J Ward: Crave

As a car drove by on the street, it didn’t screech to a halt or get derailed from its lane. The wings, like him and Eddie and Adrian, were neither there nor not there, real nor unreal, tangible nor intangible.

They just were.

“You ready,” Eddie asked.

Jim glanced back at where his earthly form was now not only frozen stiff but a beacon for a man he’d come to hate.

Even though he’d saved the fucker’s life.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

Up, up, and away, and all that shit: In the blink of an eye, they were flying through the dark heavens and the sparkling stars on the strong, steady wings of Angel Airlines, as he called it.

Aloft and alive, he resumed his hunt for a hunted man… and headed off for Boston with all proverbial guns blazing.

The demon Devina was as close to all-powerful as you could get without being the one who had created the Earth and the heavens: She could assume all manner of visages and bodies, becoming anyone at any time in any place. She could imprison souls for an eternity. She commanded an army of the undead.

And if you crossed her, she could make life a living hell for you. Literally.

But she had one little problem.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said as she rushed into the cozy red office. “I had a meeting that ran longer than I’d thought.”

Her therapist smiled from her arm chair. “Not to worry. Would you like a minute to collect yourself?”

Devina was indeed frazzled, and as she sat down, she put her Prada bag to the side. Taking a deep breath, she patted the corporeal illusion of brunette hair that the human woman saw, and pushed at the lizard-print leather pants that actually existed.

“Work has been hell,” she said, glancing down to double-check that her bag was zipped up. There were bloodstains on the sweatshirt inside, and the last thing she needed was to have to explain them. “Absolute hell.”

“I was glad you called for the extra night session. After last week, I’ve been thinking about you and what happened. How are you doing?”

Devina downshifted out of the chaos she’d just come from and focused on herself. Which was not a happy thing. Instantly, tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m…”

Not okay.

She forced herself to say something. “The movers got everything into my new place, and most of it is still in boxes. I spent the afternoon trying to unpack, but there’s so much, and I have to make sure it’s ordered correctly. I need to check that my-”

“Devina, stop talking about the things.” The therapist made a little note in her black book. “We can get to planning toward the end of the session. I want to know how you are. Talk to me about how you feel.”

Devina looked across the needlepoint rug and wondered, not for the first time, what the woman would think if she knew she was treating a demon. Ever since Devina had been in Caldwell, she’d been coming to see the psychologist-so it was over a year now. She kept her true identity hidden under her favorite skin of a sexy, chic, brunette female, but the underneath… especially after her first loss to Jim Heron… was a fucking mess.

And this human was actually helping her.

Devina snapped a tissue out of the box on the table beside her. “I just… I hate moving. I feel totally out of control. And lost. And… scared.”

“I know you do.” Warmth positively wafted out of the woman’s pores. “Changing homes is the hardest thing for someone like you to do. I’m very proud of you.”

“I had no time. No time to do it right.” More tears. Which she hated. But, God, she’d had to rip her collections out of their rightful places in a matter of hours, scrambling, throwing things into boxes. “I still haven’t been able to sort through everything and make sure nothing was broken or lost.”

Oh, God… lost.

Panic fanned into her chest and made the heart she had co-opted beat triple-time.

“Devina, look at me.”

She had to force her eyes to focus through the panic attack. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“Devina, the anxiety is not about the things. It’s about your place in this world. It’s the space you declare as yours emotionally and spiritually. You must remember that you don’t need objects to justify your existence or make yourself feel safe and secure.”

Okay, that all sounded well and good, but her things on the earth were what tied her to the souls she owned down below, the only link she had to her “children.” Over the centuries, she had amassed personal possessions from every soul she’d taken: buttons, cuff links, rings, earrings, thimbles, knitting needles, glasses, keys, pens, watches… the list went on and on. She preferred things made of precious metal, but any kind of metal would do: Similar to the way the substance reflected light, it also gave off the reverberations of the one who’d owned it, worn it, used it.

The radiated imprint of those humans was the only thing that calmed her when she couldn’t get down to her sanctuary for a personal visit.

God, she hated having to work on earth.

On a shudder, she blotted her tears. “I just can’t stand being so far away from them.”

“You need your job, though. You’ve told me yourself. And your ex-husband is better equipped to handle the day-to-day care of your children.”

“He is.” She’d had to shoehorn her backstory into some semblance of a human’s situation. There was no ex-husband, needless to say, but the parallel worked: Her souls were safe where she left them. It just killed her to be away. There was no place she’d rather be than at the bottom of her well, watching the writhing, screaming throng trapped forever in her walls.

Playing with them was fun, too.

“So where did you end up?” the therapist asked. “After your boyfriend and you decided to end your relationship, where did you go here in town?”

Now her anxiety switched to anger. She couldn’t believe she’d lost the first battle with Jim Heron… or that that fucking bastard had infiltrated her private space. Thanks to him and those other two angels, she’d had to take everything she had and vacate that loft at a dead run.

“I have a friend who has a building that’s vacant.” Not a friend actually. Just some guy she’d fucked until he signed all the papers. Then she’d killed him, stuffed his body into a hazardous-waste drum, and sealed the thing up good. He was in his own basement now, decomposing comfortably.

“And the move is completed?”

“Yes, everything’s there. But as I said, I just haven’t arranged it properly.” She had, however, found another virgin, which she’d promptly sacrificed and put to good use protecting the mirror that got her to back to Hell. “I’ve put in a security system, though.”

If anyone breached the blood seal into the room where her most prized possession was, she’d find out in a heartbeat. It was how she had known the instant when Jim and his angel buddies had violated her space. How she’d saved her things.

Virgins were a pain the ass to find these days, though. With everyone having sex so much, what had once been a piece of cake to get was now becoming rarer and rarer. She never killed children; that was just wrong-it would be like someone taking one of her souls away from her. But try finding someone over eighteen who hadn’t been in the sack. You could be at it for days.

Long live the abstinence movement, was all she could say.

“Wait, building?” the therapist said. “You’re not staying in some building, are you?”

“Oh, no. I’m at a hotel for the time being. Work is taking me out of town. Up to Boston, actually.” Because it was time for the second battle with her nemesis.