a squirrel with a shining white light around it, and further on I watched two birds chasing each other in the sky, trailing streamers of color behind them.
I determinedly ignored it all. It was bad enough that campus was giving me the heebie-jeebies. I didn’t want to feel them off campus, too. The thought reminded me that I hadn’t called Gram all weekend. It didn’t seemed like a big enough deal once I was home, safe in our house where weird things didn’t happen. But as I approached campus, the buzz of magic reached out to me, curdling my stomach.
The burger place had a big “Closed” sign on the window. The cookie place did, too, despite its claims of twenty-four-hour delivery. It was the closed sign on the door of the Starbucks that really threw me, though. Starbucks is never closed in the morning. My shoulders twitched.
I crossed the street to campus, frowning at the perfectly manicured grass and the historic brick buildings. It was strangely quiet for a Monday morning. I stepped off the sidewalk to avoid a couple of students obliviously making out and nodded a greeting at a thin Japanese man in a suit and tie eating a box of doughnuts on the steps to a classroom building. He watched me silently, munching on a pink pastry. Ugh, probably strawberry. Under the glowing willow tree, three – no, four? – people were tangled up, moving with the jerky urgency of –
Sweet Venus! I looked away quickly. There was a real, live orgy going on under the willow tree! In the middle of the morning! On a Monday! In public! I bustled by, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground. I was no prude, but that seemed a little…excessive. And chilly.
I was a few minutes late to class, but there were only three students. Two of them were asleep at their desks and I grimaced at the small puddle of drool one of them was creating. My mystery student from last week, whom I’d decided would now be called Sorority Sue, was the third, and she straightened up when I entered.
“Hey, Dr. Farrelly,” she said sleepily. “Looks like no one came to class today.”
I regarded the empty desks. “I see that,” I replied, noticing her tangled hair. S.S. didn’t seem like the type to come to class with bedhead. “Do you know why?”
“There were a bunch of parties all over campus this weekend,” she stifled a yawn. “I guess everyone decided to sleep in. But I told my boyfriend I couldn’t miss your class. It’s my favorite,” she added.
“A bunch of parties?” I repeated instead of saying, “Really? Your favorite?” I did work hard on those powerpoint presentations.
“Yeah,” she giggled. “Kinda like orgies.” She whispered the last part. “Not that I’m into that kind of thing, but all the girls had their guys over and it was like, y’know?”
I thought it was probably similar to what I’d scalded my eyes with outside. Similar to what I’d been imagining with Marlowe all weekend.
“I see,” I said in my grown-up voice, shaking off the encroaching fantasy about Marlowe. “It doesn’t look like we’re going to have much of a class today. Why don’t we skip it and I’ll see you on Wednesday?”
Sorority Sue brightened up and immediately took out her phone. “That’s great! I mean, I think you’re totally right, there aren’t enough students here.” She glanced at the other two students. “Should we wake them up and tell them?”
“Nah, let’s just let them sleep,” I said conspiratorially. “They’ll figure it out when they wake up.”
She grinned at me. “I knew you’d be cool,” she announced like I’d settled a burning debate. She bounced out of the room with her phone to her ear. “Hi, babe! Guess what? My prof cancelled class…” the door slid shut behind her.
I stood regarding the two sleeping students. Drooler wiped at his face and mumbled, but he didn’t wake up. I was at a loss. I could always go home and take a nap, maybe get something to eat, but somehow it felt like abandoning my post. It was Monday! The work week had started! I should do some work-type stuff. I slung my bag over my shoulder and decided to go to the library.
Outside, the Japanese man still sat on the steps of the building next to mine, gazing at the sky. His doughnut box was empty. Maybe he was contemplating the meaninglessness of life.
I eyed the calm, nearly empty campus. There should be loads of people around, enjoying the sunshine, walking back and forth to classes. Where was everybody?
The café in the library was closed, which was odd considering how hungry everyone seemed to be. Maybe they ran out of food? I strolled past the empty tables with an odd sense of foreboding and took the elevator up to the fifth floor and the tiny corner dedicated to my specialty area, magical realism.
My eyes on the shelves, I didn’t see the book on the floor until I accidentally kicked it. It was Huldah’s Mourning Star, one of my favorites. I picked it up and scanned for an empty space on the bookshelves. Allende, Kafka, Marquez, Murakami…all the big names in magical realism lined up neatly in place. Gods, the Dewey decimal system was just so anal retentive. I fought the urge to shove it in anywhere and carefully slid the book into its proper slot before continuing down the aisle.
Behind me came a thump and I turned to see Mourning Star on the floor again. Frowning, I picked it up a second time and slid it carefully back into its slot on the shelf, then turned to the next aisle to see if I could find Rushdie’s section.
And found Mourning Star on the floor. What the hells?
I bent to pick it up but before I could touch it the book leapt into the air and flipped over. It landed with the cover open. I jerked back and watched the book’s pages flip frantically backwards and forwards.
The pages stilled, leaving the book open on the floor.
I crept toward it, half-afraid it would leap up and attack me, because apparently it could do that. But it lay perfectly still on the dingy library carpet. It was opened to the very first page.
I read the first line. Turning and returning, she came, and she rose, bitter gleam in eye and soul.My shoulders twitched.
“Ssshhh,” a young woman’s voice giggled from the next aisle.
“It’s okay,” a young man replied in the reassuring voice used by young men on the make everywhere. “Nobody comes up here. Nobody’ll see us.” She giggled again.
I rolled my eyes. Guess the willow tree was still taken.
“I can’t see you,” (thank the Goddess) “but I can hear you. And that is not proper library behavior!” I called out in my hushed library voice.
There was a gasp and a bump, then quick shuffling noises followed by more giggling. “Sorry! Didn’t know anyone was here!” At least he was polite.
I looked back down at the book. It was still on the floor, but it was shut.
Did the library have a poltergeist? I tried to remember if Gram had ever mentioned anything about UConn’s library being haunted. Most libraries were, of course, especially the academic ones. Something about the stress and pressure of academic research, or was it unfinished projects? I couldn’t remember, and I couldn’t recall anything about UConn’s library. I glanced around uneasily, but the area seemed deserted.
Stepping carefully back from the book, I picked up my bag and left quickly, leaving the haunted novel on the floor.
William was stepping off the elevator.
“Hi,” I greeted him with a smile, hoping it looked friendly and not as shaky as I felt. “William, right? African American literature?” I held out my hand, pleased I had remembered his name.
“That’s right.” His hand practically swallowed mine. “I’m looking for Anansi.”
I blinked. “I don’t think he’s here,” I replied. But really, what did I know?
He laughed. “That’s a shame, because I could use him right about now.”
I shrugged. “He’s not in magical realism. That’s over there,” I indicated the corner I’d come from. Do not go over there, I thought to him. “Did you try folklore?” Anansi was a West African folk hero, and besides, that would get William away from the haunted book.
“He’s not in folklore, either. I’ll try mythology, but that’s just insulting.” He gave me a wave as I stepped onto the elevator and I waved back.
Yep, I thought. That would be insulting. But it was nice to see William without food in front of his face.
The elevator doors slid shut and I pressed the button for the plaza level.
Maybe it just fell off the shelf. I told myself, my thoughts sucked back to the book. It was probably some kind of breeze…down by the floor…that’s why the pages ruffled around like that.
No. It wasn’t a breeze.
I shook my head as an Elvis tune filtered through the elevator. When did the university invest in muzak for its library elevators? The flute section trilled that I looked like an angel.
I had few specific memories of my family’s practice other than the handful of defensive spells Gram, Aunt Katie, and Uncle Sean insisted I master, but I knew magic required formulae and rituals to call it forth, to shape it and give it purpose. It was a lot of work. What purpose could there be in tossing a book around the library? Not to mention the attention it would draw. What magic user would risk that?
Was it some sort of magical message? My stomach clenched at the thought before I dismissed it. There was no reason to send me magical messages.
The lilting flute section insisted again how much I looked like an angel, but then Elvis got wise. My lips curled in irritation. Seriously, why was the library spending their budget on this? I glanced impatiently at the numbers above the door. Was this elevator extra slow? I reached over and punched the button for the plaza level again.
Suddenly the floor dropped from beneath me. The elevator plummeted down.
The flutes got louder and faster, sounding more like a carnival ride than muzak. The lights in the elevator flickered.
I grabbed for a handhold, but the walls were just smooth metal with a few useless library flyers on it. Emergency button, there must be an – there! my fingers jabbed and jabbed at the red button.
The elevator came to a sudden stop. My stomach flipped and my knees buckled from the sudden cessation of movement. I banged against the wall before sliding to the floor in a heap. The lights flickered off and stayed off. So did the flutes.
My heart galloped. I was alive!
Panting a little from the adrenaline that screamed through my body and the relief that the elevator hadn’t killed me, I pulled myself up to a half-crouch in the darkness and slid my feet forward – what I thought was forward – to the elevator doors. Why weren’t the doors opening? Shouldn’t they open? I was in a tiny, pitch-dark box that had just plummeted down – how many floors? The adrenaline was turning into panic. Why wasn’t there any kind of emergency light in here?
Great Gods in every single heaven, this library was a mess!
I found what I thought was the door and banged on the smooth metal. “Hey! Hey, is anybody there? I’m stuck in the elevator! Is anybody there?”
The doors slid open. I threw a hand in front of my eyes to block the sudden glare of light and searing heat.
Heat?
I lowered my hand slowly and stared, open-mouthed, at the scene before me.
This was not the library’s plaza level.
7
Makes Me End Where I Begun
It was the library, though. Or a library, at least.
And it was on fire.
A long passageway opened before me, so long I couldn’t see the end, lined on either side with bookshelves, each bookshelf lined with books. And the books were burning.
Flames leapt out from the shelves. Smoke and ash rolled through the passageway and up to the high arched ceiling, but the passage remained clear, as if inviting me to walk between the rows and rows of burning books.
I squinted my eyes against the wisps of smoke that curled toward me. The elevator was already hot from the crackling heat of the flames as the books burned and burned.
Where the hells was I?
Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I frantically pounded on the “close doors” button. Finally, the smooth metal doors slid silently shut, blocking out the view of the burning passageway and the acrid smell of smoke and burning paper. A red emergency light came on above me, barely illuminating the small space.
I clutched my bag, scanning wildly around the tiny metal container, looking for a way out that didn’t bring me into a burning library.
The elevator shuddered, then my body whipped to the left as the elevator took off to the right. I banged into the metal wall again, causing some of the flyers to rip off. They slipped down the wall a few inches but then stuck to it with the centrifugal force of the elevator’s movement.
I shoved against the force and managed to roll against the wall. I could feel the skin of my face rippling as if in a great wind, but there was no wind, just the immense feeling of speed.
Just as quickly as it started, the elevator jerked to a stop. I tumbled to the floor from the lack of pressure holding me to the wall. A few flyers drifted on top of me.
Before I could stand, the elevator doors slid open again.
I didn’t want to look, but the sound of birdsong and giggles brought my eyes up. Outside the doors was…outside. A sunny garden of some sort. The scent of roses swept into the little metal cubicle with the birdsong and giggles.
On my hands and knees, I peered cautiously out the door. Wherever I was – and again, it was clearly not the library’s plaza level – was beautiful in a wild, overgrown way. Roses bloomed so profusely I could barely make out the bushes they grew on. Yellow, pink, white, red, orange, they were a cacophony of color rising out of the grass and twining around themselves, nodding to each other in the sunshine.
A bright pink bird flew by and I startled back. Birds swooped from rose to rose, the bright colors of their plumage competing with the flowers. Long yellow tail feathers streamed behind one, orange behind another. Their songs filled the air, twining with the giggles and the scent of the roses, heavy and sweet after the smoke of the burning library.
I crawled to the doors of the elevator and scanned around the garden. There were no other flowers, just roses, some of them almost as big as my head, and the birds, singing through the air and chasing each other.
A giggle erupted by my hand.
I jerked back and stared at the sprite in the grass outside the elevator. It waved at me.
A sprite. A teeny, tiny, green form with iridescent wings and long pink hair. It giggled again.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
Its eyes widened and it tumbled backward. Straightening itself out, it dusted its teeny, tiny dress off and smoothed its pink hair over its pointed ears. Then it glared at me. Finally, it squeaked something in a high-pitched voice.
“What? I can’t understand you.” I leaned down closer to hear it better, but fell over again, its arms and legs pinwheeling. It climbed to its feet a second time and shook its fist at me, squeaking again.
“Oh! I’m too loud?” The sprite looked at me as if I was finally figuring out the obvious. “What are you doing here?” I barely whispered. I glanced around at the garden again. “What am I doing here? Where is this?”
The sprite giggled again. At least it was the forgiving sort. I’d heard nasty stories about sprites from Aunt Katie and Uncle Sean. Ireland, apparently, was full of them and they were vengeful creatures despite their delicate prettiness. It squeaked at me some more.
“I still can’t understand you,” I whispered helplessly.
The sprite waved it hands at me as if I was a lost cause, then spun away into the air. I watched it spin and dive, trailing little colored sparkles and high-pitched giggles.
A purple bird swooped over and snatched it in mid-flight, gobbling it down.
“Holy shit!” I scrambled back and the elevator doors slammed shut.
“No, no, no!” I pounded on the doors. I didn’t really want to go into that garden, but I didn’t want to take another wild ride on the magical mystery elevator, either.
Too late! The elevator swooped up, knocking me to the floor from the sudden movement. It immediately swooped left with equal force and I rolled in the small space until I banged into the wall.
The elevator shuddered to a stop.
“This better be the library!” I yelled from the floor. I banged my fist on it for emphasis.
The elevator jerked. I dropped down in preparation for my body being flung around, but the elevator didn’t move again. I glared at nothing in particular.
“Fine,” I ground out. “Where the hells are we now?”
The elevator jiggled up and down. I tried to clutch the floor, but it was uselessly smooth. “What!” I yelled. “You’ve got me, so what now?” The metal box jiggled again.
I stood carefully in the semi-darkness. “What do you want? Why won’t you just –” Wait. Was I really trying to talk to an elevator?
The doors slid open slowly. Inch by inch, the large room beyond was revealed as I peered through the widening space cautiously.
The room seemed to be made of shiny onyx. The floor and walls gleamed black from the dancing flames of torches. I got the sense the room was much bigger than I could see.
My gaze slid up from the floors. My mouth dropped open.
Thirty feet in front of me was a large black throne. A woman sprawled on it, completely naked, her long legs held open over the arms of the throne by the man kneeling at her feet.
His face was buried between her legs.
I froze. The man was fully dressed in some sort of black battle gear, his long dark hair loosely caught in multiple braids down his back. The woman clenched her breast with one hand, her other playing in the man’s dark hair, holding him in place as she writhed on the throne and the man…kept himself busy. Her face was obscured by her hair as her head thrashed against the back of the throne.
