by J. C. Nelson
A contract scribbled into place in impeccable script, leaving her blood smear perfectly positioned at the signature point.
Liam lunged for the crystal wall, pounding against it with every bit of strength he could muster, but after two weeks, he couldn’t even change his hands to claws.
Malodin changed as he advanced on me. His skin glistened black and his eyes became like an insect’s, his mouth elongated to allow spider fangs.
“This is the point where you reveal some sort of devious twist.” I backed away as I spoke, circling the ring. “Like ‘her destruction of old age.’ Right?”
“No.” His mandibles clicked together as he spoke.
“But I thought demons never did as they were told.”
Malodin shivered, and his skin split, freeing wings to spread behind him. “She asked for something simple. Something in line with my nature. Something I wanted to do anyway.”
I was in trouble. I glanced over to Nick Scratch. “Leash your boy?”
He folded up his paper and sat back down. “You took away his apocalypse; I can sort of understand him not being happy about it.” He took something out of his pocket and held it between his hands. It began to shake and steam and then pop. He shook a bag of microwave popcorn and opened it up.
“Eli? Little help? He’s going to kill me.”
The angel reached over and took some popcorn from the Devil. “Unlawful murderizing, that goes to small claims court. We only handle the important stuff.”
“Your contracts are going to be the death of me,” I said, dodging a halfhearted blow from Malodin.
“That’s sort of the point.” Malodin flipped the quill over, raising it like a dagger.
I reached into my purse and brought out the vial. At the sight of it, Malodin recoiled, and both Nickolas and Eli let out howls of laughter. “I’m sick of contracts. How about you and I have a gentleman’s agreement? You put down the quill, I’ll put down the vial.”
“Lady, you make bad deals,” said Malodin, “but I’m fine with that.”
I carefully placed the vial on the drafting table, not spilling a drop on the copy of that cursed contract. “Your turn.”
He swung at me with the quill, missing my chest by an inch.
“We had an agreement.” I ran, he advanced, flipping the quill in his hand as he did.
“A gentleman’s agreement. I’m not a gentleman.” He swelled with each step, lumbering forward.
When he swiped at me the next time, I rolled to the side, kicking his knee so hard it broke. He sagged forward, then rose. The buglike carapace covering his knee popped and crackled as it healed. “I can do this all day.”
I charged, leaping onto his back, tearing at the wings, stabbing my thumbs into his eyes, and he twisted. His head swiveled around to look at me. Then the wings I’d leaped on flared out, throwing me toward the crystal floor.
I hit headfirst.
The kick that followed hit my thigh, flipping me over like a rag.
Malodin knelt, grabbed me by the hair, and threw me across the floor, into the drafting table. I grasped at it, hauling myself up. He’d be on me in an instant. I stretched out across the table, reaching for the vial of sweat. Malodin swung the quill overhand, driving it through my hand and snapping it off. I writhed in agony and fell, hanging half crucified from the table.
Malodin grabbed my suit with his claws and lifted me upward. “Any last words? Some sarcastic comment? A witty retort?”
I looked back over my shoulder at the contract. My blood refused to stick to it, dancing to the side to avoid the words. “I accept.”
He dropped me like I was made of Cheddar cheese, his hands smoking where he had touched me. “What is this?”
I pulled my hand off the quill. Tremors of agony wracked my body, but I forced myself to my feet and pointed to where he had stabbed the paper. “You canceled the deal. Quill was in your hand. You moved it.” As I spoke, the single mark flowed into Malodin’s signature. “You have no authority to harm anyone now.”
Nick Scratch began to laugh so hard he nearly fell off the bench, and then he stood and clapped his hands softly. “You know, Marissa, that was inspired. Mal, my boy, how did you not see that coming?”
Malodin flexed a clawed hand and reached for me.
“Ahem.” I looked back at Nick, who had folded up his paper and put it under his arm. “Mal, you need to decide how we’re going to do this. First, you fail to deliver an apocalypse. That I can almost understand. It happens. Canceling your own contract though; that’s just plain bad for business. I wouldn’t trust you to bring about the end of happy hour at this point. Boys, take Mal to my office.”
A swarm of flies rose up and seized Malodin and pulled him down through the crystal into the fire.
The crystal in the floor retracted, and Liam limped over, wrapping my bleeding hand in his shirt.
“Let me see.” Grimm sounded angry and happy at the same time, as he looked at the point where the razor tip of the quill pierced my hand. “My dear, you are most fortunate.”
The shivering in my body said otherwise, and the thought of disinfectant made me shake. “How about you do the magic thing where everything feels better?”
“Your body will take care of that on its own.”
If there was one thing I could count on the Fairy Godfather to do, it was to avoid magic.
Then the screaming started. By the dealing table, Nickolas held Irina Mihail in one hand. With the other claw, he folded her, like a flesh origami, until all that remained of the queen was a cracker-sized square of pulsing flesh. “Maybe she’ll taste better with soy sauce. See you later, Marissa.” Nickolas nibbled on the edge of the square, causing it to shriek, and walked to the side of the dealing room.
The harbingers stood between me and the door, arms folded. I waved to War. “We’re done, right? You guys can go.”
Death took a couple of steps forward. “Not exactly. The rest of the contract may be canceled, but we haven’t delivered on our end. And we always keep our side of deals.”
Thirty-Nine
“WHAT DO YOU want? I’m not going to end the world. Not again.” I leaned into Liam, and he responded by picking me up, which, all things considered, I liked.
“Marissa, relax.” Larry picked up my crumpled contract from the floor. “Just looking out for you as your lawyer.” He unraveled the paper, then pointed to a section I’d skimmed over. “Due, and Gifts.” My eyes picked those out pretty well. “You were supposed to receive these when you unleashed the harbingers.”
“She didn’t give us time.” War glared at me. “And after that stunt with the bikes, I wasn’t feeling generous.”
I kicked my feet in the air, signaling Liam to put me down. He kept his arm around me. “Fine. I’ve got the head of Rip Van Winkle in a box, a throne I can’t use, and Kingdom only knows what else that I don’t need. Could you wait and get me something off my wedding registry?”
War approached, exchanging a stare with Liam that I couldn’t quite decode. He reached out, and put the palm of one hand on my forehead.
I expected more.
A flash of light, maybe? A rainbow of color? You know, something to indicate that I’d gotten, well, something. He pulled his hand back, and nodded, almost to himself. “Lady, you gotten your ass kicked from here to Sunday. My gift will fix that.”
“I’m not a killer.” I wouldn’t mind another harakathin, but the idea of him making me into a killing machine, that made me sick at my stomach. When I closed my eyes, a light like a spotlight shone on the inside of my head, like an afterimage. “Take it back.”
War chuckled. “When you finally are ready, my gift will be waiting.” He stepped back, and nodded to Pestilence.
I swear, the guy could have been an underwear model. The tone of his skin, the ripple of his muscles . . . for the embodiment of disease, he kept it together.
I didn’t flinch when he put his hands on my cheeks. When he sneezed, showering me in snot, I flinche
d. I flinched a lot, as a matter of fact.
“My gift. You’ll never catch a cold again.” Pestilence bowed his head toward me, while I wiped my face on Liam’s shirt.
Famine waddled forward, a diet soda in his greasy hands. “Eat what you want. You’ll never grow fat.”
Which left only Death. What on earth could Death offer me? More life? Eternal life? His eyes wrinkled as he smiled, and I shook my head. “You don’t work that way.”
“Do you remember what I told you about hate?” Death’s voice sent chills down my spine. More than normal, if there’s a normal for conversing with the embodiment of death.
“Yeah, I remember.” Hatred could pin my soul. A warning? Love everyone or risk becoming a ghost?
“Then my gift is already given. See you soon, handmaiden.” Death turned, as if to walk away, and when I blinked, he was gone.
“On account of your good service to this world, I’m prepared to offer a onetime pass.” Eli’s voice boomed in the empty chamber. Then I realized his words were to Larry, not me.
In life, Larry Gulberson had all the charm of a walrus wearing a clown mask. After dealing with Larry as a skeleton for so long, he actually looked mildly charming. He nodded to Eli.
“On the other hand, you should consider all your options.” Nickolas Scratch tapped his rolled-up paper in the palm of his hand.
“You don’t really want to go with that guy. He’s pits of sulfur and fire.” Eli glared at Nickolas.
“Women. I’ve got women. Marilyn, Lizzie. He’s got Mother Teresa.” Nick winked at me.
“She looks good in a habit.” Eli looked over at me. “Get on out of here, Ms. Locks. Gonna get ugly.”
Larry walked over and took my hands. “The deed for my house is in Mother’s pocket. Make sure Ari gets it.” Then he wiped a bead of sweat from his head, smiled, and turned his back. “Let’s talk. Eternal damnation. Are we talking one or two eternities here?”
I didn’t look back when we left.
* * *
“I’M GOING TO miss him.” Ari and I sat in the living room of her no-longer-haunted town house. The house felt empty without a spirit of wrath and a hellhound watching over it.
“Yeller, or Larry?” At her dog’s name, Ari’s face fell further. She’d probably meant both.
“Ladies?” Grimm appeared above the fireplace. “I hate to interrupt, but Arianna has an appointment.”
Ari took a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and slipped them on. “Fear therapy for Wyatt. We’re making progress. Yesterday he almost looked at me without flinching.”
“A man terrified of the woman he’s in love with is hardly unique.” Grimm spoke with the authority of several thousand years.
“Grimm, any sign of the Black Queen?” I tried to keep the apprehension in my voice under control.
“None. My daughter must gather power, a process that may take decades, or perhaps centuries. Don’t waste your life worrying about what may never come.” Grimm faded out, off to save the world, or maybe just a prince.
When Liam opened the front door, I was already waiting. Already had my coat and my purse, and the smile that came to my face at the sight of him. Not even the image of Svetlana, following him like a puppy dog, could dampen my joy.
He stood on the step and reached up to take my hand. “What do you want to do today? We could go to the forge, do some work there. You want to have lunch on the waterfront?”
“I was thinking of looking for wedding bands. I know a jewelry store that’s having a great fire sale.” I tucked his hand in mine. If anything, I’d learned over the years: Happily ever after may be out there, but it doesn’t come to you. So we did what any smart couple would do. We chased it.
READ ON FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE NEXT GRIMM AGENCY NOVEL
Wish Bound
COMING SEPTEMBER 2015 FROM ACE BOOKS!
WHEN I WAS a little girl, my mother used to say, “A little birthday party can’t hurt anyone.” She stopped saying that after my seventh birthday, when the ponies they rented stampeded. Then it was “How bad could a birthday party be?” which lasted until my tenth birthday, when the microwave oven exploded, coating everyone in melted frosting. Then it was “Let’s get this over with,” followed the year after by “You know, this year let’s let Marissa celebrate her own way.” Which meant I spent my birthdays reading alone while my parents went out for drinks.
And that’s how I planned to spend my twenty-eighth birthday. Which fell on a Monday, which statistically, it does once every seven years. Mondays, in my experience, are lousy, and birthdays are even worse.
I ran to work that Monday, keeping my girlish figure looking slightly more girlish than trash-can-ish, and Liam ran with me. Liam. Almost six feet, built like a barrel, with arms like tree trunks. My fiancé. My other half. The man who’d stood by me through the end of the world. Also, a man in lousy shape.
“Marissa, could we take a break?” Liam limped along a few dozen feet back.
I learned to run earlier in my life. Run to get away from things that wanted to kill me, run to get away from things I couldn’t get away from. Technically, these days I could eat the buffet and the table it came on and still not gain a pound, thanks to the gift from a harbinger of the apocalypse, Famine. Being the apocalypse bringer had its benefits, but I wasn’t taking chances, so we still ran.
In case you’re imagining a romantic run through the city, two lovers getting an endorphin kick to keep us ready for work, stop. We had company. A few feet behind Liam came a bombshell blonde, curvy and pale, with brilliant blue eyes and a figure that stopped hearts.
“You can run on. I will stay with my liege.” Svetlana, the aforementioned beautiful disaster, waved to me. I wasn’t about to leave her any more than she ever left us. Which was never. It wasn’t just devotion to my fiancé, it was a form of contract. Thanks to the machinations of an evil queen and her team of assassins, Liam wound up holding a stake in, well, everything Svetlana’s people owned. Given that they were all vegetarian vampires, they objected to stakes of any flavor.
I jogged in place, waiting for Liam to gain his breath.
“This is a lot easier when I have four feet,” called a six-foot-eight man with curly brown hair. The head of our shipping department and full-time Big Bad Wolf, Mikey, never passed up a chance to chase people, even if he wasn’t allowed to devour them. The crowd parted for him in a way that would have made Old Testament Moses envious. Crowds in the city don’t move for anyone, but most folks had a healthy self-preservation instinct. “I’ll see you at the office,” Mikey shouted. He loped off, nearly sprinting.
We took another forty minutes to arrive, mostly due to my fiancé, partially due to a flower vendor who insisted I wanted a dahlia. What I really wanted was to shove the dahlia somewhere he’d find painful.
For the record, Liam and I had an unremarkable dinner the night before. One without candles, streamers, or balloons, with no mention of “happy birthday” or any of that nonsense. That’s exactly how I liked it, exactly how I needed it to be. Parties never worked out well for me. Whether it’s the hazmat team having to hose everyone down, the cake catching fire, or the wheel of evil cheese appearing in the office fridge, my birthdays went better without celebration. The end of the world was actually a couple of years ago, and having survived that, I wasn’t terribly eager to do anything else to, well, kill everyone. So I didn’t plan on attending my own party.
I arrived at the Agency, ran up the stairs for that final calorie-burn burst, and exploded through the front door, ready for a Monday.
Our receptionist, Rosa, hunched over a man, shocking him repeatedly with a stun gun.
I nodded to her. “Morning, Rosa.”
She made the sign of the cross with her middle finger, blessing herself and telling me off in one pass, and muttered under her breath.
Since Rosa obviously had the morning crowd under control, I checked the schedule. In my office, a six-by-four mirror pulsed, glowing orange in the darkness
. I had the mirror divided into slots for each day and hour, keeping a schedule that Grimm couldn’t claim not to see. Monday morning. Liam had an appointment in the sewers, where a group of mud men awaited the “Final Flush.” I hoped Svetlana brought her muck boots.
Mikey needed to be down at the docks, where something on a container ship kept eating the night watchmen. If you are what you eat, something had a cholesterol count that might kill it.
I looked at my name and saw the whole day blocked out without explanation.
The column next to mine looked identical.
“Morning, Marissa. Does this outfit make my eyes look more or less yellow?”
I recognized Ari’s voice and couldn’t help but smile. In the doorway to my office, Arianna Thromson stood, dressed in a yellow tracksuit. The yellow made her red hair look lighter, and it made the diseased, yellow, blind eyes in her head look only mildly diseased and yellow.
Arianna Thromson, my best friend. Also, princess, and witch. Don’t hold those last two against her—the first you could blame on her parents, the second on an evil queen who forced Ari to use too much magic at once.
“Looks better.” I looked at her dead-on, making sure she knew that regardless of how she looked, she was still just Ari to me. “You and I have some sort of all-day engagement.”
“I’m meeting Wyatt for lunch.” Ari narrowed her eyes at me, then looked past me to the board. Despite the fact that her eyes had neither pupils nor irises, she could see perfectly well without them. In fact, if what you were looking for was a spirit, spell, or curse, she saw better than I did.
Ari read the schedule, then put one hand to the bracelet on her wrist. A simple gold bracelet, the key to our communication with the Fairy Godfather. “Bastard Grimm, you come here this instant.” Using Grimm’s first name was something even I avoided, and I outranked Ari.
The calendar faded from the mirror, and Grimm swirled into view. He adjusted his coat, looking every bit the English butler I always imagined him as. “Ladies, how may I assist you?”
