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  “It’s nice to see you, too, sunshine. Dressed for the occasion, I see. And by the way, ow, my head.”

  “Taker of the Lost?” she asked, studying the wounded female, who had gone down on her knees and managed to claw out one of the arrows. “To think I thought all those stories my dad told me were fairy tales.” Her hand snaked behind her back and she came out with a gun—a really big-ass gun—and emptied six chambers into the female’s head. “And for the record, you stinking big bastard, the only one allowed to make him go ‘ow’ is me.”

  “Stinking big bitch,” Chris said helpfully. “This is the female.”

  Despite their exotic mythology, demons could be killed with conventional weapons: Destroy enough of the brain and it was a fait accompli. So Chris was not surprised to see the female slowly topple forward and lie still.

  He was surprised to see Rhea squat in front of him and hand him a Wet Nap, which he batted out of her hand. He’d stupidly assumed she had seen the male as well—which was a gross disservice to the girl. Woman. She’d only known about her “duty” for a little over a week, and damned sure didn’t spend spare time casting spells on demons. She was a fucking poet!

  Those thoughts whirled through his brain in half a second, and he brought his knees up and kicked her as hard as he could, square in the chest. She flew away from him like he’d shot her out of a cannon,

  (God, God, don’t let her be hurt, please God, I’ll owe you one, okay?) and then two black feet smashed into the spot where Rhea had been crouching.

  “Ow,” Rhea bitched from eight feet away. Then, “Two of them? In all the stories I heard—”

  “Yeah, and all those old stories are always totally truthful.”

  “Good point,” she admitted, climbing to her feet and popping the cylinder on her six, grabbing a speed loader and sliding it home, even as she edged toward the male, who, in a rage, was still stomping on the spot she’d recently occupied.

  “Jesus, what are you waiting for? Shoot him! He’s alone now, so he’s being careful. Which is the only reason he hasn’t eaten our heads. Shoot!”

  “No. You might be killed in the crossfire.”

  “Who cares? Shoot the fucker!”

  “I care. Freeman, gleeman, semen, seamen, Philemon, cacodemon. Lost, boss, floss, gloss, toss.”

  The male twisted toward her, hissing, but it had to climb over the body of its mate to get to Rhea, so he had maybe three seconds.

  “Taker of the Lost

  Begone to where lives a demon

  Lest I give you a toss

  Then drown you in semen.”

  “I think I’d rather have my face clawed off than listen to another one of those,” Rhea commented as the advancing male suddenly vanished with a loud “pop!”…the sound of air rushing into the space it had so recently occupied.

  “Shut up. It worked, didn’t it?”

  “You couldn’t think of anything that rhymed with demon, could you?” she asked kindly.

  “Shut up,” he said, trying not to sulk. They stared at each other from opposite sides of the alley. Then he wondered why he was sulking. She had come! She had (somehow) tracked him down and found him and come armed and—

  “Before I embrace you and cry like a little girl, you didn’t bring all that stuff and wear all that stuff to kill me, did you?”

  “Only if you misbehave.” She grimaced, stood, and rubbed the small of her back. “Thank goodness for body armor. You kick hard, Mere.”

  “Chris. And thanks. My fault, by the way. I had no business assuming you knew there were two.”

  “And I had no business charging into an alley before I effectively deduced the threat level. So we both fucked up. That’s why we can’t kill each other.”

  “Really?” he asked, almost afraid to hope.

  She bent, found the Wet Nap, skirted the dead female, and handed it back to him. “Really. If we try to kill each other, we’ll just screw it up. Excuse me.” She leaned against the wall and efficiently threw up.

  He climbed to his feet, wiping more blood out of his eyes, then went to her and patted her shoulder while she vomited. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, as distressed as he’d ever been. “It’s awful, I know. The smell and the—the general unnaturalness of them.” He couldn’t believe she’d walked into a dark alley to save his ass. “It hurts my brain to look at them.”

  She coughed, pulled an arm across her mouth, then said, “It hurts my stomach.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “Oh, I broke into your hotel room and found all the police reports. After I tracked your car rental. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you went next—I was right behind you those last few minutes, but you ignored my honking.”

  “This is Boston,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  She laughed, a sound that caused his heart rate to double with pure joy. Then her eyes narrowed, and she cut off her laugh and said, “You didn’t raise those two, right? You just get rid of them. Right?”

  “Rhea. You really have to ask?”

  “Sorry. Distrusting you is going to be a tough habit to break.”

  “Sunshine, you don’t even know how tough. So now what? Since you’re sure if we turn on each other we’ll screw it up. What does that leave? Teaching each other to knit? Taking a judo class at the Y? What?”

  She laughed again. “Now we go back to your hotel room and make a baby.”

  “What?”

  Chapter 10

  ICAN’T believe this is happening. I just can’t believe it.”

  Rhea actually had to lead Chris through the lobby like a Seeing Eye dog. He was so shocked by her plan, he’d almost gone catatonic.

  “I’ve been spending all this time not thinking about you, and now you want a Mere baby.”

  “A Goodman-Mere baby.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” he said again, following her robotically into the elevator.

  “Are you all right? You’re like kind of…out of it.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “It’s a good way to break the curse, don’t you think?”

  “Curse?”

  “The curse. The one that’s been on our families for three hundred some years? The curse.”

  “Oh. That curse.”

  She pressed the button for his floor. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Sure as sure can be,” he replied absently. “It’s just that I fell in love with you and was resigned to never seeing you again, and then you saved me in the alley, and now you want to have sex. I’m feeling a little like a Powerball winner. Also, I think we already broke the curse.”

  “When you shared your powers with your greatest enemy. And we teamed up and kicked some demonic butt.”

  “Right, right.”

  The elevator dinged, and they walked out. She used his key card to pop the door open, and inside they went. The hotel had already done turn-down service.

  “Look!” Rhea said. “Chocolates!”

  “Help yourself.” He was just standing in the middle of the room, like he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Which was problematic.

  She gobbled both chocolates, then started taking off her body armor, short-sleeved T-shirt, black leggings, black socks, black running shoes, and white panties.

  “What are you doing?” he said, sounding almost—startled?

  “Like I’m going to make a baby with body armor on. Don’t just stand there. Strip.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Yes, Chris, I know. Strip.”

  Still moving like his limbs were barely thawed, he started taking off his clothes. Belt, shirt, khakis, socks, shoes (in no particular order, she noted). Simpsons boxer shorts.

  “I’ll overlook the shorts, but afterward, we really have to talk.”

  “Did I make fun of your underwear?”

  “You were thinking it,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. She was trying not to sta
re, and failing—miserably. He was just—superb. Long lean limbs, broad shoulders, lightly furred chest, slightly dazed green eyes. And what looked to her like a rather sizeable erection, jutting stiffly upward toward his taut stomach.

  “Chris?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Do you want a baby with me?”

  He blinked. “A Goodman-Mere baby? I could care less. Our baby? Sure. Oh. You’ll have to marry me once you’re knocked up. Or maybe next week.”

  “Good,” she whispered in his ear. “Because I want one, too. So get me pregnant. Right now.”

  Finally, he snapped out of the trance and nearly fell on her as he bore her to the bed, his lips frantic over hers, his tongue probing, his teeth gently nibbling her ear lobes, her neck, her cleavage. His hand spread her thighs apart and stroked the tender skin of her inner thighs, which made her shiver beneath him.

  He moved lower so he could pull her nipples into his hot, wet mouth, sucking greedily, even gently biting her, and the sensation shot from her breasts to her toes in half a second. And now he was gently stroking the hot throbbing center between her thighs, making her strain against him, making her groan, making her plead.

  He needed no such encouragement, just returned his attention to her mouth while spreading her legs a little wider. He broke the kiss to gaze into her eyes, as his hips thrust against hers, hard.

  “Ow!”

  “What, ow?” he panted.

  “I just wasn’t quite ready for you.”

  Sweat stood out on his forehead, and she could see him gritting his teeth as he forced his hips to be still. “Wasn’t ready for me?”

  “Well. This is kind of my first time.”

  He gaped at her. “Kind of?”

  “Okay. It’s my first time.”

  He started to roll off her, but she grabbed him by the elbows and managed to keep him in place. “A virgin?” he practically yelped. “You’re a virgin, and you didn’t say anything? And why are you a virgin?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she snapped back. “I’ve spent my whole life training to kill you, or in school. When the hell would I have time to lose my virginity?”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get your guns. I was just—surprised. I’ve never done it with a virgin before.” He squinted thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Could you not reminisce about other sex partners when you’re inside me?”

  “Sorry, sorry. Does it still hurt?”

  “It’s a lot better.” A whole lot better. Almost…delightful? Yes, delightful, the hot friction between her legs was no longer a burning pain but instead a thrilling amusement park ride, where she went up and up and up. He was thrusting against her with such care she almost wept. And he watched her face every moment.

  Again, shuddering all over, he stopped. “Hurts?”

  “No.” She strained against him, trying to create her own friction. “Oh, no.”

  “You’re…” He wiped his thumb on her cheek and showed her the tear. “Crying.”

  “I’m just so happy. Right this minute is the happiest moment of my whole life.”

  “What whole life?” he teased, continuing to stroke and surge into her. “Ah, God, Rhea, you really shouldn’t say things like ‘give me a baby’ and ‘I’m so happy.’ It’s hell on my self-control.”

  “You’re doing all—oh!” She felt an all-over tightening and held her breath, and then her orgasm—her first assisted orgasm—blew through her like a hurricane, leaving her trembling in his arms.

  “Oh, Christ!” Then he was groaning and shuddering against her, and she felt even more warmth between her legs than before.

  “Uck. You made me sticky.”

  His head, which had been resting on her shoulder, jerked up. “Uck? Uck? You’re hell on the self-esteem, too.”

  “Not uck for the sex. Uck for immediately after the sex. I mean—yeesh. I’d better clean up.”

  He clamped down on her arms and squeezed. “Don’t you dare move,” he growled. “No fair ruining the afterglow.”

  “Oh, was I wrecking pillow talk?” she teased.

  “To put it mildly. You came, right? I was pretty sure you came.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “That’s great. Usually I have to go down on—”

  “Stop.”

  “Sorry. Boy,” he added cheerfully, grinning at her, “your dad is going to shit when we tell him what we were up to in Beantown.”

  “Now who’s wrecking the afterglow? Why did you bring up my dad? Now I have to call them so they won’t worry.”

  “Be sure to mention your recent deflowering.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  “And our upcoming wedding.”

  She shoved and punched and finally kicked him off her. She sat up in bed and didn’t bother with the sheet, and could see the admiration in his eyes as he looked her over from head to foot. “I didn’t hear a proposal, buster.”

  “Oh, stop it. You totally fell under my spell, and you know it.”

  “Ha!”

  “What else do you call this?” he asked, gesturing to them both. “But magic?”

  “You’re a bag of sentimental mush.”

  “One of us should have a feminine side.”

  “Shut up,” she retorted, then grabbed the phone and started dialing.

  Epilogue

  POWER and Flower made it to Mass General in record time, given rush hour traffic, and went at once to the maternity ward. Flower was carrying a teddy bear. Power had a gaily wrapped box with a big blue bow on the top.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the charge nurse. “My daughter, Rhea Goodman Mere? She’s having a baby? Can you tell me what—”

  A shout interrupted him. “And stay out!” Punctuated by the clatter of an emesis basin slamming into the wall.

  “Never mind,” Flower said. “We can find her.”

  They turned and walked down the hall in time to see their son-in-law practically sprint into the hallway. “All right, all right!” he yelled back. “Don’t come crying to me when you forget how to do your breathing!”

  “Chris, darling!” Flower called, hurrying up to him and giving him a hug. “We came as soon as you called.”

  “Happy birthday, by the way,” Power added, handing Chris the gaily wrapped box. “A milestone. You’re to be congratulated.”

  “I found three gray hairs on my head this morning, and your daughter—and my daughter—are directly responsible. I’m only thirty-two, and I’m going gray!”

  “Well, nobody forced you two to get married and have babies,” Flower said gently.

  “Quite the opposite,” Power muttered.

  “And don’t worry about Violet Number Two; she’s at home with her aunties and uncles.”

  “Great. If she points a toy gun in my face and pretends to shoot me, I’m holding both of you responsible.”

  “We can’t help it that ‘kill the witch’ is everyone’s favorite childhood game.”

  “It’s not everyone’s—”

  “What are you doing out there?” Rhea shouted. “Taking a poll? Get your ass in here!”

  “Coming, coming!” He gave his in-laws a final, harassed glance before going back through the gates of hell.

  “The baby will be your birthday present!” Flower called after him.

  “Doubt it,” Power said, glancing at his watch. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “Second babies always come faster.”

  “She’s only been in labor for four hours.”

  “Darling. It’s Rhea.”

  “That’s true,” Power said, and sat down with his wife to wait for another Goodman-Mere baby.

  “And…it’s a boy!”

  “Oh, great,” Rhea groaned. “What was I thinking? I knew it hurt like a bastard, and I let you knock me up again anyway.”

  “Hold on a minute, Mom, we’ll get him cleaned up, and then you can hold him.” The nurse had to shout over the baby’s wails to be heard.

  “Listen to
the lungs on that kid,” Chris said happily. “A chip off the old maternal block.”

  “Shut up.”

  “And he’s gorgeous.”

  She perked up, as much as she could in her exhausted state. “He looks okay? I figured he was okay from all the yelling. Violet Number Two did the same thing when she was born.”

  “Here he is, Mom!”

  Rhea stared down in wonder at the tiny, perfect face. The baby was looking up at her with the blue eyes of a fair-skinned newborn, and she wondered if they would go dark like hers, or green like Chris’s. She hoped they would be green, because…

  “Welcome to the world, Christopher Goodman Mere,” she said softly, and kissed her baby at the exact moment her husband kissed her on the top of her head.

  Street Corners and Halos

  Catherine Spangler

  To all those who have ever suffered loss of family or home,

  or been affected by hatred and intolerance. May you find

  inner peace and joy in living every day to the fullest.

  Special thanks to Roberta for the title and the ending.

  You’re amazing.

  For, remember, man looks upon the things of the day

  but God looks upon the heart.

  (Edgar Cayce Reading 3253–2)

  Chapter 1

  THE high heels of her boots made a distinct click on the sidewalk, amplified by the exaggerated swing of her hips. She knew that the strut and the boots, along with the rest of her skimpy outfit, were terribly clichéd, but why should she care? After all, she was what she was. She saw no need to pretend otherwise.

  Winter was creeping in early in Dallas. There was a distinct nip in the October night air. The cooler temperature seemed to lessen the stench of unwashed bodies and vomit and urine that drifted from behind the shabby buildings.

  The unpleasant smell was further masked by the tantalizing scents of cooking food and burning wood. The food aromas came from the restaurants and clubs along the strip; the wood odor probably from a homeless person’s fire—which would be extinguished if the police who occasionally patrolled the area saw it.