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Excerpt for I'm No Saint, Valentine - "Candy Hearts and Flours"

"Mariahhhh!"

Her father's voice echoed through the chambers of Hell, bouncing off the rock ceilings and careening off the walls until all she really heard was a thunderous "...ahhhhh!" by the time the sound found her. She didn't question that he bellowed her name. Indeed he only screamed when he was upset, and he only ever became that upset with one person. Her.

Mariah Luce sighed before closing her book and dragging herself from beside the fiery lake up the path toward home. What had she done now? She stopped suddenly, remembering. There had been that teensy, tiny glass of water she'd given the man yesterday. But he'd been thirsty. And so good looking, and when she released him to stand next to her and drink, his naked body had glistened with the sweat of desire and longing. Such was everyone in the Second Circle where those who lust were trapped, but this man's body had spoken to her. Truly.

That couldn't be the reason her father called her, though. Yes, she'd broken the rules by releasing the man in order to give him a sip of cool water. And sure, she'd enjoyed the picture he presented, his sacs heavy and penis erect, standing next to her. But right after he drank, she returned him to the circle. There was no way her father could know about her transgression.

Mariah skidded to a halt inside the courtyard to her family home. Her father paced in front of the door as though guarding it from assault. His hands grasped his wrists behind his back and his face literally glowed blood red. She hadn't seen him this angry since that vile man, Dante, had infiltrated Hell and then documented the structure that her dad and others had worked millennia to perfect.

Oh, dear. Whatever had happened was serious.

Off to one side stood her sister, hands folded over her very pregnant belly and smiling like the lying bitch she was. Her father couldn't know about the glass of water yesterday ... unless Mariah had been seen. She narrowed her eyes at her sister, which only brought about a widening of the smug smile.

"There you are." Her father's voice rumbled like the worst thunderstorm on Earth. Feet spaced apart and arms crossed over his chest, he seemed ten feet tall and as imposing as a mountain. Flames flickered in his eyes. The horns protruding half a foot from the top of his head vibrated with fury. Fury directed at her.

"Yes, Daddy?" She was the baby and her father's pride and joy, which both explained and obscured why he became so frustrated with her at times. She looked up, batting her eyes and showing the smallest upturn of her lips as she felt some small measure of relief. Whatever had brought about her father's ire was too great to be her fault. She was yet a young demon with limited powers. Still, that look of pure pleasure on her sister's face gave her pause.

"You've overstepped your bounds this time, young lady." He'd lowered the volume, which frightened Mariah much more than the booming tones he'd used earlier. "Do you know what the problem is?"

She shook her head, afraid her voice would betray the trepidation building in her belly.

"Does this refresh your memory?" Her father extended his arm, palm up. Water sprung from his hand and spilled between his fingers, popping and spitting as it struck the blistering surface before hissing into spirals of steam.

The spring of water ended and his arms again draped across the expanse of his chest.

Mariah could only stand silently in the face of her dad's wrath. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

Perhaps it was that she offered no excuse or fast-talking explanation. Whatever the reason, her father's anger disappeared. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Mariah, why do you do these things?" He nodded to where her sister stood. "Cassandra never does anything good or decent. Why can't you be more like your sister? Sometimes, sweetheart, your mother and I despair at where we went wrong with you."

"But, Daddy, I..."

"Cease!" He stepped away, a glare returning to his face. "Perhaps you don't realize the harm you incur when you do something..." he grimaced "--nice. That man to whom you gave the water was refreshed. He went back into the Second Circle renewed, if only a little. But it just takes a little, Mariah. Immediately, he found a woman to fuck and came to release, making him feel even better. She climaxed, too, and experienced relief from need. Then she turned to another man and fucked again. By the time Cassandra warned me what had happened, the whole circle was a fucking mess. You see? One good deed leads to another, and another, and... That's not why we're here."

He took a breath, but it didn't seem to calm him.

"Do you like living here, Mariah?"

"What?" Startled, she gazed into his eyes, searching for a spark of the indulgent love she usually found. But there was no love. Only stark blackness to a depth she'd never known. "Here with you and Mama? Of course I like living here, I love it."

"Then listen to me well. I've put up with your pranks and rebelliousness long enough. I overlooked when you went down to the Third Circle and chatted with the gluttons because you took your lunch with you and ate in front of them, causing more pain. And I tried to be gentle in my punishment when you slipped into the Seventh Circle and allowed the heretics to rail against ... well, you know who. It granted them some peace and I had to go before the council, but I gave you nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

This time, you must learn. For your own good, you must discover what it is to be evil."

Mariah felt the coldness of dread settle into her bones. Not a light matter in the heat of Hell.

"I'm sending you to Earth."

She gasped. "No, Father! Please, not that!"

"Yes! No place in Hell compares to Earth when it comes to learning about evil. You have five days. During that time, you must find a saint, if one still exists, and you must seduce him. Bring him to his knees with desire. Feel the power that comes from control and bask in the glow of his fall from grace. When you glory in making a truly good man turn bad, then you'll know the joy of evil and you may return." Her father closed his eyes and took a harsh breath. Under the blood-rust of his complexion, he seemed to pale. "If you have not accomplished this in the designated time, you will be exiled forever from the gates of Hell."

Mariah collapsed, unable to believe the heinousness of her punishment. She even heard a gasp from Cassandra. Never to come home? To share a joke with her mother, or playfully tease her father? She might never again sit and read a book beside the fiery lake or hear the screams of the damned. How would she bear it?

Her father's strong hands lifted her to her feet. "Go, daughter, and take the lesson to heart. Search out a saint and destroy him. There will be no joy in Hell for your mother and me until you find the true path." He chucked her under the chin and gave her a half-smile.

"You'll see, my little demon. Once you've experienced being bad, you won't want to go back to your old ways."

He kissed her cheek, snapped his fingers, and she found herself on the strip in Las Vegas, Nevada.
* * * *
Sunshine broke through the fluffy, cumulus clouds. Well, not really sunshine and not really clouds, Joseph Patrick Benedict Smith reminded himself. He occupied a realm far removed from the star called "sun" and any atmosphere that could produce clouds. But it's how he imagined a perfect day, and so that is what he saw. Sometimes he liked a bit of overcast sky. When that occurred, he actually perceived a dimness in his surroundings and knew the invigorating rush of spring rain. Yes, indeed. Heaven was the most wonderful, most special place in the whole...

He'd almost said "in the whole world," and that would have been silly. But Heaven was the best, the greatest place imaginable, and in the centuries since he'd received his wings, he'd imagined an inordinate number of places.

So, why did he feel such discontent?

The thought no more than formed when he became aware of his counselor. Angels weren't really supposed to need counselors, were they? But he did, and had for well over two and a half hundred years. His latest was this very nice and gentle angel.

He sighed. "Hello, Paul."

"Hello, Joseph Patrick Benedict. Not feeling tip-top today?"

Paul had passed through the Pearly Gates during what was known as World War I on Earth. Consequently, he always wore an olive green uniform and a helmet, although unlike when he died, no dust, no mud, no blood now marred the perfect crease of his jacket or shine of his boots. Joseph Patrick Benedict looked down at his own attire, leather sandals and a cream-colored linen tunic that extended to his knees.

He sighed. Even his clothing depressed him.

The two spirits sat side by side in mid-air, although the posture served no purpose except habit. "What do you think is the problem, Joseph Patrick Benedict?" Concern laced Paul's voice. He had asked this same question thousands of times and the level of worry never varied.

Melancholy washed through him. "Paul, I wish I understood it. I feel so stupid. I know I should be happy, but somehow I have an emptiness inside. I don't know what to do. Am I a disgrace to God?" This was his very worst fear, that his own inability to find peace would cause pain to the Almighty.

Paul touched his hand to Joseph Patrick Benedict's arm. "No, no. He loves you and wishes only your harmony and happiness.

So…" Even sitting, Paul seemed to come to attention. "I've been authorized to grant you whatever it will take to solve this dilemma. Think, Joseph Patrick Benedict. What can I do to ease your soul?"

Joseph Patrick Benedict sat quietly thinking back over his time in Heaven. He hadn't been unhappy, exactly, but what had he ever done to deserve being here? While on Earth, one of his friends had ridden his horse at great personal peril to warn his town that a dyke on a rain-swollen river had burst. He had drowned, but the town was saved. Another friend had rushed into a home to confront an armed madman. He'd actually looked Satan in the eye and saved the family being held hostage, losing his own life in the effort. Even Paul rescued three companions by throwing his body on a grenade. His friends had all accomplished great deeds in life.

I know I tried to be a good man but what did I do that was special? My pastries were rudimentary at best. Even the bread I sold daily was formed only into simple loaves.

"I feel so unworthy, Paul. I did nothing extraordinary while on Earth. No wonder I feel out of place here."

"You underestimate yourself, my friend. Your life was very worthwhile. Do you realize how hard it is to live thirty-nine good years as you did? And you provided a necessary service to your village. Bread is life."

"My breads and cakes were plain," Joseph Patrick Benedict chided, "but just once I wish I could have created something spectacular. Something fit for our King." Pressing index, middle finger and thumb together, he kissed the tip of the triangle and saluted. "And," he whispered, "I wish I'd made a difference in the world."

"So that's the problem! After all these years, you don't believe that we all made differences in the world. Some small, some large, but all important." He sat with his head at a tilt as though listening. "Mmm-hmm ... mmm-hmm ... yes, okay. I agree," he murmured before turning back to Joseph Patrick Benedict. "You have your wishes, my dear friend. Right now there is a special contest on Earth. You will be a contestant and have the chance to create something truly spectacular. And--" Paul grinned, "--you will have the opportunity to save someone's soul. Demons still roam the Earth, perhaps more now than ever before, so guard yourself. Remember, not all evil is ugly to the naked eye. Some of it is disguised to trick the unsuspecting."

The men rose to a standing position, Paul looking happy but also wistful. "I'll miss you."

"But ... but I don't know what to say, to do." Stunned, Joseph Patrick Benedict wasn't certain he'd taken in all Paul had said.

"You have only five days on Earth. All of the knowledge you require will be yours as soon as you need it. And you'll have a little heavenly power to use, especially to save the soul you're being sent to guard. Take care of yourself." Paul gave him a quick hug.

"This is so exciting! Who is it I'm to..."

Thunder clapped. When he looked around, he stood in front of a building in the real bright sunshine. Strange, heavy blue leggings covered the lower half of his body and a soft white short-sleeved shirt clothed the top. He wore boots, although different from Paul's and an oddly shaped hat topped his head.

A sign was before him. "Las Vegas Convention Center," he read out loud, amazed. "Candy Hearts and Flours Valentine's Day Baking Contest--Welcome Contestants!"

His life on Earth had been spent on a tiny island in the Irish Sea, yet he now read and spoke English. He unleashed his joy and laughed aloud. Life is wondrous!

"May I suggest you shorten your name?" Paul's voice whispered in his head. "While your mother must have been indecisive as well as patient, Joseph Patrick Benedict is too darn long for modern people."

True. Patrick alone would serve just fine.

With a lightness of spirit, Patrick strolled to the big doors, craning his neck left and right to take in everything around him. Once more he would bake! But this time his product wouldn't be a simple loaf of bread or an unadorned cake, but something of beauty that he'd never created before. And, more importantly, he had the chance to help a human, to make a difference in someone's life. He whispered a prayer of thanks.

In his exuberance, he missed seeing the woman standing in the shadows near the side of the building. Had he seen her, he might have wondered why she held her head as though scenting the air. And then he might have wondered why she turned her strangely shimmering eyes on him.

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Reviews for I'm No Saint, Valentine - "Candy Hearts and Flours"

"…bold humor intertwined with intense feelings, had me smiling one instance and then deeply sighing the next. … adorable tale … an outstanding story … which should be read when a reader needs a lift." 4.5 Hearts, Amelia Richards, eCataRomance

"…full of laughs…[Candy Hearts and Flours] is hard to put down." 5 Angels, Leyna, Fallen Angel Reviews

"This two-author anthology is highly entertaining and very uplifting. The humor will have you laughing out loud and leave you with a smile." - 4 Hearts, Yesy Mazulla, TRS

"This anthology is a real treat…" - 4 Stars, Leigh Rowling, RT Bookclub

"[Candy Hearts and Flours] is a sweet and sassy love story. I'm No Saint, Valentine is an entertaining love letter for us all from two talented authors!" - 4 Stars, Patrice Storie, JERR

"...funny, and sexy and enjoyable." - Joyce, a reader

"…a funny and sweet story that truly shows that love can conquer all." - Jo, Joyfully Reviewed

"I liked it. [grin] It's *seriously* theologically incorrect, but who cares, it was fun, amusing, and above all, filled with love.

And I adored the pun in the title." - A Reader

"LOVE it! Clarice and Devon are such warm and sympathetic characters, and Mariah and Patrick are a hoot!" - A. J. Matthews, author of The Mr. Gray series: The Hotel Ghosts and The Spirit in the Sky (coming soon), and The Ninth Wave

"This is one very cute and sexy story. .. Ms. Knight knows how to get the heat level going up and writes a humorous but deep story…" - 4 Hearts, Valerie, Love Romances

"I finished I'm no Saint and loved it." - A reader

"Excellent read, funny, good ending." - A reader recommendation on Mary Gardner's site

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