Chapter 15

CHAPTER15

Ihalted in my tracks at the sight. My dad and the demon both raised their heads and stared at me.

With a start, the demon got to her feet and bowed low, her brown braid sliding over her shoulder. “My lady,” she said. “My lord.”

“Cadriel,” Azazel said from behind me in greeting. “Scott.”

I blinked at my dad, who nodded at Azazel and then turned to me with a big smile. “Zoe! So good to see you. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

He stood and pulled me into a hug—given that we were both ghosts, we could actually touch and feel each other in a weird twist of metaphysical rules the logistics of which my mind yet again refused to hold on to—while Azazel murmured to Cadriel, “A word, please.”

Both demons left, and I released my dad and gestured at the cards laid out on the table.

“What is this?”

My dad glanced at the cards, then grinned and shrugged. “Well, these demons are always around, and it got kind of awkward to keep ignoring them, so I asked if they wanted to play. Cadriel is great at Gin Rummy.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed. A year ago, my dad had been terrified of demons, an understandable reaction considering he’d been tortured in Hell for a few weeks before Azazel pulled him out. My infernal husband also stationed a sort of demon bodyguard to watch over my dad, to make sure no other demon would drag him back to Hell. My dad’s soul was still marked as a sinner and therefore ripe for the taking for any demon stumbling upon him. Having one of Azazel’s subordinates shadow my dad ensured he wouldn’t be snatched.

It also meant there’d always be someone to keep a close eye on any negative changes in my father’s soul. Ghosts who lingered too long on Earth would eventually turn into wraiths, basically poltergeists who were unpredictable and aggressive…and tended to attack the people they knew and loved in life.

It was a slow change, though, usually taking years and even decades. My dad hopefully still had a long time ahead of him before he deteriorated, at which point the demons tasked to watch him would put him down.

He knew and was more than okay with that. He’d once mentioned that it was his nightmare to maybe one day assault his own family when he became a wraith.

“So…you’re chummy with demons now, huh?” I asked with a grin.

He shrugged again, looking sheepish. “Well, you know, it can get a bit lonely here. Watching the girls and Olivia is great and all, but other than during your visits, I don’t really have anyone to talk to. The demons are always there, so I figured, why not make them company? And they’re actually not bad. I mean, I only got to see the worst parts of them back when I…you know.”

He never liked to directly mention his brief stay in Hell. Well, brief in the larger scheme, though to him it must have felt like eternity. My stomach still turned over at the thought of his suffering down there—part of which, apparently, had been mental and emotional torture with my image, making him experience the pain his actions had caused me. My feelings about his having a secret second family and basically leaving us for them when my mom found out were still very much complicated, and I suspected that a part of me would never forgive him.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t love him, or that I didn’t cherish the fact that we’d reconnected and sorted out things as much as possible. Family was complicated, and having a human heart came with a complexity of emotions beyond our understanding.

“But when you get to know them,” my dad continued, “they’re actually okay guys. Good conversationalists. Even better card players.” He grinned and waved at the cards on the table.

“How do you move them so easily?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m still having trouble picking up a single large object and hovering it, let alone handling several small objects like these cards.”

It was true, I still failed half the time when I tried to move something in my spirit form. It was incredibly frustrating.

My dad gave me a rueful smile. “Practice.” When I raised a brow, he elaborated, “You only come here for a few hours every couple of weeks. Meanwhile, I am stuck here on Earth as a ghost, and I’ve got nothing but time. Practicing my fine motor skills as a recently deceased was one of the things I did at first not to die of boredom.” He paused and frowned. “Well, metaphorically speaking, since I’m already dead.”

My smile was a tad sad. To be honest, I hadn’t really considered what it was like for my dad “living” on Earth as a ghost. It hadn’t occurred to me that except for when I came to see him, he really didn’t have much in the form of interaction with another sentient being. It shouldn’t have been surprising that he’d turned to his demon “bodyguards” for company.

“I get it,” I said softly. “There’s probably a lot of downtime for you when Olivia and the girls aren’t home, or when they sleep.”

He nodded. “It’s not that I mind it much. I’m happy I have this second chance at seeing the girls grow up, and being able to be around Olivia a bit longer, even if she doesn’t know I’m here…it’s worth it.” He gave me a sly grin. “Sometimes, when they’re not home, I manage to turn on the TV and watch some shows. But I can only do that when they’re all out. Can you imagine their reaction when the TV turns on by itself?”

With a shudder, I remembered the one and only time I watched the Japanese original of The Ring. I’d covered all the TVs in the house for weeks after that, but it still wouldn’t erase the memory of seeing that scary AF girl crawl out of the television in that movie.

“Yeah, no,” I hurried to say. “Don’t ever do that. No one wants to be scarred for life like that.”

“It’s probably confusing enough that their Netflix profiles show recently watched movies they never saw.”

I just stared at him.

“Mostly, the girls accuse each other of messing with the profiles, so it’s all good.”

“Right,” I said, drawing out the word. “Maybe you should go to the neighbors’ to watch on their device? Didn’t you mention they were always up in your business, complaining about every little thing? Why don’t you give them some ghostly payback?”

I couldn’t believe I was actually egging on my departed dad to haunt some unsuspecting people. Hell was rubbing off on me.

My dad’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea! I could do some harmless pranks, like tie all their shoelaces together, or replace all their pictures of Jesus with Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

I’d created a monster.

“Sure, yeah, you do that.” I patted him on his ghostly shoulder.

Azazel came back into the house at that point, sans Cadriel.

I jerked my head at him. “Where’s my dad’s card playing partner?”

“She’s been tasked with another assignment.” His eyes flicked to my dad. “I’ll send a replacement once we’re back in Hell, but until then, you’d best stay inside.”

My dad nodded. Chances were lower another demon would randomly spot him if he was inside the house.

I faced my dad again. “There’s something I wanted to ask you.”

He put his hands in his ghostly pockets. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Remember when I told you about that séance I did that ended up binding Azazel and me together? I was actually going off a book that I’d found in our attic. It was handwritten, bound in black leather, no title, a whole lot of gibberish inside with something intelligible here and there. Do you happen to know anything about this book?”

My dad’s forehead was creased with deep lines. “Not that I recall… When did you say you found it?”

“I was thirteen.”

“Hm…” He stared at the floor in thought. “We were still living in that house in Sunnyside, right?”

“Yep.” Just a short year before our family fell apart and my parents divorced. “Do you remember if the book was maybe an heirloom or something on your side or Mom’s?”

He shook his head, and my heart sank. There went our only lead to finding out more about that book and my summoning.

“I don’t think I’ve seen it before,” my dad continued, “and I don’t remember your mom bringing along something like it when we married and moved in together.”

Dammit. So much for that, then.

“But,” my dad said, making me pause in my negative thinking spiral, “it could have been part of old Dorothy’s stuff.”

“Old Dorothy?”

“Don’t you remember? She was the old lady we bought the house from.”

Slivers of memory surfaced from the depths of my childhood. The image of a woman, tousled gray hair, face lined with decades of a life fully lived.

“She was friends with your grandma Harriet,” my dad went on, “and when she got too old to live alone and needed to sell her house, your grandma pounced on that information right away. We’d been looking at houses for a while, but the market was tough, and Dorothy’s house was in a great neighborhood, good schools, quiet area, big yard, everything we’d been looking for. And we got a deal thanks to your grandma. She negotiated with Dorothy to not put it on the market, but sell directly to us, and we’d agree to take care of any furniture and household stuff left over from her move. She was grateful because she was already frail at the time, and she had no family to help her with the move and selling all her stuff. We said we’d do it for her, and that way she just had to pack what she wanted to take to the nursing home, and we took care of the rest.” He smiled wistfully. “When we went to give her the money from the sale of her goods, she refused to take it, telling us to buy some nice new things for our home with it.”

“So the book could have belonged to Dorothy?” I asked, bringing my dad’s nostalgia back on track.

He shrugged. “Possibly, yes. You said you found it in the attic? Well, there was a lot of her stuff there that we didn’t get to go through. After we’d cleared the main rooms of the house and did all the necessary updates, we were just too exhausted at first to take on the things in the attic as well. So we said we’d do them later. Except…well, you know how it goes when you put things off.” He gave me a self-conscious smile. “In the end, we never got around to tackling the attic. We just left it all up there, untouched. So, if you found the book in the attic, chances are good it’s one of Dorothy’s old possessions.”

My ghostly heart beat faster. “Is she still alive?”

“I don’t know, honey. It’s been—God, how long? Almost twenty years that we moved into that house? We didn’t really keep in touch with her after, especially when your grandma Harriet died. For all I know, Dorothy could be long gone, too.” He squinted at me. “Why are you asking, anyway?”

I shook my head. “We’re just trying to find out more about that book. Maybe if Dorothy is still alive, we could ask her about it. Do you remember which nursing home she went to?”

“I don’t recall the name, but it was on the corner of SE 60th Avenue and SE Division Street. Red brick building.”

I clapped my slightly translucent hands together and did a little jump. “Thank you! We’ll go over there right now.”

I was already turning around when Azazel casually stopped me with an arm around my waist, still facing my dad.

“It would help us find her in the nursing home,” Azazel said, “if we knew her last name.”

Right, yeah, that’d be kind of important.

“Sure,” my dad said. “It’s Anderson. Dorothy Anderson.”

“Thank you.” Azazel inclined his head.

I waved at my dad on my way out the door. “Bye! See you in a couple of weeks. Good haunting!” I gave him two thumbs up.

“Haunting?” Azazel murmured as we stepped outside.

“Just a bit of fun. My dad’s going to play some harmless pranks on his neighbors.”

Azazel stopped me with a finger on my chest, his expression serious. “No. Indulging in haunting activities that harass the living might accelerate his transformation into a wraith. It’s the first step toward losing the connection to his humanity.”

I blinked rapidly at him. “He was just going to tie their shoelaces together.”

“It’s a slippery slope.”

“So, harmless pranks are like a gateway drug for ghosts?” I made my voice lower, imitating a male narrator. “Are your deceased parents dabbling in haunts? It might seem innocent, but it’s a slippery slope. First, it’s swapping out pictures of Jesus with Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan Kenobi—”

Azazel raised both brows.

“Then it’s the full-on haunt with floating objects and nightly screeching. Notice the early warning signs and talk to your dearly departed about spiritual abuse.”

Azazel covered his face with his hand.

But since I wasn’t going to ignore his sage advice, I zoomed back into the house and yelled at my dad, “Change of plans—no haunting!”

He stared at me, dumbfounded.

I pointed at him with a finger. “Any haunting, no matter how small, will make you turn into a wraith faster. So don’t do it. I know it’s tempting, but you have to be strong. Got it?”

He nodded, his eyes wide.

And before I zipped back out the door, I gave in to the urge to replay key moments from my high-school’s anti-drug program. “Don’t be cool,” I said to him in a stern voice. “Stay in school.”

My dad’s parting grin warmed my heart as I rejoined Azazel on the porch. Ever since my dad and I had reconciled and started talking again, I’d remembered more and more how much of a connection we’d had before it all fell apart. I loved my mom with all my heart, and we’d always have this special bond, but I’d never joked with her like I’d done with my dad. He’d been my partner in silly crime, and he’d always appreciated my brand of humor, because it was pretty much his own, too.

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed cracking jokes around him and grinning about silly things until after we’d stitched our broken relationship back together.

I turned to Azazel, the reason all of this was even possible, and the smile I gave him wavered with emotion.

“Thank you,” I said, and laid my hand on his cheek.

“For what?”

I jerked my head toward the house with my dad in it. “Without you, I wouldn’t be here talking to him. If I hadn’t met you—”

“I kidnapped you to Hell,” he said with a glint of humor in his eyes.

“Particulars.” I waved that away. “Besides, I went willingly.”

“Because you didn’t have a choice.”

“Are you trying to twist this into a bad thing? Just shush and let me thank you.”

His eyes danced with amusement, but he pressed his lips into a line and shut up.

“Anyway, if I hadn’t gone to Hell with you, I’d have lost any chance at reconciliation when my dad died. And even in Hell…” I stroked my hands over his chest, tracing the lines and dips of his fighting leathers. “If you hadn’t risked everything to pull my dad’s soul out, I’d have lost him forever, too. I’ve thanked you before, but I just want you to know how much it means to me.”

He studied my face intently, his eyes churning with storms and lightning. “Seeing you this happy is its own reward.” Leaning in, he nipped at my lower lip, and my entire spirit form shivered in delight. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll forego more physical rewards from you.”

I grinned against his mouth. “Subtle, babe. Real subtle.”

His kiss was scorching, curling my toes even in my incorporeal state, a promise of rewards to be demanded at a later point. I’d comply all too gladly.

Lifting me into his arms once more, he shot into the sky, heading for the nursing home. It was a quick flight, and soon we touched down on the small stretch of lawn in front of the red brick building. The big sign over the entrance read Mt. Tabor Home for the Elderly.

“Well, at least the nursing home is still here,” I said as Azazel set me on my feet. “That’s a good sign. With any luck, Dorothy is rocking a long life in there.”

“Let’s check it out.”

He headed for the front entrance, and just before he grabbed the door handle, I felt a tingle in the air.

“Did you just make yourself visible?” I whisper-shouted.

Why are you whispering?he replied in my head. And, yes. How else would I make an inquiry about Mrs. Anderson?

But—you look like you just escaped the film set of a medieval war movie.I gestured at his apparel and the sword strapped to his back.

He paused with his hand on the door handle and glanced down at himself. Good point.

With a ripple, his appearance changed, his fighting leathers smoothing out into a modern shirt and pants combo, the sword at his back vanishing into thin air.

I pointed at him with my mouth hanging open. “That,” I said out loud, having lost all mental finesse. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

Same concept as hiding my wings.He winked at me, opened the door wide, and walked in.

I followed through the closing door and caught up to him as he strolled up to the reception.

The young woman behind the counter looked up from her PC and uttered a small gasp at the sight of Azazel. I know the feeling, I thought. And though he was already breathtaking under normal circumstances, he’d now dialed up his allure and demonically enhanced his attractiveness, the result of which was the receptionist gazing at him open-mouthed like he was the eighth wonder of the world.

She nearly fell over herself in her haste to stand up, smooth down her clothes, and fluff up her hair. I noticed how she made sure to tug her blouse deeper to reveal more cleavage, and I narrowed my eyes.

I walked right through the reception desk to the other side and grabbed a pencil from the table behind the woman. Or tried to. Small objects were tricky to grasp.

Zoe, Azazel warned.

Out loud, he said, “Hello. I was wondering if I could see Dorothy Anderson.”

“Oh.” The receptionist started twirling her hair and batting her lashes at my husband as she came around the reception desk to stand right next to him. “Of course.”

Oh, yay, that sounded like she was still alive!

While I internally celebrated that small victory, I finally managed to float the pencil off the table with my ghostly hand. Azazel shot me a warning look over the woman’s shoulder.

“Mrs. Anderson, you say?” The receptionist pursed her lips much more than they needed to be pursed. “And you are…?”

“Off the market,” I groused, focusing hard on floating the pencil closer to her.

Not even acknowledging my interjection, Azazel smiled at her—whoah, that was a megawatt smile—and leaned in a bit. “An old acquaintance.”

“Oh.” The receptionist giggled and twirled her hair faster. “Right. Well, I can show you to her, if you’d like.”

She placed her hand on his arm, which was the moment I saw red. I stabbed the wandering hand with the pencil. I’d intended to stab hard, but my ghostly strength being what it was—a total floozy—the pencil didn’t even break skin.

It was enough to smart, though, judging by the woman’s cry and the way she pulled her hand back as if burned.

I met Azazel’s accusing glare with a triumphant one.

Stop, he growled in my head.

Stop…and then what?I shot back. Collaborate and listen? In the name of love? It’s hammer time? You gotta be more specific, there’s a lot of ways this can go.

Stop antagonizing our source of information. He bared his teeth at me while the woman bent to pick up the pencil that had fallen to the floor, her expression bewildered and a little scared.

Stop flirting with her, I hissed back.

I’m manipulating her to help us achieve our objective fast and without hassle, and you’re interfering.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest. Manipulate this.

Holding his gaze, I poked the woman in the side with my ghostly finger.

She uttered a shrill sound of surprise and whirled around, her wide eyes scanning the room.

Azazel rolled his eyes heavenward. For Hell’s sake, Zoe.

To the woman, he said, “Stacy, was it?” He touched her elbow, pulling her attention back to him.

“Yes.” She gave him a wobbly smile, her hand unconsciously going to the name tag on her blouse.

“Please show me to Mrs. Anderson.”

“Of course. Yes. Right away.” Fluffing up her hair once more, she sashayed in front of him, her hips working overtime to send her message.

“And here we can see the human female,” I intoned, imitating David Attenborough’s voice and accent as he narrated a nature documentary, “desperately trying to attract the attention of a male in order to mate.”

Azazel, walking just a step behind the receptionist, pressed his lips together.

“Unbeknownst to her,” I continued, infusing my narration with a sense of doom, “her flamboyant display has unfortunately made her the target of a supernatural predator.”

Zoe, Azazel said, his mental voice sounding strained.

“As soon as the mighty ghost stalking her learns how,” I went on, “she will find herself the victim of a wedgie.”

Zoe, Azazel said, tension making his shoulders rigid, if you don’t stop, I will bring you back to Hell and come back here alone. I can’t afford to laugh and ruin this mission.

I smiled smugly.

“Oh, I have to warn you,” Stacy said as she stopped in front of a door. “Mrs. Anderson’s Alzheimer’s is very progressed. I’m not sure how much you’ll be able to talk to her. She might not recognize you at all.”

My jealousy retreated long enough that I digested her words. Here I’d been happy that Dorothy was still alive, only to find out now that she had severe dementia. Crap. We probably wouldn’t get any information out of her.

“That’s fine,” Azazel said smoothly. “I’ll see if she has a good day.”

“Sure.” Stacy bit her lower lip and stood up straighter, pushing out her chest. “If you need anything”—she purred that word—“don’t hesitate to call me.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Is that how women usually react to you?” I asked as she sashayed away again, leaving us alone in the hall.

His smirk was answer enough.

“Must have been quite the ego check when I verbally spit in your face as you came to drag me to Hell last year,” I drawled with a smirk of my own.

As I recall, he replied, his eyes hot on me, that irrational resistance didn’t last long.

“Pfft.”

And you did call me an achingly beautiful fallen angel with whom any hot-blooded woman—and many a man—would want to explore the very meaning of sin,he quoted my inner monologue from that night exactly one year ago, when he’d shown up in my living room.

And then he winked at me. Winked! The scoundrel.

“Those were private thoughts,” I growled. “But if you’re so good at remembering my innermost musings, you might recall that I also called you a creepy psycho.”

He stepped closer, his eyes tender as he tipped up my chin with one finger. You can shelve that jealousy now, he said. You know there’s no need for it.

I crossed my arms again and gave him my best narrow-eyed pout. “I’d like to see you keep your cool if some other male put his paws on me.”

The twitch in his eye gave him away.

“Uh-huh.” I sent him a smug smile and leaned closer. “You’d go ballistic, and don’t you deny it.”

We should go in, he said in response and turned toward the door.

I didn’t even try to suppress my cackle.

He knocked and then pressed down the handle, slowly opening the door. With no one else around, he held it open for me to step in after him, and my gaze fell on the frail woman lying on the bed in the corner, staring at the TV on the opposite wall. A colorful quilt lay on the blanket covering her lower half, and the nightstand featured a framed picture of a much younger woman arm in arm with a handsome man, their faces smiling. Her late husband and her, maybe?

Dorothy Anderson didn’t react to Azazel’s presence, her milky eyes riveted on the TV screen, though it seemed she was staring far off. Deep lines carved her face, the hair on her head so thin and wispy it seemed like steam curling off the surface of a hot spring.

“Mrs. Anderson?” Azazel asked gently.

No reaction.

“Dorothy?”

At that, she blinked slowly, took a deep breath, and turned her head to look at him. Her hairless brows drew together.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

My heart broke a little at seeing her. More memories rose from the depths of my mind, revived by meeting her once again, this woman I’d seen a few times when I was barely old enough to go to school. What I remembered of her was a lot more vibrant than this version of her before me, bent and broken with age and a disease that ate away at her mind.

Azazel pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. “I’m married to the woman who used to live in your house.”

Surprised that he’d stick to the truth so much, I glanced at him. He was intently focused on Dorothy, reaching out to gently grasp her wrinkled hand.

The moment he touched her, she gasped, her eyes going wide.

“What are you doing?” I hurried forward, my heart in my throat.

“That’s not me,” he said, something like shock on his face.

Dorothy’s milky eyes moved rapidly, then stilled and fixated on him. The white film over them slipped away, their blue becoming clear and startlingly sharp. For a moment, she stared at him in utter silence, while the seconds ticked by with my quick breaths.

Her wrinkled face lighting up with a huge smile, she then said slowly, distinctly, “Azazel!”