Death Is My Soul Mate (Book 5) *ON HOLD*

Chapter 6: El Diablo

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        To summarize, the next four days of my life sucked donkey balls.

            "You did good. Better than yesterday."

            I lifted my sweaty face up from the mat, glaring--perhaps a little cross-eyed, up at the young woman with a pink Mohawk standing in front of me, her sparing stick still raised towards me. Caroline. I knew her features well by now. Once we got past the awkward conversation of her explaining to me why she pretended to be an old woman, the secretary of David Star, things were pretty normal between us. Apparently, hellhounds such as herself, who were virtual demon slaves, had the ability to take the form of people they had been around the most during their life, unlike Death, who could only take the form of someone he killed. Caroline had been very close with her grandmother, therefore, taking the image of grandma was easier and she could hold up the illusion the longest. Therefore, the older woman I had become friends with at Devin & Son had actually been a youthful woman with a pink Mohawk.

            It was going to take some getting used to.

            To my understanding, Caroline had absolutely no idea what Death was currently planning for me--if he was telling the truth, that is. I wasn't planning on telling her what happened four days before, what Death had confessed to me in that motel room. I didn't know if anyone knew what he was supposedly planning, to train me to be good enough to defeat him one day and anyone in my way. Maybe his cloak knew about it...

            "Not to be over critical, Faith Williams, but it's quite clear to me that you are still punching like a girl. I don't believe that's an improvement, I believe that's a weakness," Ahrimad stated. He had been standing as still as a giant slab of concrete at the corner of the room for hours, hands clasped behind his back, head raised high and legs slightly apart as if ready for battle. Stood. As in, feet physically touching the ground. Hands, as in... hands. "You're not doing much better than her, Pinky," he continued when Caroline smirked a bit smugly. "Both of you need to punch like a man in order to win a fight against one."

            Caroline and I gave each other the same look. "Honestly, who the hell let Prophet-Snuggie in the room?" I sneered sarcastically. "As if he could fight better than us. The only thing blankets can fight is a lint sheet in the dryer."

            Ahrimad had the ability to take the form of him. Not his skin or anything like that, just a solid, black silhouette of Dea--I mean, him. It was strange, to say the least, to have Ahrimad watching over me like this. Ahrimad could have taken the shape of anything, as he continued to remind me, but he chose to morph into his shape. So I had to virtually deal with his muscular legs stalking around the mat as I did push ups, his wide shoulders as Ahrimad twirled a sparring stick in his hands, his slightly narrowed, sculpted torso...

            "You're messing up the combination again, Faith. It's left, right, left-right-right." He laughed a bit scornfully. "Shall we refer to the schedule again that my Lord has left for us?"

              I could no longer contain my emotions. 

            I spun around and threw a punch towards Ahrimad, who dodged it, disappearing into a black mist and re-appearing on the other side of me in a second flat. "His name is Death. Death! D-E-A-T-H. Not, Lord, not Master, or whatever the hell else he makes all of his little evil slaves call him. I'm tired of you calling him that!  My Lord, this! My Lord, that! You know what? His name is even Death. Why don't you just call him Alex? What's he going to do, tear you apart until you're apair of shorts?"