NOTE: The following chapter has been edited only by me and my crit partners, Nikki London, Sarah Ballance, J.A. Saare, and Madelyn Ford. The final published version will contain differences and corrections. Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone. Thank you, and enjoy!
Sinners and Saints Book II
Sinfully Scandalous
Chapter Two
The latest numbers weren’t encouraging.
It wasn’t really a surprise, yet somehow Grayson Bailey felt his stomach fall every time a new poll was released. Twenty-one percent of registered voters thought he was a devil-worshipper. Twenty-one percent. The rest of the numbers fell somewhere in the margins of militant atheist to secret gay Nazi, and while these results didn’t necessarily represent the overwhelming sentiment of every inhabitant in town, he knew from experience the college vote could only help him so much. He needed to apply his focus in the homes, hearts and minds of his constituents. Here in his hometown, where suddenly no one respected his name.
“Goddammit.”
Grayson barely glanced up from the report. If twenty years had taught him anything, it was to keep from blinking at John’s surly growl and expletive of the day. The closer the race and the more colorful the language; with the latest poll data, it was fortunate he hadn’t uttered anything more controversial.
John stopped short of his desk, sighing loudly. Grayson hazarded a guess. “So you’ve seen them.”
“The numbers.”
“Yeah. They aren’t good.”
“That’s one way of putting it. I’d say they were two-day old shit that hasn’t been flushed, but I like your optimism.”
Grayson huffed a short laugh, raising his head. It was late; most of the office workers and interns had gone home for the day, leaving their cramped headquarters feeling abnormally large and abandoned. “It’ll pick up,” he said.
“You’ve been saying that for weeks now.”
“Hey, you’re the campaign coordinator. I’m just the guy who’s sitting here.”
John hissed and tore a hand through his curly hair. The man had spent most of his adult life with a receding hairline, which gave his expressive face an air of general hostility most came to associate with his dry sense of humor, and on bad days, his skill with the proverbial bullwhip.
“We’ve had you out there every day,” he reasoned.
Grayson shook his head. “They haven’t gotten to know me yet.”
“You’ve only lived here your whole life.”
“And how long is that really?”
“Thirty-four years.”
He shrugged. “Maybe they hold my youth and vitality against me.”
John gestured emphatically. “How can you joke around about this?”
“If you don’t laugh, you cry, right?”
“You must be laughing a lot.”
“I try to have a good sense of humor.”
The other man sighed again, running his hand along his jaw, a look of manic desperation coloring his eyes. “I don’t have to tell you again why this is important to me, do I?”
Grayson snickered. He heard this at least twenty-five times a day, and had it not been for the fact he knew John as well as he did, he might believe his friend were making up stories to convince him of his dedication. “Yes. Please, tell me why my campaign is important to you.”
“I left Washington for you.”
“Yeah, I still don’t get that. This is small-town politics, John.”
“You don’t think outside the box.”
“There’s a box now?”
“This election will make or break your political career.”
“Great. But no pressure or anything.”
“I’m not kidding, Grayson. People like you just don’t get into politics. People like me do. That’s why you have such a shot at getting elected…if you just lived somewhere else.” John sighed again, collapsing into the open seat beside Grayson’s desk. “Why couldn’t you be from Rhode Island or New Hampshire or one of those nice New England states?”
“Not sure. Here’s another question: is it really necessary for the English language to have the words flammable and inflammable? That’s always bothered me.”
“You’re not helping.”
“I didn’t realize that was my role in this one-way conversation.”
“Grayson—”
“Look, it’s late and we’ve both had a really busy month and a half. I don’t want to talk about things that we can’t get done between now and tomorrow right now.” Grayson wet his lips and again turned his attention to the poll data. The numbers began blurring. What he really needed was a good night’s rest, possibly followed by a day spent in bed watching Scrubs reruns on Comedy Central.
“These numbers—”
“Won’t change between now and tomorrow morning, but tomorrow morning’s when we can start strategizing how to get the word out that I’m not the Antichrist.”
For whatever reason, John perked up at that. “Actually, that might be an improvement. Some of the fundamentalists in the area might wanna hurry you into power to speed up the Rapture.”
“I don’t think it works that way. In the movies, the Antichrist is almost always the one that ends up dead.”
“We’ve gotta focus on getting you out there more,” John said.
“And here I thought I’d been out there more.”
“No, I mean out there out there. Out there where the people are. The public likes you. They just don’t know they like you.”
“Telling the public what they think has always been a key part in winning elections.”
“But this is what they want. How many members do you have Brentwood?”
“Two hundred or so.”
John nodded. “And how many of them have a bad thing to say about you?”
“One or two, depending on the sermon.”
“And these are good Christian people. Good Christian people who know you and like you.”
“Amazingly at the same time.”
“You’re just sitting on a hot commodity, there.”
“No,” Grayson said, shaking his head. “I’m not exploiting my congregation for political gain. Besides, two hundred people isn’t the whole southwest.”
“No, but—”
“No buts. It’s just not happening.” He rose to his feet, loosening his necktie. “We had this mapped out all different, you and I. It’s hard to sell a candidate with good, Christian values in this region when his wife ran off with the milkman.”
John’s brow furrowed. “I thought Amily ran off with your associate minister.”
“I prefer my version.”
He’d gone almost a day without thinking of her, which was admirable, which testified more to his frantic schedule than a show of true willpower. A year and a half had passed. More than enough time to nurse his wounds and move on, but the weight of her betrayal refused to alleviate, and he couldn’t get himself to move on without analyzing every syllable they had exchanged over the last six months of marriage.
The run for state senate had been in the playbooks for three years now. It wasn’t something one just up and decided to do—not if they wanted to do it right. There were things to consider, money to raise, profiles to build, relationships to forge, and a lieu of other things more and more hopefuls forgot around election time. Waiting for John had been among the top priorities; John was a career politician, a genius in his field, and a longtime friend. They had bonded over chocolate milk in second grade and remained close ever since. When John’s ambitions took him from Springfield to Washington, he’d made sure to keep in touch.
John had also started talking nonsense a few years back about Grayson running for office. The chatter had been ignored or laughed off until one day it didn’t seem so much like an insane leap as the right thing to do at the right time. Everything else had fallen into place—marriage, the pulpit, and financial security—and running for office, while not a lifelong ambition, was the next natural step in his career.
Then Amily had run off with Pastor Dean Tanner. Granted, that relationship hadn’t lasted—word had it none of her flings since filing for divorce had any sort of staying power. Then again, Amily never had been the sort to settle down.
“Amily would’ve made a great asset,” John mused.
“Yeah. You should’ve run that by her before she decided to get biblical with half the town.”
At least John had the sense to recognize the edge in his voice. “Have you heard from her?”
“Since when?”
“Since…the last time you heard from her?”
“No.”
When John didn’t say anything further, Grayson slipped his suit jacket off his chair and wormed his arms inside. There were times he suspected his friend slept only to give his subconscious a chance to throw ideas his otherwise detail-focused brain couldn’t dream up during waking hours. That wouldn’t be Grayson. Not right now, at least, and with the way the polls trended, not likely in the future.
It would be less of a headache to everyone, John especially, if Grayson adapted more of a straight politician’s line of thinking, yet it wasn’t in his nature. Though winning was his objective, Grayson would be the first to admit his campaign was one more on ideals than political strategy, which bothered his staffers to no end. However, in this particular corner of Missouri, people whose beliefs fell on the outskirts of the norm often felt alienated and outcast. At the very least, he could be their voice. He could help them see they weren’t as alone as they thought.
Grayson didn’t realize he’d started for the door until John’s footsteps slowed to a walk at his side. “What do you have on the docket for tomorrow?”
“Nina and I are going over the rally schedule,” Grayson replied, pushing open the office doors with one hand and retrieving his keys from his pocket with the other. “Clark’s flight schedule keeps changing.”
John snickered. “That’s a US Senator for you.”
“We also have the intern coming in.”
“What intern?”
“You know, the intern. From MSU.”
“We have any number of interns working for us already. Am I expected to remember their names?”
“This one is from the Poli-Sci department.”
John snorted. “Again, you say that as though it means something special.”
“Yeah, well, she’s supposed to be something special. Her professor thinks she just might be the next you.”
“You only wish there were more of me.”
Grayson’s lips quirked, a cool blast of autumn air whispering across his face. Nighttime in the Ozarks was a singular experience, Springfield’s geography providing a special marriage of the urban and rural. It was the third largest city within state lines, but it took very little to be completely emerged in wilderness. Grayson’s office headquarters were located alongside one of the busier streets; heading east would get him on the highway within two minutes. If he kept going, in ten minutes the blinking city lights would be nothing but a memory; only the stars and the glare of oncoming traffic would light his way.
During his youth, Grayson had entertained a strange love-hate relationship with the town. There was very little to do in terms of socializing, and since he’d been a pretty straight-laced kid, entertainment had been difficult to come across. In high school he would have given his left arm to live somewhere else, anywhere else. He’d boasted loudly about how quickly he’d shake the dust of his hometown off his shoes before making a mad dash to freedom. By the time college rolled around, he’d realized the improbability of going anywhere but the local state school. And the longer he stayed, the less he wanted to leave.
Then he’d met Amily, and he’d realized in Springfield he was destined to stay.
Now, years later, years wiser, standing in the parking lot of his rented office space alongside Sunshine Street with a failed marriage behind him and a failing campaign ahead, his headspace felt cluttered and confused. The prospect of what lay beyond the horizon both terrified and invigorated. Campaigns themselves had a charged energy about them, and it was easy to get addicted to the rush. He’d canvassed and phone-banked a few times for local and national elections, but never had he been in the dead center of a political endeavor. It felt so much larger than him. Right now, everything did.
“Grayson?”
He blinked slowly, then dragged his gaze to John. “Yeah?”
“You kinda spaced out just there.”
“Yeah.”
“Everything all right?”
Grayson nodded. “Yeah.”
“Okay, well, if you get spacey on the road, pull over. These people might have voted for a dead man once, but I don’t think we can convince them to do it again.”
He laughed. “Goodnight, John.”
“Remember: arrive alive.”
Grayson triggered his Nissan’s keyless entry and favored John with a parting wave. “If I don’t, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ll haunt your ass until you’re in the ground.”
John frowned thoughtfully. “I actually might be able to do something with that.”
“If anyone could, it’d be you.”
*****
She used to love this part: the first day on the job, the thrill of the unknown, the rush of the hunt. Humans were fascinating creatures, diverse despite their commonalities. It was unlike any hierarchy in the pit or above. There were opinions, philosophies, theories, sciences, religions, politics, and a million other little things that most demons took for granted.
There was also doubt in every facet of daily existence. From wardrobe decisions to deity worship, seeds of uncertainty freckled the human psyche, and the concept blew her mind away. Her world sat on a foundation of absolutes; the thought of not knowing what lurked behind Door Number One was at once riveting and full of excitement and enough to scare one pissless.
Whether or not Big J intended his most treasured creation to likewise hold the most power while wielding the least was anyone’s guess. Personally, Luxi had always figured it was a cosmic mistake, but she wouldn’t complain. It made her job entertaining as all hell, and she enjoyed every second.
Or she had.
Luxi pried her eyes open. She was on her back in a strange bed. Nothing new there. Nothing new wherever she looked. It hadn’t bothered her before—at least, she hadn’t noticed it, if it did.
Everything felt a little surreal, and the sensation was a little jarring. Since creation, since the second her newborn eyes first looked into the face of the devil, she had known her purpose. It was easy to blame her latest displacement on Ava, but she knew her sister’s rebellion was a small part of a large problem.
She didn’t feel like herself. She didn’t feel like Lust or Sin or any of the fun stuff. She felt very much like a woman plopped in Nowheresville with an ambiguous assignment and an even more ambiguous objective.
What the hell was Lucifer trying to prove?
Luxi sighed and tossed the blanket aside. No sense moping around the townhouse. She had places to go and people to not seduce, and the quicker she started, the sooner it’d be over and life would be back to normal.
The campaign headquarters wasn’t far from here, which gave her ample time to prepare. According to the schedule Lucifer had given her prior to leaving Hell, she was to report at Grayson Bailey’s office by nine o’clock that morning. And since Luxi never did anything half-assed, even assignments that made fuck-all sense, she’d make sure she looked fabulous before stepping outdoors.
Everything felt backwards, from the shower nozzle that only released hot water when applied on the wrong setting to the noisy dog in the neighboring apartment. Luxi scrubbed her skin free of sulfur and massaged hundred and fifty dollar shampoo into her scalp. The towels were equally extravagant in terms of price and quality, as were the cosmetics she’d procured during the previous day’s shopping extravaganza. Let no one say she did anything without style.
Luxi wrung out her dark ringlets and applied her makeup—which she used sparingly, as today’s fashion trended more toward less being more. Her skin was moon-pale, which complimented her long, midnight hair and made her ruby lips shine. She selected a pair of sleek black slacks and a low-cut red shirt that might as well have been painted on. The finishing touches came in the form of spiky red high-heels and a diamond-studded choker she’d nabbed impulsively before deciding to call it a day.
Lucifer might want her to keep her legs together, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun while wasting her time. There was nothing like a small, repressed Midwest town with more churches than stop signs. Unless she was told otherwise, she’d entertain herself by spreading the blue-balls epidemic. Might as well. Nothing else to do.
By the time she felt sufficiently slutted-up, she had forty-five minutes to find the campaign headquarters. Luxi slipped downstairs while debating the virtues of a cinnamon roll, and nearly tripped when her gaze landed on a familiar, however unexpected face.
“Son of a bitch,” Luxi muttered. “When in Rome, you know? Knock?”
“Hello to you, too.”
Her youngest sister, Invidia, stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and her large brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. The shock of an uninvited houseguest faded quickly, falling into a simpler detachment. “Sorry if I don’t offer you a drink,” Luxi said, brushing past her. “I’m kinda on a time-table here.”
“Just had to see it for myself.”
“See what?”
“This whole set-up,” Invi replied. “Nice place. Good-sized town. Lucifer said it has something to do with a campaign.”
“Some shmuck named Grayson Bailey’s running for I-don’t-care and I’m here to…fuck if I know.” She turned around with a forced smile. “To what I do I owe this pleasure?”
Invi shrugged, and Luxi did her best to stifle her temper. She loved her sister, she really did, but there was a lot more of Invi’s namesake in her nature than any of the other siblings could claim. The very fact lust and greed were sins of indulgence had, by default, made Ava one of Luxi’s closest friends, and that was a bond Invi had always resented.
“Gotta say,” Luxi said, “you gotta start talking, else I’m gonna walk out that door.”
“I just wanted to know what was going on.”
She snorted. “You and me both, little sister.”’
“This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“With Ava being romancing it up with her vampire boy toy—”
“Think they’re serious, kid,” Luxi said shortly. “Ava wouldn’t quit over a fling.”
“Yeah, because that hasn’t happened anytime recently.”
Luxi heaved a sigh. “You have a point, Invi?” she demanded. “Not really lookin’ to get a lecture meant for someone else, if you catch my drift.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah. Look, sis, I gotta split. Places to go. Whole lotta nothing to do.”
Invi took a step forward, holding up a hand. “I just wanted know what’s going on,” she said. “No one else is on assignment right now, and for whatever reason, he takes you off the leash to do…whatever this is.”’
“Really appreciate the recap. You should do this more often.” Luxi left her with a half-assed salute. “Make like a tree. I gotta skedaddle.”
She didn’t bother awaiting a reply, allowed the world around her to fall away in a swift, dizzying spiral.
God, she loved teleporting.
It made ending annoying conversations simple.
Sinfully Scandalous
Sinners and Saints Book II
