shower stall. I’d taken my fair share of showers in my time, but they’d all been for (and with) clients. They’d never been about getting clean, just wet. After learning the hard way that twisting the single knob all the way meant scorchingly hot water, I adjusted the temperature, reviewed the various soaping options, and grabbed two dark blue towels from the small closet outside the bathroom. Then I proceeded to take a delicious shower, staying under the water until my skin wrinkled.
Mental note, part three: Showers aren’t just for sex.
Toweling dry, I pawed through Caitlin’s various toiletries and cosmetics, frowning over the very slim assortment of goodies. It took longer to apply makeup by hand than it did by magic, but I figured I’d get faster with more practice. Turning my thick black hair into a tight French twist, I fastened it with two long bone-colored pins, allowing some tendrils to frame my round face. Then I found Caitlin’s bedroom and ransacked her closet and bureau.
Next time I go on the lam from the Underworld, I’m turning to a supermodel for help. Maybe her accessories will lack that certain magical oomph, but I bet she’d have a killer wardrobe.
Finally, I decided on a light blue cotton blouse, dark blue jeans, and brown open-toed sandals. For giggles, I wore a white lace bra and panties. In all of my existence, I didn’t think I’d ever worn white intimate garments. Men always seemed to prefer red and black. Maybe white made them think of angels—or worse, marriage.
Finding a suitcase with a set of wheels and a retractable handle (bless me, these mortals were fucking ingenious), I piled in an array of clothing that I deemed bearable, leaving behind the long, flowing skirts, matronly blouses, and dowdy sweaters. Maybe Caitlin was an über witch, but she was also in serious need of a fashionista.
I shoved Caitlin’s makeup and personal items into a travel bag and dumped that inside the suitcase as well. In went two pairs of boots, one pair of athletic shoes, and all-purpose black pumps. After scanning her small house, I also added two jackets and a few books from her library. One title in particular had me rolling on the floor: Lucifer’s Hammer. Heh. King Lucifer never used a hammer.
That thought stopped me cold. In my mind, I heard King Lucifer’s voice, decreeing the Announcement to all of Hell. And I remembered the softest brush of lips against mine, the faintest whisper of words: You really believe that your friend isn’t an enemy?
Shoving the memory aside, I grabbed Caitlin’s purse and flipped open her wallet. Then I rolled my eyes. Leave it to me to borrow the identity of the one adult in all America that didn’t have a driver’s license. What was I supposed to do with a State ID—pick my teeth?
Hmm. But she did have some cash, at least. And ooh, lookie at all the credit cards.
Crap. I should’ve had Caitlin tell me what her PIN was before I drank that nasty potion. Now I couldn’t command her without activating my power—which meant removing my amulet. And it would be, pardon me, a cold day in Hell before I did that. Oh well. I’d make do.
Before I walked out of Caitlin’s life, I covered her sleeping body with a blanket. She murmured some nonsensical sleep stuff and rolled over.
Sweet dreams, Caitlin. And don’t cancel your credit cards before I max them out.
Chapter 3
South Station
As I shut Caitlin’s door behind me, I realized I had no idea where I was going. I adjusted the shoulder strap to my purse, grabbed the handle of the suitcase, and walked exactly three steps before someone called to me.
“Hey, Cait, good morning!”
I turned to see a little man exiting the house next to the witch’s. A scrawny thing, he was dressed in a brown suit that screamed polyester and begged to be returned to the 1970s. With a chicken neck and no chin, the man was a far cry from Adonis. But his smile was genuine, and I found that oddly appealing. His hand was up in a wave.
Flashing him a smile, I said, “Morning.” Far as I could tell, other than the spectacular shower, there was nothing good about the morning so far.
“Wow, you look terrific!” A mad blush exploded across his face, staining him from ear to ear. “I mean, you always look terrific. But there’s something different about you. Did you change something?”
Heh. A lot of somethings. “There’s no fooling you.”
“Got your hair cut?”
“Styled it differently.”
He grinned, showing overly large front teeth. “I knew it! It looks really good this way.”
“Thanks,” I said, fiddling with the suitcase’s retractable handle. The blessed thing was halfway up, and I couldn’t get it to open all the way.
Locking his front door, he said, “Say, it looks like you’re going on a trip. Business or pleasure?”
Survival. “You could say a little bit of both.”
He chuckled, a sound that was far too attractive for his looks. “That’s the right attitude! You headed to the airport?”
Trapped on a flying coach, with no way out? Er, no. “I like traveling on the Earth instead of over it.”
“Know what you mean. Besides, security’s a real bitch these days. Pardon my French.” Tucking a briefcase under one arm and picking up the newspaper on his doorstep, he said, “If you’re going to South Station, I’d be happy to give you a ride. It’s on the way to the office.”
I had no idea what or where South Station was, but if Chicken Neck thought it was where I was supposed to go, I was willing to run with it. Smiling warmly, I said, “Aren’t you the nicest neighbor a girl could have?”
His blush deepened. “Say, let me help you with that,” he stammered, walking over to me and taking the suitcase. He did something to the handle, a quick push in and out, and the thing worked perfectly for him. Huh. Must be a mortal thing. With a thick newspaper tucked under his armpit, his briefcase in one hand and the suitcase’s handle in the other, he looked ridiculously comical…and rather sweet.
Ugh, it had to be the milk. I couldn’t be this nice in real life.
Next to his large, blue minivan, he released my suitcase to rummage through his jacket pocket. Removing a set of keys, he pointed a device at the car and pressed a button. The minivan beeped twice, and the back door slid open.
Unholy Hell, these mortals were amazing. Such nifty little gadgets! The Almighty really did make humans in His own image, didn’t He? Mortals definitely had the creation bug in their genes, whether making babies or making gizmos.
But they also had other genes in them too, didn’t they? Darker genes that ate at them like a cancer…
Quit it, Jezebel. That’s what got you in trouble in the first place. Just leave it alone.
“Say, Cait—you okay?”
I glanced over at Chicken Neck, who threw my suitcase onto the backseat. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
He smiled at me, then shut the door. “You look way too serious for such a nice morning. I know that look. You’re thinking about the
