Mike paused, worried he’d pushed for a sale too soon. ‘That is if you intend to place an order?’
‘Oh absolutely!’ the smile widened and Mike grew convinced the man was caressing the signed book. ‘What’s your suggested minimum order?’
‘I could get you a box of 30 hardbacks tomorrow, then you simply order more as you need to. They’ll be delivered quickly so there shouldn’t be any empty shelves.’ Mike smiled. One box down and he might have found his sales technique.
‘That would be great.’
They finalised the sale as he’d been shown, then let the man in on the secret author tour. Of course, he promised to sell him the first tickets. The man was almost drooling by the time Mike left. He wondered what was so engrossing about the book. Maybe he should read it.
‘Mikey!’ a deep voice chimed from across plaza. ‘Long time no see, how’ve you been old man?’
‘Stan? Wow, you look great. Can’t really stop, I’m working.’ He smiled broadly at his old friend, pausing a moment. ‘Everything’s good, how’s it with you?’
‘Oh yeah, good, good, on the rise. Almost at the top of the tower!’ the fawn suit and wool coat spoke of a huge salary. Stan wasn’t as bothered about hiding his Demon as many were, the glistening blackness made his skin appear radiant. Women stopped to watch him walk by, they always had. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you go, I’ve got a little bit on Broad Street that needs a good seeing to before I finish for the day.’
He laughed loudly as he walked away, winking to a redhead finishing her lunch. The redhead flushed and looked down. But then, unsurprisingly glanced back up at Stan from under her lashes. Turning an even deeper shade of red when she realised he was still watching her.
Mike suspected the little bit was looking for a deal, but Stan had his methods, as did most Demons. And there were rituals. It made them feel more important than they were. Stan always slept with his deelies – letting them enjoy his magnificence and the pleasures only a full Demon can give.
They never remembered who he was afterwards. Just that they’d had the most amazing time with the most gorgeous guy they’d ever seen. And somehow got exactly what they wanted. It was a simple way of keeping them from ruining it for someone else.
Back in the day, Mike used to meet up with him on the weekend and listen to all his lecherous stories. He loved making deals and then helping them commit a mortal sin. One way or another their soul was going into the pit.
Of course, fewer and fewer believed they had souls, let alone thought they could make a deal with a Demon. In the old days, they’d summon a Demon and make demands. Circles and rituals, sacrifices and symbols. But that all died out around the time they started hanging people for witchcraft. As if witches were bargaining their souls. Witches were rarely desperate enough to do that, they knew where they stood. Besides, the King of Hell liked them – called them his human lovers. He had a thing for human women he’d like them to have his children. Other Demons knew to leave witches alone.
But these days it was necessary to be more of a salesman, go out and convince people. Not just that the solution was a bargain but that they had a soul that could be used as currency. Mike was glad that wasn’t his job.
He managed to make another smaller, cautionary sale before he jumped on the bus to go home. He was eager to share his news with Joy.
CHAPTER FOUR: YELLOW
Oliver hated shopping and shopping with his wife. He was just a glorified page boy. He was also having his ear talked off and forced to eat something healthy for lunch. She’d decided that he could do to lose a few pounds and she’d happily created a diet plan just for them. He missed cream cakes. It didn’t help that he had to work a long and boring night shift. Couldn’t she have brought a friend whose opinion mattered?
He decided, as soon as he got the opportunity, he’d go to the bookstore. It wasn’t as tempting as the bakery but he needed something new to read to take his mind of things.
Smiling as she asked which handbag he preferred, he told her to get both. Apparently, that was the wrong answer and she pouted in a way that said he was in trouble.
‘Well, I thought the blue would go with the jeans you bought and the pink with the dress.’ He let out a breath as she smiled and put both bags over her wrist. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘should have checked the price tags first.’
Following her, he hoped he could curb her spending on the shoes somehow. Thinking how foolish he’d been not giving her a limit. Always desperate to keep her happy; he often wondered if he’d over wifed himself.
‘I need to get a book before we head home,’ he told her as she tried on the third pair of shoes.
‘Oh good idea, I fancy that new historical romance.’ She smiled. He wanted to be in the bookstore and home so he could relax before his shift. So, he smiled and handed his card to the girl, forgetting once again to ask the price first.
The second they entered the bookstore she ambled off to the romance section and he found himself drawn to a book. From the thickness, he knew it would last a few nights. Becoming aware of the cashier looking at him from behind the central desk he slid a copy from the shelf. He didn’t recognise the author.
Flipping through, he turned to the back page and read the last paragraph:
Now you have a choice to make. Play again or carry on with your life as if it was normal and your soul was not promised on your death. To play again, convince five people to play – you may include the one you convinced in the game – if you did, in fact, complete that task. Choose your next colour and dive back in, play for their souls. I already own yours.
Well, that was a little strange, he thought, drifting over to the counter.
‘Would you like it wrapping?’ the cashier asked as he scanned it.
‘A bag will be fine thank you,’ Oliver said fishing out his wallet.
‘It’s an excellent book, sir. Life changing, people all over the world are reading it.’ The man handed over the bag.
‘How can it be so popular if I’ve never heard of it?’ Oliver hadn’t asked for the cashier’s opinion.
‘Well, sir, one of the rules is you’re not allowed to talk about the book. Until you’re told you can.’ He smiled. ‘Enjoy.’
‘Thank you,’ Oliver said, turning to locate his wife. Wondering why the cashier was allowed to talk about it.
The journey home was decidedly quiet, and Oliver felt a flood of relief when they pulled into the drive. His feet ached and he wanted a nice relaxing soak.
The bath was welcoming when he dipped his toe in. And with a huge mug of tea on the side, he lay back and reached for the book. Would he be signing his soul over if he continued to read? He laughed at his own stupidity, it was just a book.
His wife yelled him for tea as he reached Day One, thinking that was as good a place as any he closed the book and got out. He’d have to leave for work soon and he’d need all the energy he could shovel into his mouth to get through the night.
Task: ‘Today you’ll choose your favourite dessert and whilst with others, you’ll make a pig of yourself eating it. You must not apologise for your behaviour or any mess you make.’
Oliver could tell the first task was going to be difficult. He worked nights and slept days. His job consisted of watching the CCTV and patrolling.
He sat in the monitor room reading the task again. He was meant to be on a diet and he missed cream cakes. Just thinking about them made his stomach grumble. He knew that was the dessert he was going to have to have. After all, if he was going to break his diet he might as well have the thing he wanted most. There was a bakery on his way home.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait for the morning. He would have to keep his indiscretion from the wife though; she would make him apologise and he couldn’t be doing that. It was against the rules.
He was so desperate for the cream cakes when he got off shift that he couldn’t tell the woman what to put in the extra-large box. He licked his lips and resorted to pointing through the glass c
ounter.
Deliberately sitting near the early morning gym group that met in the park, he selected the first cake. A pair of old ladies out for a morning walk sat on the bench opposite him. Nattering about this and that whilst watching him shovel cakes into his mouth. He didn’t care if it went all over his face or down his front, his jacket could go in the wash. If he could get it past his wife.
‘Are you enjoying them?’ one of the ladies called. His mouth was so full of cake that all he could do was nod.
‘You should slow down; you’re going to make yourself sick.’ The other laughed, but he shook his head and chose a cream-filled doughnut.
The exercise group were looking at him with a mixture of disgust and yearning as, with only two cakes left, he decided he couldn’t eat anymore. The old women looked on, shocked surprise on their faces when he tipped them into the rubbish.
Wiping his face with a napkin he’d stashed in his pocket, he walked away with a happy smile and bulging stomach.
Still grinning as he drove home, convinced he’d passed the first task he was eager to read the next chapter.
He pulled into the drive just as his wife was coming out of the front door. She gave him a look that suggested he’d better not be late again and hopped into his still warm seat. Occasionally he got held back for one reason or another, which meant that some mornings she caught the train to work instead – but she was never happy about it. It was, after all, her car.
He waved her out of the drive before going in to shove his uniform in the machine. Then he flopped into bed to sleep the day away. He wouldn’t bother setting an alarm, his wife would wake him when she got in.
CHAPTER FIVE: MAËL
Ditching his satchel by the door he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie. There was a message on the machine from Joy to say she’d taken a late shift because her friend was ill. She was going to stay at hers and call him tomorrow. Despite how often she stayed over she still had her own place.
He would be eating alone. And that meant only one thing.
He grabbed the phone and called the local Chinese takeaway. The one that catered to Demon tastes, he didn’t often get the opportunity to eat the things he liked. He could have called Stan and had that catch up but decided it wasn’t worth getting involved with him again, he would drag his dark side out and it would come willingly. The less time he spent with Demons the easier it was to keep his darkness where he wanted it. What they say about temptation is painfully true.
Crickets, fried in garlic butter, with bean sprouts, egg fried rice and a side of twisted fingers. Damn those things were good, all spicy with a bit of crunch. And a can of the Demon cola – it had a real kick.
When the food arrived, he had a movie set to play, and kicking off his shoes he got comfy and tucked in.
Before he’d finished, Joy walked in.
‘Hey, you got take away. Is there enough for me, I’m starving?’
‘No! What are you doing here? I’ll order you something just tell me what you want.’ Mike panicked.
‘Wouldn’t mind Crispy fried beef.’ She smiled. ‘We weren’t busy, Guy let me leave early and I thought I’d come see what you were up to. Were you watching porn or something?’
‘Not unless Constantine counts as porn.’ He got up to retrieve the phone again.
‘Ooh yes, Keanu Reeves is hot!’ she swung her legs over the sofa and landed softly on the cushions.
He turned to order her meal, trying to hear the guy on the other end over the kitchen noise.
When he turned back she had a strange look on her face, the chopsticks half in her mouth, a bean sprout dangling from the corner. Glancing at the coffee table he tried to remember how many curly fingers there’d been.
‘What is this?’ she asked around a mouthful of food. He waited until she’d swallowed, not wanting to risk her spitting it back out.
‘Did you eat from this carton?’ he stalled, picking up the bean sprouts.
‘Yeah, and the other one, is it chicken in garlic? Tastes weird, and sort of crunchy.’
‘No, it’s not chicken. Yours is on its way, maybe you’d like a drink to get the taste out of your mouth?’ He went back to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.
‘Sure, but hey, I’ll just take a swig of yours,’ she said.
He turned slowly back. Leaping across the room to save her from a drink would be beyond odd. He waited for the inevitable.
‘What the fuck is this stuff?’ she bolted from the chair, the fiery taste burning the roof of her mouth as she ran for the tap.
‘Not water!’ he said. ‘Drink milk, lots of milk,’ he said, grabbing the carton out of the fridge.
He was starting to splutter with laughter. He’d seen people eat Demon food before but drinking the cola was something else entirely. It would come back to haunt her later.
‘It’s not funny,’ she grumbled in between gulps of milk.
‘It is kinda.’ He tried to calm himself.
Then there was a knock at the door.
‘I’ll get it, you keep drinking,’ he said.
Thanking the delivery guy, he turned in time to see her stuff a curly finger in her mouth. He dropped her dinner and launched himself across the room.
‘Stop! Spit it out!’ he screamed at her, reaching; a wild look in his eyes.
‘What? Why?’ she continued chewing. The finger crunched audibly. Her eyes widened. ‘What was that?’
She’d stopped eating, just held it in her mouth as she talked around it, waiting for his answer.
‘Spit it out, now!’ he held out his hand.
She did as she was bid.
‘Now go rinse your mouth out!’ he snapped, pointing in the direction of the bathroom.
‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ she asked. Her cheeks beginning to flush.
‘Rinse it out. Over and over. With the mouthwash,’ he was still pointing.
‘What’s this going to do, give me explosive diarrhoea?’ she was being narky to his obvious over reaction.
‘If you’re lucky. Rinse it all out,’ he said still pointing like some deranged middle school teacher.
‘Seriously?’ she stopped and turned back, not sure whether to believe him.
‘Now!’ he yelled. She went.
‘For fuck’s sake, what is going on with my life?’ He muttered as he dumped the chewed curly finger into the bin.
He washed his hands and went back to the coffee table, he could bin the rest. But they were his favourites and he didn’t get to eat them very often. He decided not to, she’d learnt her lesson. She could eat her own food, if she still wanted it, he chuckled wickedly. And stopped himself. He shouldn’t laugh like that. Maybe he should pour the cola out, which was often the cause.
He fished out a bottle of coke from the fridge and poured them a large glass each. Then retrieved her tea and arranged it on the coffee table. He was just sitting down as she came back.
‘I don’t feel so good,’ she moaned.
He peered at her but suspected it was just a feeling. If she was going to be sick she’d be doing it by now, and it would be sprayed around the walls.
‘Come on love, I poured you a real coke, you can wash the mouthwash taste away and eat whilst we watch the movie.’ He patted the sofa and reached across to send the film playing again. It was his favourite, and he’d seen it a thousand times, but he would feel cheated if he missed any.
She groaned as she pulled her food towards her and sipped at the Coke. But it didn’t take her long to start wolfing down the Crispy Shredded Beef in Peking Sauce with Egg Fried Rice. That was the trouble with Demon cola after you’d drunk it you’d get the munchies. It took a lot less time for humans. She was going to feel really bad tomorrow. He stuffed the last curly finger in his mouth before returning to his crickets and rice, what was left of them anyway.
CHAPTER SIX: ABADDON
‘Stan, he needs bringing back into the fold,’ T.G. Master said. ‘He left for all the wrong reasons.’
‘The wrong reasons?’ Stan sipped his G&T. ‘He was never part of the fold; he was an outsider we were dangling the sweet stuff in front of.’
‘Love! Of all things.’ T.G. Master waved his arms, ignoring the rest of what Stan had said. He couldn’t believe it had happened. Few Demons fell in love, fewer still with humans. It must be the genes. He’d been right on the verge of becoming like Stan and himself when he’d decided he needed a nap.
Stan sat in his chair, swivelling back and forth as they talked. T.G. Master sat on the edge of the huge, long, black mahogany desk, agitated. The office was plush, black and red with a comfy suite in the centre.
‘We have him selling the book. He thinks it’s a mortal job, thinks he’s got control over his Demon nature and can live like a human. With a human.’ T.G. Master got up and poured himself a drink. ‘You bumping into him today was genius by the way.’
‘Thank you.’
‘He doesn’t know why you were his friend does he?’
‘No,’ Stan said. ‘Do you think it’s time to tell him?’
‘Not yet, he needs to be willing to come back. Willing to give in of his own free will.’
‘You should’ve seen what he was wearing. You’d have died laughing.’ Stan was grinning. ‘Well, I’d better get back to my own office, contracts to fulfil and all that.’
The Soul Game Page 2
