Divine Evil

keep the rest rooms stocked. Grumbling a bit, he wiped his hands on his jeans on the way to the storeroom. Reva let out a squealing laugh.
    “Oh, Skunk, you are a case, you are.”
    “Shit,” Ernie mumbled, and pulled down a box of paper towels. He saw the book, standing face out in the space behind the cardboard box. Licking his lips, Ernie reached for it.
    The Magical Diaries of Aleister Crowley.
As he flipped the pages, a single sheet of paper fell out. He scooped it up, glancing quickly over his shoulder.
    Read. Believe. Belong.
    His hands shook as he stuffed the note in his pocket. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been left for him. At last the invitation had come. He had seen things through his telescope. And he had suspected more. Seeing and suspecting, he had kept his silence and waited. Now he was being rewarded, being offered a place.
    His young, lonely heart swelled as he slipped the book under his shirt. On impulse he pulled the pentagram out, letting it dangle free and in full view. That would be hissign, he thought. They would see that he had understood and was waiting.
    Clare let the shower beat down on her head. Her body felt sore and weary and wonderful. Her eyes closed, she hummed and soaped her skin. It smelled like Cam, she thought, and caught herself grinning foolishly. God, what a night.
    Slowly, sinuously, she ran her hand over her body, remembering. She'd been certain she'd had her share of romantic encounters, but nothing had come close to what happened between them last night.
    He'd made her feel like the sexiest woman alive. And the hungriest, the neediest. In one night they had given each other more than she and Rob had managed in…
    Oops. She shook her head. No comparisons, she warned herself. Especially to ex-husbands.
    She slicked her hair back and reminded herself she still had a long way to go. Wasn't she in the shower right now because she'd awakened beside Cam and wanted, too much, to snuggle up against him and cuddle? Even after the storm of lovemaking-or maybe because of it-the need just to be held and stroked had embarrassed her.
    This was just sex, she told herself. Really great sex, but just sex. Letting her emotions run rampant would only mess things up. It always did.
    So she would wallow in hot water and soap, rub herself dry and pink. Then she'd go in and jump all over his bones. Even as she started to smile at the idea, she opened her eyes and screamed.
    Cam had his face plastered against the glass shower wall. His roar of laughter had her swearing at him as he pulled the door open and stepped under the spray with her.
    Scare you?
    “Jesus, you're an idiot. My heart stopped.”
    “Let me check.” He put a hand between her breasts and grinned. “Nope, still ticking. Why aren't you in bed?”
    “Because I'm in here.” She tossed her hair out of her eyes.
    His gaze slid down from the top of her head to her toes, then back again. She could feel her blood begin to pump even before his fingers spread and roamed. “You look good wet, Slim.” He lowered his mouth to her slickened shoulder. “Taste good, too.” He worked his way up her throat to her lips. “You dropped the soap.”
    “Mmmm. Most accidents in the home happen in the bathroom.”
    “They're death traps.”
    “I guess I'd better get it.” She slid down his body, closing her hand over the soap, and her mouth over him. The hiss of his breath merged with the hiss of the shower.
    He thought he'd emptied himself during the night, that the needs that had raged and clawed and torn at him had been put to rest. But they were only more desperate now, more violent. He dragged her up, pressed her back against the wet tiles. Her eyes were like melted gold. And he watched them as he plunged himself into her.
    “Hungry?” Cam asked as Clare stood by the bedroom window finger-drying her hair.
    “Starving,” she said without turning around. As far as she could see, there were woods, dark and deep and green. He'd surrounded himself with them, hidden himself behind them. Distant, faintly purple, were the mountains in the west. She imagined what it would look like as the sun sank below them, showering the sky with color.
    “Where did you find this place?”
    “My grandmother.” He finished buttoning his shirt and came to stand behind her. “It's been Rafferty land for a hundred years. She hung on to it, then left it to me.”
    “It's beautiful. I didn't really see it last night.” She smiled. “I