Gone With the Minion Read online

  “I’m a demon. I like tormenting humans. I especially like tormenting you.” He grinned now, his teeth bared.

  Over the years, I’d learned Moloch was more complicated than a mere “torment humans” kind of demon. And that fact that he willingly let a soul go told me that what he wanted was more important to him than the souls of the Madder sisters. “What are you really after, Moloch?”

  “Funny you should ask...” He tapped the dimple in his chin. “There is an item I’d like you to retrieve. Get it for me, and I’ll forget about Falina’s loss.” He shrugged as if he didn’t care. “Or you can find a replacement soul.”

  If he was willing to trade a soul for an object, most likely a relic, the thing had to have some major mojo. Getting something like that for Moloch could spell disaster. But I only had four days until my decade deadline. Finding someone corrupt enough to make a bargain and still be able to look at myself in the mirror would be next to impossible. “Fine. Where’s this item?”

  “I believe you are familiar with the place.” Moloch’s upper lip curled into a snarl. He waved his hand, and an image appeared: a two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch. And the demon lord was right—I was very familiar with it.

  David’s farm. My breath caught in my throat. In 1958, I’d discovered the secret Psychical Society of Paranormal Researchers, or PSPR for short, on my quest to remove my sisters from Moloch’s grip. That’s how I met David, who’d been my first real friend. I never knew there were humans aware of the paranormal world, and, like me, trying to do something about them. The PSPR had been hunting demons and dealing with the supernatural going all the way back to 1785.

  “What are you playing at, Moloch?” I asked. “If whatever you want belongs to David, you can’t have it.” When I made the original bargain to save my sisters and family farm in exchange for my soul—I could’ve never imagined a circumstance where I would make another deal with Moloch.

  Then I met David.

  And David had been worth a thousand bargains.

  “Oh? Didn’t I mention? David Jensen died.” He smiled as his verbal blow struck me the way he’d planned. I felt my heart sink, and grief welled within me. “He has a very old book, Olivia. My book. Even dead, he’s managed to keep me from it.” He put his hands into the shape of a small rectangle. “It’s about this big with a leather cover. It’s called the Shedim.”

  I didn’t remember David having any such book, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t procured it within the last fifty-six years. And if Moloch wanted it, then it had power—either the kind he could wield or the kind that could hurt him. Either way, Moloch getting his hands on it was probably bad news.

  “It’s not like I can find David’s farm,” I managed to choke out. I wouldn’t cry in front of Moloch, but it took everything I had to prevent the tears. “You made sure of that.” After I made the bargain to walk away from David in exchange for protection for him and his family, the demon lord created a magical barrier that wouldn’t allow me to find David again, ever.

  “I couldn’t have the two of you cooking up anything else, could I? But now that he’s left the Earthly plane, there’s no harm in removing the confusion spell.”

  He tapped my forehead, and suddenly I knew exactly where to find David’s farm again. “He lived outside of Sanctum,” I said. “About two hours south of Saint Louis.”

  Moloch nodded. “That’s right. And you have four days and...” he looked at an imaginary wristwatch “...nine hours, thirty minutes, and twenty-nine seconds to get me the ancient tome or a new soul.” He spread his hands wide. “Tell you what. I’ll sweeten the deal—just for you, Olivia.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I’m in a good mood.” He snapped his fingers. A young woman wearing a hospital gown materialized. She was streaked with dirt, her mouth painted with bloody foam.

  Her eyes were bright red.

  “Master,” said the girl. She fell to her knees and bowed her head.

  “Get out, Lazul.” Moloch snapped his fingers again.

  The girl’s now unoccupied corpse toppled over.

  “There. Demon-free.” He snapped his fingers a third time. The girl disappeared. “She’s back on the slab—safe and sound.” He studied my disbelieving expression and sighed. “You are such a cynic.” He waved his hand in a circle. The image of the girl laid out on a metal table, a surprised orderly standing nearby, appeared. Moloch waved his hand again, and the image was gone.

  I wasn’t sure why Moloch was willing to oust one of his minions to appease me. In fact, his sudden altruistic gesture made me even more suspicious. “Fine. You’ll get what you want.”

  “I always do.” He leveled me with a gaze so chilling goosebumps arose on my arms. “Don’t even think about trying anything stupid like wiggling out of your bargain with me. I’ll toss your sisters into the darkest, deepest pits in Hell. And then I’ll spend the next millennia filleting your flesh from your bones.” With those horrible threats ringing in my ears, he popped out of sight.

  I sucked in a shuddering breath and pressed my hand against my chest. Me trying to find a way to get out from under Moloch’s thumb had endangered David, his family, and the PSPR. I wouldn’t make that mistake again—not that I could.

  David was dead.

  Despite the years that had passed, I’d harbored a sliver of hope I might see him again. But now, I never would. I hugged my arms against my body as my heart cried David, David, David.

  I heard a low whistle. Charlotte appeared next to me. “That creature raises my hackles.”

  “You’re a ghost, Char. You don’t have hackles.”

  “Well, you do, and you need to stop invoking his name every time you dispatch one of his soldiers.”

  She wasn’t wrong. Moloch could drop in on me anytime he wanted, but I more easily drew his attention when I said his name. “I’ll try to call him asshole from now on.” I shooed my hands at her. “Now skedaddle.”

  “You can’t boss me around anymore, Liv.”

  I rolled my eyes. Hard. “Apparently.”

  Moloch’s disastrous goodbye haunted me as I dragged the lesser demon’s body to the garden shed. Damn it. He knew how to push my panic buttons. My own penance, if that came early, I could handle, but I couldn’t let my sisters fall with me. I was the only thing standing between them and the fate Moloch had threatened.

  Charlotte watched me shove Hennessy into the shed and shut the door. She studied my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Other than being a demon lord’s minion and having to dispose of another body and spend another evening cleaning blood off my shoes? Nothing.”

  “Don’t you lie to me, Olivia. I know you too well.”

  It wasn’t like I could hide the truth from my sisters—or myself. “David died.”

  “Oh my gosh!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

  I stiffened. “Of course, I am.”

  She frowned. “I know you loved him.”

  “David was married with a kid. We were strictly friends with demon-killing benefits.”

  “Pish. You were head over heels for him. I can see you’re in pain.”

  “I’m fine,” I told her.

  Charlotte pressed her lips together and nodded. I knew she didn’t believe me, but at least she wouldn’t push me. If Eliza had been the one to notice my grief, I’d end up on the nearest couch answering questions about my feelings. Ugh.

  As long as I was struggling along by myself to oust demons from the Earthly plane, Moloch tended to leave me alone. But when David entered the picture, I’d had a comrade-in-arms. And I had someone who cared enough to start digging into ways to free me from Moloch.

  So, in 1962, the demon lord told me that he would find a way to wreak misery on David, his wife, their son, and everyone within a fifty-mile radius if I so much as looked in the direction of Sanctum, Missouri again. I hadn’t known about the whole angel accord then. If I had, I wouldn’t have been so hasty to make another dam
ned bargain with Moloch. Instead, I agreed to stay away from David, Sanctum, and all members of the Psychical Society of Paranormal Researchers, and Moloch would, too.

  Moloch made sure I would never try to sneak in a visit to David’s farm by placing the confusion spell. Even if I’d been willing to risk breaking the bargain, I wouldn’t be able to find David.

  Now I had to return to the one place I’d been happy. And the reason for that happiness had just died. Grief clutched at me once more. I didn’t have a choice. It was either find a soul in four days—impossible—or deal with my heartbreak and get the book Moloch wanted. Since I wasn’t about to watch my sisters burn in Hell, there really was no choice at all. I had to go for the sure solution.

  I looked at Char. “Get the twins. We’re going on a road trip.”

  Chapter 3

  The two-mile drive up the gravel road leading to David’s old farmhouse brought back memories of my childhood. My father, who had been too old for the rebel draft, had spent most of the war hiding refugees and slaves escaping to the north. Like David, Jonathan Madder had been a noble man, and I knew he would be ashamed to see me now.

  It broke my heart.

  Southerners had never liked the term “civil war,” and liked to call it the War of Northern Aggression. My father favored the term “The Late Unpleasantness.” Even though Poppa was Southern through-and-through—and had grown up around folks with slaves—he and my mother had been united in their principles. Freedom was meant for everyone, and everyone deserved the chance to build good lives. They taught us compassion for all human beings—and showed us what it meant to risk everything to save the innocent. My mother died bringing the twins into the world, and I knew Mama would never regret for an instant forfeiting her life for theirs.

  Poppa died ten years after the war was over and by then, I was twenty-eight and well versed in running the farm. By Southern standards, I was an old maid. My marital prospects were thin with me being on the verge of spinsterhood. Plus, I’d never gotten on board with that whole “women are property” mentality. For that same reason, I refused to parcel off my sisters like cattle.

  But four young women of good breeding owning property and farming like common folks had been an affront to our community. If the Madder sisters refused to marry like proper Southern Belles, then the only recourse was to force them off their land by any means necessary.

  Say, like poisoning our livestock.

  Stealing our horses.

  Burning our crops.

  And finally, an actual assault on our home by masked men. Imagine their surprise when four delicate feminine flowers fired shotguns at them until they ran away screaming.

  I’d been at my wit’s end about how to protect my siblings—and keep the farm.

  Then Moloch showed up and offered the bargain. In exchange for keeping my sisters and the farm safe, I would spend two-hundred years as his minion, and when my two centuries were up, I was his to take to Hell.

  I swatted away the memories like annoying flies and focused on my task now. As I parked my truck in front of the railroad ties that marked the parking area, I stilled the apprehension in my gut. David had been twenty-six the last time I saw him. He would’ve been eighty-two when he died. Had he even remembered me? Did it matter? I needed to get in, find the book, and get out. I wasn’t sure how long my heart could take being on David’s farm—around David’s possessions—before it exploded from the sorrow.

  The sooner I put Sanctum in the rearview mirror, the better.

  The entire property used to have wards against lesser demons, ghosts, vampires, and elves. Despite the efforts of cartoon cookie makers and high fantasy movies to make elves nice, wise, and peaceful—they were anything but. Elves were assholes. If you ever meet one, don’t walk. Run.

  However, as I made my way up the drive, I didn’t feel any of the tell-tale tingles the wards used to give me. As a minion, I was human enough that they didn’t keep me out, but I was demon enough that they made me feel buzzy. Without David alive to renew the wards the farm was no longer protected. And if that was the case, why would Moloch need me at all? Maybe he really didn’t. Maybe he’d wanted to inflict the most suffering possible by making me come here to retrieve his dumb book.

  Not for the first time since I started the trip to Sanctum, I wondered about David’s wife, Clarissa. Would she be there? What about David’s son, Thomas? He would be what, in his fifties now? I could only hope they didn’t remember me. I wasn’t sure they’d believe my lies over their own eyes, but what choice did I have?

  None.

  As usual.

  The farmhouse was a two-story turn-of-the-century structure in good repair. It looked like someone had given it a fresh coat of paint recently, and the brand new exposed wood on the front stoop steps told me that same someone was currently making repairs. David had been terrible about maintenance. He loved his family and made sure they were sheltered, fed, and healthy, but his passion was reserved for the supernatural.

  And if things had been different, some of that passion might’ve been mine.

  I knocked on the front door and waited.

  And that’s when my sisters shimmered onto the porch.

  “Do you really think anyone’s going to be home?” asked Charlotte. She peered into the window on the right side of the door. “It’s dark in there.”

  “We could go look for the book,” offered Eliza. She patted my shoulder, a gesture of comfort, even though she knew I couldn’t actually feel her touch. “That way you don’t have to stay here for too long.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I looked around. “Where’s Elise?”

  “Remember that big brick house we passed right before we drove through Sanctum?” asked Charlotte. “Apparently, the homeowner is marathoning Monsters Inside Me, and she decided to hang out there for a while.”

  “Oh, lawd,” said Eliza. “It’s going to be days and days of microbial this and bacteria that.” She unfolded a fan and waved it in front of her face. “I wish she would find a different hobby.”

  “It’s not a hobby,” I said, defending Elise. “If she wasn’t dead, she’d be a helluva doctor.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Liv,” said Eliza. “I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “I know.” I knocked again. I was ready to get out my lock-picking tools when I heard a man in the distance holler, “Hello.”

  I turned to see a tall guy in coveralls, grease on his face, and his dark hair shiny with dirt and sweat walking out the doors of the large red barn. The last time I’d been here, that barn had been falling apart, its cracked timbers, a dull gray.

  When the man finally reached the porch, and he got a good look at me, the wrench slipped from his grasp and thunked to the ground. The poor dear looked shocked to see me standing there, and I could only imagine it was because I didn’t look like your typical Sanctum resident. I’d put on what Char called my “confidence clothes”—A red short-sleeved blouse with a deep vee-cut to show off my assets, form-fitting burgundy brushed velvet skirt, and my black leather boots. I’d French-braided my hair and, as a final touch, put on big silver hoop earrings. And yes, the earrings doubled as weapons.

  The man picked up the wrench and then he asked, “Can I help you, miss?”

  I cleared my throat and put on a polite smile. “Uhm, yes, sir. I’m looking for David Jensen?” This guy didn’t know that I knew David was dead, so it was the quickest way to explain my unannounced visit.

  He tilted his head to the left, studying me with a penetrating stare. His gray-blue eyes shone brightly in contrast to his darkly smudged face. “David Jensen is dead,” he said.

  The cold way he said the words made me gape.

  “Close your mouth, sister dear, before you catch flies,” said Charlotte primly. She and Eliza were leaning on the porch railing giving the eye to the young man.

  I took a moment to get ahold of myself and then asked, “What happened to him?”

  “He had a st
roke. Clot went straight to his heart and killed him quick.” His gaze didn’t waver from mine as he took a rag from the overall’s pocket to clean grime from the wrench he held. “How did you know my grandfather?”

  “Oh. Uh. Your grandfather was an old friend.”

  The man snorted. “Did you meet him when you were a toddler?”

  “Yes,” I said, rolling my eyes. I studied David’s grandson. I didn’t know what David’s life had been like. Thomas had been seven the last time I saw him. Maybe David and Clarissa had more children. “Are you Thomas’s son?”

  “I would have to be since Dad was an only child.” The man narrowed his eyes. “He died when I was two years old.”

  Oh, David. The loss must have broken his heart. “I’m sorry,” I said. “What about your grandmother? Is she around?”

  “She died of cancer when my dad was ten years old. And Gramps never remarried. It was just him and Dad.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Clarissa had been dead for decades, and David had raised his son on his own. Despite my feelings for David, I’d never wished his wife ill. I’d liked Clarissa. She was sweet as apple pie, and the epitome of the 1950s housewife. The whole cleaning-the-house-wearing-heels-and-pearls kind of woman who made sure dinner was on the table by six every night, and the baby was put to bed by eight. She waited on David hand and foot. Unfortunately, she wasn’t hearty enough to be a farmer’s wife. Milking a cow or picking corn was not in her purview. David loved her, loved his family, but he’d confided his worries about Clarissa’s delicate constitution.

  I had never imagined she would pass away from cancer just a couple of years after I left.

  The man closed the distance between us. “I’m Tristan, by the way. I’d shake your hand but...” He held up his grimy palms. “I’d hate to get you messy.”

  Now that Tristan was up close and personal, I could see much of David in him. The narrow face, high, sharp cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the square jaw, and broad shoulders reminded me so much of his grandfather. However, David’s eyes had been hazel-green, not the color of a cloud right as a storm was lifting. Other than that, he and David could have been twins.