by RJ Blain
On the surface, it was a good deal for Malcolm, and I could see him thinking about it, his eyes narrowed and his expression thoughtful. “How will I know when I’m uncursed?”
No matter what, I wouldn’t flinch at the question—or the meaning behind it. The instant he was uncursed, I knew what Malcolm would want. He’d want to find—or make—that perfect family for the house he’d built despite knowing he might never get what his heart desired.
My role in his life would be long over at that point, no matter what bargains we made, how I involved myself with the Stewart family affairs, and how much I loathed the barriers that would continue to divide us. I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t say a word, and I waited.
“As part of this agreement, the time you learn of your uncursing will be decided by me, and it will only become valid when I notify you in the presence of an angel.”
Malcolm scowled. “And if I should die before notification?”
“Your soul will be cleansed, and you may enter the heavens should you choose.”
“How does this benefit you?” His scowl eased to a more thoughtful frown. “Too much of this benefits me.”
“Until your death, your soul belongs to me and is tallied in my book. In the eyes of the heavens and its angels, you’re my servant. The condition of your soul’s purification and free will will allow you to potentially serve as a negotiator between the heavens and my hells. This would grant you a rather high position in my army.”
I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached before growling, “Don’t—”
“Kanika, it’s my soul.” Malcolm relaxed into his chair, although he still kept my feet pinned with his. “How would this change my status within my clan?”
“It doesn’t, not unless you choose to change your status.”
“What is that supposed to mean? How might my status change?”
The devil laughed. “You’d become the head of your clan; your rank within my armies would give you a more devilish nature, which would mean you would outrank any other Stewart male, living or dead. Despite the addition of a few devilish perks, I would continue to safeguard your soul and protect it from lasting harm. Still, it’d behoove you to maintain some balance on your own. It’ll make the cleansing of your soul easier on you upon your death.”
Malcolm fell quiet, and while we waited for him to speak, the stewardess brought covered dishes, revealing plates of salad garnished with grilled fish. Deep down, I wanted to tell Malcolm no, to reconsider his considering, but I kept quiet.
He was right. It was his soul, and I couldn’t make the decision for him.
“No undeath,” Malcolm stated when the stewardess left.
“Upon your death, your soul will be shepherded properly. You won’t be turned.”
I sighed and picked at my salad, nibbling on a piece of tomato, staring at my plate so I wouldn’t glare at the devil. If I discovered Satin played the bargain wrong, that Malcolm’s soul was at risk, I had one card I could play, one I bet the devil desired.
It would ruin me for the rest of eternity. I could exchange my soul for Malcolm’s. My scales wouldn’t balance, not with how I’d led my life, but it would be a small price to pay. I already had a one-way trip to the hells booked. If I could make the price of passage worthwhile, I could live with that.
I’d already made myself into the devil’s heir, poised to lose everything. Would Malcolm realize the truth? It wasn’t his soul they bargained for, but for mine.
“Indeed,” the Lord of Lies murmured, his expression pleased. “How clever. You’ll keep that thought to yourself.”
I grumbled curses and stabbed at my salad, pushing it around my plate rather than eating it. “Fine.”
Malcolm considered me, his lips curving into a smile. “So there is a trick.”
“Indeed, there is. I am the devil, after all. The Lord of Lies. The Betrayer. The Trickster. Can you figure out the secret of my bargain, Malcolm Findlay Stewart? And if you do, what do you plan to do about it?”
“There are several possibilities,” Malcolm admitted.
“There usually are, but one’s more important than the rest,” the devil conceded.
No kidding. I sighed.
“If I agree until my death, you could prolong my life until you’re satisfied—potentially indefinitely.”
“I’m rather fond of that option.”
I hadn’t even considered it; an extended lifespan didn’t seem like a bad deal to me, although it would prolong my suffering when it came to the devil.
“You could decide against notifying me my curse had been broken.”
Satin pouted. “That’s not fair. You weren’t supposed to figure that one out yet.”
I added another tally to the list of things I hadn’t figured out, although once again, I couldn’t see any bad points about it. If Satin refused to notify Malcolm the curse had been broken, Malcolm’s soul would be safe. No matter what he did in his life, his soul would be cleansed.
It seemed like too good of a deal to me, and I couldn’t figure out what the disadvantage was.
Malcolm released my feet, and I peeked under the table to discover he was stretching out to make himself more comfortable. “If my soul belongs to you, and I’m wearing a master bracelet, you might manipulate me into doing something to Kanika, to which I say no.”
“At no time will I force or manipulate you into cutting off Kanika’s magic. I fully intend on cultivating you as a channel for her talents, but when you give her your power it will be by your choice. I may ask it of you, but it’ll be your choice.”
“You could lock me in stasis until the end of days.”
The devil snorted. “I could, but you’re more useful to me conscious.”
“What am I missing?” Malcolm picked up his fork, and like me, he prodded at his salad rather than eating it. “There’s something else.”
“Take your time.” Satin smiled, smug and satisfied.
It occurred to me Malcolm had come close to the truth, but he hadn’t taken the thought far enough. I supposed it made sense. To him, his soul held the most value. It made sense he wouldn’t worry for mine.
“Don’t underestimate him,” the devil whispered in my ear. “You don’t know his thoughts or his heart.”
Satin’s lips didn’t move, nor did Malcolm seem to hear the devil’s words, so I kept my mouth shut and waited.
For several minutes, Malcolm tortured his salad and shredded his fish. “I have a condition.”
“Speak.”
“My soul can’t be bargained for, used as an incentive for any purpose, or held hostage for another’s.”
“Must you ruin all my fun?”
Malcolm glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yes. I won’t let you use me to hurt her.”
Huh. Turned out the devil was right. I set my fork down, leaned back in my chair, and wondered at that.
“Hurting her would defeat my purpose.”
“That leads to another problem. I could end up in the heavens, and she’d be trapped in hell with you for all eternity. That’s unacceptable.”
“You know, strangely enough, I do have the ability to ensure the final destinations of two souls, in this life and the next—and the next, and the next, and the next, for however long I see fit. That, however, would cost you.”
I twitched. “Malcolm, it’s worth pointing out two archangels have confirmed my soul is at no risk from Satin Blabbermouth Liar McSmarty Pants.”
“You’re ruining my fun, too,” the devil complained.
“Then you shouldn’t be trying to bargain away my soul to someone else,” I hissed.
“No bargaining my soul to someone else, either.”
“But what if I want to sell your soul to Kanika? My little cupcake doesn’t have any extra souls yet. You could be her first.”
“Not at the price of hers.”
Satin pouted. “How unfair. Very well. I accept your condition. I won’t use your soul to secure Kanika’s.”
“You won’t use it, period.”
“Absolutely no fun!”
“That’s my condition.”
“I accept. Bargain made?”
“Bargain made,” Malcolm agreed.
“Mark my words, little boy. You’re going to live a long time because of this, and I’ll enjoy tormenting you until the end of days.”
I sighed, expecting nothing else from the Lord of Lies, the most wicked being known to man—or any species with any intellect at all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I gave the devil and Malcolm a hefty dose of the silent treatment, which lasted the entirety of the flight. When Michael and Gabriel met us at the Nashville airport, I snarled my frustration.
“I haven’t had this much fun in decades,” Gabriel declared, fluttering his wings. “How has my esteemed brother bothered you this time, Kanika?”
“He conned Malcolm out of his soul. What else?”
The archangels were quiet for a moment before their laughter chimed, soft and soothing. Gabriel dismissed my anger with a wave of his perfect hand. “The devil lost that bargain, dear niece. We’ll laugh at him for you, if you’d like. He so dislikes protectorates; that’s part of what drove him from the high heavens in the first place.”
I shifted my ire to Michael. “Explain, but not so smugly.”
“Mephistopheles has forgone any claim to your male’s soul, and at the conclusion of his protectorate, the soul will be purified. It’s simple. Upon death, your male will have the choice of his final destination—or choose to reincarnate should he desire. There’s no doubt of who lost this bargain, and it wasn’t your male.”
“I was going to claim both their souls if my meddlesome child hadn’t blabbed she has a balanced soul.”
The archangels laughed, and Michael clapped Malcolm’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “I like you, boy. You watch yourself with my brother, you hear? He can’t take your soul, but he can annoy you to death.”
“Or turn you inside out if you look at his heir the wrong way,” Gabriel added.
“Has everyone heard about that?” Flexing my hands, I took deep breaths until I regained control of my temper. “No turning Malcolm inside out, no killing him, and no torture of any sort, Satin.”
“How about a little misery?”
“No.”
“I suppose it’s for the best. I do need him around if I want little grandchildren to spoil and corrupt.”
Grandchildren?
My eyes widened, my face flushed, and under no circumstances would I look at Malcolm. “What grandchildren?”
“When a girl likes a boy and invades his bed and takes off his—”
I lunged at the devil, wrapped my hands around his throat, and did my best to rid the Earth of the Lord of Lies.
We lost two hours to the devil and his brothers, who abandoned their dignity and gossiped in a huddle, giggling the entire time. When I tried to leave, Satin snagged me by the collar and dragged me to his side.
“I’m not finished with you yet,” he declared.
“You wouldn’t let me kill you, now you want something? Ugh. What do you want now?”
“I’m putting you in charge of getting a head count of Wishing Well victims. Make a list of undead types they’re offering. If possible, tally by type. Also, find out where their nodes are.”
I sucked in a breath, remembering the glowing, hovering stone over Hagnar’s home. “Nodes?”
“Concentrations of power. A magical hot spot is the likeliest candidate for what they want to do. Michael and Gabriel will be looking for loopholes in the meantime.”
That the forces of heaven and hell joined sides worried me; if the Lord of Lies allied with his enemies, how powerful did they expect Wishing Well to become? Something didn’t add up. I expected the Lord of Lies to twist and hide the truth, but the archangels kept quiet. Neither wanted to give me the full details, which meant I’d need to be extra diligent to prevent the immortals from putting me in an even worse position. Once I ditched the divines, I needed to talk to Malcolm.
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll look into it.”
“Good girl. Off you go. I’ll see you and your Stewart male next week to finalize his bargain.”
Escaping the devil’s hold, I ran for freedom, grabbing Malcolm’s hand so he wouldn’t get lost—or stupidly stick around. The car rental stand would get us away from the airport and the pervasive stench of the dead. Once on the road, I’d be in a better position to make plans of my own.
Malcolm freed his hand from mine and walked at my side. “That was unnerving. An alliance of devils and angels mean trouble, the kind capable of destroying worlds. This goes beyond the battle between good and evil.”
“What do you know?”
“Probably not much more than you do. Until now, the devil hasn’t really concentrated his power. The selection of an heir allows him to do a full restructuring of his armies—and take better control of the demons. You technically count as a demon now, which means he’s consolidating power through you. Demons tend to resent devils, as devils have a more direct conduit to the top.”
Nothing sounded good to me about his declaration. “Great. Just fucking great. What am I going to do with a bunch of demons?”
“Point them at the enemy, sit back, and watch the carnage. Devils are strong, but demons are more varied and come in higher numbers. The sides balance out—if the demons decide to fight together. They usually don’t.”
“You know a lot about demons.”
“I know some. I’ve done a lot of business with demons. What’s our game plan?”
With a week until Malcolm officially accepted another deal with the devil, I needed to solidify my position—and try to learn more about the Stewart family so I could steal their secrets. I frowned.
In my wager with the devil, I hadn’t promised how I got the information, only that I learned it. Nothing stopped me from blatantly asking someone about it. Once I learned the truth, I’d decide how to deal with the Lord of Lies—and find out how much trouble I’d gotten myself into. “We should scout the Georgia situation before you finalize your bargain. They’re definitely up to something.”
“They always are. Devils and angels are opposite sides of the same coin. The heavens have lower numbers, but they’re all like the devil, at least in some ways. Two archangels working together might beat him. Maybe. And even if they did win, he’d just come back later.”
“If demons are devils born on Earth, what are the equivalent of angels born on Earth?”
“I don’t think there are any. If anything, I’d say humans are it. That might explain the constant fight over souls.”
In my entire life, I’d never bothered to think about the situation much. “So, the devil is keeping the hosts of heaven at bay as much as the hosts of heaven keep the devil at bay.”
“Extremes on either side aren’t good for the whole. If heaven were to win, there’d be no freedom for mortal man.”
“And what would happen if the devil won?”
“No idea. I expect chaos.”
“Chaos isn’t good or evil, though.”
“Good and evil are relative. Good according to whom?” Malcolm shrugged as he approached the rental counter to get a car. “We’ll go to Georgia and snoop around. I’ll call in some people. I’ll find a place for us to rent while we’re there. It could be a waste of time, but my problems aren’t as important—my soul is safe.”
The reminder annoyed a growl out of me. “Will a week be long enough to evaluate the situation?”
“We’ll find out.”
If the devil really wanted to track my activities, I had no doubt he could. That didn’t stop Malcolm from wanting to make it difficult on Satin, so I ended up with one of Malcolm’s bank cards. I thought the precaution was excessive, but if using one of his cards made Malcolm happy, I’d shut up and deal with it.
We took a rental to Georgia in case another pyro got any ideas. With both of us wearing
suppressors, left open at Malcolm’s insistence, I doubted we’d have quite the same problems if one did attempt something.
Malcolm claimed he could handle a pyro, and I believed him.
Eight hours later, we arrived in Savannah, Georgia, and the stench of decay and brimstone clashing with the sea did me in. Not only did my stomach betray me, my head spun and my legs refused to do their job.
Only Malcolm’s intervention kept me from melting to the sidewalk.
“You need to shift,” he growled, helping me back into the car.
“So I can taste it, too? Great, just great.”
“I was more thinking you’d have an easier time resisting the devilish forces. You’re not going to make a very good Heir of Hell if you throw up whenever there’s a devilish congregation.”
“Why aren’t you sick?” I complained, shuddering at the thought of staying in the city any longer than necessary. “Not fair.”
“I’m just a bit more tolerant. Just shift, Kanika. I’ll find us a hotel nearby; the place I was originally thinking of staying will probably have even stronger devilish influences. You’ll feel better in a few hours.”
“Or die from the stench.”
“You’re not going to die from the smell. Just shift already.”
I grumbled curses, slammed the door, and hunkered in my seat while my stomach staged a rebellion. Transforming hurt more than normal, and to add insult to injury, wings and the sporty rental didn’t mix, nor did I appreciate the short skirt, coin belt, and stomach-baring halter top my magic deemed appropriate for the situation.
Asshole magic.
The knee-high leather boots, however, I’d keep.
