Jenna Black: Speak of the Devil

When I got over my moment of surprise, I blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Wow, that must have hurt.” When Raphael had moved out of my brother’s body, he, too, had taken one of the Houston superhosts who, not coincidentally, was Devon Brewster’s adopted son, Tommy. To demonstrate the abilities of this strain of superhost, Raphael had temporarily changed the shape of Tommy’s nose, and he’d made it clear just how much that small change had hurt.

Saul grinned, an expression that reminded me of Adam. “Yes, it did,” he agreed, and I belatedly remembered that Saul really liked pain.

Great. It looked like Saul had Adam’s taste for making me squirm. I willed myself not to blush, but my body never seems to obey my commands. I decided then and there that there was no way I was sharing my apartment with Saul.

I pushed past him into Adam’s house, then frowned as I realized I still thought of this as Adam’s house when Dom lived here, too. But I had to admit that, except for in the kitchen, Dom hadn’t left much of a mark on the place. Of course, considering what his rat hole of a house in South Philly had looked like, that was probably a good thing.

I breathed deeply, expecting to catch the scent of Dominic’s cooking, which usually filled the house. Instead, I caught a noseful of way-too-strong aftershave and sneezed three times in rapid succession.

I glanced at Saul through watering eyes. “What did you do, bathe in the stuff?”

His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air. He frowned, as if just noticing the overpowering fumes. “Too strong?”

I rolled my eyes. “Uh, yeah.” I tried breathing through my mouth, but ended up tasting it in the back of my throat instead.

Saul shrugged. “I’ve been without my human senses for a while. I suppose I’m overcompensating.”

We must have been taking longer than expected to make our way into the kitchen, because Adam came looking for us. As soon as he got within about five feet of Saul, he recoiled.

“Agh!” he said, his nose wrinkled in disgust. “Remind me never to let you borrow my aftershave again. Did you leave any for me, or did you use the whole bottle?”

The stuff was so strong, I hadn’t even recognized it as Adam’s scent until he spoke. I’d always found the scent sexy on Adam, but Saul might have just ruined it for me forever.

Saul gave him a chagrined look. “Morgan was just pointing out that I’d overdone it.” He sighed. “Guess I’ll go take another shower.”

I saw that the ends of his hair were still damp. If the aftershave were even mildly bearable, I’d have told him I’d live with it. As it was, I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. Adam made a shooing motion with his hand, and Saul trudged to the stairs.

The scent lingered after he was gone. I met Adam’s eyes, and he had no trouble reading my thoughts.

“He’ll tone it down soon,” he said. “You can’t imagine what it’s like to experience physical sensations, even tastes and scents, when you first set foot on the Mortal Plain. He’ll overdo it for a little while, then he’ll start acting more like a normal person.”

I regarded Adam skeptically. “Did you bathe in perfume when you first came to the Mortal Plain?”

Adam’s frown told me the answer was no. He hastened to explain. “Okay, so Saul’s a bit of a hedonist. But once he gets reacclimated, it won’t be so bad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where is everybody?” Dominic called from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Adam made a sweeping gesture toward the kitchen. “I don’t know about you, but I have no inclination to wait for Saul before we start eating.”

My nose was starting to recover from the shock, so I could take in the cooking smells, and my stomach grumbled its opinion. I was halfway to the kitchen before Adam finished talking.

Saul joined us at the kitchen table about five minutes into the meal. Apparently, showering at superhuman speed was one of his talents.

As soon as Saul entered the room, I felt the tension that Adam had mentioned. Maybe only because Adam had warned me, but I think even someone as dense as me would have noticed it—though it was a subtle brand of tension.

The three of them joked and laughed amiably, and Dominic practically glowed when anyone praised his cooking. But there was still something slightly … off. Perhaps it was in the way Saul looked at Dom, with a hint of wistfulness in his expression. Or perhaps Adam was making more possessive little gestures than usual. He did seem to go out of his way to touch Dom. Dom had told me once that Adam was insecure. I had a hard time seeing Adam that way. To me, he always seemed a pillar of self-confidence. Arrogance, actually. But I had to admit, he did rather resemble a man afraid he was going to lose his lover.

Call me a cynic, but I suspected the reason Adam wanted Saul out was more for his own sake than Dom’s.

You could never get out of Dom’s kitchen without eating dessert, and tonight was no exception. It was a simple cheesecake, no fancy toppings, no froufrou flavors, but it was the best I’d ever eaten.

The conversation came to a bit of a lull as we were sipping the dark, bold Italian roast coffee that topped off the meal. I suck at small talk—ask anyone, they’ll agree—but unfortunately that didn’t always stop my gums from flapping at inopportune moments.

So as some light, pleasant after-dinner conversation, I looked at Saul and blurted, “What’s the deal with you and Raphael, anyway?”

There was a lot I still didn’t know about Saul, and I had to admit I was curious. It wasn’t until we’d summoned him to the Mortal Plain that I’d learned his true identity: He was Raphael’s son. Raphael’s estranged son. I didn’t know anyone who actually liked Raphael—Andy and I both hated him—but I think even we didn’t hate him as much as Saul did.

My words were about as welcome as a cockroach parade. All three men turned to look at me with varying degrees of disapproval.

I’ll admit, I knew I was in the wrong. This wasn’t the right time to discuss Saul’s relationship with Raphael. But once I’d hurled the question out there, I wasn’t willing to take it back.

I shrugged as if unconcerned by the glares the guys were shooting at me. “Come on. It’s a fair question, and I’ve waited more than a week to ask it. I’m not usually that patient.” I could have asked Lugh about it, but we hadn’t been communicating a whole lot lately. I was having a lot of trouble sleeping, and Lugh didn’t want to disturb those hours I managed with our lucid dream conversations.

“It’s none of your business why Raphael and I don’t get along,” Saul finally said, breaking the tense silence.

It didn’t escape my notice that Saul had said “Raphael” rather than “my father.” Whatever it was that lay between them, it was deep-seated.

“You’re both part of Lugh’s council, and I’m Lugh’s host,” I retorted. “If there’s a problem between you and Raphael, I need to know about it.” I tried to sound like the voice of authority, but I’m not sure I succeeded.

“You know there’s a problem. There’s no reason to go into the specifics.”

To my surprise, Dominic cut in before I could formulate my reply. “There’s also no reason not to,” he said. “Why should it be a secret?”

I glanced at Dom, wondering if he knew the answer himself. But I was pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me even if he did. It was Saul’s story to tell—or not to tell, as the case may be.

Saul’s mouth pursed like he’d just eaten something nasty, but he caved under Dominic’s persuasion.

“Fine. I’ll tell you all about my relationship with my sire.” His eyes narrowed, and I could see the muscles in his jaw working. “I refuse to call him my father when the only reason he sired me was to piss off Lugh.”