Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  RALGATH WOKE up shortly after nightfall, with Chess sprawled beside him, their skin warm and supple against his own. The curtains over the motel room’s large front window blocked most of the light from the parking lot, but he could just make out the shape of the television against the far wall and Fluffpaw’s pointy ears and raised head.

  Fluffpaw growled, and the rumble rattled the entire bed. Chess’s eyes flew open, but they didn’t say anything. Ralgath remained silent as well and listened intently for any sound.

  The door flew open with a crash, the locks ripped free from the frame. Chess was on the far side of the bed from the door. They rolled off the mattress in a single smooth motion and dropped to the floor. Fluffpaw leaped to her feet, and the growl became a snarl. Ralgath sat up, and a silver knife thunked into the pillow where his head had lain only seconds before.

  Ralgath snapped his fingers, and a flame appeared above his hand. Its weak light revealed their attacker’s face. He looked to be a mortal in his thirties, dressed in a black leather jacket and scuffed jeans. One hand was empty—probably the one that had held the knife—but in the other gleamed a sword.

  Fluffpaw came off the bed with a snarl, but the man sprang away with superhuman speed.

  A Chosen One? But no. Ralgath could smell no trace of Celestial lilies in the human’s scent. Rather, the man’s sweat reeked of rue and cloves.

  An infernal Mark—like Chess’s.

  The man sprang onto the bed, sword swinging so fast that it was nearly a blur. Only Ralgath’s demonic reflexes saved him. He fell flat on the bed, and the sword carved a chunk out of the headboard instead of Ralgath.

  The knife protruded from the pillow by his head, and Ralgath jerked it free, only to have it kicked from his hand by his attacker’s heavy boot.

  Then Chess caught the man in a flying tackle. They both crashed into the window and through it, dragging the curtains with them.

  Ralgath had just enough presence of mind to shove his feet into his shoes to keep the glass from slicing them. Summoning his pitchfork, he ran outside to find Chess and the intruder dueling. Chess had a sword as well—no doubt that was what they dove off the bed for. Metal chimed off metal as they exchanged a swift flurry of blows.

  Ralgath hesitated. He might be able to disarm the attacker with his pitchfork, but he was equally likely to stab Chess by accident.

  Fluffpaw rushed past him, snarling and growling. She flung herself on the man, and her massive jaws closed around the arm holding the sword. Teeth sliced through leather like butter, and he screamed in pain.

  “Good girl!” Ralgath shouted, hurrying after her. “Hold him there!”

  The man punched Fluffpaw in the side of the head. She let go with a yelp, and he bolted.

  But Chess blocked their attacker’s path, sword leveled at his heart. “Not so fast,” Chess said.

  He stopped and held up his hands.

  “Are you all right?” Ralgath asked, running to them. He wanted to sweep Chess into his arms but contented himself with running his gaze over their form. Which was easy to do, as they were still naked. So was Ralgath, except for his shoes.

  “I’m fine,” Chess said as the sound of sirens started up in the distance. “Looks like the front desk has called the police on us, though. How fast can you put your clothes on?”

  “What about him?” Ralgath asked, gesturing to their prisoner. “We need to find out who sent him and why.”

  Chess grinned. “I guess we’ll just have to take him with us, then.”

  VIII.

  THE CONVERTIBLE bumped along yet another back road, though this one was at least paved—in theory, anyway. It consisted of equal part asphalt and holes, and if there had ever been lines painted on it, they were long gone.

  They’d managed to get away from the motel just before the cops arrived. Ralgath wasn’t entirely sure how mortal police would react when confronted by a demon, and he was relieved he hadn’t had to find out. Ordinary bullets wouldn’t kill him, but they would hurt. Not to mention Gizrun wanted this kept quiet—a shoot-out with the police wouldn’t look good on Ralgath’s record.

  “Do you know every back road in the south?” he asked Chess. Magnolia trees blotted out the moon, and a multitude of frogs peeped so loudly, he could hear them over the engine.

  “All part of the job, sugar,” Chess said. They wore a pale blue camisole-style top and skinny jeans. Not having a change of clothing of his own, Ralgath had to content himself with the same suit he’d worn since leaving the Underworld. “Vamps and weres don’t stick to the interstates, so neither do I. Thank heavens for modern GPS. Can you imagine trying to do this job with nothing but an out-of-date paper map?” An overgrown road that might once have been a driveway cut a swath through the trees. Chess pulled onto it and shut off the car. “Have your pitchfork at the ready, just in case.”

  Ralgath nodded. They climbed out of the car along with Fluffpaw and went around to the trunk. There hadn’t been much time to empty it out, so weapons and luggage were both strewn across the back seat.

  “Stand guard,” Chess said.

  Fluffpaw instantly wandered off after a firefly.

  Chess unlocked the trunk and swung it open. Their attacker lay inside, still bound and gagged. He glared at them from beneath heavy brows as Chess hauled him out and dumped him on the road.

  “Take his gag off,” Ralgath said. While Chess did so, Ralgath tried to make himself look as impressive as possible. Moonlight glanced through the trees and glinted off the tines of the pitchfork. A little bit of infernal power, and Ralgath’s eyes glowed like twin red fires.

  “Mortal,” he said to their captive. “You have dared attack an emissary of the Underworld.”

  The man snorted. “Cut the ominous bullshit, dude. It ain’t going to work. I’ve seen your junk.”

  Damn it.

  Chess yanked the man into a sitting position. “Don’t act so tough, big guy.”

  “Fuck off,” he snapped. “If I talk, she’ll kill me. And I mean that literally.”

  Ralgath pounced. “She?”

  The man paled. “Umm.… I mean he. That’s what I said. He’ll kill me.”

  “Not chosen for your brains, were you?” Chess asked wryly.

  Ralgath stepped closer. “What’s your name, mortal?”

  “I ain’t telling you nothing.”

  It was getting tedious fast. Ralgath looked at Fluffpaw, hoping she might help them intimidate their prisoner, but she was busy rolling on her back, big paws waving in the air and tongue in the dirt.

  Gods below, give him strength.

  Chess sat back on their heels. “Look, I think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. I know how the ‘Chosen One’ thing works. So why are you after us? Yes, Ralgath’s a demon, but he’s not doing any harm. Trying to prevent it, in fact.”

  “He isn’t a Chosen One,” Ralgath said. “I forgot, you wouldn’t be able to tell, but it’s obvious to any Otherworldly being.”

  Chess frowned. “Then… are you saying he’s like me? He sold his soul to a demon?”

  “Yes.” Something was very wrong. “I have an idea.” Ralgath moved closer to the mortal and loomed over him as best he could. Despite the man’s earlier defiance, a flicker of fear showed in his eyes. “I can’t force you to answer most questions, mortal. You have free will. But you signed a contract with one of my kind, which means I can make you tell me one piece of information.”

  All the blood drained from the man’s pale skin. “Wh-what?”

  Ralgath smiled, showing as many teeth as possible. “The name of the demon you sold your soul to.”

  Real fear showed in his eyes. “No. Please. I’ll die if I betray her.”

  “Tell me,” Ralgath commanded. “Who holds your contract, mortal?”

  Cords stood out on his neck as he strove not to answer. But in the end, he had no choice. “Zemael!”

  RALGATH GAPED. He couldn’t have heard correctly. “Z-Zemael?”

  Chess
looked up at him in confusion. “I thought you said you lost your job over my contract.”

  “I did. And she would have lost hers if she did the same.” Ralgath swallowed. “This must have happened after she disappeared.”

  The man slumped. “I’m dead,” he moaned. “Dead.”

  Ralgath’s head reeled. If the mortal was afraid of Zemael, it implied she wasn’t being held captive somewhere, as Gizrun had assumed. And if she sent the man after Ralgath, she wanted to cover her tracks for as long as possible.

  Had she taken Muzzaxin captive when he came to find her? Or worse?

  “Then you’d better tell us everything you know,” Ralgath said. “Your only hope is if we stop her first.”

  The man shook his head miserably. “No. I….” His eyes widened, and blood began to trickle from his nose. “Shit. Oh shit. It’s already started.”

  Chess glanced worriedly at Ralgath, who was just as confused. “What’s started?”

  “It was part of the contract. I betray her… I die.” The man coughed wetly. “Oh shit.”

  This wasn’t part of the plan. Ralgath crouched beside him, feeling helpless. “I didn’t know.”

  “There must be something we can do,” Chess said, “some way we can help in exchange for what you know?”

  “The only way to stop it would be to amend the contract,” Ralgath said grimly.

  “You’ve fucking killed me, demon,” the man said, and then another round of coughing wracked him and more blood came up.

  Curse it. Ralgath bit his lip, thinking. “Listen. You’re bound for the Underworld. Help us now, and if we defeat Zemael, I’ll put in a good word for you. I hear they’re hiring in the Archives.”

  “I ain’t going to the Underworld, demon.” He sniffled, and more blood spilled out of his nose. “Zemael is collecting souls along with men.”

  It just kept getting worse. “Then I swear we’ll free you once we defeat her.” Ralgath gripped the man’s shoulder. “Just help us.”

  “Fine.” The man bowed his head. “Not like I’ve got a choice. My name’s Keith.”

  “Wait,” Chess interrupted. “Not Keith Bell? Crap, I knew you looked familiar.”

  “You know this man?” Ralgath asked, confused.

  “He’s one of the people whose disappearance I was looking into.” Chess turned to Keith. “A bunch of underground fighters, including you, dropped off the radar in short order. Was Zemael responsible?”

  Keith nodded. “I didn’t even go to a crossroads. Zemael just showed up on my doorstep. Said she’d seen me in a fight and had an offer for me—superstrength, superspeed, superhealing. And that was just a signing bonus. The real offer was money, power—more than I could ever hope to make on the fighting circuit. I just had to do what she said and stay loyal, and all my wildest dreams would come true.”

  Chess looked grim. “Why did she make such an offer? What is she doing?”

  Keith shrugged. “Fuck if I know. She’s got some other people working for her too, probably the ones you were looking for. Maybe she shared her grand plan with them, but I’m just the new guy.”

  Unease tugged at Ralgath’s spine. “How did she find out I’d been sent after her?”

  “I don’t know that either, or how she tracked you.” Keith had another shuddering coughing fit. “Like I said, I’m the new guy. I was supposed to prove myself by killing you. And before you ask, I don’t know where she is. She came to me the first time, and afterward I’ve either met up at a bar with others who sold their soul to her, or got my orders over the phone. That’s all.”

  Chess rose to their feet and gestured for Ralgath to follow them. They moved a short distance away, though Ralgath noted Chess kept a careful eye on Keith.

  “This is bad,” Ralgath said before Chess had a chance to speak. “Whatever Zemael is up to, it definitely isn’t approved by upper management.”

  “Did you know her?”

  Ralgath shook his head. “No. I wasn’t in IA long enough to meet anyone but the trainers.”

  “So no ideas as to what she might be up to?”

  “Collecting souls? Surrounding herself by superstrong, superfast mortals? She could be starting her own book club, but I rather doubt it.”

  Chess snorted. “Yeah, our new pal Keith doesn’t seem like much of a reader. Speaking of which, is there anything we can do to help him? I mean, he tried to kill us, but….”

  Ralgath watched Fluffpaw dig a hole in the pavement. “The only way to stop it is for an official representative of the Underworld to amend his contract. Zemael has the contract, which means it’s out of my reach.”

  “And as quickly as he’s going downhill, he probably isn’t going to live long enough for us to get to it.”

  Ralgath cocked his head to one side. “This is bothering you, isn’t it?”

  “I guess.” Chess shrugged. “If I’d killed him in the fight, it would have been one thing. But this is slow and painful.”

  “Yeah.” Ralgath squeezed Chess’s hand. “I have one more favor to ask him while he’s still able to speak coherently.” They returned to Keith. “Is Zemael expecting you to report in?” Ralgath asked.

  Keith watched them warily. He looked worse by the minute, the whites of his eyes slowly reddening, his skin taking on an unhealthy pallor. “Yes.”

  “Contact her and tell her the job is done. We’ll untie you and take you to a hospital.” It probably wouldn’t help, but maybe it would prolong Keith’s life long enough for them to defeat Zemael.

  “What have I got to lose?” Keith asked bitterly. “I have a number to call. My phone’s in my front pocket, right side.”

  Ralgath stood guard with his pitchfork, just in case Keith tried something, while Chess fished the phone out. But the mortal seemed in no shape to do anything. Chess found the contact on the phone and put it on speaker.

  It rang only once before a woman’s voice snapped, “Report.”

  “It’s, uh… it’s done.” Keith cleared his throat. “The demon’s ash.”

  “And the hellhound?”

  “Uh, yeah. It bit me, but I got it too.”

  “Good work. Payment will be in your account in two days.” She paused. “I’ll be in touch soon. Be ready.”

  “Yeah, I—” he started, but she’d already hung up.

  Chess’s eyes widened. “She ordered you to kill Fluffpaw? That precious baby?”

  Keith blinked in Fluffpaw’s direction. The hellhound was busy chewing through a chunk of asphalt. “Er….”

  “Let’s go,” Ralgath said. He touched Chess’s arm. “We have to hold up our end of the bargain.”

  “Fine,” Chess muttered. “But Zemael is officially on my shit list.”

  IX.

  THEY DROPPED Keith off at the nearest emergency room and drove throughout the rest of the night. Every so often Chess would pull over and cradle Zemael’s discarded shoe. As they bent over it, their eyes shut tight in concentration, Ralgath took the opportunity to observe them—their long, strong fingers, the thick hair tied back in a braid, the pointy shape of their chin. A knot formed in Ralgath’s throat and tightened every time he thought about what might come next.

  Even if they succeeded—when they succeeded, he told himself—they’d part ways. Ralgath would get back his old job as a crossroads demon, and Chess would do whatever it was they wanted to do once they were free from their contract.

  Somehow the idea of returning to the crossroads didn’t seem nearly as appealing as it had before. Not to imply Ralgath wanted to go back to his job in Intake either. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, exactly—except for this not to end.

  A part of him longed to tell Chess that he’d miss them. He’d think about them even more after their second parting, hard as that was to believe. But the words stuck in his throat. It wouldn’t be fair to Chess to say anything aloud when there was nothing to be done about it. They were from different worlds, and they had no choice but to go their separate ways.

  Shortly befo
re sunset they drove slowly past an abandoned textile mill. Kudzu crawled over the brick walls and drowned half the structure in green. The grape soda scent of its flowers filled the evening air. On the other side of the old mill ran a small river, which had no doubt once helped to power the machines within. There might have been other buildings near the mill—worker housing, if nothing else—but they’d long ago been razed, leaving behind only a wasteland of vines and the occasional scrubby tree.

  “She’s in there,” Chess said with a nod at the mill.

  “Right.” Ralgath peered at the building but saw no movement. “Any ideas as to how to proceed?”

  “A few. She’ll have stationed guards. The windows looked bricked up, but I doubt she’s just sitting there blind. The easiest way might be to come in from the river.”

  “Right.” Ralgath squinted in thought. “I have a plan. But we’ll need to go back to the canoe rental place we passed a few miles back.”

  AN HOUR later they paddled off the river and into the tailrace leading to the mill. Fluffpaw sat in the prow, entranced by the ripples. Ralgath was in the middle and Chess in the stern.

  “Where are we going?” Chess asked, confused.

  “These old mills had exterior rooms for generating hydropower, situated off a reservoir diverted from the river. We’re coming in through the tailrace to the generation room. That will let us into the mill itself.”

  “I like it,” Chess said. “But how do you know so much about mill construction?”

  “You’ll see.” For a long moment, there was nothing but the splash of their paddles in the water. “Chess? After this is over and I destroy your contract, do me a favor.”

  Chess’s silence had a wary quality. “What?”

  “Don’t waste any more time trying to make your parents happy. Find out what makes you happy instead.”

  When Chess didn’t answer, Ralgath looked back over his shoulder. They stared at him with a soft expression, lips parted slightly.

  “What makes me happy,” Chess said, then swallowed. “Yeah.”