The woman behind the counter wore glasses that looked like the bottom of milk bottles in wire frames. Her greying hair tucked into an untidy bun high on her head. Her clothes, although very clean and carefully taken care of, spoke of an era long past.
‘Hello, dearie,’ she said. ‘What are you looking for?’
Books cramped and crushed into the oak shelving lining the walls as if they were themselves forcing their way into a crowd to see what all the others were looking at. Bundles of drying lavender, copper tea kettles, and kitchen witches riding broomsticks hung from the ceiling.
‘I’m selling actually, I was looking for the proprietor, wondered whether they would be interested in stocking the latest, and greatest, self-help book.’ He found himself saying it in a light, off-hand manner. As if he knew her answer would be no.
‘Ah well that might depend on the author, self-help books can do more harm than good.’ She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. He relaxed.
‘It’s by T.G. Master. Have you heard of him?’
‘Hmm yes, I’ve heard of him. I may even have one of his previous books. Out of print of course.’ She came around the counter and a slinky black cat hopped down from a shelf and curled up against the till. ‘May I have a look at the book?’
‘Certainly.’ He pulled the book out of his bag, then began to wander as she flicked through.
‘You have a strange collection of books,’ he noted.
‘We cater to a strange collection of customers.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Most are of a more spiritual community.’
‘Witches?’ he asked slipping a velvety black book out. ‘This is strange.’
‘It’s the book of night, the author thought it would be clever to have white writing on black paper. Thus, it doesn’t sell as often as she would like,’ she said. ‘Still, it’s a handsome book with some very valuable protection spells. Although I can’t imagine you need protection from anything.’
She was eyeing him as he slipped the book back onto the shelf, a wry grin on his face as he turned back. Knowing fine well she was referring to his father, but having had so little to do with the man he couldn’t imagine how any of his abilities could have rubbed off. The King of Hell had many sons and daughters, and their descendants, in the human world. He was just one of many children who lived exceptionally long lives.
‘Well, what do you think? Reckon you could sell a few copies?’ gesturing to the self-help book she was holding.
‘I know a few who might be interested. And it would be nice to send my sister in Greece a copy or two for her store.’ She smiled as he took the book and slipped it into his bag.
‘There’s a little bit of a wait on delivery but it should only be a day or two. They’re quite quick,’ he pulled out the order form.
‘Oh, that’s okay, I can have people cueing to get them by the time they arrive.’ She shooed the cat off the desk. ‘I’ll take 100 copies. A mix of hardback and paperback if you don’t mind.’
‘You think you’ll sell 100 copies?’ he was surprised. It didn’t seem like a bustling store.
‘More I suspect,’ she said.
He stroked the purring cat as she filled in the order form. He was sure the damn thing was shedding all over him. It looked happy about it.
‘Don’t mind Mr. E.,’ she muttered as she wrote.
‘Mr. E. huh?’
‘It’s a mystery how he got here, a mystery how he’s lived so long, and a mystery why he does what he does.’ She chuckled. She handed the forms back.
‘Thank you,’ he said, not noticing the protection symbols in the door frame as he left.
He checked for messages as he walked back to the human part of town. As he hit the main square the rain began. Big heavy drops splattered on the concrete and he quickened his pace. His phone rang as he reached the shelter of the bus stop.
‘Babe?’ Joy said. ‘I’ve taken another shift tonight. Casey got sick too. I just hope I don’t get it.’
‘You won’t after drinking that fiery cola.’ He chuckled as he heard her howl with laughter.
‘I still can’t taste anything worth a damn,’ she managed.
‘My bus just pulled in, call me tomorrow?’
‘As soon as my shift’s over,’ she promised.
He dug out the correct change. Unaware that Stan was sitting in his red sports car only meters away, wondering why the hell Mike didn’t have a car.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: PURPLE
Crying herself to sleep every night was not how Amanda had pictured this holiday. She’d come out to have fun, visit interesting places and spend the entire two weeks with her fiancé. Turns out he hadn’t been quite as into that and had invited his friends along. After the third night of him returning drunk, she’d realised she wasn’t going to get the holiday she wanted. She began taking herself out, eating out, and ignoring him moaning about his hangover.
By night eight he wasn’t even coming back to the hotel and two days later she bumped into him on the beach with a scantily clad girl in a rather passionate embrace. She’d emptied a child’s bucket of sea water over the pair before storming off to spend all the money on the credit card he’d left her during one of his guilt trips. She smiled as she wandered into the expensive dress shop. But it was short-lived and by the time she’d spent every available cent, she was exhausted.
Back at the hotel, she found he’d taken all his things. Amanda flung her purchases across the room before flinging herself on the bed sobbing. Eventually, there were no more tears. She only had a few days left here so she would pretend she’d come on holiday alone.
The next day she found the oldest part of the town, where the streets were narrow and cobbled and the buildings towered above her creating a cooling effect. There were many little shops selling local handmade items and she determined to get souvenirs.
Two necklaces and a compass later she found herself in an old brick-a-brac shop. Things hung from the ceilings, others were fastened to walls, and still more adorned shelves and tables everywhere. A strange smell permeated the room, warm and welcoming with an underlying aroma of dust and age. The woman behind the counter seemed to be wearing every available shawl and Amanda wondered whether the locals found the current temperatures cool.
‘It’s okay dear,’ she said in a husky ‘smoked all my life’ type voice. ‘He was never the one for you.’
‘What?’ Amanda spun around, how could she know?
‘The man you came with, he isn’t worth it,’ the woman said, smiling at Amanda and beckoning her over. She tapped something on the counter. ‘I think perhaps this book is for you.’
‘For me? What do you mean?’ Amanda picked up the book. It felt warm in her hands, like an old friend and she wondered if she’d read it before.
‘It’s what you need, my cousin sent it to me but my instincts tell me it’s your turn.’ The woman got up and wandered off.
‘Wait, how much is it?’ Amanda called.
‘It’s a gift dear,’ came the muffled reply.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ABADDON
‘Are you serious?’ T.G. Master asked. ‘He rides the bus? How is he getting the books to the customers?’
‘I assume he’s carrying them or calling a cab.’ Stan laughed at the look on his boss’s face. ‘I was going to offer him a lift but he was on the phone and looked happy.’
‘He looked happy? Must have been the girlfriend. I still can’t believe he’s doing all this for a woman.’ He put his feet up on the coffee table. They were in his office sipping whisky and discussing Mike. ‘Does she even know what he is?’
‘No idea. She’s pretty.’ Stan grinned wickedly. ‘I went and ordered pie and chips from her today. She’s got the sweetest southern accent you ever heard. I don’t know if it’s put on for the customers but hell it was hot!’
‘Leave her be, we want him on our side not furious at us for stealing his girl away.’ He shook his head. ‘I never want to see him go full Demon. If he’s anything like his father, then I
doubt we’ll survive.’
‘Hey, I made sure she wouldn’t remember me.’ Stan held his hands up. Then got serious. ‘How is his father?’
‘In a foul mood last time I had the displeasure. That Demon could roast a cow with his stare.’ He shivered. ‘Creepy.’
‘Tell me about it. If I wasn’t friends with Mike, he would have roasted me years ago.’
‘But you’re not friends with Mike,’ T.G. Master pointed out.
‘As long as he never finds out I’ll be fine.’ He frowned at what might happen if his supposed best friend’s dad figured out it was all one great con.
Not long after Mike’s mother died he’d ‘bumped’ into Mike in a bar. They’d met once or twice before, just chatted over a drink, nothing special. But that night Stan helped Mike forget his worries. Introduced him to some better drinks, a few special additives, and a flurry of beautiful women. They’d spent a few years getting into trouble together before Stan had let on what he was. He’d pretended to be shy about it, frightened at what Mike might do when he found out.
But Mike hadn’t been fazed. Stan hadn’t been sure at that point whether Mike was even the son of who they thought he was. But like all Demons, he’d recognised one of his own. He’d asked him if he knew what he was. Mike had smiled a smile so dark Stan’s bones had chilled. He let Stan see a glimmer of the Demon he was, the Demon he could become if pressed and Stan had known then. Terrified, he’d asked Mike how he’d found out.
It’s why they’d been so careful over the years, why they’d hidden. Both he and his mother were in danger because of what he was. Only now there was just him, and he was sick of hiding.
Stan promised to show him the real Demon world and introduce him to anybody who was anybody. Mike would be like royalty.
‘Don’t sugar coat it, I’ll stop believing you.’ Mike had laughed.
They’d been firm friends for decades. Until one-night, Mike said he was tired and wanted to sleep. He didn’t wake up for ten years. Stan had moved on.
‘I wish he was the way he used to be,’ Stan lamented. ‘It would be so much easier to bring him over.’
‘We don’t want him the way he used to be. He was a kid then, learning who he was and what that meant in the Demon world.’
‘But he didn’t learn who he was or what it meant. He still has no desire to find out who his father is.’ Stan tapped the edge of the glass, thoughtful. ‘Perhaps you should pretend to be his father.’
‘Perhaps you should go home, you’re drunk.’ T.G. Master laughed. ‘I’m the wrong kind of Demon.’
‘True.’ Stan sighed.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: MAËL
Mike got home soaking wet, freezing cold, and on edge. He’d been certain someone had been watching him on the bus. The feeling only eased when he reached his apartment block. He’d make coffee, place book orders, and take a long soak in the bath. He felt all sulphury.
The water began to turn black as soon as he stepped in. He’d suspected the woman was a witch and the cause of the disturbing feeling, but this indicated something more. Something darker. Either full Demon magic had been in use, or he was being targeted – which he was already beginning to suspect. He wanted to believe it was the books in the shop. He may have to make a return trip, maybe on the pretext of making sure she’d received her order. Maybe she had books of Demon magic. There was nothing wrong with a witch having those kinds of books, of course, it would just ease his mind to know where the sulphur had come from. Too much Demon sulphur clogged the pores and dried the skin. He might have to take a shower to sluice off when he was done scrubbing. Sulphur indicated Demon or Magic from the pit layers of hell. The kind he preferred to steer clear of. Relaxing in a nice hot bath had turned into a chore.
Shoving on some sweats he went to chill out in front of the television. Considering eating the devil’s food cake he’d stashed in the back of the fridge. He was just checking his emails when a new message pinged into his box. It was from the Sales Support Team.
Dear Mike,
We know you’ve been working hard and sold all the books we sent you. We’ve also noticed you’ve begun placing new orders with the system and wanted to congratulate you on doing so well. The books are flying off the shelves in the stores you’ve already visited.
We wanted to let you know, that because of your hard work and dedication, we are entering you into our monthly competition for best-performing employee. The winner receives a payout equal to two full months’ salary. Every six months the winners of these monthly competitions get to come and meet the author in person, as well as receive two free tickets to one of his infamous talks, overnight stay, and travel expenses. We hope you are as excited about this opportunity as we are. The winners will be announced in the employee-only area of the website (your login details are in your welcome pack) and will be contacted to arrange the details.
We are sending you another delivery of books and suggest you widen your net to include neighbouring towns and villages, as well as revisiting stores that previously declined. They may change their minds as the new adverts come out.
Keep up the good work,
Ginger
Your personal support point of contact.
Mike frowned, how did they know the books were flying off the shelves? Well, whatever, he was unlikely to win, he’d only been working for them a couple of days. There was no way he was going to outsell others who’d been at it all month. He grabbed an apple from the bowl. The devil’s food cake could wait a little longer.
He hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, relying on the soft glow of the streetlights and his Demon sight to show him where he was going. He wouldn’t deny there were benefits to being a Demon. He got comfy on the sofa, turning on an old western. Back when it had come out, and it had been a special kind of treat to go to the pictures, he’d taken his mother to see it with his first paycheck. A treat. Times had been different then. There seemed to have been fewer people, less crowding somehow.
The rain left trails down the windows, distorting the light and shadows, creating patterns on the ceiling and the dark coffee walls behind Mike. He barely noticed any of it. Shadows could go where they liked, but they couldn’t harm you. He never bothered about shadows. It was the people they belonged to you had to be concerned with. The one behind Mike was big and smooth and looming. It seemed to mean no ill intent. And was gone before he dozed off. But it had left something behind.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: PURPLE
Curled up in the huge bed she was meant to be sharing with her fiancé Amanda opened the book. Dipping her hand into the striped bag of sweets she wondered whether a book could change your life forever. If the book could do that, then it was worth her soul. Her life needed changing badly, this holiday had made it clear. She read the first task and rather than thinking it impossible she ran a bath and tried to work out how she could accomplish it.
Task: Your vice for the day will be drink. You can make or buy your own drinks but never offer to make or buy one for anyone else. However, every time someone goes to get a drink, ask them to get you one too, not politely but rather as if it’s your right to have a drink made by them.
Two hours later she was getting dolled up to go out, she would see how many men she could get to buy her drinks. She would have fun on this holiday if it killed her. Her dress was black, short and glittery and her shoes and bag matched, it was a ridiculous outfit that fit the warm evening. She topped it off with a purple necklace.
She began with the beachside bar where she ordered elaborate cocktails and laughed with the bartender. It wasn’t long till her drinks were being paid for by a gentleman at the end of the bar. She offered a huge smile and raised her glass. She moved on to the next place, rowdy locals spilling out of the front doors as others jostled to get to the bar. Amanda was enjoying this; she had forgotten the power of being single in a bar filled with men.
Staggering and giggling to herself, she crawled into a nightclub. It was unfortunate her ex-fiancé
was at the bar with his new girlfriend. But fortunate she was already quite drunk and looking stunning, the bartender ignored their group and came to serve her. She finished the drink and went onto the dance floor to get sweaty with the masses. It didn’t matter that she was alone, she just found a spot and danced, letting the music surge through her.
She realised she was drunker than she thought when she began seeing strange faces in the crowd. Faces that weren’t entirely human. She shook her head and accepted a bottle of something from the hand that offered it. Whoever was attached to the hand guided her out of the crush of people and into the night.
Amanda woke looking up at a tobacco-stained ceiling, entwined in a damp sheet, and alone. She could hear air conditioning and the steady trickle of water in the tiny room in what must have been an old hotel. Her clothes seemed to be stashed down the side of the bed and she pulled them on. Through the groggy messed up feeling in her head, she realised she had no idea where she was.
Stumbling into the bathroom she washed her face with brackish water and ran her fingers through her hair. Checking her purse, she was pleased to find she still had everything, and made her slow way to reception to ask if they could call her a taxi. She couldn’t believe she’d spent the night in some random stranger’s bed, she never did that, ever.
The Soul Game Page 4
