Page 35 of Hell and Hexes
Chapter 13
Eshu
If some demon had told me three weeks ago that I’d be following a witch around, tucking her in at night, participating in role playing games not of the sexual kind, and freely giving her my energy to power her charms, I would have thought he’d been hitting the nectar of the gods a bit too hard.
As for crashing her family-night dinner…well, I didn’t lie when I said I loved meatloaf. But no meatloaf in the world would have been sufficient for me to willingly spend hours with that annoying spawn of Satan glowering at me. No, I was there for Sylvie, because I missed her every moment I wasn’t with her. I missed her laugh. I missed her quick mind. Something fun and interesting would happen to me, and all I could think about was how much more fun and interesting it would have been had my couch-witch been there to share the experience.
I wasn’t truly a demon and not truly an angel, but I still bonded like they did, and I could feel myself bonding to this witch. And I had absolutely no interest at all in fighting it.
So, I threw myself into the event that was family-dinner night. I got to know her sisters and her sisters’ lovers. That eldest sister was a bossy stick-in-the-mud, but the rest of them were quite amusing. None of the others had ever died, let alone died by microwaving hot fudge, but they were still reasonably entertaining.
I tried to be on my best behavior, but to be honest, I had no idea how to behave around demons and angels, let alone a bunch of witches. Who knew that drinking games were not appropriate at family-night dinner? Or that I wasn’t supposed to tell that story about Lucien and the beholder? Or accidently drop mashed potatoes into Lucien’s lap. Okay, so it wasn’t an accident, and I didn’t exactly “drop” the mashed potatoes, nor did they go into his lap. Truthfully, I flung them into his face from my spoon.
Evidently food fights were not appropriate at family-night dinner. I also discovered that the racoon was not supposed to come inside to eat pie with the rest of us. Although I had a wonderful time watching everyone chase the animal around the room, a few attendees weren’t amused.
Sylviewas amused, especially when the racoon swiped the can of whipped cream and somehow managed to get on top of the light fixture with it. Racoons like whipped cream. I didn’t blame the guy; I liked whipped cream as well, especially if I got to lick it off my beloved witch.
After the racoon was banished outside, and Sylvie made a convincing argument for whyIshouldn’t be banished outside, the cleanup commenced. I remained in the living room area with the others while the eldest sister and one of the younger ones dragged my Sylvie into the kitchen to do dishes and “talk.”
“I like seeing her laugh again,” Sylvie’s twin sister told me. “You make her happy.”
“I want to make her happy,” I replied.
The twin gave me a searching look. “Don’t hurt her, okay? She’s been through a lot. She died and Nash resurrected her. She’s still healing and trying to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of what happened. Just don’t hurt her.”
I would never hurt my couch-witch.
“She told me about her death.” I gave the twin a knowing nod. “A microwave and hot fudge. That’s incredibly impressive. And creative. I’m glad your reaper assisted her, because I would have hated for her to be dead-dead. Of course, I never would have met her if she hadn’t died and needed to convalesce on her sister’s couch,. I owed your reaper my gratitude. And the microwave that electrocuted her as well.”
The twin shot me a strange look. “Do you love her?”
Did I? I’d only known her a few weeks, but I was fairly certain I did love her.
“I’ve had sex with many men and women in my life, yet none has ever captivated me like Sylvie,” I confessed.
She wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t just sex that the couch-witch wanted from me. It’s not like she wanted me to do magic for her or grant her favors or intervene with some powerful being on her behalf. She hadn’t even made an offering to me, which normally would have been a deal breaker in any relationship.
She likedme. She enjoyed my company as much as she enjoyed my staff of love. She likedme. And when I made her laugh, it was the best feeling in the world—even better than sex.
Okay, that was a lie, but it was close to sex. Very close.
How could I win her over, get her to care about me the same way I did about her? How could I make her see me as worthy of being a part of her family, of being her one-and-only? I thought about the few weeks I’d known her, and suddenly knew what I had to do. It would be the perfect gift. I would help her by not helping her, then helping her. Yes. That would be the best gift ever. And maybe then she’d fall in love with me just as I was falling in love with her.
