Handsome Devil: Stories of Sin and Seduction by Bowes Richard & Cadigan Pat & Goss Theodora & Hand Elizabeth & Lee Tanith & Mamatas Nick

Author:Bowes, Richard & Cadigan, Pat & Goss, Theodora & Hand, Elizabeth & Lee, Tanith & Mamatas, Nick [Bowes, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781607014300
Publisher: Prime Books
Published: 2014-02-03T16:00:00+00:00

Her Sweet Solace

J. T. Glover

Deanna slumps against the wall outside the kitchen, heart twisting like a downed power line as she listens to her faithless mother cry out. Tears drip from her bulging eyes, and she wonders why the neighbors haven’t called the cops. Then—silence, the scrape of a Bic lighter, and the rank smell of one of her mother’s Dorals.

“God, I’ve been needing that,” her mother says, voice jagged. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I know,” comes a hollow voice, a Darth Vader voice that fits too perfectly. “Believe me, I know.”

In her mind’s eye, Deanna sees the tableau again. Short North High out early after a fire drill, she has snuck in through the basement, gleefully imagining her mom’s shocked face when she jumps out at her. Now she crouches in the hall, peering around the corner. Her mother lies naked on the kitchen table, legs spread wide, feet planted flat on the green plastic tablecloth. Between Deanna and her mother is a man covered in purple flame. His head bobs at her mother’s crotch, and she’s moaning.

Deanna sits by Mirror Lake, pitching stones into the water when no one’s looking, the setting sun occluded by the red-brick mass of Campbell Hall. After sneaking back out of the house, she drifted through the quiet streets of Harrison West, past the Victorian mansions of Neil Avenue, eventually stopping at the rock-lined pond on the Ohio State campus. Most of the benches were taken by couples, but eventually one opened up, overshadowed by lindens and grubby with sap. It suits her mood just fine, and everyone ignores her—pallid girl with lank brown hair, camo coat not quite ratty enough to be cool, eyes permanently squinted from too many nights spent reading the latest Kim Harrison or Patricia Briggs.

What do I do? she thinks, worrying at a nail. Dad hasn’t even been gone a year. This is crazy. What the hell was that thing she was . . .

Deanna grinds her teeth, the tang of bile welling up in her throat. She saw something in her house. A man—no, a thing—covered in purple fire, going down on her mother.

Purple fire, she thinks. This isn’t fucking True Blood. This is my life, and—

“There’s no fucking demons,” she growls, stomach clenching.

The sudden silence from the next bench over suggests it’s time to move on, so she heads up the path to the library, hands in her pockets, just wanting to be able to deal. Everything she planned to do tonight suddenly hazy and unimportant, from studying for Spanish to practicing for Tuesday’s piano lesson with Miss Colette. The library looms in front of her, a great glass-fronted pile of Indiana limestone rubbed smooth by long-dead masons, and she wonders if she’s losing her mind.

Most people who see demons are schizo. Who says you aren’t?

A group of ROTC cadets jog past, cadence booming off the library’s façade, and she stares after them, absently wondering how she’s supposed to judge her own sanity. She looks at her palms, at the divots that have crusted into sticky scabs.

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