Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

  A reluctant smile touched Chess’s lips. “I have a hard time saying no to you, sugar. All right.”

  Fluffpaw barked happily.

  Ralgath brushed another kiss over Chess’s mouth and then reluctantly let go. “Right, then. We need a plan.”

  RALGATH CROUCHED on one of the high catwalks overlooking Zemael’s throne room, his cloak pulled tight around him to blend with the shadows. Chess had silently killed the catwalk guard and then bent over double, barely able to suppress a coughing fit. When they took their hand from their mouth, it was scarlet with blood.

  Ralgath tried to turn his thoughts from Chess’s predicament. Their contract lay rolled on a table near Zemael’s hand, along with Ralgath’s quill and pitchfork. The remaining four guards stood at attention around the confines of the room.

  What had Zemael meant, that there was some secret concerning souls? What did she intend to do with the ones she took?

  She was able to cast a glamour that had fooled even his eyes—a small magic, but more than she should have been capable of. Had the power somehow come from the souls she owned—perhaps even Keith’s? Or was he jumping to conclusions and there was some more reasonable explanation?

  Below on her throne, Zemael smothered a yawn. “I’m bored. Help me think of the most creative way to kill the prisoner.”

  “Pull off his horns,” one of the guards suggested.

  Ralgath frowned and reflexively rubbed at one horn.

  “Did he have a tail?” another asked. “I can’t remember. If he did, you could make it into a whip or something.”

  A door opened, and Chess strolled in, accompanied by Fluffpaw.

  Zemael instantly straightened. “What is that useless mutt doing out of its cage?”

  The attention of the guards focused on Fluffpaw. Holding his breath, Ralgath began to crawl as quietly as possible across the catwalk. He made for a spot directly behind Zemael and near the table with his pitchfork.

  “Fluffpaw?” Chess asked, as though there might be some other hellhound in the room. “I let her out because she’s a good girl.” They scratched her behind the ears and then beckoned to one of the other guards. “See? Come over and give her a pet.”

  The guard grinned and stretched out his hand. “Aw, you’re right, she’s—argh!”

  Fluffpaw snapped her enormous jaws. The guard jerked back and revealed only a bleeding stump. Before any of the others could react, Chess pivoted on one foot and kicked a second guard in the stomach.

  Ralgath didn’t waste any time. He dropped from the catwalk and landed with a thump by the table. Zemael spun toward the sound, even as he snatched up his pitchfork.

  “Give up, Zemael,” he said, “and maybe you’ll get off lightly. Fancy scrubbing toilets in Hell for the rest of eternity?”

  She shot out her hand, and a pitchfork of her own materialized in her grasp. “I don’t know how you convinced the mortal to betray me, but their life is forfeit—as is their soul.”

  Ralgath didn’t dare look away. Sounds of fighting came from the other side of the room, but they mingled with a deep, hacking cough. He had to hope Fluffpaw could protect Chess for a few more minutes.

  “Amend their contract, or I’ll kill you and amend it myself,” Ralgath said as he stabbed his pitchfork in her direction.

  She pirouetted out of the way. Fire appeared on the tines of her pitchfork, and a smirk touched her red lips. “Well, well, well. I thought you’d let the mortal make a laughingstock of you because you were incompetent. But no. You did it because you’re in love with them.”

  Ralgath lunged at her. She caught the tines of his pitchfork on her own, and they struggled and pushed against each other. He dug his shoes into the concrete, and the floor buckled as she shoved him back toward the wall. He drew on all his infernal power and channeled it through his pitchfork, which began to glow with leashed energy. Zemael’s eyes widened just as he released its force in a gout of demonic fire.

  She flew back and crashed into the table, scattering contract and quill. Ralgath leaped after her—but a hand closed on his cape and yanked him to the ground. His pitchfork fell from his grasp.

  One of the human guards loomed over him. Claw marks slashed across his face, and his shirt was torn open to reveal a vicious-looking bite wound. But already the injuries were healing, thanks to the powers Zemael had granted him.

  Where was Chess? Fluffpaw? Had the guard simply gotten past them? He could still hear the sound of fighting but didn’t dare look away as the grinning mortal stared down at him. He groped wildly with his free hand, desperate to find the dropped pitchfork.

  “I ain’t never killed a demon before,” the man said as he lifted his knife.

  Ralgath closed his fingers on the pitchfork, just as the knife came down. He flung his arm up, and the knife clattered off the haft. Ralgath rolled to his feet and drew on all his demonic power. His cloak billowed around him, and his eyes glowed as he thundered, “And you won’t now.”

  The man gaped and then turned to run. Ralgath hurled his pitchfork with all his might. The tines buried themselves deep into the man’s back, and he collapsed to the floor.

  Ralgath turned back to the room and searched for Fluffpaw and Chess. Fluffpaw faced off against the lone remaining guard, her fur on end and shining with green fire. But Chess was slumped against one of the columns, barely on their feet. Even as Ralgath watched, they coughed up a great gout of blood.

  They were dying.

  The contract. He had to find the contract.

  He spun toward the shattered table—and Zemael punched him in the chest.

  Ralgath flew through the air and smashed into one of the columns. The steel bent beneath the impact, and he fell, dazed, to the ground.

  Zemael marched toward him, a figure of fire and fury. She drew her lips back to expose sharp teeth, and her red eyes burned like twin flames. A scalding wind ruffled her hair, and the tines of her pitchfork went white-hot.

  “You haven’t won anything today,” she snarled, and sparks flew from her lips like spittle. “This is merely a setback for me. Tomorrow I’ll have a whole new batch of mortals, eager to sell their souls for a little power. Your lover’s soul will be my plaything, and as for you… you won’t exist at all.”

  So saying, she raised up her pitchfork and brought it down at his chest.

  RALGATH SHUT his eyes and flinched back at the last moment. He felt a gust of heat, smelled scorching flesh, and heard a cry of agony.

  Startled, he opened his eyes. Chess stood between him and Zemael, and the tines of her pitchfork had skewered them through the shoulder. That wound didn’t bleed. It had been cauterized by the intense heat.

  But it didn’t need to. Blood covered their mouth and bubbled out their nose, thanks to the curse levied by the contract. They lurched back, off the tines, and Ralgath caught them in his arms before they could hit the ground.

  The faintest grin curved Chess’s lips. “I said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I?”

  “Chess,” Ralgath whispered. “Please….”

  Chess shook their head. “I’m sorry about before. I l-love you.”

  Their body went limp. Ralgath lowered them to the floor and frantically searched for a pulse. “Chess? Chess!”

  The grief in Ralgath’s chest was like a collapsing star. Its gravity sucked in everything around it. Fluffpaw threw back her head and howled mournfully.

  “Pathetic,” Zemael said. “All of you. I’m ashamed for the Underworld that they sent you.” She hefted her pitchfork. “But now you no longer have the worthless mortal to protect you. I see now why Celestial Affairs didn’t waste time on them.”

  The icy black ball that had been Ralgath’s heart began to reignite, and he rose slowly to his feet. He lifted his gaze from Chess’s slack face to Zemael’s mocking eyes. “Chess isn’t worthless.” He stepped over Chess’s prone form and held out his hand. His pitchfork blinked from the dead guard and into his grasp. “They did more in three years than most of us
have done in our entire lives.” Fire burst into being and raced along the tines of the pitchfork. “And I’m going to make you pay for hurting them.”

  Zemael’s eyes widened in shock, and she took a step away from him. Then she licked her lips. “You can try.”

  Ralgath swung at her. Their weapons clashed with a hellish ringing of iron off iron. Sparks flew into the air, and Ralgath drove her back, step by step. Her lips went tight against her teeth, and she snarled in fury and desperation.

  “Surrender,” he shouted.

  She shook her head. “No. No! I won’t bow my neck to the likes of you.”

  With a burst of strength, she flung him aside, and his shoulder struck one of the steel columns. Shrieking in triumph, she hurled herself at him, pitchfork poised to skewer.

  Instead he dropped bonelessly to the floor, and the pitchfork buried itself deep in the column. Zemael tugged at it frantically, but it refused to pull free.

  Ralgath surged up, leading the way with his own pitchfork.

  For a moment Zemael only swayed on her feet and looked surprised. Then all the color leached from her face and hair. In seconds she was nothing more than a gray statue of ash.

  Fluffpaw trotted up and sniffed at her. The ash crumbled to the floor, along with her now-empty clothes, and the hellhound sneezed and puffed Zemael’s remains into a cloud.

  Ralgath’s pitchfork fell from his hand, and he ran to the shattered table and flung aside bits of wood. The contract—he had to find the contract and the quill.

  There—the quill shone softly with a reddish light. He picked it up, but it was useless without the contract. Fluffpaw began to dig through the wreckage beside him, and she let out an excited bark when a corner of parchment came into view.

  “Good girl.” He snatched it up and ran back to where Chess lay.

  Chess didn’t move when Ralgath knelt beside them. Were they even breathing?

  “Chess?” Ralgath whispered as he brushed their hair back. Gods below, they were pale. “Hold on, love. Hold on.”

  He unrolled the contract. A quick slash of the quill struck out Zemael’s addendum. Ralgath overwrote her signature and restored his own.

  “By the powers invested in me by the Underworld,” he intoned, “Chesapeake Richards, your contract is restored to its original terms.”

  He set aside the contract and looked hopefully at Chess—who didn’t move.

  “Come on, Chess,” he said. “We did it. Wake up.”

  Nothing.

  Because, of course, the damage Zemael had done hadn’t simply reversed. Why had he imagined it would? Restoring the contract wouldn’t turn back time.

  Fluffpaw whined and lay down beside Chess, head on her paws.

  Ralgath bent his head, and tremors began to run throughout his body. If only he’d been faster or smarter—whatever it took to stop Zemael before the damage was too great.

  Tears threatened, and he blinked rapidly. “It’s not fair.” He took Chess’s near hand between both of his and held it to his lips. “Not fair. It’s not supposed to end this way.” He swallowed thickly. “I never had the chance to hold up my end of the bargain. I never got to… got to tell you I love you.”

  The movement was almost imperceptible, but Chess tightened their fingers on his.

  Ralgath opened his eyes with a gasp.

  Chess moved their head slightly and licked their dry lips. “Don’t count me out so fast, sugar,” they rasped.

  Fluffpaw leaped up with a happy bark and started to lick Chess’s face, but Ralgath pushed her off. “Get back, you lump,” he said, but he was laughing with relief. “Give them some space.”

  He slipped an arm around Chess’s shoulders and helped them sit up. Chess leaned against him, and Ralgath gratefully took their weight. They were still pale, but they were warm and alive. Healing, thanks to the contract.

  “How are you feeling?” Ralgath asked.

  “Like I just got my ass kicked by a demonic curse,” Chess said. “Funny how that is.”

  “Yeah.” Ralgath buried his face in Chess’s hair. “You scared me.”

  “I scared me too.” Chess snuggled in closer. “I’m just going to rest here a bit, all right?”

  “Sure, love.” Ralgath kissed them softly. “Take as long as you want.”

  XI.

  TWO DAYS later Ralgath and Chess perched on the trunk of their car at a crossroads. Fluffpaw snored loudly in the back of the convertible, and frogs trilled from the scrubby forest around them. Fireflies danced in the syrupy-warm air. Fortunately Ralgath was immune to the humid heat, and the light sheen of sweat on Chess’s skin made them look even more delectable.

  Ralgath didn’t want to leave Chess to recover alone, so he’d gone to a crossroads and contacted another demon to take his full report to Gizrun. To his surprise, Gizrun sent word he wanted to meet in person on the mortal plane.

  “So,” Chess said as they swung their legs idly.

  “So,” Ralgath replied.

  Chess leaned back. “I guess you’ll be going back to the Underworld.”

  Ralgath didn’t want to think about it. Even though Chess had spent most of the last two days taking it easy, they’d been some of the best Ralgath could remember in a long time. There’d been a spark between them from the first moment they met, but with the time and space to get to know each other a bit better, the spark had strengthened into something more.

  Ralgath took Chess’s hand in his. “I don’t have a choice,” he said, not trying to disguise his unhappiness. “I’m a demon. They don’t let us wander around on our own, you know.”

  “Right.” Chess sighed. “I know. I just… I want you to stay.”

  “If only I could.” Ralgath let go of their hand and reached into his coat pocket. “Before I forget, here’s your contract. You upheld your half of the bargain. Time for me to uphold mine.”

  “No.” Chess pushed the parchment away.

  Ralgath frowned. “No? But why not? The Underworld will own your soul. When you die….”

  “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

  Ralgath’s throat ached. “Chess….”

  “But this isn’t about you,” Chess went on. They stared down at their boots, as though absorbed in the sight of their low heels and bedazzled leather. “I’ve been doing good in this world. Sure, it hurt that Celestial Affairs didn’t want me. But the thing is… you made me realize I don’t need them. I’m not doing this to prove myself to my parents or to you or to anyone else. I’m doing it because I choose to.”

  Pride swelled in Ralgath’s chest and constricted his breath. “I love you,” he said, and he kissed Chess desperately.

  Gizrun cleared his throat. “Oh, don’t let me interrupt.”

  Ralgath jumped. “Mr. Gizrun!” He hopped off the trunk and gestured to Chess. “This is Chesapeake Richards.”

  Chess’s mouth fell open at the sight of Gizrun. Actual crossroads demons tended to look more or less human, as they were the public face of the Underworld. Gizrun, being in management, was probably like nothing Chess had ever seen.

  “I figured that much out myself.” Gizrun snorted with a blast of steam. “Try to keep it in your pants for a half hour, Ralgath.”

  Ralgath’s face heated. “Umm, yes. Sorry.”

  Gizrun fixed half his yellow eyes on Ralgath and the other half on Chess. “You did good work, Ralgath, better than I expected.”

  “I imagine so, since you expected to never hear from me again,” Ralgath said dryly.

  A purple flush spread over Gizrun’s scaly cheeks. “I was pulling for you the whole time, kid. Hoped you’d turn out to have some of your mother in you. Lots of upper management demons speaking your name right now.”

  “So I’m getting my old job back?” Ralgath asked hopefully.

  “Well.” Gizrun scratched at the back of his neck. “Lots of people speaking your name, like I said. But this whole incident was pretty embarrassing for IA. Rogue crossroads demon. Rogue kennel master. It looks bad.�
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  Chess’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? You want to screw over Ralgath just to keep things quiet?”

  “Hold your horses, mortal. I’m not talking about screwing over anyone.” A sigh of steam escaped him. “The truth is, we’re worried Zemael might have been just the tip of the iceberg. She abused the system pretty badly, but she’s not the only one, just the only one dumb enough to get caught.”

  Not to mention her claims that the higher-ups were hiding something to do with souls. Ralgath had hesitated to include that in his report, but in the end, he felt he had no choice.

  “The two of you did good work,” Gizrun went on. “So, in part to head off any rumors that IA isn’t taking the situation seriously, I have a proposition.”

  Ralgath struggled not to let hope show on his face. “What?”

  “We form a new team. Enforcers aren’t really equipped to track down demons, like I said before. If we took the initiative, it would look good for IA. You’d be our… hmm, Employee Satisfaction Reconciliation Committee has a nice ring to it.”

  Chess arched a brow. “We’d reconcile employee satisfaction by killing rogue demons like Zemael?”

  Gizrun held up his hands. “Or convincing them to return to the Underworld. Whatever works.”

  Ralgath glanced anxiously at Chess. “What do you think?”

  Chess pondered. “So let me get this straight. You want Ralgath and me to track down any other demons who decide to do a runner.”

  “Right.”

  “And my contract remains in force?”

  Gizrun shrugged. “Fast healing and speed will be an asset. And obviously you’ll get preferential placement in the Underworld when you die. You might even become a crossroads demon yourself.”

  Ralgath’s heart beat faster, but Chess still looked contemplative.

  “One condition,” Chess said. “In between jobs for you, we keep doing my work—hunting down vampires and other creepy crawlies.”

  “The Underworld doesn’t care about the soulless,” Gizrun said. “Except for demons, obviously. Have at it.”