Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 16

Finally, Mom brought out the coffee and rum cake. It was almost over. Uncle Edgar would light one of those two-bit cigars and use his dessert plate as an ashtray, which would give us two disgusting excuses to leave.

"We can go in a few minutes," I whispered to Ca.s.sie. "You OK?"

She nodded. "Just."

"Hang in there. The worst is..."

"What are you two whispering about?" Mom asked sharply. "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of us?"

My mother, the terror of the cla.s.sroom. Wis.h.i.+ng she would learn, just once, to give it a rest, I scowled at her.

"Kids today," Aunt Kitty remarked.

Ryan cleared his throat. "We're not really kids, Aunt Kitty. I can't speak for Dev, but Connor and I are snakemen, with all the honors and privileges appurtenant thereto, and I think..."

"Don't talk back to your aunt," Uncle Edgar warned.

Connor, Ryan, and I went slack-jawed with astonishment. That was the most the man had talked in years.

"They have terrible manners," Aunt Kitty complained to Mom. "Especially Devlin. This is your fault for letting her go into advertising."

"Hey!" I objected.

"She's not in it anymore," Mom said. "They fired her a couple of weeks ago."

Aunt Kitty frowned. "Because of that girl, I bet."

The only sound in the dining room was the clatter of silver on china as everyone dropped their forks.

"No offense, Candy," she added, "but this isn't Los Angeles. Hey, do you two know Ellen?"

Ca.s.sie, finally maxed out, started laughing hysterically. But I was not amused, and I pushed my chair back with serious intent.

"Sit down," Mom ordered. "Don't pay any attention. Kitty's had too much to drink."

"She always does, Mother. She's an alcoholic."

Both Mom and Aunt Kitty froze -- the latter in the act of raising a gla.s.s to her lips.

I bent down to whisper to Ca.s.sie. "Go get our coats. I'll be right out." Then, to the others, "If we're going to hang out the dirty laundry, let's empty the hamper, shall we?"

Furious, Mom started to argue back, but Dad cut her off. "She was insulted, Martha. Let her have her say."

"You always stick up for her," Mom spat.

He didn't back down. "Because you never do."

Ca.s.sie had been halfway out of the dining room and stopped to hear the rest. But Jen and Amy got out of their chairs in a flash to get her out of the line of fire. "It's only safe in there for Kerrys right now," I heard Amy explain.

Wrong. It was safe for no one. Coolly, I grabbed Aunt Kitty's wine bottle and poured what little was left on the centerpiece, which had a lighted candle in the middle.

Mom interrupted her argument for a second. "What are you doing?"

"Burning down the house," I explained, tipping over the candle.

The centerpiece caught fire in spectacular fas.h.i.+on. Cheap wine was good for that, if nothing else. I watched it burn for a second, watched them argue about how to put it out, and then left the room.

On the way out, I saw the snake. It saw me, too, and its eyes glittered ruby-red.

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 14 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

CHAPTER 14.

December 24 *

Contrary to popular opinion, I am not a monster. The first thing I did the next morning was buy my mother a new tablecloth and centerpiece. Not being a fool either, I left them on the doorstep, rang the bell, and ran.

Ca.s.sie, enjoying this outlaw moment too much, gunned the motor as soon as I jumped in and then took off in a horrible fishtailing, snow-spraying screech. It reminded me of Vanessa doing doughnuts in the J/J/G parking lot. Did she get it from Ca.s.sie, or was it the other way around?

"So much for sneaking in and sneaking out," I grumbled, yanking my sungla.s.ses off. It had been her idea for us to wear them, even though there wasn't a hint of sun.

"We got away, didn't we?"

"We aren't away yet. We still have to go back tomorrow."

"We'll worry about that tomorrow," she said serenely. "Right now, let's just have a nice day avoiding your family, OK?"

There was no avoiding those people, not really, not in a town this size. But there was no point worrying her.

Yet.

I took her to lunch at the second-best restaurant in town, the best being booked solid, and we got in at this one only because I knew the owner. True, we didn't like each other; she'd been a cheerleader in high school. But she'd also been one of Mom's students and was still afraid of her, so we got a very good table.

"This is kind of a cute place," Ca.s.sie remarked. "What would you call it? Country French?"

More like Alimony French; I'd heard that Debra got a bundle in the second divorce. "Something like that."

"I might redo the kitchen like this. Would you like to have breakfast every morning with calico chickens?"

"No."

She shrugged. "Well, we could lose the chickens."

"Don't let me stop you. It's your house."

"I was talking about your condo."

I looked up from the menu in surprise. "What would I want chickens in my kitchen for?"

"They'd be cute. They'd be decorative. Your place is so...earth-tone. A little color would cheer it up."

"I don't want it cheered up. Especially not in the morning."

She made a show of studying her fingernails. For an awful moment, I thought she was going to start filing them. "Fine. Then I'll redo my kitchen and your bedroom."

I was rapidly losing track of this conversation. "You want to redo my bedroom?"

"No -- I want you to move in with me. But if you're going to keep being stubborn, I think you should let me redecorate something."

"Why is that fair?"

"I don't know that it is," she admitted. "But it would be a nice Christmas present from you to me."

Unnerved, I considered the implications. I'd already gotten her a nice Christmas present. Several of them, actually; Visa would probably send a thank-you note with my next statement. But this wasn't about Christmas. It wasn't about interior decoration, either. It was about...

"Ah. There you are."

We both jumped a little. Vanessa was pulling up a chair, looking very much at home. She was, in fact, wearing the same dress that the owner of the restaurant had on.

"Can anyone see you?" I whispered.

The demon flipped her hair. "You're kidding, right? I didn't get this cute just so n.o.body could see me."

All right; whatever. If Debra came out to check on us later, I'd let her deal with it.

"Go away," Ca.s.sie told her. "Devvy and I are talking."

"And you're losing," Vanessa replied, getting comfy. "Didn't you ever learn anything about redirection? You don't just tell them what you want; you weasel around it. If they don't think it's their idea..."

"I'm not a them," I growled.

"...they won't do it. You know how they are."

"I'm not a guy!"

"No one said you were, pumpkin," Vanessa purred. "Now, what's good here? I could go for eels or snails or something."

We both stared at her, disgusted.

"What's the problem? This is a French joint, isn't it?"

"This is Hawthorne," I explained.

A dark Presence loomed over my shoulder. "I'll give her eels."

d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. Without even looking at her, I reached over and pulled out the last empty chair.

Monica took it with exaggerated grace. "I can give her sauteed rat, if I really want to. But it's Christmas. I'll be nice." She shot a bad look at Ca.s.sie, who gave it right back. "h.e.l.lo, Ca.s.sandra. You're looking lifelike."

"So are you," she said pleasantly. "The implants are holding up really well, don't you think, Devvy?"

I didn't think. If all went well, I would never have to think again. In grim silence, I studied the menu.

"For the record," Ca.s.sie continued, addressing the demons, "this is a private lunch. You two weren't invited. So you should go now. We really wouldn't want to have to ask the owner to throw you out."

Monica laughed scornfully. "Did you meet her?"

"No, but..."

"She's a Junior Leaguer. She wouldn't do anything that might break a nail. Including s.e.x. Ask her ex-husbands."

She hadn't bothered to lower her voice, of course, and a few t.i.tters broke out among our fellow diners. Mortified, I made a don't-mind-her-she's-crazy gesture to the area at large and then turned on my demon. "Keep it down. This is a public place."

"Would keeping it down make it any less true?" She raised her voice slightly. "Would you rather I discuss your s.e.x life?"

Ca.s.sie and I answered together: "NO!!"

"Humans," she sniffed. "You act like s.e.x is a life-and-death secret, but you all do it. Or want to. Even your mother, Devlin. Did you know that?"

Yes, I knew that technically. Connor, Ryan, and I had worked it out years ago: Mom and Dad had Done It three times. But it wasn't something a person liked to think about.

At all. Ever.

Seeing my expression, Monica smiled evilly. "Do you know what a prude is? A prude is someone who's ashamed of having been born naked in bed with a woman."

The t.i.tters turned to open laughter. Even Ca.s.sie started to giggle. To her credit, she caught herself and reached over to pat my knee rea.s.suringly.

I wasn't rea.s.sured. "What do you want, Monica? Aren't you supposed to be slithering around my parents' house?"

Ca.s.sie still had her hand on my knee, and her grip tightened at that. "What?"

"That wasn't a runaway snake last night. Or in the shower. That was her."

"It might have been," Monica said airily. "It might not have been. There really is a Milton. There might be two snakes around at any given time, just for fun. But your mother's loony. You know that, too, don't you?"

Our waitress showed up at that moment, and I could have kissed her for it. Ca.s.sie would have ripped my lips off, though. So I settled for smiling.

"Do you have sauteed rat?" I asked.