Liv Rancourt's Blog

Sunday Snippet – Hell2

Okay, this week instead of six sentences I went for six hundred words. This chunk is from the end of Chapter 1, and I chose it because it contains one of my favorite lines in the whole piece. Ophelia’s figured out that the Goat Leon’s trying to send down to Hell is still alive, and by the way, he’s pretty handsome. She’s not supposed to touch the humans, though, so he presents a bit of a problem…

About five minutes later the big double doors at the back of the lobby swung open and, arms spread wide as if he expected applause, Belial walked in. All the silks on the walls faded to black. The presence of a demon will do that.

“Leon, Leon, Leon. What are you doing, man?” As usual, Belial was channeling 1977. He wore black polyester slacks and a silky button-down shirt with an orange paisley pattern. The shirt was unbuttoned down to the end of his sternum, several gold chains were draped over his chest hairs and a thick mustache drooped over his upper lip. Sally Serpent snuck through the door right behind him, her gold spike heels snapping on the mosaic floor.

“He’s, um, see this Goat here, um…”

Belial shut me up with one cross-eyed glance. Leon might be cool with my half-bred nature, but most of the major demons tried to pretend I didn’t exist. I returned the favor.

“I’m seeing a Goat who’s not really a Goat. Am I right?”

Leon stared at something over Belial’s shoulder and kept his mouth shut.

“Am I right?” Belial repeated himself. He exuded the nasty fart smell of brimstone. The lobby wouldn’t be clear of it for hours.

Leon glanced over at the Goat, then back at Belial. “I believed this one was ready, but perhaps I was mistaken.” His voice came lower and more disconnected than normal. It hurt to watch.

“Perhaps.” Belial’s lips pinched as he tried not to smile. Fail. Demons don’t care about protecting people’s feelings. “Ophie, come free this loser’s hands.”

I walked behind the Goat and paused. His hands were grubby and calloused, tanned and strong, and I knew his skin would be warm. Hell had a lot of hot, and a surprising amount of cold, but not much warm. I swallowed hard and went to work on the straps binding his wrists, picking my way carefully. Touching him would be bad. Very, very bad.

He turned his head, stopping with his chin right above the bird tattoo. “Ophie?”

For a flash his eyes were warm too, and it took a minute to pull my gaze away. Not supposed to mess with the human ones. I got busy with the straps while my cheeks flamed. “My name’s Ophelia, and Ophie is a more tolerable nickname than Phelia.”

He grinned. Which got rid of the scowl and all the harsh lines on his face. I suddenly realized that because he had a pulse, he was the handsomest man I’d ever put my hands on. Okay, he was the only human I’d ever put my hands on, but damn. My hand slipped. Double damn. I took a step back. The warmth from his skin clung to my fingers.

“C’mon, help me out here,” he said, tugging at the straps still restraining his wrists. Shutting my eyes, I did as he asked. His skin felt so much softer than the leather straps, supple and tough all at once. The straps fell on the tile and he quick grabbed one of my hands and spun around. “Thanks, Phelia.”

For a couple beats I stared at his dirty nails, letting the sensation of his calloused fingers tickle my skin. Shouldn’t go there.

“Touching a human, Ophie?” Belial’s tsk – tsk –tsk sounded like nails in my coffin. Double double damn.

I threw some daggers with my eyes and took a step back. “Get out of here, Goat, before John Travolta over there changes his mind.”

It seemed like the echo of his bare feet slapping on the tile floor lasted long past the time it took him to run through the front door and down the street. I pulled the tarot deck from the drawer and turned over the top card.

The Moon.

Things change. And then they change again.

So which do you think is my fave line? Which is yours?