Page 13 of I Hope This Email Finds You in Hell

A darkness falls over Luke’s face. “You think I’m a demon?”

“Aren’t you?” I hate the way my voice wavers. I finally tug the rake free, but the force makes it fall to the ground with a clatter. I scramble to pick it up, keeping the length of it between us.

“You saw me exorcise a demon,” Luke reminds me, as if I could ever forget it. “Why would I do that if I was one?”

“Because you’re a greater demon,” I say, less sure than I was on the drive here. “And you’re mad at Demon Debra for almost blowing your cover. I haven’t figured it all out yet, but greater demons don’t need to possess, they need sustenance to keep up their act. Demons are drawn to misery. You chose three innocent women full of grief and guilt, because that’s like caviar to you.”

My statement is punctuated by a rumbling sound. His stomach. “Oh my God,” I gasp. “I’m right. You’re ravenous.”

“Because I didn’t eat breakfast,” he says indignantly. “What Wikipedia article did you learn all that from? You’re barely scraping the surface.”

Horror floods me. It must show on my face. Luke’s annoyance shifts to caution.

“That’s not what I meant,” Luke corrects, taking a step toward me. I back up, but my spine hits the wall. Beside me, the pitchfork still defies gravity.

“Stay away from me,” I warn, raising the rake so the prongs poke into his chest. All he wears is a thin black shirt and dark denim jeans, the most casual I’ve ever seen him. It highlights the broad span of his shoulders and the defined planes of his abdomen. He cuts a threatening figure, tall and big and solid. “I’m just here for Krystal. And the other two. But mostly Krystal.”

“I don’t have her. Them. Anyone.” Luke’s head falls back to reveal the bare expanse of his throat as he groans at the ceiling. Horizontal across his neck is a thin white scar. I’ve noticed it before, though never as blatantly as now. The skin is slightly raised, though it’s long since healed.

Now would be the perfect opportunity to skewer him with the rake. It might not have the same pitchfork potential, but it’d make him bleed.

I really think I might do it until I remember the pitchfork beside me. And how it’s beside me, and not in me. Not poking holes through my throat, making me choke on my own blood.

“You said you were hoping I’d show up,” I remind him, and myself, because now is not the time to let my guard down. “You came at me with a pitchfork.”

“I wasn’t coming at you. When I heard footsteps, I assumed the burning sulfur worked in luring the demon I’ve been hunting for days. If I was trying to lure you, I would have bought some of that disgusting bean water Dunkin’ calls coffee and cracked open a fresh pack of highlighters.”

“Sue me, I like the smell,” I snap. “And don’t shit on Dunkin’s coffee, leaf-water apologist. I saw the teapot on your stove.”

“You went into my house?”

“That’s on you for leaving the door unlocked.”

We glare at each other, the rake still separating us. He glances down at it. “I’m not a demon. But if the one I’m waiting for comes, you won’t want to be here. Trust me. You need to leave.”

I swallow but hold my stance. “How do I know you’re telling the truth and not trying to make me leave so you can continue feasting on the souls of unsuspecting women in peace?”

“You certainly know how to paint a visual,” Luke deadpans. “I swear I—”

A metallic screech cuts him off, the sound ricocheting around the tin can of our surroundings. It’s so loud my hands fly to my ears, an immediate ache forming behind my eyes.

“Get down,” Luke orders, urgency flaring in his voice. He closes the gap between us to pull me away from the wall. In my attempt to protect my ears, I dropped the rake. I stumble over it as he presses me into the side of the tractor, keeping me sandwiched between it and the warmth of his body.

“What was that?” I squeak out as the fear I’ve been shoving down bubbles to the surface.

“He’s here,” Luke states grimly. He tugs his pitchfork from the wall, the scrape of metal not helping my ringing ears.

“He?”

When his eyes meet mine, I know without a doubt we are fucked. “Beliar.”

My mind flips through my heinous amount of Google tabs to recall why the name sounds familiar. “Beliar is the demon of deception.”

“Among other things, yes. The definition changes, depending on the text. You’re going to stay here and I’m going to go outside. Whatever you hear, you do not come out. Got it?”

I nod, crouching to the ground to clutch my rake.

“Good.” Luke backs up and cool November air fills the space he leaves. “I’ll come back for you when it’s safe.”