Sex, Sin & Scandal: Sinners & Saints, #2

Chapter One

I ’m sorry…what?

Lucifer was drafting a memo and didn’t bother looking up at first. That’s funny, he said. I don’t remember stuttering.

I just don’t get it.

He set his pen beside the parchment, raising his gaze to hers. Two millennia hadn’t eradicated the power behind that stare. He was her boss first and her friend second, and though Luxi had a talent for diagnosing his moods, she wouldn’t pretend he didn’t freak her shit out. He was still the King of Hell and everything.

There’s a man on Earth named Grayson Bailey. He is the pastor at Brentwood Christian Church in a town called Glenburnie.

Yeah, Luxi agreed slowly. The dual horns she often saw nestled in his brown curls were absent, therefore she had to assume he was serious. He usually sported the traditional devil look when he was pulling someone’s leg. That wasn’t today, apparently. That much I heard.

Lucifer resumed his work as though everything had been explained, and Luxi knew better than to start blabbing. Her boss might be lenient, but he didn’t like being second-guessed. Still, she knew this assignment wasn’t as strange and pointless as it seemed. Lucifer always had a point.

Grayson Bailey, Lucifer continued a second later, is running for state senate.

Luxi nodded. Uh huh…

I would like you to work with him on his campaign.

She nodded again and waited. He didn’t elaborate. Perhaps she was supposed to translate his meaning on her own. It wasn’t as though her job changed much over the last few centuries. Go somewhere, seduce someone, return victorious, and all that jazz. Yet Luxi knew better than to assume anything when it came to Lucifer. Therefore, she decided to prod. And seduce him?

Did I say seduce him?

No. She frowned. Is this an old fashioned gig? You want me to infect him with lust so he humps an intern or something?

I’m pretty sure if that was my intention, I would have mentioned it.

Then what is your intention? Luxi winced and threw up her hands, prepared for the dry stare she received. Sorry, boss, but I’m not seeing it.

Clearly. Lucifer’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he sighed and leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. I want you to work with him, Luxuria. Very closely. Grayson is a socially liberal minister. He’s looking into taking the teachings of the Good Lord to the capital in a way that will benefit the less fortunate.

So?

So Glenburnie isn’t what I would call a liberal town. They like their bibles and they like their guns, and they like everyone to speak the same language when it comes to their bibles and their guns. A preacher who doesn’t sing their tune and has the balls to run for office—

No, I got why he’s a hot ticket. She frowned thoughtfully. Do you want me to seduce someone from the other side? Who’s running against him?

A celebrated Vietnam war hero, not to mention three-time congressman. His name is Walter Church.

"Right. You want me to seduce him, then."

Luxuria, I want to make myself very clear. Lucifer rose to his feet. "Thou shalt not commit adultery. Under no circumstances are you to seduce or influence anyone involved in either campaign. You’re going there simply to serve as a staff member in Grayson Bailey’s office. Nothing else."

She wouldn’t have thought it possible to deflate even more, but there she went. It simply didn’t make any sense. A Sin, one of Lucifer’s hand-created children of destruction, sent on a simple, no-point job with no foreseeable objective other than to smile and nod at a human. This wasn’t the sort of task any Sin—or anyone, come to think of it—had been asked to field.

Still, Luxi couldn’t deny that she was restless—the past few weeks hadn’t exactly been Fast Times at Ridgemont High. The whole underworld was still acclimating to Ava’s departure, and the hole it had left among those who had known and loved her. Luxi was happy for her—no one deserved happiness more than her much shit-upon little sister—but she couldn’t deny the gap Ava had left behind.

She and Ava had always been close, closer than Luxi was with any of her other siblings. So yes, the transition was rough. Rougher on her than just about anyone. Still, Luxi couldn’t gripe too much, especially since things could have gone the other way oh so easily.

Instead of Ava being whisked away by the guy she’d been in not-so-secret love with for the past few centuries, she could be, well, dead. Between the two, Luxi preferred this ending. The one where Ava was happy.

Until now, Luxi had been eager to get back to work. Nothing revved her motor like stalking human targets and concocting the best way to execute her orders. With Ava’s spot vacant, she had suspected Lucifer would demand everyone double down for a rough few months until they found a replacement.

Instead, Luxi’s first official assignment was a liberal preacher-turned-candidate, and she had no ostensible motive.

When she didn’t fire another question, Lucifer reached into one of the drawers of his desk and produced a manila folder. The tab read BAILEY, G with Luxuria written next to it in elegant penmanship.

I sent Fugie up to fill out an application on a townhouse, Lucifer said. You were approved.

Luxi twirled a finger in the air.

A checking account has likewise been established in your name. Lucifer handed her a checkbook with the name Luxi Nefas inscribed in the upper left hand corner, then returned to fishing through his papers. I’ve also taken the liberty of approving you for a hundred thousand dollar credit limit on your new credit card.

Woot. Mama’s gonna go shopping. Luxi waved her checkbook. My last name is Nefas? Really?

Not many people will understand the significance.

I’m surprised you didn’t go with Scelus-Sceleris or Hamartia.

I can draw lines when I like. And with all the wonderful words there are for sin, I could afford to be choosy.

So we think a pastor won’t see the significance?

Luxuria, Lucifer said sternly, unless you go around blabbing that you’re here on assignment from Hell, I honestly don’t think anyone will notice. And even then, your cover wouldn’t be blown so much as your ass would be thrown into an asylum, and then you’d have to have someone check you out.

And that someone wouldn’t be you.

He smirked. What do you think?

I think I’ll bite the bullet and do me some retail therapy when it all gets to be too much. Luxi snagged the credit card from Lucifer’s grasp and tapped it eagerly against her fingernails. What’s footing the bill this time?

I’m sure I’ll find something.

Collecting lost treasures was one of Lucifer’s hobbies. As early as the Great Flood, Lucifer had started sending agents to the surface to seize artifacts that could be reintegrated every few hundred years and sold to the highest bidder, which helped fund certain endeavors.

Lucifer still had a few prized relics in his personal collection. Luxi wagered he wouldn’t release the Ark of the Covenant unless one of his people burned down the Vatican. It still came up at the occasional staff meeting.

She eyed the credit card a minute longer before looking again to Lucifer. He was pulling out all the stops. While funds were always needed in some small order to support the assignments where the Sins fully embedded themselves into human culture, checking accounts and credit cards were rarely used together. Hell would have gone broke a long time ago were that the case. The fact that Lucifer had handed over so much meant something else was in the mix.

This guy’s important to you, isn’t he? she asked softly. Grayson Bailey. There’s something going on with him.

Lucifer didn’t meet her gaze. Nope, not really.

She slid the card into her pocket and tossed her hair over her shoulder. All in all, the big guy liked his privacy. Still, if he wanted her in Glenburnie, there was a reason. You got it, boss, Luxi said. One babysitting gig coming up.

Glad to hear it.

She kept her eyes on him but he never looked back. It was his way of telling her the meeting was over. She had her assignment—she knew what was expected.

Except it made no sense. Not yet.

She trusted it would in the end.

Glenburnie was a moderately-sized city in Missouri, claiming over a hundred and fifty thousand residents. It was also boring as fuck. A quick scan around town revealed little in the way of scandal or interest. Three movie theaters, one mall, a few bowling alleys, a church on every street corner, and one or two notably tall buildings. It was the town the bible had built.

And her home, for the next however long.

Luxi was a woman of creature comforts. She liked clubs, dancing, drinking, getting slutty in the girl’s room, and making drunken dares with Ava over who could best belt out I Will Survive into a karaoke microphone. Glenburnie had a few clubs that desperately wanted to belong in larger cities, and while the downtown nightlife seemed a bit more thrilling than she would have thought, she could already tell this town was going to bore her stiff.

What the hell was she to do with all this time?

After scouring the town for signs of anything interesting,

Luxi retired to a long stretch of road alongside one of the larger highway intersections, where she found her new digs. She found her new digs, a crossbreed between older fashion and technology, much as she’d expected.

The townhouse consisted of two floors and came already furnished and then some. There was a living area, a pocket-bathroom and a small kitchen on the lower level, two bedrooms and a bath above. Fugie hadn’t done much in way of cleaning up or decorating. Though Luxi hadn’t expected him to, she didn’t much like the idea of crashing on a sofa or sifting through the pile of clothes someone had left in the guest bedroom. It was as though the previous tenants had disappeared mid-Rapture.

It didn’t hit until nightfall, the total mess of a situation she’d landed in. It was one thing listening to Lucifer talk about watching over some baby politician in bumfuck nowhere and doing nothing that demanded any effort on her part. The reality was a different matter.

There had to be something on the guy—a mistress, a love child, a deal signed in blood—for the boss to grant him this kind of attention.

Luxi sighed and flopped onto the sofa, wincing as it whined and sank below her weight.

Yeah, this new setup totally sucked.

Chapter Two

There was another email, but this one wasn’t like the others. This one made his gut clench and his throat tighten. This one made him feel very exposed .

Libral hippy faggut just die.

That was it. No more, no less. Five mostly misspelled words from an anonymous sender—in a message that didn’t have a subject header.

Grayson Bailey swallowed hard and moved the message to his trash bin. It wouldn’t do to allow that sort of negativity to occupy his attention. Not when he had other things to worry with.

Like the poll numbers, which weren’t any less depressing than the random piece of hate mail, but at least he could do something about those.

In theory, at least.

Twenty-one percent of registered voters thought he was a devil worshipper. Twenty-one percent. The rest of the electorate perceived him as being somewhere between a militant atheist and secret Nazi. While these results didn’t necessarily represent the overwhelming sentiment of the whole town, he knew from experience the college vote could only help him so much. He needed to apply his focus to 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 choice expletive of the day. The closer the race, the more colorful the language, and if the polls were anything to go off, the profanity would only get worse.

John stopped short of his desk, sighing loudly. So you’ve seen them.

The numbers. Yeah, and 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.

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 the cramped campaign 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 that 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.

John sighed again, running his hand along his jaw, 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 a variation of this speech at least twenty-five times a day. "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. 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 one of those nice New England states?"

Geography is my problem?

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. Right now, I don’t want to talk about anything that we can’t get done between tonight and tomorrow. Grayson wet his lips and again turned his attention to the poll data. The numbers began blurring. What he really wanted was a good night’s rest, possibly followed by a day spent in bed bingeing old Cheers episodes on Netflix.

These numbers—

Won’t change between now and tomorrow morning, but tomorrow morning is when we can start strategizing how to get the word out that I’m not the Antichrist.

At that, John perked up. Actually, that might be an improvement. Some of the fundamentalists in the area might wanna hurry you into power to speed up the Second Coming.

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. 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 in 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.

No, Grayson said, shaking his head. I’m not exploiting my congregation for political gain. Besides, two hundred people isn’t the whole Midwest.

No, but—

"No buts. It’s just not happening. Grayson rose to his feet, loosening his necktie. We had this mapped out all different, you and I. It’s hard to sell a liberal candidate, even if he does have good Christian values in this region, especially when his wife ran off with the milkman."

John furrowed his brow. 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 and 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 ease, 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 litany 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 had taken him from Glenburnie to Washington, he’d made sure to keep in touch.

John had started talking nonsense a few years back about Grayson running for office. The chatter had been ignored or laughed off until one day it hadn’t seemed so insane. 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 and thrown his neat, perfect little life into an endless tailspin.

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.

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.

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? John asked.

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. Vanderbilt’s flight schedule keeps changing.

John laughed. That’s a US senator for you.

We also have the intern coming in.

What intern?

You know, the intern. From SMU.

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. They’re all from the poli-sci department.

"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, and Glenburnie’s geography provided 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 by. 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 once he had the means. By the time college rolled around, he’d realized the improbability of going anywhere but the local state school. And the longer he’d stayed, the less he’d wanted to leave.

Then he’d met Amily.

Now, years later, years wiser, standing in the parking lot of his rented office space with a failed marriage behind him and a failing campaign ahead, Grayson found his headspace 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. 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 Sentra’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.

Luxi pried her eyes open. She was on her back in a strange bed. Nothing new there. New jobs brought her to new beds. This much was more of the same. It hadn’t bothered her before—at least, she hadn’t noticed it if it had.

Everything felt a little surreal right now. Since the second her newborn eyes first looked into the face of the devil, she had known her purpose. Now she felt lost, as though someone had wrapped her in another person’s skin. It was easy to blame her current mood 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 for a weird assignment with an 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, 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 no sense, she’d make sure she looked fabulous before stepping outdoors.

Luxi scrubbed her skin and massaged a 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 purchased during the previous day’s shopping extravaganza.

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 creamy skin had a healthy glow, which complemented her long, wavy brown hair and the shine of her ruby lips. 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 the diamond-studded choker she’d nabbed impulsively at the conclusion of her shopping spree.

It was work appropriate…kind of. Maybe. Not. But nothing too racy was showing and she felt like herself, which was more than she could say for other jobs. Plus, Lucifer might want her to keep her legs together, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun, and if she knew anything about small, repressed towns with more churches than stop signs, it wouldn’t take much to push local buttons. Tight clothing cut in revealing ways and a sassy attitude would do here what stripping naked would do elsewhere.

By the time she’d done all the primping and preening possible, she had forty-five minutes to find the campaign headquarters. Luxi slipped downstairs 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, Invi, stood in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. The shock of an uninvited houseguest faded quickly. Sorry if I don’t offer you a drink, Luxi said, brushing past her. I’m kinda on a timetable here.

So you’re going through with it? Invi asked, grinning dryly. Damn. I bet Ira ten bucks you wouldn’t show up.

You know what this is then? Wanna share with the class?

Invi shook her head. Just something that has to do with a campaign. I didn’t get more than that, but since all other assignments are grounded, I figured this had to be a big thing.

Figure again, Luxi said, her tone terse even to her ears.

What is it then?

She spread her arms. "You’re looking at it. Some schmuck named Grayson Bailey’s running for I-don’t-care and I’m here to…fuck if I know. She huffed. That’s it."

That’s it?

Yep.

You’re just…interning?

I promise if I knew more than that, you’d be the first to know. Hell, if I thought I could get away with pawning this off onto you… Luxi shook her head. Lucifer was typically very particular about who went on what assignment, and would never go for a switch-up regardless. Even in a case like this, where the assignment was boring and pointless. She just had to trust there was something larger at play.

Is that it? Luxi asked.

This doesn’t make any sense.

Tell me something I don’t know. 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 to what’s going on, she said. Like I said, no one else is on assignment right now so this… I thought it’d be something I could help with. It’s boring right now.

I don’t think it’s gonna be less so up here, if it makes you feel any better. Human politics. The words alone inspired a headache. If you wanna crash for a while here, be my guest. I don’t know if Fugie hooked me up with cable or not. But really… Luxi turned her attention to the window for a moment, taking in the view of the complex’s parking lot and the Ozark skyline beyond. Hell’s got nothing on this place.

Ouch, Invi said.

"Though chin-up. Maybe Lucifer is working on something like this