Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 21

Jen and Amy knew a small-craft warning when they saw it; they jumped up and ran for their lives.

"Go there," I warned her coldly, "and it will be the last place you go on this earth."

Mom pulled her gla.s.ses down even farther. "It takes two to tango, Devlin."

I don't remember much about the next few minutes. Ca.s.sie told me later that it was the most methodical rampage she ever saw -- supposedly I tore off the Christmas lights first, batting ornaments in all directions, and then shook the tree to knock off the rest of the decorations before I started swinging it around the living room like a mace. There was some property damage, but she said I was careful not to hit the TV. She said I was less careful not to hit Connor, who barely dived off the loveseat in time.

The next thing I do remember was standing in a snowdrift up to my knees, staring at a battered blue spruce in the street, where I'd apparently thrown it. A few strings of tinsel left on it fluttered in the breeze.

I was bending over the tree, carefully taking off the last of the tinsel, when Ca.s.sie put a warm hand on my shoulder.

"I brought your coat," she said. "Want to get out of here for a while?"

"You're not mad at me?"

As soon as the question was out, I regretted having asked it. But her smile was worth my having sounded so stupid. "No, sweetie. I'm not mad. I'm proud of you."

"Proud?"

"Mmmhmm." She held up my coat, indicating that she would help me put it on. "Very proud."

I thought about that while she smoothed my coat front. "But I really did ruin Christmas just now."

"You think so? Well, I don't know about that. I think you just gave your mother a great Christmas present."

Not following, I blinked at her.

"She gets to tell all her friends about it," she explained. "She'll be the martyr of Hawthorne for a whole year."

d.a.m.n. Ca.s.sie was right. "I love you," I told her, meaning every syllable.

"I love you too, honey. Here. I saved your whales."

I stuck the toy in my pocket and kissed her with feeling, right there in the street, in broad daylight.

"Devvy?" she murmured after a while.

"Hmmm?"

"I really am wearing my best underpants."

She was crazy. She was absolutely perfect. "C'mon, wild thing. Let's vote each other off this stupid island."

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 18 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

The fortune-cookie reference goes back to an earlier story, and the psychic chicken goes back a couple of chapters in this one; both references are linked here. And thanks to Elles, who starts the horror of beta reading with this chapter.

CHAPTER 18.

Christmas dinner was Hunan chicken at Happy Lucky Dragon, which might not have been the worst name for a Chinese restaurant but couldn't have been far from it. Under normal circ.u.mstances, I avoided restaurants with weird names, but nothing else was open. This time, Ca.s.sie and I were lucky dragons; the food wasn't bad, and the service was outstanding.

Granted, it should have been; we were the only customers. But the waiter didn't have to keep checking on us every few minutes. I watched him with suspicion, trying to decide what he was more interested in: Ca.s.sie, or her duck toy. She'd been playing with it all through dinner. Then she'd borrowed mine. By the fortune cookies, I was starting to worry.

"Are you ever going to give it back?" I asked, watching her watch the whales.

She didn't even look up. "No."

"So you admit it. You only like me for my stuff."

Still no response. But a stockinged foot slipped up my trouser leg under the table.

"Then I get to open both fortune cookies," I said. "And I get to keep the fortune I like best."

Ca.s.sie finally put down the toy. She made unnecessarily sarcastic kissing noises at me, reached for a cookie, and cracked it open. A look of evil triumph lit up her face. "Read it and weep, Devvy."

Scowling, I leaned across the table. The fortune said YOU WILL ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT THROUGH YOUR GRACE AND CHARM.

"Read it out loud," she requested. "I want to hear you say it. Don't forget to add 'in bed' at the end."

"Oh, all right, just keep the whales," I grumbled.

Ca.s.sie laughed. In the next instant, the waiter was back at her elbow, refilling her teacup from the pot that had been sitting right in front of her all along.

"With all due respect to the little blonde lotus flower," I told him, "her arm's not in a sling. She can probably manage a teapot."

The foot that was still up my trouser leg gave me a kick. But its owner was smirking, and the waiter seemed not to understand anyway. He nodded at me, beamed at her, and left us again. Ca.s.sie's smirk got a little bigger.

"You love when this happens," I accused. "You do it on purpose."

"Do what, pookie?"

I hated that word. But the more I objected, the more she used it, so I was trying to let it roll off. "Collect waiters."

"It's a hobby," she said, amused. "I never had the patience for needlepoint."

"You're getting an att.i.tude on you, Wolfe."

"Can't help it. Look who I'm with."

Trumped. Again. I threw down my napkin in surrender. "I could take the ring back."

"You could get your heart carved out," she replied.

I considered the next few moves. No good. Best to take the high road and concede. "Then I'm glad you like it that much. If we're still speaking next Christmas, I'll get you the earrings too. Are you done playing games with me now?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Why?"

"Because you really ought to call your parents."

Stricken, she checked her watch. "Oh, no -- it's afternoon. They're going to kill me!"

"They'll have to go through me first." Easy to say; they were several hundred miles away at the moment. Which was the only reason I said it. I could probably handle Mrs. Wolfe in an emergency, but all bets were off with the rest of that crowd. "Do you want to go back to the room and call?"

She was already rummaging through her purse. "That'll make it even later. I'll just call them on my cell....Dammit, where is that thing?"

In the spirit of Christmas, I declined to point out that this was what happened when you bought a Barbie-size phone and kept it in a big purse. While she was occupied, I took back my whales. Then I frowned at the waiter, who was making another pa.s.s. "She's having a crisis. Tea can't help her now. But if you have a flashlight, or maybe industrial salvage equipment..."

Victorious, Ca.s.sie emerged from her purse. "Ha! It was in the little pocket."

"Just the check, then," I told the waiter.

I followed him to the cash register, to pay and to give Ca.s.sie some privacy for her call home. Not coincidentally, this meant I wouldn't be on hand if one of her family wanted to say h.e.l.lo. But she didn't have to know that.

After paying the check, I wandered around the lobby, admired the big Buddha, peered into the fish tanks, wandered some more. Then I consulted my watch again. She'd been on the phone for 15 minutes. How could a person have that much to say to relatives?

The waiter, ever attentive, came along when I headed back toward the dining room to check on her. So I pulled him aside. If this didn't stop now, we were going to have an incident.

"Quite a looker, isn't she?" I asked casually. "My friend in there, I mean. Very beautiful. Wouldn't you say?"

He smiled, nodding agreement. Encouraged, I put a friendly arm around his shoulders and went on.

"She has a thousand engagement rings in her old room at home. She kept them all. Every last one of them. And she keeps her old boyfriends' heads in jars in the bas.e.m.e.nt." I pretended that he'd just asked a question. "What kind? Ball jars, I think. She had to shrink the heads first, of course. Ball didn't make jars that big."

The waiter's smile didn't waver, but it was starting to look a bit forced.

"Ca.s.s' parents are dragons, you know. I've seen them myself. The father has spikes on his tail ten feet high. And the mother breathes green fire when..."

"Devvy!"

Yikes. Where had she come from?

The waiter, who apparently knew more English than he let on, took off like a shot. And just when I didn't want to be alone with Ca.s.sie. She didn't look upset, exactly, but...

"Feel free to start explaining any time," she said.

I tried to look innocent. "Writing practice?"

"You already get lots of practice."

Not enough, if I was going to keep getting into situations like this. "It's not what you think. The kid l.u.s.ts after you. I know you don't know this, based on your past, but l.u.s.t is a deadly sin. I was trying to scare him for the good of his soul."

"How? By telling him my parents are dragons?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did I miss that you told him about me?"

"Nothing."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're really, really smart. Have I told you today that you're beautiful, too?"

"Nice try. But it won't work, Devvy."

"You don't sound 100 percent sure," I said, encouraged. "What about amnesty on this one, on account of Christmas?"

"One condition."

That was easy. "What condition?"

"We go back to your parents' house for a few minutes."

"Are you crazy?"

"Fifty-fifty chance. You are. It might be contagious."

I was not amused. "I just trashed the living room with a Christmas tree, Ca.s.sie. I'm not going to be very popular."

"No, but it'll help mend fences if you apologize. You don't have to mean it. You just have to pretend."

"Why should I apologize? My brothers acted like frat boys around you. My mother kept calling you the wrong name. And don't even start me on that h.e.l.lcat sister of hers. If she were any more impossible, she'd be co-hosting with Regis. If you think for one second that we're going back so they can insult you again..."

"They're your family, Devvy."

"I know. That's the problem."

"That's not what I mean. I mean, you have to see them at least once a year, whether you want to or not. And I really don't want to go through this again next year. So..."

"You're not going through it next year. I'm not throwing you into that snake pit again."

She got her Determined look. "You didn't throw me -- I jumped. And if I feel like jumping again, I will."