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“THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL”
An Episode of
Welcome to Brokenoggin Falls where:
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awards
kudos
-- RT BOOKclub (4 ½ stars!)
-- Tara Black, The Romance Studio
“Prepare to receive your sentence, Demon.” They were all named Demon down here in Hell. The only being with his own name was Lucifer Himself. “Aye, Master.” The demon’s hands, bound at the wrist, rested awkwardly at the small of his back as he tried to focus on Lucifer’s fiery red eyes, the black goatee, the horns, the pitchfork, and the crimson suit--proof that the whimsies of fashion in Hell had been at a standstill since the birth of time. Fashion? Why was he thinking of fashion? His concentration simply wasn’t what it used to be after the century of torture he’d endured for his crimes. Or had it been two centuries that he’d been paying for his terrible deeds? Ah, but what was an extra century or two in the grand scheme of things? He’d been on this earth for more than 10,000 years, tasked to bring the worst sort of doubt into the miserable, pitifully abbreviated lives of human beings. For he was a High Demon-Lord, one of the most ancient of them all: the Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts, the bane of many a human failure, simpering creatures all too eager to listen to the doubts that he could so easily plant in their weak minds. You can’t, he’d whisper until they believed it. You won’t. Try and you will surely fail. Countless men who could have ruled the world had never stepped beyond their front doors because he had made them doubt themselves, made them afraid to take chances, to risk failure. Nor were women any safer from his dark murmurings through the eons. He’d frightened countless wenches, silencing their voices by playing up their fears of sounding too shrill, too stupid, too...different. Humanity’s failures--he’d been the force behind most of them. Until that fateful day he glimpsed true courage and couldn’t bring himself to destroy it, giving the Will-To-Go-On to a small, starving band of settlers The demon’s crimes had been considered so heinous that the Devil Himself had dragged him back to Hell. First, there had been the fruitless, futile explaining, then the torture. Now this, his sentence: “For your crimes, you are banished--banished from Hell for all time!” The demon’s head jerked up. Banished? He’d expected a reduction in rank, the loss of freedom to come and go as he pleased, but banishment? His salary, his benefits--poof, gone! Just like that. Heaven’s Gates, he’d slaved ten-thousand years--for nothing! Done the Devil’s deeds only to end up like this: out of date, out of use, and without a transferable retirement plan! It’s your fault. You have no one to blame but yourself. “Is this to be forevermore?” he almost croaked. Lucifer chuckled. “Not forevermore, no. For I have made you mortal, as well,” he added glibly, cutting short the demon’s premature sigh of relief. “Never fear; you won’t have many years ahead of you to fret your fate.” He waved a clawed hand. “You can thank me anytime.” “Where?” the demon asked instead. “Where will you send me?” Something told him it wasn’t mortality itself he needed to fear as much as the locale in which he would suffer it. “Why, to the very epicenter of your initial act of kindness.” He spat out that last word. Literally. The glob of moisture sizzled in one of the many fires burning deep within the bowels of the earth. “Brokenoggin...” the demon whispered. Devil’s red eyes appeared positively gleeful as his forked tongue darted out to moisten thin, malice-curved lips. “Yes,” he hissed with the very faintest of lisps. “The hamlet of Brokenoggin. Such a peculiar little place.” The demon mulled over his options, which were near zero, as far as he could tell. Time was running out to reverse this course. So, he did what he did best: “Are you certain this is the best plan for me, Master? The best punishment?”
“Let’s think this through. What if it doesn’t work?” You can’t...you won’t. Try and you will surely fail... “The High Lord of Self-Doubt and Second Thoughts living across the street? Shopping at the local market? Dropping in at the Cub Scout meeting?” The demon forced a weak laugh. “Absurd, is it not?” The sound of a thousand screams filled the chamber as the Devil roared in incredulous rage. “How dare you!” Goblins and gargoyles somersaulted through the shadows, fleeing the chamber as a rumbling began under the cold stone slab of a floor. “Your dark magic does not work with me, Demon!” “No magic intended. I merely suggest that you look at all sides of the equation.”
At that, something close to relief filtered through him. Doing good had taken the fun out of doing evil. He sensed he’d never be 100% good. Yet, nor could he ever return to being 100% bad. Pulsing like hot coals, Lucifer’s eyes glowed brighter, his fangs glinting. A tantrum was coming; the demon could sense it. “I do not doubt, fallen one. I do not err. I do not have second thoughts!” Lucifer grew and grew until he towered above the demon, his clothing splitting and hissing as muscled flesh bulged and tore it apart. Horns sprouted from a ridged skull, curling upward, until they, too, were lost in the swirling mist of the chamber. How many times had the Demon witnessed such showy outbursts during his long existence? In fact, it kindled his own temper, long dormant. It was as if something wrenched open deep inside him. For the first time, emotion, true emotion, filled him: anger, resentment, shame at his past. Just like the humans, he thought. What was happening to him? “I am sorry,” he said under his breath. It was the only way to express what boiled up inside him. “I am so very sorry...” “You don’t look sorry,” the Devil hissed. He looked up slowly. “Ah, but I am. I’m very sorry. Sorry for all the centuries of planting doubt, of turning back those beings better than I. In fact, I hereby repent.” Take that, Big Guy.
“I repent. R-e-p-e-n-t.” Wasn’t that an Aretha Franklin song? Oh, he was going to suffer mightily for this, but it didn’t stop him. “I ask forgiveness all the deeds I ever did in your name. I truly do.” And he truly did. The demon threw back his head. “Forgive me!” “I...do...not...forgive!” The demon smiled; perhaps it would be his last. “It wasn’t of you that I made my plea,” he said. It was the first time in all of history he could ever remember hearing the Great Satan sputter. Then the screaming started up all over again. Two jets of searing red heat shot out from the Devil’s eyes and hit the slab where the demon crouched. Rocks exploded, pummeling him. The air was on fire, something that the demon should have been used to--Lucifer’s temper was legendary--but this felt different. There was a horrific wrenching, and the demon could no longer see or hear, or even, after a blessed while, feel the pain that wracked him. Bathed in white light, floating...he wondered if this was what it felt like to die. If so, perhaps he would not mind. But he knew, as he spun into oblivion--or, rather, the wilds of Michigan--that Lucifer never would let him get away as easily as that. In a clear, sweet voice, Harmony Faithful concluded her sermon. “Now, go in peace and enjoy this beautiful day that God has given us.” The sound of her six-month-old puppy’s tail thumping on the hardwood floor was all that broke the perfect silence. “Thanks, Roxy.” Harmony smiled and glanced up from her eight-page, handwritten sermon that had taken all of ten minutes to read to the twelve rows of empty pews. “It’s nice to know someone appreciated the homily today.” Sometimes, she wondered what she possibly could have been thinking, relocating to the remote Upper Peninsula: her, a city girl, thinking she could make church goers out of the people who lived here who, um, weren’t anything like any people she’d ever met anywhere else. But after her two tours as an air force chaplain were up, she was ready for another challenge. Six months ago, this chapel had been a tumbledown farmhouse. With the help of her father and brothers, she’d remodeled the old place. Then they’d returned to Detroit, leaving her to grow her flock. Except that aside from a few curious townspeople, no one had showed up.
Roxy seemed to agree, a long pink puppy tongue draped over one side of her open mouth. Boy, lately she sure Have some faith. Give it time. Time... Yeah, she had plenty of that lately. She gathered up the sheets of lined paper, crushed them in her fist, and aimed the ball of paper at the wastebasket across from the pulpit. It clipped the rim and spun inside. “Two points!” She tapped a finger against her chin. “Maybe we can start an after-school basketball team. What do you think of that, Roxy-girl?” The puppy wagged her long black tail. The idea had worked for her preacher father and some inner-city kids in Detroit. The hoops had brought the kids, and then the mothers, who’d dragged the fathers and the boyfriends, and within the year there was an entire community with Sunday potlucks and a fifty-two-member choir. Not that she could picture the Disdaine triplets shooting hoops, but it’d be a start. It was all about getting people through the door. Brokenoggin Community Church. Where all faiths are welcome. That last part she’d painted onto the sign as an afterthought when weeks had gone by and nary a lost soul tromped through the door. Well, save Janice, the town sheriff. She’d drop by sometimes to see how Harmony was settling in, staying for coffee but not the good word. But then Harmony firmly believed everyone was welcome here, for whatever reasons they chose to come. She was taught as a child that a true heart excluded no one, and that the church was the heart of the village. Except in Brokenoggin, that honor was held by the town tavern. How could she convince the townspeople to congregate here instead? What did she have here that they couldn’t find anywhere else? “God, help me figure this out. Give me a sign.” Please. The floor rumbled. At first she thought it was the old furnace kicking on, but it was warm today, too warm for the heat. The earth moved again, and then stopped. Strange. Everyone knew a fault line ran through Missouri. But Michigan? Just then, a breeze kicked open the front door, carrying in the scent of freshly turned dirt. Roxy bolted out the door, barking. Something outside was making the puppy bark like crazy. Was that strange pack of nasty little chihuahuas on the loose again? Harmony stepped outside. Grabbing the frilly cotton of her skirt, she lifted it higher, her long legs carrying her to the garden she’d planted under an ancient, gnarled apple tree. Birds chirped. The sky was a pure, clear blue. And the sunshine, she could almost taste it. There was another reason she’d come here. Something about this little patch of land drew her. She was so entranced by the outdoors that she swept right past Roxy who was barking at the naked man lying on his side in the shade of the tree. The naked....
Harmony froze, the skirt falling out of her hands. There was no naked man. Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain the after-image that just seared itself onto your retinas? Heart thumping, Harmony whirled around. He was definitely naked, lying on his side, one thick, muscled thigh thrown forward, the sunshine bouncing off his butt. His skin was tanned, smooth, and his dark hair curled long and loose around his neck. He had the well-hewn body of a NFL running back--powerfully muscled, but without a linebacker’s bulk. She’d asked God to send her a sign. But she never expected anything like this!
Harmony sat up straight. Gosh, that was a weird thought. Tired of living? And yet when she studied him, his face, she could believe it was true. Well, she’d have to fix that. No man was going to give up the goat on her watch. And especially not while naked and crushing her best zinnias. Roxy growled, low and deep. “Stop it,” Harmony scolded. “I’m a third-degree back belt, baby. If he turns out to be the town serial killer, we’ll team up and put him away. Until then, Rox, you behave.” The puppy obeyed, her brown eyes huge. Harmony tapped the man on the cheek. “Hello? Are you okay?” He needed a shave and the bristles pricked her skin. But his face was warm, almost as if he were sunburned...or had stood too close to a fire and got burned. More likely, he collapsed after a night of carousing. He was going to be pretty embarrassed once he realized he’d left wherever he’d been hanging out without his clothes. “Come on, wake up. I’ll brew you a pot of coffee. Lord knows, I make a mean pot of java.” He didn’t make a sound, not even a snore. She took hold of his solid shoulder and shook hard. “Let’s go. Time to wake up, soldier!” The man cracked open one eye. At first she thought she saw a red glow, but it seemed to be a trick of the sun. His eyes--or rather the one eye she could see, the other one being buried in the peat--was beautiful, the mellow gold of good scotch, the kind her father would reverently pour out in a glass once each week, late on Sunday night--“Now that God’s work is done, Harmony,” he’d explain. Suddenly, the man groaned and rolled onto his back. Glory be. Her mouth went dry as she looked him over. For injuries, yes, that was it. Before she administered emergency caffeine, she’d better make sure he wasn’t wounded. Anywhere. She gave him a thorough inspection. After all, it was her citizen’s responsibility. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. Or a single scar. He was as sculpted as a statue of a Roman warrior, except with body hair, the perfect amount, too, short and coarse and dark....
“Whole. Aye, lass,” he murmured in the strangest-sounding accent, almost a Scottish burr. “They kicked me out, but I got to keep all my parts and pieces.” He flashed a blinding grin. “You like what you see, then.” She stopped her blush before the heat of it could reach her cheeks. She’d grown up with three brothers. Like heck if she’d let the fact that a man was sprawled naked in her garden in all his very magnificent glory distract her. “No,” she lied. “As a matter of fact, I don’t like what I see.” Was that something wounded that flashed in his eyes? Certainly it was surprise. She let the sin of pride curve her mouth. “I don’t care for the sight of a drunk, lying naked in my flower garden on a Sunday morning.” She gathered her skirt around her and stood, brushing the dirt off her hands. “But I did pray for someone to show up today, I prayed for a sign, and I suppose I shouldn’t complain, because I didn’t spell out the specifications.” “I am not drunk.” His eyes confirmed that. They were clear, not bloodshot, as they searched around the garden with curiosity and maybe even wonder, as if he were only just now becoming aware of his surroundings. She thought of his strange reference to keeping his body parts. “Were you in an accident?” “At first it was, aye, but later it was quite intentional.” Okay. “How did you...end up here?” “I lived here for a spell, long ago.” “Really? On this farm?” “No. In Brokenoggin. And now I suppose I’ll die here, too.” The man let his head fall back onto the dirt with a soft thud. He looked so beaten, she softened her tone. “Would you like some coffee?” “Water.” His voice was a bit hoarse. “Cold water.” “I hear you on the water.” She’d prefer hers in the form of a shower. “Can you walk? Or should I call the paramedics?”
“Oh, my, so you were robbed and left here.” “You could say that, aye.” “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think we had folks like that in this town.” “They were not from here,” was all he said. “Good. We’ll call Janice Thinksalot. She’s the sheriff.” “No. No sheriff. ‘Tis over now.” “You’re awfully forgiving.” The man winced. “No, that’s a good thing.” His gaze softened in a way that squeezed her chest. “I have much yet to learn.” And he’d said that in a way that half left her breathless. “First things first.” She pulled off her sweater and handed it to him. “Here. Cover yourself, and then you can come inside. I’ll find you some clothes. My family was here a while back. They left some things. You can dress and use my phone. I’m Harmony, Harmony Faithfull. Who are you?” “My name...” “Yes.” He thought on that. She hid her smile. “I didn’t think it was that tough of a question.” “My name is Demon.” He appeared almost ashamed. “Damon. I love that name. Damon what?” His dark brows knit together.
“De-- er, Damon...of Brokenoggin,” he announced with the strangest mix of pain and pleasure. Well, she thought, the name was no less strange than any of the others in this town. “Come on. I’ll get you fixed up.” Roxy trailed Damon to the door at the back of the chapel where Harmony’s living quarters were. The growling had stopped, but Harmony knew the dog would protect her if need be, although Harmony trusted her instincts, which told her Damon held no menace--raw, smoldering male sexuality, yes. But no menace. Inside she found him some work clothes of her big brother’s. When Damon retuned to the kitchen after changing into them, she saw she’d guessed right on the size. He sat at her little table, smoothing large hands over the lace cloth. It was as if everything were new to him, everything a wonder. Even her, she realized with an tiny twist of her heart when his gold-brown eyes found hers for a moment before focusing on the glass of water she about spilled in his lap. Sometimes, their eye contact seemed to knock him off balance as much as it did her. She took a seat as he drank with thirsty gulps. “You feeling better?” she asked after a bit. “Aye.” He winked, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to dab at the droplets of water left behind in a truly medieval way. “Tended by a beautiful wench.” She lifted a brow. “Wench. Is that a Scottish term for strong, capable, intelligent woman?”
She balanced her chin on her hand. “I don’t know what to make of you, Mr. Damon of Brokenoggin.” “Make of me whatever you like, fair maiden.” “Fair maiden. I like that a lot better.” His gaze went soft again. “It fits ye better, too.” She swallowed against the feelings his gentle, sexy tone fired up inside her. “Do you have family you need to call?” she asked quickly. “To let them know you’re okay?” He shook his head. “Nay. I have no one.”
His mouth curved. “Nay. Never thought of it. But then my...former job didn’t allow for it.” His eyes took on a faraway look. When he returned his attention to her face, it was with such bold intensity, such raw consideration, that this time she did blush. “Perhaps, now, that has changed,” he murmured. Harmony got up too quickly, sloshing water out of the pitcher. She grabbed a dish towel and started mopping at the puddle. Damon grabbed her wrist. Heat and fear spun up her arm to her heart, nearly stopping it. She stared at his big hand and then his face. “I’m a third-degree black belt,” she said softly. “And my dog will rip your throat out if you try anything stupid.” He let go instantly. “I did not mean to frighten you.” And she believed him. Gut instinct was her best friend and it hadn’t failed her yet. “Listen,” she said, sitting back down. “I’m the local pastor here. I’d like to help you in any way I can. But do you think you can be honest with me? How did you really end up in my flower garden, um, butt naked?” He leaned forward, folding his thick fingers on the table. “The real story?” Rolling her eyes, she felt her mouth quirk. “No, I want you to lie to me.” “I was the ten-thousand-year-old High Demon-Lord of Self-Doubt And Second Thoughts until I was expelled from Hell by Lucifer Himself after he caught me committing random acts of kindness. Then last night, after several hundred years of torture, I was made mortal and banished to live out my days here, in Brokenoggin, the site of my original ‘crime’ of beneficence.” Harmony stared at him, and Damon stared back. Gosh, he looked dead serious, too. “I was just kidding about the lying.” “Aye, I know.” He drummed his fingers nervously, glanced out the window as if seeking inspiration, before returning his gaze to her. “I will tell you this way: I worked for a corrupt boss. I, too, was corrupt until I learned what it was to be good. I learned that I liked being good over being bad. My boss, he punished me for it, for changing, and then he let me go. And so now I am here, with no job, and no clothes.” Thank you, Lord. Ask and ye shall receive. Harmony smiled as inspiration hit. “Listen, I could use a groundskeeper.” She opened her hands so he could see the calluses and paint stains. “In fact, just this morning I was praying for some help with the heavier work around here. The barn needs fixing--I’d like to make it into a social hall, eventually, maybe a school, or even a gym--and I thought if I had some help, it’d leave me more time for recruiting more parishioners. In fact, any parishioners.”
She shook her head. “If I could figure out a way to lure them here, I would. If I could have something here that they couldn’t find anywhere else... In fact, just this morning I asked God to help me figure it out. To give me a sign. And he sends me you: a naked Demon--I mean, Damon.” All of a sudden she began to laugh, laughing so hard that she had to throw her face into her hands. “Oh, my,” she gasped. Sniffling, she dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. “Is this what they call Divine Intervention?” His sparkling eyes seemed at once impossibly ancient and that of a newborn baby. “Aye, more than you know, fair maiden.” “If I’m the fair maiden then you can be my knight in shining armor. But I can’t afford to pay much.” She sobered. “I can’t really afford to pay you at all.” This was crazy. She pushed back from the table. “I’ll give you a ride back to town.” “I don’t require money. I’ll work for...sustenance.” She shivered at the look in his sexy eyes, the way he drew out that last word. “Food,” he clarified. “And a place to lay my bones at night.” Bones...bones...she tried to keep her mind out of the gutter. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.” Why was she whispering? She shook her head and thrust her hand at him. He took it, and she got the most curious feeling that he wanted to lift it to his soft lips. But he shook it and let her go, and she closed her fist under the table so she could secretly hold onto the feel of him. Damon started work that afternoon. The weather was hot and he so easily worked up a sweat. He tossed his shirt on the grass and continued bare-chested. By the end of the week, word had gotten around about the new groundskeeper down at the new church. “Devastating,” Maria confided to the ladies over coffee one morning. “He’s built better than any man in this town. You have to come see.” And so they did. That first Sunday the pews were filled with eager women. The next Sunday the men began trickling in to see where the women were going. With every passing week more townsfolk came, until after a few weeks Harmony had to ask Damon to build her some more pews. At dusk he came to her kitchen where she’d promised him a special meal. As he sat, showered and dressed in clean clothes, she stood next to him and lit some candles. His hand slid around her waist. She held her breath and met his eyes. They’d never touched, never kissed. And it was not for lack of desire. But she suddenly wondered what she was waiting for. And so she bent down and kissed him. He didn’t let her escape when she was done. Pulling her onto his lap, he pressed his mouth between her breasts and held her tight, as if she somehow anchored him here on Earth. Which made her heart ache when she remembered how lost he seemed when he’d first arrived. When he lifted his chin to see her, his eyes were dark, very dark. “You have the devil in your eyes tonight, Damon of Brokenoggin,” she murmured, imitating his accent. “Aye, and you’ve got a bit of the devil in ye, too, I see.” She traced the curve of his mouth. “But I have the feeling that I’m about to find a little piece of heaven in your arms.” Chuckling deeply and with confidence, Damon drew her close for the longest and best kiss of her life, proving just how right-on she was.
Then all would be right with the Fair Maiden and her Dark Knight--or as right as life ever could be in the bizarre little town of Brokenoggin.
Like it? The e-book copy and the print book format edition of Bewitched, Bothered &…Be-Vampyred is now available. Download the e-book o order the print edition today! |
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The housewives are not only desperate, they’re Witches
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wandering in the snowy woods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. He wasn’t sure exactly why he’d spared them, why he’d given them the inner strength to push themselves until they reached warmth and shelter, but he had--and it had felt damned good, too. In fact, it had felt so damned good to be good to the damned that he repeated the deed all around the globe, losing himself for years in a virtual frenzy of beneficence, until he was finally caught, red-handed, in the midst of one of those random acts of kindness. 
The Devil’s voice turned deadly. “What do you mean?”
“You...re-what?”