Shadow of Death ~ Chapter 1
“I believe that if life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade… And try to find somebody whose life has given them vodka, and have a party.” —Ron White
Shopping in Hell was a unique experience. Occasionally, Bub took me to Lilith Enchanted, an overpriced dress boutique. But he knew my dress size and what I liked—or rather, what he liked and what I would tolerate—so most of the gowns I owned arrived in fancy black boxes embossed with the boutique’s serpent-entwined apple logo.
The other stores and businesses were hit or miss. Mostly miss. I didn’t need any horn bling or fancy oils for a spaded tail. No hellfire facials or talon buffing. And the thought of drinking a smoothie that consisted of tears from seven deadly sinners almost made me throw up in my mouth.
But Tasha Henry couldn’t exactly meet me in Limbo City where she was still wanted for crimes against Eternity. Her ransom deal with the Hell Committee had included immunity and citizenship in the only afterlife they had the authority to grant it. She also had enough coin in her coffers to keep her comfortable for a century. Or at least a few decades, considering how quickly she appeared to be blowing through it.
Of course, I couldn’t bring myself to scold her for the devil-may-care spending while admiring the new boots she’d gifted me as a peace offering.
“Those are to say thank you for the hot tip,” Tasha explained as I zipped the leather sheaths up my calves. “I’m not apologizing, because I’m not sorry.”
“Duly noted.” I tried to smile but it felt more like a cringe.
Being this big of a sucker for a sweet pair of kicks was embarrassing, but it was a vice I shared with Tasha. She sported a matching pair of the stiletto boots in red. Mine were an oily black that went nicely with the leather jacket I was still wearing since I’d expected this meeting to go south before it even began. Not so south that we’d come down to blows—we were in public, after all—but I certainly hadn’t expected to linger long enough outside the Salome Bistro to have brunch with the exiled reaper who’d double-crossed me.
A horned waitress stopped at our table and began unloading a serving tray with an order I assumed Tasha had placed before I arrived. “Two pomegranate mimosas with deviled crab omelets, plus a forbidden fruit and flesh platter. Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“I think we’re good for now,” Tasha answered before giving me a sheepish grin. “You were running late, so I ordered for you.”
I huffed. “I wasn’t late. You were early.”
“Nuance.” Tasha shrugged and took a sip of her mimosa. Her shoulders had gradually relaxed after I’d accepted the boots instead of flipping over the wrought-iron table and storming off down Gula Boulevard. There was no honey in her tongue, but it wasn’t quite as razor-sharp as I was used to either. There was another shoe somewhere—a figurative shoe, considering I was wearing the literal ones—and it was sure to drop soon.
In the meantime, I eyed the juicy spread laid out between us and tried not to drool on myself. I’d been too uptight about our meeting to bother with breakfast, and now it was nearly lunchtime. I supposed it would hurt to have a bite or two while I waited for the plot to thicken.
“So,” I said, casually forking a slice of bacon off the fruit and flesh platter, “what have you been doing with yourself? You know, besides lavishing in the spoils of your betrayal.”
Tasha snorted. “Betrayal implies we had some pact or sworn loyalty to one another, which we did not.”
“There was at least a presumed loyalty, after everything I’d done for you.” I glared at her, unable to conceal my disgust. “It shouldn’t take a contract signed in blood to keep friends from stabbing you in the back.”
“Friends?” Tasha smirked. “Really? That’s what you think we are?”
|
