The Devil Dances by K.H. Koehler Page B

to send you to us. We don’t question His will.”
    I didn’t have it in me to explain that God was on a permanent vacation.
    She struggled to her knees and clutched my hand. I started telling her to get up, but she interrupted me. She kissed my hand like a pious devout, and said, “If you will find out what has become of our colony and root out this evil which is plaguing our children, I promise I will give you my soul, Prince Nicholas. I will be your everlasting servant on earth as well as in Hell.”
    “I don’t want your soul, Mrs. Knapp,” I said, pulling her up. “I do want to know what the hell’s going on here.”

t was three in the morning by the time I made it back to Merry and Frank’s place. I found the key hidden under the garden gnome, where Merry said it would be, and let myself in, trying to climb the stairs without waking the whole house.
    My thoughts were spinning, and I was feeling the bolster on my power, a kind of nervous energy coursing through my limbs and making my hands shake where I clutched the handrail. I was all “leveled up,” so to speak, and I knew I would soon need a way to safely dissipate my power or it would drive me crazy. I’d done dozens of exorcisms back in Blackwater—it was, in fact, part of the services that Morgana and I regularly provided our clients—but it always left me edgy until something, or someone, siphoned off my excess power. Usually, that someone was Morgana, but she was back in Blackwater. I thought about taking a long walk, doing some push-ups, something, but I knew it wouldn’t help much. It wasn’t a physical release I needed, but a spiritual one. Or, in lieu of that, a sexual one.
    I let myself inside the guest bedroom, not really expecting to find Vivian there, but hopeful nonetheless. I thought for sure she’d be sleeping the sleep of the exhausted and sexually fulfilled between Merry and Frank and that the bed would be disappointingly cold and empty, but I was in luck. There was a lump under our almost-marriage quilt, and it stirred as I began to undress in the dark.
    “Nick, you back?” Vivian said sleepily.
    “Yeah, baby, I am.” I sat down on the edge of the bed with my shirt open, groaning a little while my whole body hummed with unspent energy, and started untying my Skechers.
    Vivian sat up in bed. She was wearing a delightfully brief satin babydoll nightie in black, trimmed with red lace. It emphasized, rather than hid, her curves. The bodice barely contained her big, soft breasts, and when she shifted on the bed, I realized she wasn’t wearing any panties, not even a G-string.
    When I couldn’t get the knot out of my shoelaces because my hands were shaking too much, she climbed off the bed and went to her knees on the floor to untie my shoes for me. I knew some guys who would have gotten off on that, but something about the gesture offended me on a primal level, Vivian on her knees. I thought again of Mrs. Knapp offering me her soul and servitude in exchange for my services. But when I started to protest, Vivian stopped me. “Don’t. I want to.” She gave me a sweet and sexy smile. “It’s the least I can do for the man who owns my soul.”
    “You gave me your soul,” I reminded her. “I wouldn’t have taken it otherwise.”
    “I gave it to you because I trust you, Nick. I want to serve you. Let me.”
    I let her get my shoes and socks off. She tucked my socks into my shoes. Unlike most college folks, Vivian was a neat freak, everything in order. Anytime I messed up her place, she yelled at me. Soon she ardently went to work on my jeans.
    “What happened to your face?” she asked when she saw my half-healed injuries. My mojo had been working overtime, so I knew the scratches were almost healed—noticeable, but mostly healed.
    I told her what had happened at the Knapp farm, what Mrs. Knapp had told me, about little Sarah, and about the exorcism. She didn’t say anything at first, and I knew I had probably pissed her