A Hand in Hell

"So, where are we going?" Lauren asked as she languidly reclined in the passenger's seat and adjusted the sunglasses perched atop her nose. Sleek, simple, black, with the lenses shined to perfection — one of my favorite pairs.

I shrugged, gently easing the car to a stop at a red light. "I thought we could go shopping or something. Maybe catch a movie, get some lunch. What do normal people like to do when they go out together?" I squinted at the light through the sun's glare. I was glad that the ache in my head had started to subside. The light would've killed me otherwise.

"Haven't you stalked enough of us 'normal people' to know what we like?" she teased, but I could hear the wary truthfulness beneath her playful tone, and I frowned as I accelerated through the intersection. Of course, what right did I have to be offended by it? Stalking was what I'd done — and then some. If I had the chance to do it over again, I would do it just the same, and I'd never regret it.

"I only know what you guys do in bars," I retorted lightly. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you in shopping malls?"

She laughed, grinning at me, the white of her teeth glowing almost supernaturally in the sunlight. "If you're buying, we can do whatever you want. I never say no to free stuff."

I smiled and turned a corner — gently, of course, so as not to jostle my human. I'd heard that throwing women out of car windows was bad for the date. "Shopping it is, then. Even though I thought you were supposed to be impressing me this time," I joked, tossing her a playful wink over top of my sunglasses.

She pursed her lips. "Oh, I will," she said darkly. "Believe me, I will."

"Is that a threat?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Maybe," she said with a mischievous smile.

I chuckled. "Well," I began, making another gentle turn, "we're here. I hope you have some idea as to how you're going to win my love, you little harlot."

She slid her sunglasses off and dropped them in the middle console. Her eyes flicked to the mall that loomed ahead of us, bright and cheery even as it waited to swallow us up into its belly of clothing and assorted electronics, and her smile faded. "What happens if we see someone I know?"

The question startled me, but I only glanced at her and shrugged, then whipped nonchalantly into a parking space. "Introduce me as your girlfriend or friend or whatever you'd be comfortable with. You know I can act any part you give me." She opened her mouth to speak, a familiar playful glint to her eye, and I shot her a look as I put the car in park and turned the key in the ignition. "Within reason, of course. And I really wouldn't recommend introducing me as your demon captor, because we both know that I can play that part particularly well, even in widely populated public spaces."

She nodded sullenly and said in a sigh, "Yes, master."

"Oh," I all but moaned. "I prefer mistress, but I'll take whatever I can get." With a wink, I shoved the door open and slid out into the afternoon sunlight.

"Do you have to be so creepy all the time?" she asked as she shut her own car door, and I smiled at her over my shoulder as I started toward the big brick building.

"Are you honestly trying to tell me that you don't like it?"

"Yes," she said with a decisive nod. "Yes, I am."

I scoffed. "Liar," I said, then took her hand and pulled her after me through a set of glass double doors.

"So, what is it you plan to do here, exactly?" she asked as she followed obediently behind me, and when I looked back, she was looking in a sort of wonder at all of the glass-walled stores around us. But why? I was sure that she'd been here hundreds of times before. All of the humans had. So what was so special about it this time?

The Stockholm syndrome made her forget what the outside world looks like, I told myself. Of course. "Actually, I have no fucking clue," I said, looking back at her with a small smile. My eyes dropped to the collar, to the bell that still hung in the hollow of her throat, then to her hand, still loosely returning my purposeful grip. A hint of feeling trilled through me — the same wonder that still set her face aglow even in the mall's harsh light. What are we doing here?

She shifted, and my eyes snapped back to her face, now set in a worried frown. "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah," I answered, then hurried to ask, "So, any suggestions? Anything in particular that college girls like to do here?"

"If I'm remembering correctly, you said something about shopping," she began, a sly smile engulfing every inch of her visage, "and I'm pretty fond of clothes, personally."

I chuckled. "Lead the way, then, princess," I said, shifting my grip on her hand to entwine my fingers with hers in a more secure hold. I was only vaguely surprised when she tightened her hold on my hand and immediately began dragging me through the mall.

I followed the gentle tinkling of the bell into a store I'd never thought to even set foot in before: Hot freakin' Topic. I shuddered and opened my mouth to say something, but when I noticed that her brow was furrowed in intense concentration, I clamped my lips together. Perhaps it would be best to wait and see what she was doing before I mocked the store.

She rocked to a stop at a rack of assorted jewelry — some of the ugliest I'd ever seen, if I was being honest. She skimmed one side, then pulled me around to the other, soon settling on something with a soft "Aha!" of triumph and reaching out for it.

"Ah, what exactly are you doing?" I asked, watching as she pulled a spiked leather monstrosity from a hook.

"If I have to wear one, you should have to wear one, too," she said smugly, pulling her hand from mine to hold the leathery thing up to my throat.

"That's a collar? Seriously?" My nose wrinkled. "You can't be serious."

She scowled. "It's only fair."

"Do you not know how a master-slave relationship works?" I scoffed. "The slave wears the collar; the master wears the slave. It's so simple!"

"Do you not know how a marriage works?" she said, mimicking my exasperated tone. "Both parties wear a ring. It's so simple!"

"But we're not married," I pointed out, "and that ain't no ring." I flicked the bell at her throat to set it gently jingling, and I smirked as her body stiffened at the near skin-on-skin contact. "Neither is this."

She rolled her eyes and let out a harsh sigh, and I wasn't sure if I was pleased or disappointed at how quickly the tension left her shoulders. "Just humor me, okay?" She held the collar up to my neck again, going so far as to put the faux leather flush to my throat, her fingers so close to my skin that I could feel her body heat. "Act like we're dating, like you're supposed to be, anyway. Girlfriends always humor their partner's silly whims."

"Fine," I said with a resigned sigh of my own, snatching the collar from her grip and easily breaking off the plastic piece that covered the buckle. She squealed in delight and clapped her hands, and years of practice plus nimble fingers had the thing securely around my neck in a matter of seconds. Another sigh passed through my lips, but she couldn't seem to stop grinning. "There. Happy?"

"Yes," she chirped. "You look so cute!"

I rolled my eyes. "Cute isn't the intent of a collar, my dear." And I was pretty sure it didn't go with my white V-neck top and jeans, but I was sure she already knew that. At least, I hoped she did. I couldn't be dating someone with no fashion sense.

"Well, it is for me," she said defiantly, then stuck her tongue out at me like a child. I hadn't even known that adults did that in real life. I'd always thought it was just an emoticon.

"Can we at least get one from a fetish store or something if you're so set on making me wear one?" I asked, fingers working at the buckle at the back of my neck. "I demand quality leather work, and I demand something more aesthetically pleasing than this hunk of man-made materials." I dangled the thing in front of her face, and she swiped it from my loose grip, scowling all the while.

"I like this one," she said, her tone suddenly sounding more like that of an adult. "You said that the shopping and everything was up to me today, and this collar is what I want."

I rolled my eyes again. "When I said that it was up to you, I meant that it was for you, as in buying things for you to wear."

She sighed. "Please? I'll even get something else for myself and let you do whatever you want with me in the fitting room."

My eyebrows shot so far up my forehead that it nearly made my head hurt, and the slightest twinge of pain pulsed through my brain as I vaguely remembered the damage it had sustained only hours ago. "You're bartering sex — public sex, even — for a cheap collar? Are you sure we're only acting this relationship? 'Cause shit just got real."

"It's not the collar I'm bartering for," she said, though she guiltily lowered her gaze. "It's the relationship dynamic."

"And you're totally okay with offering sex to the demon who —" I paused, glancing at the few patrons who shuffled about us, ogling various other racks, and I lowered my voice. "Who kidnapped you, tortured you, nearly raped you, killed your best friend, and threatened to kill your family?"

Her gaze was steely when it met mine again, and she clenched the collar tightly in a balled fist. "Do you have to bring that up every time I try to act normally toward you?"

"Well, considering you're generally acting abnormally by attempting to act normally — and offering to have sex with me in a fitting room isn't super normal to begin with, by the way — I don't see why I wouldn't bring it up." I shrugged, doing my best to act unmoved even though some weird part of me knew that I'd upset her and felt a bit bad about it. "I can't help that your sudden attitude change toward me has made me suspicious."

"I'm just trying to play the part you wanted me to." I noticed out of the corner of my eye that her grip on the collar had loosened, and I hoped that meant something. "I'm kind of trying to keep my presence pleasing to you so you won't off me or leave me for dead somewhere."

"So, uh, does that mean I get to eat you out in the fitting room or not?"

She rolled her eyes, lip pulled back in disgust, and I smirked. "Ew! Of course not! I was just act—" Her face suddenly went blank, then a suspicious glint crept its way into her eye. "Wait. Did you say that you'd…eat me out?"

"Uh, yeah. Duh," I said slowly, as if she were the dumbest girl on the planet for not getting it.

She eyed me for a moment, and her suspicion only grew. "I had you pegged for a soulless, selfish taker, not a giver."

I shrugged. "I like doing things to people. I'm sure you've noticed that by now."

For a few seconds more, she only stared at me, then she shook her head and muttered, "If I trusted you more, I would probably take you up on that offer."

I chuckled lowly, seductively, and drifted closer to her. Our noses nearly touched, but she didn't move back. She didn't even flinch. She only gazed up at me in open-mouthed wonder. "Believe it or not, you have no reason not to trust me," I began in a murmur. "Hate me, maybe, wish death upon me and long to escape me and never see me again, but not to distrust me." The tips of my fingers brushed her cheek as I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and I felt her breathing stop. "You know I'm invested enough in you not to hurt you. I wouldn't even harm your family. At this point, I desire only to protect you from the assholes who wish us both harm, and you have no reason to suspect otherwise." My fingers trailed along the side of her throat — gentle, gentle — and she was suddenly leaning toward me. My eyes drifted shut, and I waited.

Something tickled my senses, and I drew away from her approaching lips on instinct, an arm snaking around her and lashing out in the same vein. My eyes snapped open as sticky wetness splashed across my arm, my face, my entire side, and as a Styrofoam cup thunked to the floor, as Lauren cried out in dismay, my gaze found the angry-faced man at the back of the store, only feet away.

"Keep that disgusting shit in the bedroom and away from my son!" he bellowed, and the teenager at his side cringed.

"Dad, come on," he said meekly, but to no avail.

"I knew we shouldn't've come to this store," the man railed on, incensed. "No one in these places has any morals! You're all going to Hell! Atheist sluts!"

"Vera," Lauren whispered in worried warning as I started around her and toward the man. The boy stepped back, almost hiding behind his father, but the man shrank back himself to make a pitiable shield.

"Sir," I began calmly, stopping a couple of feet away from him, "I may be a slut, but I'm most certainly not an atheist. I know there's a God, you see, and I know for a fact that if He's going to condemn anyone in this store to Hell…" I paused to offer him a grin full of elongated demon fangs, the teeth of a saber-toothed cat in a human mouth, and slid my sunglasses down my nose just a hair. "It's going to be you." The man's eyes widened, and he grabbed his son's arm and started out of the store in one hell of a hurry, muttering all the while. I watched him go, an ache beginning in my slowly mending synapses as I reached out to run a slender finger of power through his brain. Just a little bit of damage to take effect at a later date…He deserved it. To be fair, most humans did, even if they weren't bigots.

"Are you all right?" the violet-haired girl behind the counter asked, sounding genuinely concerned. "I'm so sorry!"

When I turned to face her, my fangs were long gone, and my glasses were carefully settled back onto my nose to hide the fiery depths of Hell that I called my eyes. I smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine, thank you." I returned to Lauren's side, and she regarded me in wide-eyed surprise. "Are you okay, babydoll?" I asked, reaching out to wipe a few droplets of soda from her cheek with my thumb.

"Y-yeah," she stuttered, searching desperately for a glimpse of something behind my glasses — but what? "I just…I've been openly into girls for years, and I've never had to deal with anything like this before."

I shrugged, taking the handful of paper towels another employee offered me with a brief thank you. "You've also never had a ridiculously hot girl seducing you in the middle of a store, I'm sure," I remarked wryly, dabbing at the girl's soda-covered cheek. I was glad she hadn't taken more damage than that besides a wet stain on the tight-fitting denim that covered her calf. The nerve of some people, I grumbled internally. In the middle of a fucking store? Soda fucking everywhere? Jesus Christ!

"Um, w-what are you doing?" she stammered, her eyes intently following my hands as I began to run the paper towel along the strand of hair I'd tucked behind her ear before.

"Making sure you didn't get any in your hair," I said casually, cocking an eyebrow down at her. "Why? Is that bad of me?"

She caught my wrist on the downstroke and stared at me in puzzlement. "I'm fine. You should be worrying about yourself. You're covered in it."

I looked down at myself and cringed, annoyed. The side of my white top was now a gross, wet brown, and one leg of my jeans was damp and darkened to match. Oh, that fucker is so lucky I didn't wear boots today, I seethed when my eyes found the thick splatters across the top of both of my plain white shoes. "I wouldn't say covered in it," I said aloud in an even tone. "But yeah, I might want to change or something."

"If you want to buy something here," the employee who still stood beside me, more paper towels in hand, started, "we can cut the tags off, and you can wear it out, if you want."

Lauren's eyes lit up, and I winced inwardly. She still had that collar in her hand. What the hell else would she force me into? "I'll pick something out for you!" she squeaked before walking off through the store.

"Get something for yourself, too," I called after her, but she only waved dismissively over her shoulder, and I sighed.

"Thank you," I said as I took one last swipe at my cheek with a paper towel, then placed the wad of drenched white in the girl's waiting hand. "Sorry we caused such a scene." I wasn't, really, considering that none of this was my fault and I probably wouldn't have cared even if it was, but I felt like I had to say something.

"Oh, no," she said, smiling as she went back behind the counter to throw away the used towels, and her purple-haired coworker looked on silently. "It's not your fault at all. Intolerant people will always be intolerant."

"And you're not intolerant?" I asked curiously, coming to lean against the counter in front of her. I scanned the place as I spoke, surprised to find that the place was completely empty now but for us, Lauren, and a pair of younger girls who regarded us from their awkward stance near the entrance. Usually more spectators hung around for the aftermath of such fiascoes.

The employee laughed. "Well, yeah. I have a girl of my own, and I'd never want to be intolerant of her."

"You guys are really cute together, by the way," the other girl chimed in almost nervously. "I can't believe someone would throw pop at you like that."

I grinned a shit-eating grin. "Thanks, but I've learned through many years' experience that no matter how good you look, you're always going to get shit on. It's just how life works."

"Vera," Lauren called, and I turned to watch her speedy approach, a pile of garments in her arms. "How are these?" She dropped the pile of clothes on the counter, then held up a short, pleated skirt in white and black plaid in one hand and a simple black corset in the other.

I sighed. "Not as bad as I expected. What did you get for yourself?"

Just grinning away, she held up a pair of plain blue skinny jeans and a black top with Frankenstein's face displayed in the front and announced proudly, "The shirt made me think of you."

"So I'm Frankenstein's monster now?" I asked, and when she nodded, I could only sigh again as the ladies behind the counter giggled. It was like I had a child. "You're lucky you're cute." I took the clothes she'd picked out for me from the counter and turned to the store employees. "Is it all right if we go try these on?"

"Sure," the one with the normal hair said brightly, already starting around the counter and carefully skirting the puddle of soda on her way toward the fitting rooms at the back. "And if they fit okay, we can cut the tags off for you when you come out and pay."

"Won't we get in trouble for that?" the purple-haired girl asked hesitantly, and the other girl scowled at her, deftly unlocking the door to one of the stalls.

"They had pop thrown at them. I don't think anyone will care." She opened the door and stepped aside, smiling now. "Don't have too much fun in there, now," she said with a wink, then headed back toward the counter. "Is the maintenance guy coming? We don't have any cleaning stuff here." I stepped into the small room with Lauren and tuned the workers out.

"So," I began as I let the door click shut behind me, "why do you get to look normal while I have to look like a Wannabe Gothic Barbie?"

She laughed lightly, hanging the garments from a hook on the wall. I mimicked her with a separate hook. We both kicked our shoes off. "I thought it suited you more. You walked around in head-to-toe leather yesterday, remember?"

I watched as she slid her shirt off over her head, doing the same with a sigh and trying to keep my face and hair as free of leftover soda as possible. "Yes, clad head-to-toe in real, quality leather. That's not goth. That's class."

Her pants were the next to go, and she faced me as she slid them down. "Well, I think you'll look good in those. So there. I just hope I grabbed the right size." She dropped her jeans on the floor and turned back to the hanging garments, and I took a peek at her ass, her cheeks proudly displayed around a hot pink thong. Yet she's single. Hot damn.

"They look right to me," I remarked, looking at the clothes as I removed my own jeans. "Besides, it's not like they'll have to be perfect. I'll probably never wear them after today." Then again, the more I looked at the skirt, the more I liked it…

"Hey, what's that?" she asked suddenly, and I glanced back to follow her gaze.

"What's what?"

"That thing, on your back." She poked a pair of faded white lines at the small of my back, running diagonally to the left of my spine, and I chuckled to myself.

"Fond memories." She looked up at me, confused, and I let my freed jeans fall to the floor. "They're scars, obviously."

Her brow furrowed. "I thought you could change your appearance at will."

"I can, but not those." I took the skirt from its hanger and unzipped the back, and she continued to look at me, puzzled, as I stepped into it and slid it up my legs. "They came from a vampire in a…really weird, really sexual throwdown," I explained. "The venom keeps them intact. That's why they never healed into oblivion and can't be hidden when I change. Not unless I get really furry, anyway, and ew, no, thank you."

"So…things can actually hurt demons that way?" She still looked confused, but she pulled her new pants on, so at least she was making progress. Sad that that progress involved hiding that precious ass away from the world…

"We're not immune to everything, no, if that's what you're asking," I informed her dryly, zipping up the back of the skirt. I turned to the mirror and spun, then stuck my ass out to model it for myself. "I was wrong when I said I would only wear this once. I look damn fine."

Completely ignoring my fantastic fanny, she asked, "So vampires could kill you?"

"Ha! Fat chance." I took the corset from the hanger and looked at her still-puzzled face. "Technically, anything could kill us, but it's highly unlikely. So, if your plan was to find a vampire willing to do your dirty work and kill me," — I reached back and unhooked my bra, juggling the corset from hand to hand as I slid the bra free and let it drop to the floor — "you might want to rethink it."

She rolled her eyes. "That's not why I was asking, and you know it." She finally put her new shirt on, and though I would never admit it out loud, it looked cute, especially the way her little shoulders peeked out from the wide neck.

"Hey," I said, chuckling, as I slid the corset on and began to do up the hooks along the front, "you never know who wants you dead."

"How many times do we have to go over this?" she asked, facing the mirror to check herself out. "I don't want you dead."

"You're right. You need me for protection from the Council." I finished with the last hook and moved to stand beside her, jiggling my boobs more securely into the cups. Eh. Not terrible, I guess. "But what about once I kill them all? What's going to stop you from offing me then, hm?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, sarcasm already oozing from her tone. "Maybe the fact that I like you and think you have the potential to do some pretty good things in the world, like I've said many times before."

My eyebrows rose, and I looked down at her. "You've never said anything about liking me before."

She rolled her eyes again. "Whatever. Do you like the clothes?"

I shrugged. I felt like I'd been doing that a lot lately. "I've worn worse, I suppose. Do you like yours?"

She nodded. "Most definitely."

"Let's go, then," I said with a smile, sliding my soda-covered shoes back on. They didn't really match the outfit, but did it really matter? "Oh, hey. Where's the collar that sparked all of this? I'm sure you demand that I wear that as well."

"I left it on the counter," she said, suddenly smiling and excited. "Let's go!" She scooped up our old clothes in one arm, grabbed my hand, then dragged me out of the fitting room.

"Do you like everything?" the normal-haired girl asked, smiling at us as we approached.

"Very much," Lauren chirped, plopping our clothes down on the counter.

"Great! Lemme get those tags off for you," the girl said, grabbing a pair of scissors from beneath the counter. She came around to us and, surprisingly quickly with surprisingly little skin-on-skin contact, cut off all the little price tags. She then slipped back behind the register and began scanning them all one by one, and I dug around in the pockets of my sullied pants in search of my wallet.

"This, too," Lauren said eagerly, and I looked up to find her pushing the collar across the counter toward the girl.

"Of course," she said, then scanned the tag that dangled from the buckle and cut it off for us. Lauren promptly took it back and nearly threw herself at my throat, eagerly but carefully buckling the thing around my neck as tight as it would go. I sighed, but the girl behind the counter laughed. "That'll be $133.13."

I handed her a wad of twenty-dollar bills amounting to $140. "Keep the change," I said as Lauren scooped our old clothes back into her arms. "You've been sweet."

The girl giggled. "Well, thank you. And again, I'm so sorry you had to deal with that."

"No biggie," I said, smiling. "Have a nice day."

"You, too, cuties!"

Lauren and I left together, then, and as we passed through the entrance, now empty of the two girls who had been so fascinated by us before, she looked over at me and said, "I'm surprised you didn't rip that guy a new one. I was sure you were going to scream at him, maybe even tear his head off — literally. I'm glad you didn't."

I laughed. "Yeah, sure. So, where do you want to go now?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd killed him. She probably wouldn't even want to know.

Slow-growing brain aneurysms were never a pleasant source of conversation, anyway.

And, I mean, come on. He deserved it! …Right?

Right.