Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 7

Monica glared at her.

Vanessa shrugged. "She's right. It's my nature."

My demon made a few poisonous comments in a language I didn't understand. But she took the curse off, and Howard Abner rematerialized, still clutching the crucifix. It was clear from his expression that he had no idea what had just happened.

"Go now," I advised him. "People are enjoying themselves somewhere. Somebody's got to stop them."

He stood there for a few seconds, blinking. Then he shook his head and walked away, salt pouring out of his coat pockets, leaving a trail. How would I explain that?

Easy. I would not. That decided, I got up off the floor and held out a hand to Ca.s.sie. "Let's go. We're late."

Vanessa hopped off the desk. "Right behind you. How do I look?"

"You can't go," Ca.s.sie told her.

"I don't see why not. You need all the help you can get with this account. Since you're not sleeping with clients anymore..." Delicately, she paused. "You aren't sleeping with clients anymore, are you?"

Ca.s.sie sputtered in outrage.

"How would it be if we had just one normal day around here?" I asked the demons. "What if Ca.s.sie and I go to work, and you two take the day off and do something fun?"

"This is fun," Vanessa said.

In all the excitement, I'd almost forgotten that my head was killing me. The reprieve was over now. "Fine. Just let us get this meeting over, and then you can burn the place down, for all I care. We're leaving right after this and going back to bed. Right, Ca.s.s?"

"To sleep," Ca.s.sie amended.

"Of course to sleep." Insulted, I threw the door open and started down the hall toward the conference room where we were meeting the dog-food people. About halfway there, I heard a bad omen: barking. Even worse, it sounded like a small dog in a large mood. A Pekingese, maybe, or a toy poodle.

Sometimes, you didn't even need demons to have a bad day.

For all my good intentions, I never got around to going home after the meeting. Kurt was feeling better, so he picked a fight with Heather, which wound up involving two departments and almost escalated into an international incident. I never did find out what it was about, but all I really wanted was for it to stop. So I started a rumor that Jenner was on his way in.

The rumor worked, of course. It was like a T-s.h.i.+rt I'd seen once: JESUS IS COMING. LOOK BUSY. But Sanchez came down later to shoot ping-pong b.a.l.l.s at me for it; half the agency had run straight to her office, trying to cover themselves. Her aim, I noticed, was improving.

At least Ca.s.sie was safe. She'd left not long after the dog-food crowd did, and I hoped she was tucked into bed. Only a crazy person would be at work with this kind of hangover. Besides, it was snowing again. The only sensible thing to do that night was go home and stay home.

I went Christmas shopping instead.

There was no good reason to go shopping in person; I had a perfectly good Internet connection. But Christmas was different. Maybe it was the thrill of battle, or the plastic holly and Muzak, but it just wasn't Christmas until I hit the malls.

Also, I had no idea what to get Ca.s.sie, and something might suggest itself if I looked around. All I knew for sure was that I wasn't going anywhere near a jewelry store.

An hour and three jewelry stores later, I gave up and went home.

To my surprise, Ca.s.sie's BMW was in the driveway. I found her curled up on the greatroom couch under the couch throw, sound asleep, with a fire burning down in the fireplace and an empty box of G.o.diva chocolates on the coffee table.

Bemused, I sat on the arm of the couch by her feet and just watched her. It was the strangest feeling, but it was just about the nicest thing I'd ever come home to. Living together was still a terrible, terrible idea, but...

Well, we could talk about it sometime. No time soon, but eventually. If this lasted, which it might not. It probably wouldn't, so there was no reason to think about any kind of future. Was there?

Ca.s.sie's eyes fluttered open just then, and I promptly forgot the question. "Hi," I said.

She smiled slightly. "Hi yourself. What time is it?"

"Almost 7."

"G.o.d. I was just going to take a nap." Annoyed with herself, she pulled off the couch throw and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"Don't worry about it. Feel better now?"

"Lots better. Thanks."

"Didn't do anything."

We let that conversation die of its own inanity and just looked at each other. That weird feeling started tugging at me again. This was crazy. I'd known her six years. How could a few weeks of knowing her in a different way make this much difference?

"I was going to offer to make dinner," Ca.s.sie said abruptly. "Kind of to make up for last night. Interested?"

"There's not much to work with. I haven't been to the grocery lately."

"That's why I said 'I was.' All you've got in your refrigerator is Tabasco sauce and coffee."

"I have Tabasco sauce?" I asked, genuinely surprised.

She laughed and scooted down the couch to whack me. "The plan from Column B is to order in."

Actually, the plan that was forming in my mind was from a very different column, so I bent down and kissed her.

"Not that I'm complaining," she murmured, "but shouldn't you call your mother before we get...sidetracked?"

"Called her from the mall on the cell phone. That way, I could honestly say I couldn't hear her."

Ca.s.sie had leaned in again but pulled back at that. "What were you doing at the mall?"

"Christmas shopping." I pulled her back.

This time, she waited longer to follow up. "For who?"

"Whom," I corrected.

Torn between starting an argument and continuing what we were doing, she debated which way to go. Then, without warning, she pulled me down on the couch with her. "Gotcha. Now what are you going to do?"

I had a reasonably good idea. But it could wait a couple of minutes. "What do you want for Christmas, Ca.s.s?"

She hadn't expected the question -- certainly, not just then. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm really not sure what to get you this year. Can't get away with a Chia Pet anymore."

"Or a Clapper," she agreed, eyes twinkling.

No, not a Clapper. We'd given each other deliberately silly gifts the first couple of years, but the Clapper had been the worst. Neither of us remembered now who'd given it to whom, but we'd spent the better part of an evening clapping at it, trying to get it to work. Finally, Ca.s.sie put the thing in the driveway and ceremoniously drove over it a few times.

Brus.h.i.+ng a long strand of blonde hair back off her face, I smiled back at her. "Your sister thinks I should get you jewelry. How about a great big mood ring?"

She kissed me before she answered. "What color would it be for this?"

Scarlet, probably, but that would be the wrong answer. "My favorite."

"Mine too," she said, going back for more.

Jewelry, then. I was in so much trouble.

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 7 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

For non-U.S. readers, OSHA is the Occupational Safety and Health Administration.

CHAPTER 7.

Mid-December *

Jenner finally came back to work the second week of December. Only Sanchez was really happy to see him, and only because it took a burden off her, but she was keeping the ping-pong gun where she could get to it in a hurry.

Everyone else was more worried about the Christmas party.

"I'm still not going,"

Troy said for the fifth or sixth time.

Patience having failed, I gave rank-pulling a try. "You are going. It's not an option."

"I don't care. He fired how many people last year? Ten? Twenty?"

Heather nodded sagely. "And he was in a good mood last year."

I glanced at Ca.s.sie, who looked every bit as annoyed as I felt. At least when Jack was here, he ran the weekly meetings, and the rest of us were all on the same side. "He's probably not going to fire anybody. I doubt he's even feeling up to it."

"Well, what if he gets better all of a sudden?" Troy countered. "Then I'm screwed. I'll wind up in a paper hat, saying, 'Do you want fries with that?'"

Kurt smiled unpleasantly. "At least you'd be working for a living, pal. We can't all be pretty and coast on our looks."

h.e.l.l's bells, couldn't we have 10 minutes of peace in this place? I was only just quick enough to intercept the notebook that Heather had sailed at Kurt's head. Across the table, Ca.s.sie had a determined grip on Troy, while Chip was busy looking out the window, pretending very hard that he was somewhere else.

"You saw that. She a.s.saulted me," Kurt told me helpfully. "Think Jenner'll fire her too?"

Bristling, Troy pushed Ca.s.sie off and shoved his chair back. "Don't you start with her...boy."

The evil grin on Kurt's face was all too familiar. "Why not? You think you might like girls this week or something?"

The silence bomb exploded, destroying the room. For a couple of seconds, no one so much as blinked. Then bodies started flying, and without really knowing how I got there, I was up on the conference table, blocking Troy, who had dived headfirst about halfway across it. Meanwhile, Heather was trying to stab Kurt with her ballpoint.

"Hey! Isn't this illegal?" he complained. "Shouldn't somebody call OSHA?"

Troy made another lunge. "I'll give you OSHA, you redneck jacka.s.s."

I didn't have two younger brothers for nothing; drawing on a lifetime of experience with physical violence, I feinted and blocked him again.

"I don't want to have to kill you, Dev," he warned. Then he tried to pull my feet out from under me. Fortunately, Ca.s.sie got to him first. She probably didn't mean to launch him as far across the room as she did, but she didn't look especially sorry about it either.

There wasn't time to thank her, because Heather was crawling onto the arm of Kurt's chair, pummeling him with both fists. Exasperated, Ca.s.sie went around the table to help break it up. But just as I turned, Kurt called Ca.s.sie the one thing I never, ever allowed -- and everything went bright red for a minute.

The blonde woman frowned slightly. "There it is again."

"There what is?"

"I keep getting the strangest feeling. Like we're two different people."

"We are two different people," her taller, darker companion pointed out.

"No, I mean it's you and me, but we're both somebody else. Sometime else." The blonde regarded her companion narrowly. "I thought you promised to work on your temper."

"What are you talking about? I haven't killed anyone today. Yet."

"That's not what I meant." She frowned harder, concentrating. "What does it mean when you call someone a two-headed, half-a.s.sed, d.i.c.ksmack son of a b.i.t.c.h?"

"You can't get it up without a building crane," I continued. "You can't keep it up without duct tape. Peg would be better off with an electric toothbrush. Remind me to get her one for Christmas. And another thing..."