Working for the Devil

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Moving Doreen from safehouse to safehouse, one step ahead of the killer; living out of our suitcases, me lying awake every night with my hand curled around my swordhilt, listening, my entire world narrowing to keeping Reena alive one more day . . .

  Japhrimel touched my shoulder with two fingers, warmth spreading through my cold bones. Gooseflesh prickled at my skin. “That’s a nice trick,” I managed around the lump in my throat.

  He shrugged. “We are creatures of fire.”

  The way his eyes were burning, I believed it.

  I shut my eyes. That was a mistake, because Santino’s face hung in the darkness behind my lids. I stared at the face, the black teardrops over the eyes, the high-pointed ears, long nose, sharp teeth—

  I thought he had rich-boy cosmetic augments to make himself look like a Nichtvren, I thought he was psionic and overrode me while I was losing consciousness, even though the cops couldn’t find any sign of a memory wipe, I thought he was just a sick twisted human psionic . . .

  “Dante. Come back.” His fingers were still on my shoulder, bare skin scorching against mine.

  My eyes flew open. He leaned across my tangled bed, his fingers almost melded to my shoulder. My other shoulder—the one that bore his mark—twinged sharply. “Why does it hurt?” I asked, tipping my chin down to point at my shoulder.

  He shrugged. “I am your familiar. I suspect it’s one of the Prince’s jokes.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean? “What are you talking about?”

  “How much do you know of the bond between Magi and familiar?”

  My heart rate calmed down. Sweat dried on my skin. I tasted copper adrenaline and blood—I’d bitten my lip. “I told you, not much. Just that some Magi get familiars, it’s the great quest for every Magi . . . mostly imp-class demons, just little guys. Barely enough to light a candle.”

  “It’s my duty to obey you. It’s your duty to feed me.” He didn’t sound like it was any big deal.

  “You know where the kitchen is.” I took in a deep breath. “Thanks for . . . for waking me up. I haven’t had a bad nightmare like that in . . . in a couple of years.” The lie came out smoothly. The nightmare returned almost every night, punctually, unless I was exhausted. I had plenty of nightmares, from Rigger Hall, from some of the jobs I’d been on, from any number of horrible things I’d witnessed or had done to me. But the replaying of Santino’s last assault had top billing for the last few years.

  It was my heaviest regret, not being strong enough or fast enough when it counted.

  He was quiet, and still. “I don’t need human food,” he said.

  I touched my bleeding lip. My sword lay on my other side, safe in its sheath. “So what are you talking about? Power?”

  “Blood. Sex. Fire.” His fingers fell away from my shoulder. “Imps can feed on alcohol and drug intoxication, but I wouldn’t recommend that. You need your wits about you.”

  “Anubis et’her ka,” I breathed. “You’re not serious. Why tell me this now?”

  “There hasn’t been a better time.” He settled back, the bed creaking underneath him. “I think you would be most comfortable with blood instead of sex.”

  “You’ve got that right,” I muttered, my head still ringing with the dream. That chilling little giggle, while he took what he wanted, his satisfied wet little sounds while he—

  A new and terrible thought occurred to me. We had assumed Santino took trophies. What if he was . . . eating the parts he took? I shivered, opening my eyes as wide as I could.

  “How badly did he hurt you?” he asked. “Santino. Vardimal.”

  I shut my eyes again. “He eviscerated me,” I whispered. “If Doreen hadn’t . . . she had her hands on me when he slit her throat. He didn’t have enough time to do his entire ritual on her . . . he just bled her dry and cut out part of her femur . . . she had her hands on me . . . she used her last breath to heal me.”

  “Blood. Why blood? And a human bone . . .” he asked, very softly, as if to himself.

  “You tell me,” I said. “What does he need to murder psionics for? Does it have anything to do with the Egg?”

  “It is useless to him,” Japhrimel said quietly.

  “What happens if he breaks it? Apocalypse, right?”

  “Of a sort.” Japhrimel folded his hands. The mark on my left shoulder gave another deep twinge. “The Egg holds a piece of . . . of the Prince’s power. Decoded on Earth instead of in Hell, it could . . . upset the order of things. It is a violation of the way things should be.”

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath. This was almost interesting enough to make me forget my heart was still hammering from a nightmare. Was this Egg a Talisman? The way he was talking about it, it seemed likely. “I guess I understand the magickal theory behind that, if it’s heavy-duty demon stuff. But what’s in it? Why does he want it? If word gets out that it’s been stolen, what will—”

  Japhrimel’s teeth showed in one of those murderous, slow grins he seemed so fond of. “It will mean that the Prince is not strong enough to rule Hell. Demons will test his strength as they have not done for millennia. A Rebellion might succeed . . . and Vardimal might become the new Prince of Hell.”

  I chewed on this for a moment. He wasn’t precisely answering the question, but his answer opened up so many other questions I decided to let the first one go for now. “So that’s why Lucifer can’t have anyone know that someone’s stolen the Egg,” I said. “Funny—I thought you guys were in Hell because you rebelled in the first place.”

  My attempt at levity failed miserably. He didn’t even look like he got the joke. Then again, not many psis studied classical literature and the pre-Awakening Christos Bible Text, which had been discredited and gone out of use in the great backlash against the Evangelicals of Gilead.

  “I have heard that story,” he answered slowly. His eyelids lowered over his glowing eyes as he glanced down. “Human gods do not trouble us overmuch. It is only that humans were frightened of us, and mistook us for gods. There was a rebellion—the Fallen defied Lucifer’s will, and died on earth because of the love they bore for the brides . . . but that is not something we speak of.”

  I absorbed this. If I was a Magi I’d be peppering him with questions, trying to get him to say more, but I was too tired.

  Silence thundered through the dark bedroom. The mark on my shoulder ached, pounding. I was finally beginning to believe that I was awake. The scars went back to sleep until the next nightmare; maybe I could sleep, too. Maybe.

  “If he manages to destroy this Egg,” I thought out loud, “does that mean you’ll be free?”

  “Of course not.” He dropped his eyes, studied the bed. Little green shadows danced on my blanket, showing me his gaze moving in an aimless pattern from my knee to my hand to the edge of the bed, back to my knee. “Should Vardimal’s rebellion fail, I will be left as your familiar, perhaps. Then after your death—which might be swift, since the Prince is not one for slow punishment—I will be punished, for as long as the Prince’s reign is secure. If by some stroke of chance Vardimal succeeds, I will be executed—after your death as well. If the Prince wins, I wait another eternity for a chance at my freedom—if another chance is granted me at all.”

  “You just can’t win, can you.” I didn’t want to sound snide. I swallowed dryly. It seemed like I couldn’t win either, since both scenarios involved my sudden demise, too.

  “No,” he said. “I can’t.”

  “So you really have a lot invested in this.”

  “It would appear so.”

  Another long, uncomfortable silence. The world was hushed outside, in the deepest part of night before the flush of false dawn. I didn’t feel sleepy, though I knew I should be trying to catch some shut-eye before the morning transport. Once I left the house tomorrow, I’d be on the hunt. I didn’t sleep much while hunting.

  “You must be pretty hungry,” I said finally. “This mark hurts like a bitch.”

  “My apologies.”r />
  It took more courage than I thought I had to extend my hand, flipping my palm up and making a fist. My wrist was exposed, pale in the dimness of my bedroom. The nightlight in the hall shone in through the door, a cool blue glow. “Here,” I said. “Blood, right? You need me to cut myself, or . . .”

  He shrugged. “Many thanks for the offer, Dante, but . . . no.”

  “You’re hungry. I don’t want a weak demon. I want a kickass demon who can help me deal with Santino.”

  “I fight better when I’m a little hungry.”

  “Fine.” I dropped my hand, feeling foolish. “I’m okay now. You can go back downstairs. Get yourself something in the kitchen. If you want.”

  “As you like.” But he didn’t move.

  “Go ahead,” I finally said. “I’m fine. Really. Thank you.”

  “You will have no trouble sleeping?” he asked, still looking at the bed. The burning intensity in his eyes seemed to have lessened a bit. He ran his hand back absently through his hair—the first sign of nervousness I’d ever noticed in him. Was he nervous? Was it just me, or was he seeming a little more . . . human . . . with every passing hour?

  I managed to dredge up an uneasy laugh. “I always have trouble sleeping. It’s not a big deal. Go on and catch some shut-eye yourself. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”

  He unfolded himself from the bed and stood up, hands behind his back. Why does he stand like that? I wondered. And why doesn’t he take that coat off? “Thanks.” I scooted back down, pulled the covers up, rested my hand on my sword, still lying faithfully next to me. “For checking on me, I mean.”

  He nodded, then turned on his heel and stalked for the door. There was a moment of shadow, his bulk filling the doorway, his coat like a shadow of dark wings. I heard his even tread going down the hall, then down the stairs. He went into the living room, and silence pervaded my house again, broken only by the faint hum of traffic and the subliminal song of the fridge downstairs.

  I snuggled back into bed and closed my eyes. I expected to be lying awake for a long time, shaking and sweating in the aftermath of the dream, but strangely enough I fell into sleep with no trouble at all.

  CHAPTER 20

  Eddie dug his fingers into the armrests. He was as pale as I’d ever seen him, his cheeks chalk-white under his blond sideburns.

  Gabe, leafing through a magazine, didn’t appear to notice, but Japhrimel was studying Eddie intently, his green eyes glittering. The demon lounged in his seat next to me, occasionally shifting his weight when the transport rattled. I tapped my fingers on my swordhilt and looked out the window. Seeing the earth drift away underneath the hover transport was no comparison to a slicboard, but it was nice to sit and watch city and water drift away, replaced by pleated folds of land, the coastal mountains rising and falling.

  “I can’t believe I made a ten o’clock transport.” I rested my head against the seat-back. Gabe had actually scored first-class tickets. We had a whole compartment to ourselves—Gabe’s tattoo and mine took care of that. “I haven’t even had coffee yet, goddammit.”

  “Someone’s a little cranky.” Gabe hooked her leg over her seat-arm and rubbed her ankle against Eddie’s knee. “Bitch, bitch, bitch. I had to drag this big shaggy guy out of bed and onto a transport before noon. I should be the one whining.”

  “You’re always trying to one-up me,” I mumbled. The demon glanced at me, then leaned forward to look out the window. I caught a wave of his scent and sighed, my eyes half-closing. Once you started to get used to it, being around a demon was kind of absurdly comforting. At least the most dangerous thing in the vicinity was right where I could see it.

  “Fucking transports,” Eddie said, closing his eyes. “Gabe?”

  “I’m here, sweetie.” Gabe rubbed her ankle against his knee. “Just keep breathing.”

  I looked away. So there was something Eddie was afraid of.

  “What’s he doing in Rio?” I asked the air, thinking out loud. “Not a particularly good place to hide . . .”

  “No, not with all the santeros down there,” Gabe answered dryly, flipping another page. A holster peered out from under her left shoulder, a smooth dark metal butt. Plasgun, I thought, and looked over at the demon again. He had disappeared as we navigated the security checkpoints and rejoined us just before boarding, his hands clasped behind his back and his face expressionless. “Hey, you know their Necromances kill chickens to get Power like the vaudun? Then everyone eats the chicken.”

  I’d studied vaudun at the Academy, so I wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with it. “That’s weird,” I agreed, my eyes snagging on the demon’s face. He was looking at me now, studying intently. “What?”

  “Why does he reek of fear?” Japhrimel asked, jerking his chin at Eddie.

  “He doesn’t like high places,” Gabe said, “and he doesn’t like enclosed spaces. Most Skinlin don’t.” Her dark eyes came up, moved over the demon from head to foot. “What are you afraid of, demon?”

  He shrugged, his coat moving against the seat. “Failure,” he said crisply. “Dissolution. Emptiness.” His mouth twisted briefly, as if he tasted something bitter.

  Silence fell for about thirty seconds before the first in-flight service came along—a blonde stewardess in a tight magenta flightsuit, paper-pale and trembling. Her eyes were the size of old credit discs, and she shook while she poured coffee, probably thinking that we were all going to read her mind and expose her most intimate secrets, or take over her mind and make her do something embarrassing—or that Gabe and I would suddenly start to make ghosts appear to torment her. Instead, I selected a cream-cheese Danish, Gabe got a roast-turkey sandwich, Eddie asked for the chicken soup in its heatseal pack. Oddly enough, Eddie seemed to scare her the most in his camel coat and long shaggy hair, his Skinlin staff braced against Gabe’s sword. She looked like she expected him to go berserk at any moment. Japhrimel accepted a cup of coffee from her with a nod, and it was strange to see her give him an almost-relieved smile. Being normal, she couldn’t see the dangerous black diamond flaming of his aura.

  Sometimes I wished I’d been born that oblivious.

  We waited until she was gone. I dumped a packet of creamer into my coffee. “So do you have contacts in Rio, other than a plug-in? Abra couldn’t give me any.” I settled back, wrinkling my nose at the reheated black brew.

  “A few,” she said, tearing into her sandwich. “Guess who else is down Rio way? Jace Monroe.”

  I made a face. “Yeah, Abra told me. Go figure.”

  “He’s good backup.”

  “Too bad we’re not going to use him.”

  “Aw, come on,” Eddie piped up. “You two are so cute together.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t go near the Mob. I thought you knew that.”

  “He’s not Mob no more.” Eddie slurped at his steaming soup, wiggling his blond eyebrows at me. He seemed to have forgotten he was on a transport.

  “I fell for that line the first time. Once Mob, always Mob.” I nibbled at my Danish, finding it bearable. “You remember that when you’re dealing with him, Eddie, ’cause I sure as hell won’t ever be messing around with him. Once was enough for me.”

  “I’ll bet,” Gabe muttered snidely, and I threw her a look that could have cut glass.

  My rings swirled with lazy energy. We settled down to a long flight, Gabe flipping through her magazine again while she sipped at her coffee, Eddie finishing his soup in a series of loud smacking slurps, crunching on the crackers. I fished a book out of my bag—a paperback version of the Nine Canons, the glyphs and runes that made up the most reliable branch of magick. You can’t ever study too much. I was secondarily talented as a runewitch, and I firmly believed that memorizing the Canons trained the mind and opened up the Power meridians, and why waste power creating a spell when you could use a Canon glyph as a shortcut?

  The demon settled himself in his seat, alternating between watching me and studying his cup as if the secrets of the universe were held i
nside the nasty liquid passing for coffee. At least it was hot, and it had enough caffeine.

  It was going to be a long, long flight.

  CHAPTER 21

  We touched down in Nuevo Rio not a moment too soon. “Eddie, if you don’t quit it, I’m going to fucking kill you,” I snarled, standing and scooping my sword up.

  “You’re the one tapping your fingernails all the time,” Gabe retorted. “Don’t get all up on him.”

  “Stay out of this, Spocarelli,” I warned her.

  The demon rose like a dark wave. “Perhaps it’s best to have this conversation outside,” he said mildly. “You seem tense.”

  That gave us both something to focus on. “When I want your opinion, I’ll ask you for it,” I snapped.

  “Oh, for the love of Hades, leave the damn demon alone!” Gabe almost yelled. “Off. Get me off this damn thing—”

  “You’re like a pair of spitting cats,” Eddie mumbled. “Worse than a motherfucking cockfight.”

  “Now I know why I don’t travel,” I muttered, making sure my bag fell right. The airlocks whooshed, and we would have to wait our turn to get out.

  Fuck that, I thought, and jammed the door to our compartment open. There are some good things about being a Necromance. One is that people get out of your way in a hell of a hurry when you come striding down a transport corridor with a sword in your hand and your emerald spitting sparks. Being accredited meant being able to carry edged metal in transports, and I had never been so glad.

  Japhrimel followed me. By the time I stalked through another pair of airlocks and onto the dock, I was beginning to feel a little better. Eddie was next off, with Gabe right behind him, dragging her hand back through her long dark hair. “Fuck,” she said, turning to look at the bulk of the transport through the dock windows. Hovercells were switching off, a subliminal hum loosening from my back teeth. “We’re in Nuevo Rio. Gods have mercy on us.”