Page 10 of Speak of the Devil

All the same, he hadn’t quite been able to let it go, had still searched online for mentions of her once he was safely back in the mortal realm…even though he knew all he was doing was frustrating himself that much more.

Had it been stupid to send her a wedding gift after he learned she was getting married around Christmas?

Probably.

Then again, she’d thought he was safely banished to Hell. Most likely, all he’d done was create a mystery she couldn’t solveas she tried to figure out who could have sent her the butterfly pendant with its dancing complement of diamonds.

The Lyft driver who picked him up didn’t seem inclined toward conversation, and Caleb was just fine with that. No, he’d go home, put his winnings in a safe, and then do some research to see which banks or credit unions would be the most likely candidates for opening a new account. Luckily, most institutions here in Las Vegas were used to people depositing large sums of cash after a lucrative night at the casinos.

Tonight, he had the driver take him to a shopping center about a mile away from his house, one with a Safeway that was open twenty-four hours. After adding a sizable tip in the app, he thanked the guy and headed into the grocery store.

However, picking up some late-night snacks wasn’t Caleb’s intention. He went straight to the pet food aisle, one that just happened to be ignored by the store’s security cameras, and sent a quick glance around him. The aisle was utterly deserted, and no one seemed to be coming this way.

A shift in intention, and he was standing in the living room of the house that had been his home for the past two months. He’d bought it fully furnished, so all he’d needed to do was show up with a toothbrush and some clothes.

At first, he’d toyed with the idea of redoing parts of the house, since some of it was a little too Vegas and over-the-top for him, but he had to admit the place was starting to grow on him, even the glowing neon “PLAY” sign that hung on one wall in the family room, which was dominated by a big black pool table.

Or maybe he simply enjoyed being here because he knew his mother would absolutely hate the place, right down to the crystal chandelier that dangled over the standalone tub in the main bathroom.

He rarely drank when he was gambling — even though he knew a couple of cocktails wouldn’t come anywhere close toaffecting his demon-enhanced constitution — but when he got home, he almost always poured himself something, whether that was a few fingers of bourbon or a Scotch and soda.

Tonight, bourbon seemed easier, so he got down a glass and fixed himself a drink before heading into the living room. One of the reasons he’d bought the house was the dark blue paint that made the space moody and inviting, reminding him a little of the color he’d painted his boyhood room at home.

Then again, maybe that hadn’t been such a great idea. He tried to think of Greencastle as little as possible these days.

Out of all of them — half-demons and quarter-demons alike — he’d been the only one to escape.

Sheer dumb luck, probably. Getting around in Hell was never easy, since it wasn’t as if there were nice paved roads and street signs and phones with GPS to get you where you were going. He’d wandered for what felt like eons but eventually had returned to the dead forest where the demon lord Belial liked to hold court. Not because he had any wish to listen to that big bastard’s pontificating, but mainly because even a grove of dead trees felt more like home than the trackless, stony wastelands that made up the rest of the place.

And that was why Caleb had seen the portal opening into the firelit room where the dead redheads had lain…had watched as another red-haired woman — like enough to the other two that he thought they might have been sisters — and Belial had fought…had taken the leap of faith that had brought him back to the real world.

No one else from the Greencastle contingent had been anywhere near the grove of dead trees or the portal the demon lord had opened there, so they were now trapped in Hell forever. Unlike regular demons, they couldn’t be summoned, so once they were banished, that was it.

While he had to admit that having the half-demons remain there was no great loss — like his father, they were a bunch of greedy, officious assholes — he didn’t think it was fair for the quarter-demons of his own generation to have suffered the same fate. They had far more human blood than not, and were mostly victims of circumstance.

But because he couldn’t do a damn thing about their situation, he knew he probably shouldn’t waste too much brain space on it.

He flicked the switch to turn on the gas fireplace and sat down. What he hadn’t been expecting was to find how cool Las Vegas actually was in December and January — nothing like his hometown of Greencastle, of course, but still chilly enough that he didn’t feel entirely stupid about using the fireplace. It would have been better to have arrived in the dead of summer when he could have allowed the hundred-plus temperatures to bake the last icy cold of Hell out of his bones, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. To be honest, he would have been all right with landing in Buffalo in midwinter as long as it meant he wouldn’t have to spend another moment in the underworld.

The bourbon was warm against his throat, though, and he had to admit that he could have done a lot worse. Now he had a home base and an easy way of making sure the money continued to flow in, and all he had to do was maintain the status quo and he’d be home free.

Sure, this new existence was a little lonely, but he had only himself to blame for that. He’d hooked up with a couple of women right after arriving in Las Vegas, before he’d even bought this house and was bouncing from hotel room to hotel room, but that had only been an exercise in relieving the biological backpressure that had built up during his tenure in Hell.

Actually allowing someone into his life, let alone telling them the truth about his origins?

Caleb doubted that would ever happen.

Chapter Four

Demons?

Seriously?

But Delia had made herself listen to the pitch from the man on the phone, which was mainly that demons were just as real as the ghosts she banished from haunted tract homes, and that he’d like to meet her to discuss the matter further.

Despite her inner misgivings, she’d agreed to the meeting, saying she’d see him at Mothership Coffee Roasters downtown at ten o’clock, and that had seemed to be the end of that.

Except now she sat in her living room, nursing a glass of red wine as she watched the flames in her gas fireplace dance behind the glass enclosure, and wondered if she might have lost her damn mind.

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