Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Ralgath did as asked and then followed his companions into the root cellar. There wasn’t much left to betray its original function. The walls and floor were made from sealed concrete, the air startlingly dry against Ralgath’s skin.

  Row upon row of glass cases filled most of the room. Paintings hung on the walls, some skilled and some amateurish. Blues music streamed from state-of-the-art speakers, and Ralgath recognized the song as one composed by a musician who traded his soul for fame.

  Small spotlights had been mounted to the ceiling, some of them with what looked like colored gels over the light, perhaps to enhance the mood. At the moment only a few plain lights were turned on. The room was largely in shadow.

  “All the art in here was either created by a crossroads demon or under the inspiration of one,” the Bluesman said proudly. “As for the rest, have a look for yourselves.”

  Ralgath politely leaned in to inspect the nearest cases. The Bluesman hovered over his shoulder as he did so, a bit too close for comfort.

  The cases contained a great deal of… well, junk, to Ralgath’s eye. Vials with a single hair inside, fingernail clippings, a used tissue, a glass tumbler with a lipstick print on it, a shriveled hand that looked to have belonged to neither human nor demon.

  “All of these objects came from, or were used by, crossroads demons,” the Bluesman said. His breath smelled like sweet tea and fried fish. “See that glass, right there? Xaztiel drank from that in 1972 when he bought the soul of one of those television preachers. That tissue? The demon Janelle had a cold when old Joe Cauthy in Mobile sold his soul for a tire-sales empire. Local empire, anyway. Half the state’s cars had tires from one of his stores. He died a few years back.” The Bluesman sounded pleased about it. “I guess you can’t tell me what happened to him?”

  “I think he’s in accounting,” Ralgath said in the vain hope it would convince the Bluesman to move farther away from him. “Handling demonic expense reports.”

  “That’d be Joe. He always did have a head for numbers.” The Bluesman nodded happily.

  Chess cleared their throat. “What about Zemael? You said you had something belonging to her?”

  The Bluesman shot them an annoyed look but shuffled down the aisle until he came to a glass case containing two mud-stained shoes. “She kicked these off back in 2010 at a crossroads outside of Baton Rouge.”

  “Well, no wonder,” Chess said, peering into the case. “Just look at those heels. Dirt road after a rain, they’d sink right in.”

  Ralgath winced in secondhand embarrassment on Zemael’s behalf. It would be hard to keep a professionally infernal appearance while losing your balance with every step. Hopefully she’d been able to salvage the transaction.

  The Bluesman unlocked the case and reverently removed one of the shoes. “Now, why did y’all want to see something of hers again?”

  This was going to be the tricky part. Ralgath glanced at Chess, who leaned insouciantly up against another case. Chess only stared back blandly.

  Fine. Ralgath drew himself up to his most imposing height and looked down his nose at the Bluesman. “We need to borrow one of the shoes,” he said, putting just a little bit of infernal power into the words. One of the cases nearby rattled. “In return, I will offer you my cape.” He wouldn’t cut quite as imposing a figure without it, but it seemed the sort of thing the Bluesman would be into.

  The Bluesman rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. Then he shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” Ralgath was shocked back to his ordinary voice. “Why not? You have two shoes and no capes. It’s a more than fair trade.”

  The Bluesman grinned slowly. “Why trade for a cape, when I can just add you to my collection?”

  VI.

  BEFORE EITHER Ralgath or Chess could react, the Bluesman held up a remote control and pressed a button.

  The spotlight directly above Ralgath clicked on. Rather than a simple beam of light, it was covered with a stencil to create a pattern. Ralgath’s horrified mind had just enough time to recognize the Fifth Pentacle of Mars before his entire body froze in place.

  Chess let out an angry cry, but the Bluesman had come prepared. He leveled a gun at Ralgath’s chest. “Each bullet in this gun is inscribed with sigils against demons and blessed by a priest. One move and your master dies.”

  “He isn’t my master, and you wouldn’t dare.” Fury shook Chess’s words, but they didn’t move toward the Bluesman.

  “I’d rather have a live demon for my collection. It’s true.” The Bluesman shook his head sadly. “Their bodies go to ash when they die, or so it’s said. But I can sweep him up and put him in an urn beside a mannequin dressed in his clothing.”

  Ralgath’s heart pounded and his mouth went dry. Natural-born demons like him didn’t have souls of their own. That was purely the purview of mortals. If he died, he’d wouldn’t wake up in the Underworld.

  He’d cease to exist.

  He struggled to move so much as a finger, but the trap held him tight. Was this how Zemael had been captured? Or Muzzaxin?

  Chess’s brown skin took on a grayish hue. “Don’t,” they said as they lifted their hands in surrender. “I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Good.” The Bluesman frowned. “Wait. I didn’t think this through. I need to do something with you, don’t I? Can’t leave any loose ends.”

  A loud scratching sounded at the closed door at the top of the stairs, accompanied by a high-pitched whine.

  The Bluesman’s attention snapped to the stairs for just a fraction of a second. It was enough.

  Chess launched themself at the Bluesman, caught him around the waist, and dragged him to the ground. A glass case went with them and exploded into shards. The gun went off, and the bullet struck the spotlight above and destroyed the pentacle.

  Freed from the trap, Ralgath took a hasty step back and held out his hand. A pitchfork of black metal appeared in his grasp, the haft strangely warm against his fingers. “Chess! Out of the way.”

  Chess rolled to the side, and Ralgath brought the pitchfork down and buried it in the concrete floor, pinning the Bluesman’s neck in the gap between the rightmost and center tines. His eyes went wide with terror, and the front of his jeans darkened.

  “Are you all right, Chess?” Ralgath asked.

  Chess nodded. “I’m fine.”

  Fluffpaw continued to whine and scratch at the door. Presumably she’d woken up and found them gone. “Could you let her in?”

  Chess went to the stairs.

  Ralgath’s cape pooled around him as he crouched beside the Bluesman. “Poor choice, mortal,” he said. The shadows turned darker at the sound of his voice, and another spotlight went out altogether. “You have brought down the wrath of the Underworld upon—”

  The smashing of glass interrupted him. Ralgath turned to see Fluffpaw bounding toward him, her tail wagging furiously. In her excitement she took the most direct route to reach Ralgath, shouldering aside the display cases so they toppled into one another with a shattering of glass.

  The Bluesman let out an anguished cry. “No! My collection! Call her off!”

  “This is only the beginning of your punishment,” Ralgath intoned, as though he had planned on Fluffpaw wrecking the place. She reached him with a final shower of glass and a big doggy grin on her face now that she was back with her people. “Chess, take the shoe. I don’t think we owe anything in return.”

  “Agreed.” Chess picked up the muddy shoe, which had fallen to the floor. They glared at the Bluesman. “What are you going to do with him?”

  There wasn’t much Ralgath could do. Certainly he wasn’t going to kill a disarmed, helpless mortal, even one who had threatened to murder him. “Nothing… yet,” he said with his most diabolical smile. The Bluesman whimpered in terror. “I think we’re done here.”

  He waited for Chess to retreat and for Fluffpaw to prance after. Then he wrenched the pitchfork back out of the concrete. He banished it with a gesture and strode toward the
stairs, cape flaring out behind him. When he reached the lowest step, he stopped and turned dramatically.

  The Bluesman had sat up and was rubbing his neck.

  Ralgath pointed a finger at him. “I’ll be seeing you again soon,” he said. “In Hell.”

  The Bluesman’s eyes widened. “No. I promised Granny.”

  Should he do a diabolical laugh, or would that be too over the top? Deciding against it, Ralgath followed Chess up the stairs and shut the door firmly behind him.

  CHESS LED the way outside, the muddy high heel dangling from one finger by its strap. But when they were only halfway across the yard, they stopped and turned around so abruptly that Ralgath nearly walked into them.

  “When he had that gun on you…,” Chess started. Then they stopped and simply looked at Ralgath, for once at a loss for words. Chess’s eyes were dark, their lips parted. The scent of their musk teased Ralgath’s senses, and he was suddenly very aware of how close they stood together.

  “It was your quick thinking that saved the situation,” he said. “Well, and Fluffpaw wanting in.”

  Chess gave a halfhearted laugh. “I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place. I should’ve been more careful. Some monster slayer I am.”

  Ralgath opened his mouth to object, but before he could, Chess leaned in and pressed their lips against his.

  It was just as good as it had been that night three years before. Their warm mouth tasted of the overly sweet iced tea, and the heel of Zemael’s shoe dug into Ralgath’s back when Chess wrapped their arms around him. He hauled Chess closer, as though pressing hard enough would somehow make the layers of clothing between them evaporate.

  Eventually the kiss ended, and Chess drew back just a little but didn’t let go. “Been wanting to do that since you showed up in the warehouse.”

  “Same.” Ralgath leaned his forehead against Chess’s.

  Ralgath wondered if he’d lost his mind. Chess had already cost him a job, not to mention the respect of other demons. He had a feeling if he let things go further, he’d end up with a broken heart on top of the rest.

  But there was something about Chess that made him ache all the way down to his toes. His cock was part of that ache, of course, but his very skin seemed to crave Chess’s touch.

  This was going to be a disaster. But it didn’t stop Ralgath from kissing them again.

  VII.

  A FEW hours later, Chess pulled into a motel parking lot. “You had a nap earlier,” they said as they shut off the engine, “but unless you know how to drive, we need to stop here for a few hours so I can get some sleep.”

  “We don’t have motor vehicles in the Underworld.” Ralgath frowned and tried to recall the details of the contract. “But I thought you need less sleep than ordinary mortals?”

  “Less is the key word there, sugar. I’d already been up for two days tracking the missing humans when you found me.” They smothered a yawn. “If I don’t get some shut-eye soon, I’m going to collapse.”

  Ralgath bit back his impatience. They finally had the means to track Zemael and put an end to this… but if Chess needed sleep, there was nothing to be done about it.

  Besides, it gave him the excuse to spend a few more hours in their company. In a private room. With a bed.

  It was either a good idea or a terrible one. Probably both.

  “I’ll get us checked in,” Chess said. “You try to keep Fluffpaw out of sight. They probably have a no-hellhounds policy.”

  As Fluffpaw had fallen asleep in the back seat, that wasn’t much of a challenge.

  Within a few minutes, Chess returned and pulled the car around to one of the more distant parking spots. They grabbed a duffel bag out of the back seat and unlocked the door numbered 13.

  “I can’t believe there are still places that use actual keys,” they said with a shake of their head. “Anyway, here we are. Oh damn—I know I told the guy at the counter I wanted twin beds, not a single.”

  Ralgath snorted as he stepped inside. “Why don’t I believe that?”

  Chess shot Ralgath a grin that made something flutter in his stomach. “I can’t imagine. I’m just an innocent young enby, who would never, ever think to do such a thing.”

  “Right.” Ralgath pulled them close for another kiss.

  “Pizza first,” Chess said, pushing him gently back. They winked. “Got to keep up my strength. I’ll put in an order. Veggie okay?”

  “Sounds good.” Ralgath inspected the room while Chess looked up a local delivery place. There wasn’t much to see—mustard-yellow carpet with suspicious stains, an ancient television, and a bathroom with a leaky faucet. The bed looked clean, though, at least until Fluffpaw climbed onto it, rolled around, and left behind a layer of hellhound fur.

  Chess briefly departed and returned with a six-pack of beer just as the pizza arrived. The two of them sat on the bed while they ate, backs propped against the headboard and legs stretched out in front of them. Chess picked off their black olives and fed them to Fluffpaw.

  “You’re giving her terrible manners,” Ralgath said. “I mean, she didn’t have any to begin with, yet you’re still somehow making them worse.”

  “I’m just keeping the olives from going to waste,” Chess protested.

  Ralgath shook his head.

  Chess uncapped two beers and passed one to Ralgath. “Cheers.”

  Companionable silence fell between them. Ralgath watched Chess, who was in turn focused on Fluffpaw. The hellhound’s massive head rested on their knee, her eyes closed in bliss as they scratched behind her ears.

  Ralgath was the first to speak. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Just did.” Chess shot him a grin. “What do you want to know?”

  “Why did you sell your soul?”

  Chess didn’t say anything for a long moment, and that silence was much less easy. Then they sighed and returned their gaze to Fluffpaw. “You asked me that once before. Three years ago.”

  “And you gave me some line about wanting to make a difference—not that I don’t think that’s part of it, of course.” Ralgath paused and then shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business. We’re actually discouraged from asking when we’re negotiating a contract—another thing I got wrong with you. It just… didn’t seem like you gave me the whole story. That’s all.”

  “I did it because I didn’t want to disappoint my parents.” Chess glanced over at Ralgath with a rueful smile. “I’m guessing you weren’t expecting that answer, were you?”

  “I… no.” Ralgath shook his head. “I assumed… I don’t know, that your family had been killed by vampires, or werewolves ate your childhood pet—something like that.”

  “Nope. I had a happy, normal childhood. No tragedy.” Chess shifted their weight so their shoulder leaned against Ralgath’s. “But… my parents were both Chosen Ones.”

  “Chosen by Celestial Affairs?” Ralgath exclaimed. “Both of them? That’s… wow. That’s rare.”

  “They met when they ended up tracking the same rougarou down in Louisiana.” Chess examined the pale pink nail polish on one hand. The scuffle with the Bluesman had left the thumb chipped. “Of course, they assumed their offspring would be Chosen as well. My whole childhood, they prepared me for the day Celestial Affairs would send a messenger to tell me I was special.” Their smile was equal parts sad and frustrated. “It never happened.”

  “You are special,” Ralgath said, angry on Chess’s behalf. “Celestial Affairs is staffed by a bunch of idiots. And I’m not just saying that out of professional rivalry.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.” Chess pressed their shoulder more tightly into Ralgath’s. “As the years went by and nothing happened, my parents started looking more and more disappointed. As for me… I didn’t know what to do, to be honest. I spent my whole life told I was going to be a Chosen One like them. I didn’t prepare to be anything else, didn’t even consider what I might do if it never happened.”

/>   “That’s not fair.” Ralgath took Chess’s hand in his own. “Your parents didn’t even give you the chance to figure out who you are for yourself.”

  Chess shrugged and wrapped their fingers around Ralgath’s. “Did your parents have expectations of you?”

  “Plenty.” Ralgath sighed. “I didn’t exactly live up to them.”

  “Because of me.” Chess winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if the Heavens weren’t interested in me, maybe the Underworld would be. If I’d known what the consequences would be for you, I never would have done it.”

  Strangely enough, Ralgath believed them. From what he’d seen of Chess, they weren’t just beautiful and clever, but kind as well. “Do your parents know?”

  “No.” Chess shook their head. “They wouldn’t have taken it well. I figured I’d already condemned my immortal soul, so why not add lying to my list of sins? I told them I’d finally been Chosen, just like them.”

  “They’ll find out when I release you from your contract,” Ralgath reminded Chess. “Unless you can find some reasonable explanation as to why you’re no longer a Chosen One.”

  “Yeah. It’s not usually the sort of thing that comes with a retirement plan.” Chess swiveled around to face him. “I’ll worry about it when the time comes.” They reached one hand up and trailed it along Ralgath’s jaw. “Did I mention how cute your horns are?”

  Ralgath’s heart beat faster. “You can touch them if you want.”

  “Are they sensitive?”

  “Not really. No more than a fingernail. I can feel you touch them, but that’s about it.”

  “Aw,” Chess mock-pouted. “And here I thought I was about to discover a demonic erogenous zone.”

  Ralgath stroked their cheek and ran a nail over their lips. “I have plenty of others.”

  Chess licked the pad of Ralgath’s finger with a pink tongue. “Show them to me?”

  “All of them,” Ralgath promised.