Page 81 of Not Today, Satan
Her hands fly to her stomach, rubbing in slow, smooth circles. “There was so much blood I thought it couldn’t possibly be normal. I was so scared I was losing you. Then I collapsed at your father’s feet. When I woke up, I was in a hospital and you and your father were gone.”
Every muscle in my body clenches, hardening with each revelation. He took me. While she was unconscious, no less.
Then he chose to raise my demon half and taught me to hate the rest of me. He knew exactly what he was doing.
My legs are trembling so much that I’d fall if I weren’t already sitting. The living room rushes away as her words embed themselves beneath my skin.
She dabs at her face with a piece of soft paper. “They told me I’d had a stillbirth, but I didn’t believe them. I would’ve felt it if you’d died—that unbearable loss. I knew he’d kidnapped you and warped the doctors’ memories. I waited for him to change his mind, prayed for him to bring you back, but he never did. I went to the park where we met every day, hoping he’d show. Sometimes, I’d swear I felt him there, but I’d look up and he was gone. Five years after you were born, I found this on the bench.”
She opens a drawer in the table and pulls out a picture. My breath stills when she hands it to me. It’s me as a child, sitting on Father’s throne. I’m laughing at something off camera—probably Attero—and am the size of a doll in the massive chair. Flipping over the photograph, I find Father’s familiar scrawl.Devica, aged five.
“He told me your name,” she says. “That meant the world. And you looked happy, which meant more. I thought maybe you were better off with him, after all.”
I mash my jaw back and forth, searching for words buried in the fury that bubbles through my body.
I hate them both. I hate him for taking me, and I hate her for letting him. And, even worse, I hate myself for feeling this way.Freaking angel blood.
A curtain of smoke wisps from my palm, and I make a fist.
Angry as I am, I probably shouldn’t set my mother’s house on fire.
When I’m certain my fire’s cooled, I hand her the photograph with trembling fingers. “I was happy. I didn’t know better. Didn’t realize there was more than Dominus or understand what Father did on that throne. I wasn’t aware of my own place in it.”
She slams the drawer shut, and our mugs rattle on the tabletop. “Which means you aren’t happynow. I don’t know how, but I sensed it. It’s why I started going back to that park every day. I hoped he’d realize he made a mistake and send you back to me.” She grabs our mugs and walks them into the kitchen. “When I found you on that bench, I was so relieved he’d done the right thing.”
I follow her and lean against the counter. “He didn’t bring me back. I ran away.”
“You ran away? From Hell?” She freezes, the refrigerator door partially open. Cold air wisps over my bare legs. “Oh, Devica. He’s going to be furious with both of us.”
She stares into the fridge, then blinks before reaching for something on the middle shelf. “I suppose what’s done is done. I’d still like to hear everything—your life with him, how you learned about me, your journey here—but I’m starving. And no offense, but you could use a shower. How about I make us breakfast while you clean up?” She pauses, a carton of eggs halfway to the counter. “You do eat, right?”
My stomach growls in reply, and I place my hand over it. “I never felt hungry in the Underworld. We ate because Father loved human food. But the moment you mentioned breakfast, my stomach did a cartwheel.”
“Earth does that. It did it to me, too. I’ll make us bacon and eggs. We talked through most of the morning, and I never let you settle in. Go get washed up while I do this.” She pulls out a package of bacon. “You probably want to change, too. I think we’re about the same size. Feel free to raid my closet. The bathroom’s down the hall to the left, and my bedroom’s next door. There are clean towels in the linen closet between them.”
I nod, barely ingesting half of what she said, and wander down the hall in a daze.
Everything she’s told me seems like something from one of Father’s novels. Not from my actual life.
A year ago, I was outcast demon Devica, on the path to take her father’s place. Now I’m a freaking angel—a fate worse than death, according to Father.
What the home do I do with that?
I find the bathroom and shed my clothes before stepping into the shower. The hot water prods my skin like needles and brings my sore muscles back to life. I shampoo my hair, wrinkling my nose at the strong floral notes.
Mud and dirt melt down me in rivers, swirling around the drain before disappearing.
Grabbing the soap, I scrub my skin until it’s red and raw. I grit my teeth and press harder. My nails scrape against my skin, producing raised trails behind them.
The dirt’s long gone, but I haven’t removed the filth buried inside of me.
Angel blood. A father who stole me from a loving mother for his own gain. The pain in Nate’s eyes when I said those awful things on the bridge. The permanent ache in my chest since he walked away.
The bar of soap snaps in my hand and drops to the tiled floor. I cover my mouth and scream, the bitter taste of soap bubbling over my tongue. Sliding down the wall, I sit on the tiled shower floor and cry.
I stay there until my skin prunes and the water grows cold.
Until every bit of dirt from my skin has washed down the drain and I have no tears left.
