My Way to Hell Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  epilogue

  Praise for Kiss and Hell

  “A fun, lighthearted paranormal romance that will keep readers entertained. Ms. Cassidy fills the pages of her book with nonstop banter, ghostly activity, and steamy romance.”

  —Darque Reviews

  “Delaney, with her amusing sarcastic asides, makes for an entertaining romantic fantasy with a wonderful mystery subplot . . . Readers will relish this lighthearted jocular frolic.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “Cassidy has created a hilarious lead in Delaney Markham. Readers will run through all types of emotions while enjoying laugh-out-loud moments, desperate passion, wacky and fun characters, pop-culture references and one intense mystery. The book’s charm is apparent from the first page, but the twisted mystery tangled throughout will keep the pages turning.”

  —Romantic Times

  The Accidental Human

  “I highly enjoyed every moment of Dakota Cassidy’s The Accidental Human . . . A paranormal romance with a strong dose of humor.”

  —Errant Dreams

  “A delightful, at times droll, contemporary tale starring a decidedly human heroine . . . Dakota Cassidy provides a fitting, twisted ending to this amusingly warm urban romantic fantasy.”

  —Genre Go Round Reviews

  “The final member of Cassidy’s trio of decidedly offbeat friends faces her toughest challenge, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t humor to spare! With emotion, laughter, and some pathos, Cassidy serves up another winner!”

  —Romantic Times

  Accidentally Dead

  “A laugh-out-loud follow-up to The Accidental Werewolf, and it’s a winner . . . Ms. Cassidy is an up-and-comer in the world of paranormal romance.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “An enjoyable, humorous satire that takes a bite out of the vampire romance subgenre . . . Fans will appreciate the nonstop hilarity.” —Genre Go Round Reviews

  The Accidental Werewolf

  “Cassidy, a prolific author of erotica, has ventured into MaryJanice Davidson territory with a humorous, sexy tale.”

  —Booklist

  “If Bridget Jones became a lycanthrope, she might be Marty. Fun and flirty humor is cleverly interspersed with dramatic mystery and action. It’s hard to know which character to love best, though: Keegan or Muffin, the toy poodle that steals more than one scene.”

  —The Eternal Night

  “A riot! Marty’s internal dialogue will have you howling, and her antics will keep the laughs coming. If you love paranormal with a comedic twist, you’ll love this book.”

  —Romance Junkies

  “A lighthearted romp . . . [An] entertaining tale with an alpha twist.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  More praise for the novels of Dakota Cassidy

  “The fictional equivalent of the little black dress—every reader should have one!”

  —Michele Bardsley

  “Serious, laugh-out-loud humor with heart, the kind of love story that leaves you rooting for the heroine, sighing for the hero, and looking for your own significant other at the same time.”

  —Kate Douglas

  “Ditzy and daring . . . Pure escapist fun.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “Dakota Cassidy is going on my must-read list!”

  —Joyfully Reviewed

  “If you’re looking for some steamy romance with something that will have you smiling, you have to read [Dakota Cassidy].”

  —The Best Reviews

  Berkley Sensation titles by Dakota Cassidy

  KISS & HELL

  MY WAY TO HELL

  THE ACCIDENTAL WEREWOLF

  ACCIDENTALLY DEAD

  THE ACCIDENTAL HUMAN

  ACCIDENTALLY DEMONIC

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

  Penguin Group (Australia), 250 Camberwell Road, Camberwell, Victoria 3124, Australia (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

  Penguin Books India Pvt. Ltd., 11 Community Centre, Panchsheel Park, New Delhi—110 017, India

  Penguin Group (NZ), 67 Apollo Drive, Rosedale, North Shore 0632, New Zealand (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This book is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2010 by Dakota Cassidy.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley Sensation trade paperback edition / July 2010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Cassidy, Dakota.

  My way to hell / Dakota Cassidy.—Berkley Sensation trade paperback ed. p. cm.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18846-0

  1. Demonology—Fiction. 2. Chick lit. I. Title.

  PS3603.A8685M9 2010

  813’.6—dc22 2010005993

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  With never-ending thanks to my BFFs, Renee George, Terri Smythe, and Michele Bardsley. Dudes, for serious, you rule. Also, my test readers and pals, Vicki Burklund, Amy, Qwill, Kaz, and Erin—your input is invaluable.

  My agent, Elaine Spencer, who knows when I’m riding a good freak and tells me to shut it. That, in an agent, is invaluable, people.

  Cindy Hwang because she lets my crazy run hog wild.

  My Yahoo! groups—the Accidentals and the Babes. You’re priceless—don’t evah change. I love you more than my facial cream. You all know what moisturizer means to this old broad. And to a special member of our group, Bill. You’ve been there since the beginning, babe, and you’re all kinds of awesomeness.

  My pal Kaz, who flies in for my book signings and answers my e-mails when I need a naughty word in Spanish.

  Rob, my soul mate, who suffers my greasy-haired, unwashed-laundry, unwaxed-eyebrow whines—I love you—like a buttload.

  But most especially to the lovely Pat Richardson from the DFW Tea Ladies—beca
use everyone deserves big, honkin’ hooters and a hot pair of legs, sistah!

  acknowledgments

  www.brainyquote.com

  www.famousquotes.me.uk

  www.tshirthell.com/hell.shtml

  Please note, any and all mistakes regarding the quotes, dates, and/ or history of the sports icons and celebrities used in this book are entirely mine.

  one

  “Your breath smells like the stench of a thousand rotting souls, muchacho.”

  “And your dress is no more a designer label than I am a perky Bichon Frise.”

  “At least if you were a Bichon you’d be easier on the eye and drool less.”

  “But you, my little cheesy enchilada, would still be just as tacky.”

  Marcella Acosta pointed the Rottweiler’s—the talking Rottweiler’s—muzzle away from her nose with one finger. “If I were you, Darwin, I wouldn’t point fingers. Oh, wait, I mean paws. Because you have no fingers, do you?”

  Darwin reared his head out of her reach, letting his tongue loll from his wide mouth. “Nope. But I still have excellent fashion sense—even fingerless. I don’t need those to tell me your dress is horrifying, darling.”

  “I don’t need fingers to slap you in the head, mijo.”

  “True that. But you do need them if you’re ever going to make contact with anyone other than me. Something you sincerely suck sweaty balls at since you were allegedly banished to this hot mess. Mock all you like, but at least I can travel from plane to plane. You?” He gave her a pointed doggy look. “Not so much.”

  Anger, sharp and stinging, seared her gut while she slid down the trunk of a leafless tree. “Fuck. You.”

  “Not even if you were a fluffy French poodle who was leash trained, potty mouth.” He turned his chocolate brown eyes on her and gave his “so over this” look, then yawned, revealing his big, white teeth.

  Marcella leaned into him, nudging his black, squat haunches. “You know, Darwin, each day I spend with you on this godforsaken plane I’ve been banished to is like shopping for Jimmy Choo shoes at Payless. Im-fucking-possible.”

  His big rust and black head cocked to the left. “You’re just cranky because you’ve been wearing that hideous dress for three straight months. You do realize, now that you’re doomed to roam this plane, with only occasional relief when some half-baked medium mistakenly summons your spirit to Earth, that shopping trips are a thing of the past for you, yes? That is, unless you get off your vivacious, tight ass and do something about it. Too bad, so sad. Guess you’ll be in the wrong color for the rest of your nonlife. Your nonlife being eternal, and all.”

  Marcella flicked a finger in the air aimed at his wet, cold nose. “Care to tell me again how it is you, a dog, can talk on this plane? Just until I figure out how to rip your esophagus from your throat, that is.”

  “Care to tell me how it is that you, a one-time not even level-one demon, thought you could throw down with Lucifer and win?”

  Marcella smoothed a hand over her wrinkled, torn dress and stuck her tongue out at him despite the fact that it was childish and petty. “Go to hell,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth, letting her head rest on her knees. She’d thrown down with the horned one for one reason and one reason only.

  Her closest friend, Delaney.

  Okay, so she’d been her only friend.

  In seventy-six years of demonicness.

  And since that infamous, albeit totally humiliating, utterly defeated smackdown with the aforementioned king of evil, she’d been in her own special hell.

  The one without a Pier 1.

  Appalling.

  Because she’d defied Lucifer in the name of her best friend of over ten years, he had banished her once demonic butt from Hell. Seeing as she was now considered “the demon formerly known as,” hitching a ride on the elevator upstairs was simply out of the question, because ex-demons, no matter how ex, weren’t offered the light option package. There’d be no light for her to walk into.

  Like, ever.

  That wasn’t something she hadn’t known for decades now. But at least as a demon, she’d had earthly privileges. She’d wandered around as though she were still human. Here? Not likely.

  So that meant she was shit out of luck. If she couldn’t go up, and down was no longer a possibility, in between was all that was left. Now she was doomed to drift endlessly, roaming a plane that was as mortifying as a trip to the Dollar Store.

  But her arrival on this very plane meant Delaney had survived, and she’d won Clyde, the man of her dreams. That was all that mattered to Marcella. She’d smile for a hundred eternities spent right here in this dreary, colorless place because Lucifer’d lost that fucking battle. Delaney was safe. Alive. Lifting her head, she saw that Darwin remained rooted to her side, so she repeated, “Didn’t I tell you to go to hell? Where in there did I slur my words?”

  “I’d much rather stay with you—here on Plane Dismal. It’s much less humid, don’t you agree?”

  A chilly, raw wind whipped at the edges of her torn dress. The tree at her back shivered from the gust. “Isn’t there a light you should be chasing a cat into?”

  “Oh, I’ve no question there is. But who in their right mind would want to walk into a light when they can hang out with the fucking ray of sunshine that is all you, peach pit?”

  Her intake of breath was ragged with defeat. She was so done with their banter for today. So over the injustice that a dog, her friend Delaney’s dead dog, could not only talk on this plane but travel between planes with the ease of a 747. Done with feeling like she’d fallen through a black hole smack-dab into the Mad Hatter’s tea party. Done-da-done-done. “Just go the fuck away, Darwin. Go off to the plane where unicorns jump over goddamned rainbows in herds and showers of dog biscuits rain down on you every day at three sharp, and leave me the fuck alone.”

  “And let you stew in the stank of that disgraceful dress? Not on your unlife, sweetheart. If I didn’t do my part to at least find you a change of clothing that’s more suited to your complexion, what kind of faithful companion would I be to Delaney? Stop being such a candy-ass and figure this out.”

  They’d only been over this a thousand times. Okay, so she’d only been over it once with Darwin—out loud and all—but she’d been over it in her head at least a thousand times. “You’re a dead companion to Delaney, one that she can no longer see or hear, to boot. And what’s there to figure? I’m being punished for defying Lucifer. He has me tethered here somehow, the motherfucker. I’m sure of it. My eternal punishment is this plane, where the in-betweens roam with restless dissatisfaction or some such depressing, melodramatic crap. Oh, and you. You have to be part of some kind of damnation.”

  “Tsk-tsk,” he growled, then he snorted, making his sagging jowls tremble. “This is so not the Marcella I know. The Marcella I know wouldn’t take this kind of crisis lying down. Well, not unless there was mancake involved and a bed with silk sheets to do the lying down on. The Marcella I know would be kicking and screaming her stilettoed feet until she found a solution. Scarier still? She’d be putting that one brain cell she has left to good use by figuring this out. If the other undecided and doomed souls can make contact with the living, if they can leave this plane at will, then why can’t you?”

  Marcella jammed a hand into her tangled hair with tense fingers. “The Marcella you know is ass-fried, pal. How many people in an afterlifetime can lay claim to the fact that they’ve been not only a demon but now . . . this? I’m tired, Snausage breath. Bone weary, chico. And what about damned escapes you, mutt? Every time I try, I’m slammed right back into this dump. Satan jacked me up but good. The other souls on this plane seem to have some kind of magic transmission juju I just don’t. Don’t think I haven’t tried, either.”

  Because she had tried. She’d even resorted to using the Heavenly Medium Administration’s approved list of mediums to attempt to contact a ghost whisperer so she could send a message to Delaney. She’d also blown chunks at it, but s
he was only halfway through the HMA’s list. Though, she hadn’t tapped that Sylvia Browne or John Edward yet. There was still hope.

  Or not.

  “What happened to the Marcella who would have Matrixed her way out of here? Are you saying you’re going to let a wee thing like the fear that Satan has tethered you here keep you from making contact with Delaney? You do realize she’s been worried sick about you, don’t you? Just the other day I heard her and Clyde discussing it. She feels incredible guilt because of your sacrifice. She’s beyond frantic over your fate. If you were any kind of friend, you’d find a way to send her a message that would console her.”

  Marcella flipped him the bird with the harsh whip of a finger. “Wee this, you ASPCA reject. You weren’t there that night with Delaney and Clyde. You have no clue what that was like. There was nothing wee about it.” A violent shiver slipped up her spine just recalling it.

  Thunder, lightning, locusts, snakes—all the happy-clappy things true nightmares are made of. Marcella had no desire to dredge that night back up.

  Evah.

  Darwin yawned, revealing a gaping black hole filled with miles of pink tongue. “I know, I know. That night was dreadful times a million. Old Lucifer whipped you like so much cream. That still doesn’t mean you just give up, Marcella. Other souls from this plane manage to make contact. You could, too. If you were willing to break a nail, that is.”

  “Don’t you think I’d send Delaney a message if I could, you antagonistic shit? I’ve tried everything. I just suck at this.” And she did. Suck at it, that is. She just couldn’t get a feel for the whole deal. No matter how many times she tried to connect with a medium, she ended up crapping out with a fizzle. She’d even gone so far as to attend this shitty plane’s therapy sessions and more self-help classes than she could count, like it was her new religion. Yet thus far, she’d tanked in “Medium + Ghost = Happily Ever After for Eternity,” and she couldn’t even begin to express her dismay over the “Limbo Doesn’t Have to Suck” class.