P.C. Cast - Mysteria Nights

There was no time to change into his new clothing. In his new and very mortal life, there wasn’t a moment to waste. Not having eternity before him cast everything in a different light, in fact. Although he’d developed a certain respect for humans when he’d committed his crimes—no, his deeds—of mercy, only now that he was one of them did he fully appreciate the humans’ courage in facing a finite life. With the puppy trotting after him, he strode out into the sunshine with the promise that he, too, would brave his mortality like the man he was—or at least like the man he hoped one day to be.

And so it was that Damon of Mysteria officially began his new life as a mortal: by digging postholes to shore up a weakened section of the front fence.

After an hour of working outside, the weather grew so hot that sweat soaked through his ruined shirt. Tossing aside the tattered garment, he continued bare-chested.

After a dozen more strikes of the pickax, he scented something new and different in the air—something far more pleasant than his sweat. Damon looked up, the ax held in midair. Three women stood across the fence, staring at him.

Their sexual interest washed over him in pheromone-laden waves. There was the aura of the dark arts about them but not evil, nay, none of that, but sorcery and magic. And their brilliant hazel eyes were afire with a light all of their own. For one panicked moment, he thought they’d figured out what he was; then he realized they were more interested in what he was now. Or at least what of him existed below his neck.

Bubba didn’t growl, which told Damon that Harmony knew these women even if he did not.

Slowly, Damon lowered the pickax. “And who might you pretties be?”

The wench with long dark hair stepped closer to the fence. Her face was serious, but her sensuality smoldered. “Genevieve Tawdry. And these are my sisters—Glory and Godiva.”

“Hello, stranger.” Glory twirled a finger in her red hair as she licked her lips. Her bosom was ample, would make many a man happy, and she eyed him with the kind of come-hither smile that had remained unchanged down through the ages. Mortal men would take it as an invitation to share in the bounty of her body. You are now mortal, too, Damon, are you not?

Aye, he was. But as much as he found all three wenches attractive, it was only Harmony he desired.

The wench named Godiva observed him with perceptive eyes. She had a powerful magic about her, this silver-haired witch. Could she tell his origins? He hoped not. If Harmony were to find out through her friends that he’d come from the depths of Hell, she’d banish him from her church for good. He wouldn’t lie to her, when that time came, but the longer he could put off the truth, the better. “If I’d bumped into you before,” Godiva said, “I’d have remembered. You’re new here.”

“Aye, I am.”’Twas not really a lie. It had been three hundred years since he was last here; it was almost like being new in town all over again. He stood proudly, the ax resting on his shoulder. “I’m the new church groundskeeper.”

“Really.” Glory exchanged a speculative glance with her sisters. “We didn’t know there’d been an old groundskeeper.”

“There wasn’t. I’m the first.” Damon folded his hands on the tip of the shovel handle and three pairs of hungry eyes shifted to his bare chest. Their sexual interest thickened the air.

The trio paused to whisper among themselves, glancing at him often, sometimes even his face, but mostly from his neck down. Damon noticed the shopping bags they carried. They’d been on their way home from shopping when they’d spotted him and stopped dead in their tracks. If townsfolk regularly passed this close to the church, why then couldn’t they spare a few moments more and visit on Sundays?

An idea began to form. A magnificent idea. Harmony needed a way to lure the townsfolk inside the church. Perhaps he was the answer to that problem.

His body had been put to far worse uses, certainly. And he’d spent ten thousand years planting doubts and fears. Could he not do the same with the women in the town, but planting interest to attend Harmony’s church instead? He wouldn’t be able to convince them in his typical fashion, for he’d lost the ability to circumvent free will when he was banished from Hell, but he could influence others, especially female others, in a much more primitive way. Aye, an age-old way.

Damon’s mouth curved in a slow smile he was sure all three women felt to the very tips of their toes. Then, stretching his arms over his head, he worked a kink out of his back. The women looked faint as he hefted his pickax. “Alas, I cannot dally any longer. I am behind in my labors. Reverend Faithfull will beat me if I dinna get back to work.”

Glory’s lush mouth fell open. “Harmony beats you?”

“Only if I misbehave,” he confided in a deep and sexy burr.

One of the witches made a small, soft sound.

“But I’ll be doing maintenance on the church on Sunday—Sunday morning.”

“What time?” Glory whispered.

“A quarter to nine.” Damon winked at her, picked up the pickax, and went back to work. When he next glanced up, the sisters had walked away, but as they disappeared around the bend in the road, he saw them murmuring and giggling among themselves.

Aye, he’d planted his seeds of interest. If things went as he hoped they would, by next Sunday, Harmony would be reaping what he’d sown.

On Sunday, Harmony stood on the front lawn of the church, watching in happy amazement as woman after woman filed in for the nine A.M. service. Smiling and shaking hands, she welcomed the women she’d previously seen only at the One-Stop, the gas station, or on the streets of the town.

In uniform, Jeanie Tortellini walked up to her. Harmony couldn’t help thinking of Legolas. In fact, the other day when she’d visited the sheriff, the jail cell had been empty. Although she often wondered what had happened to the sexy elf, she hadn’t come up with a tactful way to ask the question.

“You’ve got yourself a nice crowd this morning, Harmony,” Jeanie said.

“I do.” Harmony tried to keep the bewilderment from her voice. It was only 8:45 and the pews were already one-third filled. With eager women. “And you’re here, too, Jeanie. I thought you had to work Sunday mornings.”

“I do. I’m here on official business.”

Harmony lifted a brow. “What kind of business?”

“Crowd control.”

Before Harmony could ask how the sheriff knew there’d be a crowd at church, Marie, the UPS driver, poked her head in their little huddle. “Where did you hide him, Reverend?”

“Hide who?”

“Your new groundskeeper.”

“You mean Damon?”

Jeanie shook her head as if Harmony was beyond all help. “Yes. Damon. He’s hot. If you haven’t noticed.”

“And if you haven’t noticed,” Maria put in, “you might want to stop by Dr. Fogg’s office and take a gander at the eye chart, because I would say you need those peepers examined.”

“Or get her heart checked to see if she has a pulse,” Jeanie teased.

Harmony supposed it shouldn’t surprise her that it hadn’t taken long for word to get around about Damon. Almost as much as they appreciated the attributes of a good-looking man, the women of Mysteria loved juicy gossip, particularly when the latter concerned the former. Everyone, it seemed, even the pets, had a libido running in constant overdrive. Maybe it was that strange pink pollen. Nevertheless, she mumbled something about it not being professional to view her new employee in that way, which was such an obvious lie that the sheriff’s eyes twinkled in merry amusement.