My Way to Hell Read online

  Clyde cleared his throat. “If I were you, my friend, I wouldn’t mock your sister. I’ve been to that rodeo and I came out of it bruised and battered. Nothing feels ridiculous after what I’ve been through. A séance was how I found Delaney in the first place. So don’t hate.”

  Delaney cracked an eye open and flicked his wrist with her fingers. “This is exactly what I mean, Kellen. What ghost would want to enter this realm with the kind of negative vibe you put out? You can’t guide anyone if you mock their very existence while you do it. You know they exist, so I just can’t get a handle on your problem with inviting them to a warm, nurturing environment created by you, the newbie ghost whisperer. It’s so important you make them feel welcome and secure. Now, get in touch with your spectral side and help me out. You’re the only way we’ll reach Marcella, and if I don’t find her, it’s you who’ll end up with knots on your head from the noogies I’ll give you.”

  Kellen sighed. Negative vibe, his ass. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying to get a grip on this thing. When Delaney had the gift of sight, he’d seen some pretty whacked stuff. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe, either. He believed. He’d just liked doing it from the outside looking in. Adjusting to this had been a challenge, to say the least, and Delaney could only do so much now that she no longer had this thing she called a “gift.” “Sorry. Okay, so what do you need me to do? Chant? Taunt her with Pier 1 sale circulars?”

  Clyde snorted but quickly buried his mouth in his shoulder when Delaney’s brow furrowed in admonishment.

  His sister sighed, this time long and aggravated. “Just think of her. It’s not like it’s a hardship. You’ve watched her ass swivel out of a room more times than I can count on all our fingers and toes put together, and that glassy-eyed look you used to get said it all. Get a visual of her in your head and go with it.”

  Kellen closed his eyes as much to block out his sister’s accusatory glance as to bring up the mental image of Marcella. The one he’d had when he’d found her old scarf in the box at the store. It wasn’t the purest of thoughts, he’d be the first to admit, but it was the one that had haunted him since she’d taken off. “Marcella? C’mon. I know you’re out there somewhere. Gimme a break and make an appearance. Delaney’s here and she won’t get off my back until she knows you’re okay.”

  “Ugh. Very nurturing, Kellen. And you wonder why these ghosts leave you with black eyes. I’d give you one myself if it weren’t for the fact that I’ve seen more than my fair share of violence this last year. Now, get on board or the next ghost that fancies clocking you one is going to have my utter and complete support.”

  He knew that tone. It was the one that said he’d better stop thwarting the process Delaney had spent fifteen years cultivating. To mock would be to deny the good his sister had done in the past. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m in. Here we go. I’m visualizing . . .”

  Once more, the image of Marcella in an innocent, yet hotly seductive baby-doll nightie he’d seen in some store window popped into his head. Her hair, black and thick, fell over her shoulders and streamed down her back in loose curls. It framed her face, wisping across her high cheekbones while her eyes glowed green and smoldering. Her lips were full and glistening with that pink lip gloss she was so fond of. Olive skin shimmered smooth and clear beneath the frilly, pastel pink of the material, tucking around the smooth skin where her hip met her thigh.

  This was exactly how he’d conjured her up earlier today, by smelling her perfume on that scarf she’d left behind. Kellen shifted uncomfortably in his chair when his jeans grew tight, guiltily waiting for Delaney to tell him to knock it off and get serious.

  When she didn’t, he relaxed a bit. No one had to know what the image of Marcella he’d called up was.

  A low thrum of vibration began at his feet, traveling along his calves and upward until his ears hummed with a buzzing that grew almost uncomfortable. The air around them became its own living entity, thick and oppressive. The candles fluttered and the chimes sang . . .

  “I would never wear a cheap nightgown like that, Kellen Markham. How dare you create a visual image of me in cotton? I’m a silk girl, through and through.”

  Marcella’s laughter tinkled in her ears when Kellen jumped, knocking the table with a jolt of shaking teacups. She was only guessing at the visual he’d used to summon her. Clearly he was as much a man as he’d ever been, with the lingerie creativity of a kindergartner. Though, the very idea that he’d fantasized about her in anything but a headlock was titillating—and best left alone.

  Unfortunately this meant the cat was out of the bag. There was no way to hide the fact that she was now spectral versus demonic. That Kellen had called her up with such ease didn’t just disturb her because it would upset Delaney, but because she’d been ensconced in trying to figure out how to pick up objects, and he’d interrupted. She knew some ghosts could do it. She just wasn’t one of them. Again, another class she might have spent more time listening in instead of sulking while she slumped down in her chair like a two-year-old in a time-out.

  “She’s here?” Delaney leaned in Kellen’s direction with a hopeful look.

  God, she looked fantastic. Marcella grinned a watery smile, letting her hand hover over her friend’s hair, remembering the feel of it so soft and unmanageable. Marriage had been just what the heavens had ordered, apparently. At least from the looks of the cozy house she and Clyde had chosen. Braided area rugs in deep greens and burgundies scattered the floors. Seven cushy dog beds lay by an old woodstove in the living room. Scarred paneling, worn and well loved in a deep brown, traveled from floor to ceiling. Little pieces of Delaney’s old life, like her prism meant for demon catching, sat on chunky wooden end tables with multicolored tiled surfaces.

  The kitchen, where everyone was seated, was almost exactly as Delaney had once described the one she wanted if she ever married and could afford a bigger place. Rustic white cabinets, distressed to match the rest of her furniture, lined nearly every wall, and drying herbs hung from their tops in tied bundles of sage and mossy green. An antique stove Marcella was sure she used to whip up herbal remedies rather than cook with took up a good portion of the back wall. Paned windows hung over the steel basin sink, allowing a view of a big backyard with pine and maple trees. Whimsical bells and chimes hung from hooks next to lush green spider plants. Every corner of each room screamed Delaney’s dream come true.

  Marcella scrunched her eyes shut before looking to Kellen, leaning in to let her lips press against his hair. “You can tell her I’m here, and that I think the house is beautiful.” Her voice caught on her last words. How in all of fuck she’d become so weepy these days befuddled her.

  “She’s here,” Kellen confirmed, jamming a finger into his ear and wiggling it.

  Delaney rose from her high-backed chair and scanned the warm room with eyes that squinted. “Damn you, Marcella Acosta, where have you been? What happened after that night that left you like this?”

  She floated in front of Kellen. Because it was a nifty little power, because she could, and because it left her feeling like she was just a little in charge of a situation that had gone careening out of control. “Okay, so I wasn’t entirely honest with you earlier today. I’m not a demon anymore. I’m a ghost, and I would have been happy continuing on as a ghost if you’d left me alone instead of sucking me like a milk shake through a straw here to Delaney’s. I’ll have you know, it’s uncomfortable, to say the least.”

  Kellen’s lips thinned again, the signal he was about to protest, but Marcella threw up a hand with the most pathetic excuse for unmanicured nails he’d ever seen. “And before you get that thing called indignation you have so cornered going, I didn’t tell you because I figured you’d be more likely to buy a story like that I was off partying far easier than you would my ending up a ghost.” While that hurt, she never expected anything less. She’d refined her party-girl, livin’-on-the-edge persona over the years, knowing full well Kellen found women like that
despicable.

  She noted the fleeting look of guilt on his face before it hardened in a defensive expression. Marcella planted her hands on her hips. “And I see I was right. Now we have a problem because Delaney’s going to be very upset and start whining about sacrifices—which we both don’t want, amigo. I did what I did because my future has no end. Delaney’s does, and when it ends, I want it to end with Clyde and a dozen kids surrounding her. So let’s keep the drama to a minimum, okay? Between the two of us, I just know there’s something we can cook up that’ll make her believe I’m happy right where I am. Got it?” She had him by the short hairs, and he knew it.

  He didn’t look thrilled about it, but he nodded curtly while Delaney and Clyde looked directly through her, waiting. “Good. Tell D I don’t know how I ended up a ghost. One minute we were trying to take down that candy-ass Satan, the next I woke up on what I lovingly call Plane Drab. I don’t know how I got there, and I don’t know why. I would have contacted her sooner, but contact isn’t as easy as it seems. So tell her she’s right when she said there were kooks out there who couldn’t really see ghosts. I know because I attempted to use their services and failed dismally.

  “And on that note, you, Kellen Markham, can shove your speculation on my whereabouts right up your tight, stuffy ass. Believe me when I tell you, there’s nothing I’d have liked more than to have spent the last three months shopping and partying in Rio. But that wasn’t exactly the case, as evidenced by my dress.” Jamming her face in Kellen’s, she rolled her neck on her shoulders in a “take that” gesture.

  Delaney gripped the sleeve of Kellen’s sweater. “You don’t look happy. What’s she saying?”

  “She said she doesn’t know how she ended up a ghost.” He passed on the rest of the message, omitting the part about his tight ass.

  Delaney’s eyes filled with tears just as Marcella had known they would. “Uriel promised me he’d look out for her! I don’t understand how this happened. But I do know it had to be Lucifer who took her earthbound privileges away. That has to be what it is. That fuck! There has to be something we can do.”

  If only. And who was Uriel? Never mind. She didn’t want to know. Marcella put a hand to her head to massage her temples only to find that, if she didn’t use a light touch, her hand shot straight through to the other side of her head. Why she couldn’t bring her skills from Plane Drab with her here was just another fun ghost factoid. “Here’s where you’d better pony up, Kellen, and make it convincing because we both know our Tenacious D. Tell her I like being a ghost. In fact, I’m so in love with the idea of skating through walls and being invisible, my world is all sunshiny colors and kick-ass rose-tinted glasses. So it doesn’t matter who took what from me. I’m golden. Now hurry. Before she snowballs and we’re in the middle of her glacial path.”

  Kellen tightened his grip on Delaney’s hand, his gaze sympathetic and warm. “Marcella said to tell you that she likes being a ghost much better than she ever liked being a demon. It has its sacrifices, but Lucifer isn’t dogging her anymore, and for the first time in a long time, she feels safe. She said she misses you, and she loves you and she wants you to stop worrying.”

  Delaney rolled her hazel eyes with a grating snort before crossing her arms over her woolen sweater. “Tell her I said she’s full of so much bullshit. Wait. Never mind. I’ll tell her.” Delaney looked to Kellen. “Point me in the general direction.”

  Kellen stabbed a finger in front of him, pointing toward the ceiling while fighting to keep his face emotionless but leaking a smug look of satisfaction for the shit Delaney was winding up to give her.

  Delaney looked upward, unaware she’d actually captured Marcella’s green gaze. “You’re full of horse puckey, Marcella Acosta. Don’t you try to snow me. I know you. You’ve been my best friend for a long time and there’s no one who lives louder than you. To be shipped off to some plane that’s dreary and desolate, sans shopping and foot massages, is its own special hell for someone of your ilk. So knock off the brave front and let’s figure out how you can become a demon again because Pier 1’s going to have a sale that’ll blow your mind, and you’ll miss it with all this self-sacrifice bullshit. Not to mention the employees who’ll have to apply for food stamps because their commissions are in the crapper.”

  Marcella fought a smile. Delaney was as loyal and as dedicated as ever. Though no way was she giving in. Delaney had better things to do than to try to find a way out of this for her. There were babies to make with her geeky/hot husband. No more mixing it up with the paranormal.

  She cocked her head in Kellen’s direction. “Tell her this is one ghost who doesn’t need her to ‘fix’ anything. I don’t need help. There’s nothing she can do anyway. I already know crossing over isn’t an option, but we’ve always known that. That’s what her specialty was, and it isn’t even hers anymore. It’s yours. And you suck at it, if what I heard is right. So tell her I said to go make babies—loads of ’em, so I’ll always have an influx of fresh meat, not jaded by adulthood, to haunt.”

  Kellen laughed now, too, but immediately straightened when Delaney asked, “What does she have to say for herself?”

  “She said stay out of it and go make babies. Loads of them. She doesn’t want you to fix anything for her.”

  Delaney’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I’m not going to fix it. You are, little brother. I mean, I’ll help, but ultimately you’re now the one with the connections.”

  “No!” Marcella yelped in Kellen’s direction, reaching out and gripping his arm. “Kellen, you’ve got to keep her from stepping in any more shit than she’s already been in. I don’t want Lucifer chasing after her again and neither do you. Especially now that she doesn’t have the kind of help she once had from the other side. She has Clyde to consider, too. And the children they may have—I’d rather rot in the pit than let Satan touch them. Just tell her to let it be, for the love of Christ. Please. Maybe not as much for her sake as for mine now. I’m tired. I’ve been around a long, long time avoiding Satan.

  “Being on this plane I’ve been on has given me the chance to finally stop running. I didn’t realize I wanted that when I was earthbound, but I’ve found peace in not having Hell breathing down my neck for the first time in more years than I care to count. I didn’t realize how exhausting it was until I didn’t have to do it anymore.”

  And it had been. Maybe resting up would be just what the doctor ordered. If she could get back, that was. She’d tried all day with no success, and yet again, it wasn’t like she’d paid a lot of attention when they were doling out advice on that hovel they called a plane. But she definitely wasn’t dragging D into anything that even remotely threatened to trigger Satan’s awareness.

  Kellen cupped Delaney’s cheek, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Honey, she said she’s tired, that she just wants to rest now. She can do that on the plane she’s been relegated to, and she begged me to tell you not to get involved.”

  “What? Are you sure this is Marcella? My Marcella? Because my Marcella would be spitting fake fingernails and shredding fine linens to get back here to Earth!” Delaney’s eyes danced with fiery determination when she looked into her brother’s.

  “I’m positive, D,” Kellen assured his sister with no hint of cracking. “She’s been doing this a long time. Eternal life has to have its drawbacks. I think I get what she’s saying.”

  “Oooh, better duck. Rapture’s headed your way,” Marcella quipped, chuckling in his ear. While she was so close to him, she inhaled deeply, breathing in the spicy cologne he wore. Mingled with his own unique blend of man scent, it left her dizzy.

  Kellen waved a hand at her. “Look, D. It’s been a long ride for her. She’s, what, a hundred and fifty—”

  “Seventy-six—which explains why you teach science and not math.” Marcella swiped at a lock of his dark hair, only giving brief thought to the fact that although she sure as hell wasn’t able to pick up that bottle of Chanel No. 5 she’d lusted for while she floated about
in Macy’s earlier, she could actually touch Kellen.

  “Right. Seventy-six, a hundred and six. Either way, you’re old. She’s old. Whatever. Point is that’s a long time to run from Satan. And I seriously don’t want you to get involved in anything that has to do with that prick, Delaney—ever again.”

  Tears filled Delaney’s wide eyes, trickling along her creamy-peach-highlighted cheeks. Instantly, Clyde was up and beside her, rubbing soothing circles along her shoulder blades while their dogs, in various states of one ailment or another, stirred in awareness of their mistress’s upset. “I can’t believe she won’t even try,” Delaney sobbed against Clyde’s shoulder with a dramatic heave.

  Tears. Delaney’d never been much for waterworks unless she was backed into a corner and frustrated. Marcella squirmed her discomfort. Fuck. Now what?

  When all was said and done, she’d give Kellen this much: there was no denying the bond between him and Delaney. From the look on his face, the tears Delaney noisily sobbed were obviously almost physically painful for him to watch. “D, don’t cry. How about if I promise to try to keep in touch with her? In fact, I have a great idea. Maybe Marcella can help me feel my way around the afterlife. It would definitely help because not only can she see the ghosts I’m dealing with, she can communicate with them, too. You can’t anymore, and that only makes it more difficult for you to guide me. We’d sort of be cutting out the middleman and getting straight to the source. She’ll be the guide you can’t be.”

  Because really, who didn’t want to be Julie the Cruise Director to all of the afterlife? She would not let him suck her into this. There was no way she could deny Delaney anything, and if Kellen gave his sister hope she’d stick around, she was doomed to help him cross souls indefinitely. “Kellen! Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I can’t figure out how to get back to where I came from, which means I can’t even help myself. How do you suppose I can help you? Man up, you candy-ass. Resist the tears and don’t give in. She’s working you like a breast implant salesman at an Itty-Bitty Titty convention.”