The Devil Dances Read Online Free Page B

fireflies outside the car were shining so brightly I had to squint under the power of their blazing illumination. They sparked as they collided with the windshield, burning out, dying. It only lasted until she climaxed against me and brought me with a lunge and a few deeply muttered words against her mouth. I emptied myself deep inside her. I gave her my lust, my love, my heart. She devoured me shamelessly.
    After that, we snuggled together like two lost children, still connected. I liked these moments when she let me hold and comfort her like some little girl who had lost her way. I liked the way her body felt pressed against mine, the way her head fit just under my chin. Honestly? I loved everything about Vivian. Her white skin and mahogany hair. Her candy apple scent. Her brainy, witchy ways, and how she could turn them on and off on a whim. Sometimes she was this fiery femme fatale, and I half expected her to show up in my bedroom in a leather corset with a bullwhip; at other times, she was soft and pure and innocent like a little girl who needed me to protect her, to fight her battles for her. She was the first girl who turned me on, drove me crazy, and left me wanting more, and more, and more…
    She gave me her innocent little-girl eyes, that look that could melt the iceberg of my heart. “Do you mean all that, Nick? Would you really almost marry me, if you could? You’re not playing me?” Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes.
    “Vivian,” I said, cupping her face in my hand like a precious jewel and rubbing the pad of my thumb over her full cherry lips, “I would be honored to almost marry you.”

    We had it arranged so Morgana and I each worked half a day during the week, she from six to noon, and I from noon to midnight. But we still managed one full day off work on the weekends. Unless something unexpected came up, I took Saturdays off, and she Sundays. Sunday was pretty rough. I worked from six in the morning to closing, with an hour at noon and another in the evening as a break. Not enough time to run down a lead. So looking into the death of my young friend wasn’t an option until the following Monday rolled around.
    I got up with the birds—and with Morgana, who was, disgustingly, the most perky morning person I had ever known. While she went to sit out on the balcony and do her early-morning stretching exercises and sun worship, I stumbled around the kitchen, dressed only in the ragged navy robe I’d bought at Wal-Mart three years ago, making morning tea.
    A half hour later, she stepped through the sliding glass door and wrinkled her brow at me. I was standing at the counter, drinking Earl Grey, smoking my third cigarette of the day, and nibbling on an Oreo cookie while I scanned the morning newspaper for any news of my dead friend. “Any particular reason you’re up at the crack of dawn, Scratch?”
    “I’m trying to change my demonic ways,” I said around a mouthful of cookie. “I want to embrace the light.”
    “Now I know why they call you the Prince of Lies,” she said drolly as she reached for the V8 in the fridge.
    She, too, wore a robe, just a much nicer one—a silken kimono with ideograms all over it. She didn’t have a wrinkle, mole or spot of acne in her whole face, her hair was a perfectly tame set of soft platinum curls around her face, her crystal blue eyes were bright, and her expression bushy-tail. Another person would have said it was the results of her clean living, strict observation of her vegetarian ways, plenty of exercise, and maybe a dash of plastic surgery. But I knew better. Morgana was just naturally spotless. Even when she worked in her herbal garden out back behind the shop, not one flake of dirt seemed willing to adhere itself to her. Morgana sported a magickal barrier between herself and the rest of the world.
    I, on the other hand, looked like something the cat had dragged in and thrown up on. I knew because I’d scared myself when I’d looked in the