The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  “Is he? How odd. Their well-being did not seem his first priority when he was venting his hatred at them.”

  “He was angry. People don't think straight when they're angry. Whatever he said, you have to know he didn't mean any of it.”

  “Mm. Wrath. One of the most compelling of the deadly sins, wouldn't you agree?”

  I'm not sure I want to touch on that subject. Instead, I go for a more direct approach. “Do you know where they are?”

  “If I told you no, would you believe me?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then it’s really a moot question, isn’t it, little sister?”

  Stalemate. “All right. Let's rephrase that. Are you saying you don't know where they are?”

  “They're with friends.”

  “Your friends or our friends?”

  “We're all friends here, aren't we, love?”

  Resisting the urge to respond with sarcasm, I instead pit his own words against him. “Prove it then. If we're all friends as you say, if you truly mean us no harm, then put my mind at ease. Russ isn't the only one worried about them. I'm concerned, too.”

  His gaze wanders off, as if he's grown bored with the conversation already. “How touching.”

  “Are they dead?” I ask point blank.

  The vivid eyes turn to light on me like bluebirds returning to their roost. “I can assure you, they are very much alive.”

  Relief washes over me, but it's short-lived. I have to remind myself that he may very well be lying. “How can I be sure you're telling the truth?”

  His sensuous lips curve into a devious smile. “Set me free. I'd be delighted to personally escort you to their current location.”

  “Yeah, I bet you would,” I mutter.

  He laughs quietly, and the sound is a weird combination of pleasant and menacing. “I can see we'll have to work on our trust issues.”

  “I'm afraid that ship sailed the minute I found out what you are.”

  He tilts his head, gazing at me with mild curiosity. “Please explain.”

  “It was one of your kind who slaughtered my mother and father. So forgive me if I'm not quite willing to take what you say at face value.”

  “Ah, yes.” Leaning forward, he rests his chin on folded hands, tapping a finger against his mouth as if he's trying to think. “You know, I do seem to recall the rumors. Belphegor has always been inclined to run amok. It's the vanity in him, I'm afraid. Thinks he can just go about doing as he pleases. Though I must say, it was bad form on his part, encroaching on your domain. Hardly a fair fight, was it?”

  My cold stare falters. I feel as if all the wind has just been knocked out of me. “You're telling me you know who killed my parents?” I whisper.

  “As I said, it was Belphegor.” Taking in my stricken expression, his eyes widen in disingenuous surprise. “Why, my dear! Surely you didn't suspect that I had a hand in all that unpleasantness! I am half human, after all. Only an archdemon has the ability to take possession of an earthbound form.”

  “Do you realize there is an innocent man wasting away in prison because of what your demon friend did?”

  He shrugs carelessly. “Friend? More of an acquaintance, really.”

  “My God, you're despicable! All of you!” I spring to my feet, trembling all over with the shock of his revelation and the apathetic manner in which it was delivered. It doesn't help to know the assassin's name – nothing can be done about it now, no way to exact revenge on something that isn't even of this world – but the casual reopening of old wounds infuriates me. His indifference infuriates me.

  “You were the one who brought it up, were you not?” Shaking his head, he tsks his disapproval. “My, my, such a quick temper. So like your brother. Dear Judith...as much as it saddens me to be the agent of bad tidings, please do bear in mind, I am only the messenger.”

  “Why? Why did he do it? Can you tell me that?”

  “I would imagine it had something to do with your father's extracurricular activities.”

  I hesitate, giving him a blank look.

  “The exorcisms,” he clarifies. “Run interference enough times, and you tend to find yourself on the wrong side of those who do not approve. I'm sorry for what happened to your parents, I truly am, but the way things were going, it was inevitable. From what I've been told, your father had been warned. If that is indeed true, then he should have heeded that warning. Instead, he persisted. It was bound to happen. Frankly, I'm surprised you children weren't targeted as well. You should count yourselves fortunate to have been spared.”

  I fall silent in the wake of his disclosure. It's a little overwhelming, to have wondered and obsessed for three years only to have the facts dropped in my lap so suddenly.

  “It's odd, isn't it? Your brother never once brought up the subject. His only concern seems to be for the voluptuous Skylar Banks.” His eyes watch me shrewdly. “Tell me something, little sister. Will you also take pleasure in the spilling of my blood?”

  I don't answer right away. The comparison troubles me. I didn't like seeing that vicious side of Russell, and I prefer not to consider the possibility that I could be capable of the same barbaric behavior.

  “I have no intention of hurting you,” I quietly assure him.

  “I am grateful indeed to hear that.”

  “Unless I find out that you've been lying to me. Then all bets are off.”

  “Fair enough.” He turns a palm up, motioning for me to take a seat. “Please. Don't go. Stay and keep me company for a while, won't you? The nights drag on forever down here.”

  Cutting my eyes at him sharply, I grudgingly sit back down. He's playing on my sympathy, that much is obvious, but I'll never get anywhere with him if I don't play along.

  “There, that's better.” He smiles his approval before launching into the disingenuous – and completely unnecessary – protocol of introductions. “I never did formally introduce myself, did I? Where are my manners...Locryn Price, your most humble servant. Please, call me Loc. Seeing that we are now well acquainted.” He lifts his shackled wrists and politely offers a hand.

  Nice try. I may not have any experience dealing with demons, but I'm not fool enough to fall for that. Staying out of his reach is likely the only thing preventing my insides from being used as his next craft project.

  “You'll pardon me if I don't shake hands,” I tell him coolly.

  His eyes narrow just a fraction. “Smart girl.”

  “Smart enough to know that your kind can't be trusted. So what do you say we just cut to the chase here. What's it going to take to get you to release my friends?”

  “I only said that I am privy to their whereabouts. I never said I was the one responsible for their departure.”

  “Max said that you-”

  “Your friend...” he impatiently interrupts, “...hears only what he wants to hear. His loyalty to your brother is admirable, but somewhat misguided.”

  I select my next words carefully. “Then suppose you just tell me where I can find them. Once they're back safe and sound, there won't be any reason for Russ to keep you here.” I'm deliberately phrasing it so there is no actual mention of letting him go. Unless we want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders, I can't see how releasing him will ever be an option.

  He shrugs apathetically. “The knowledge would do you no good. They are not in a location that would be accessible to you.”

  “They haven't been dragged down to Hell, have they?”

  “Hardly. But that doesn't mean they would be any easier to find.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I said. Although...” Pausing, he allows his eyes to roam up and down the length of my body, and I am suddenly glad I swapped my pajamas for sweats and a t-shirt. Still, the intensity of his appraisal makes me feel completely exposed.

  “I might be inclined to strike a deal,” he offers.

  “I know better than to make deals with the likes of you.”

/>   “Come, now. Isn't this what you wanted? The opportunity to liberate your friends, to return them to the sanctuary of their loved ones?”

  I heave an impatient sigh. Might as well hear him out, I suppose. Still, I already know that the price will be exorbitant. Something tells me his request isn't likely to be a suede jacket or a gift card to Red Lobster.

  “What is it you're asking in exchange?”

  He leans forward on his arms, his gaze piercing right through me. “Not much. Just your sweet, virtuous soul.”

  Why did I just know that's what he was going to say?

  “My soul isn't for sale,” I inform him icily. “Not at any price.”

  “Shame,” he smirks.

  “Look, can't we just make this simple? A straight up even trade. Quid pro quo – your freedom for theirs.”

  “Mm...no. I think not.” Affecting disinterest, he studies his fingernails as if he's considering whether or not a manicure is in order.

  I can't help but notice how clean they are. Every part of him – his clothes, his skin, his lustrous dark hair – is immaculate. He's been down here all this time with no access to a shower and yet he looks like someone ready for an evening out. Hell, he even smells good. Every once in a while I catch a subtle whiff of him, an unfamiliar yet highly seductive scent. Whatever it is, it's downright intoxicating.

  He's like a statue come to life. Perfection chiseled out of stone. Or better yet, the cinematic version of a vampire – never changing, never waning.

  A frightening world we live in, when evil is able to camouflage itself so brilliantly.

  I'm not at all surprised that he has declined, but that doesn't keep me from being annoyed. Of course he isn't going to make this easy for me. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in this grungy basement, having the crap beat out of you on a daily basis?”

  He lifts his eyes to meet mine. “You've asked your share of questions. Now permit me to ask one. How much do you know about hybrids?”

  “I know enough.” The truth in that is debatable. I may know more than most, but that still doesn't amount to much.

  “Then you are already aware that I cannot die by conventional means. I can experience pain, true, but pain is such a minor thing when one's body heals as quickly as mine. Do you really see the threat of violence as being enough to intimidate me? Do you think I can be coerced if I do not wish to be? My dear, pain is hardly an enemy to me. We are, indeed, old friends. Which bodes the question, what are your brother and his equally obtuse friend truly accomplishing with all this nonsense?”

  I stare at him speechlessly as his mouth twists into a sneer.

  “Nothing, Judith Sterling. Absolutely nothing. So you see, you've all rather backed yourselves into a corner here, wouldn't you say?”

  The basement, which has never been a particularly warm place, suddenly feels like the inside of a meat locker. I cross my arms over my stomach, shivering. Sometimes I really hate being right. But it's just as I feared – there's no way out of this. We are good and royally fucked.

  Nice going, Russ. This is what you get for dancing with the devil.

  “Why are you even doing this? There has to be a reason, doesn't there?” I feel like I walked into a theater after the movie's already started. “Give me a point of origin. Something to trace back to. Did you have some sort of vendetta against Owen, or maybe Skylar, or is it that you're trying to get back at Russell for something? If that's the case, I'd really like to know – what did he do to you? What did any of us ever do to you?”

  One eyebrow arches. “You really are ill-informed, aren't you?”

  “I was hoping you could enlighten me.”

  “My dear Judith...to understand my purpose, you must first understand the nature of the cambion. There is no profound rationale behind my behavior. I assure you, my motives are purely selfish. I solicit entertainment where I can. If there is none to be found, then I create my own. If that means inciting a little chaos along the way, then what of it? Why must I have a justifiable explanation for my behavior? I am not accountable to you, nor am I bound to your principles. It really is quite simple. I choose my diversions for the same reason you humans engage in your mundane pastimes. For the sheer, unadulterated fun of it.”

  His explanation is damn near incomprehensible. Although it makes about as much sense as anything else that's happened recently. “This is fun for you? Really? Being trapped down here, beaten and tortured – that's what passes as recreation for you?”

  “Patience, little sister. Part of the fun is the anticipation of the end game.” He smirks arrogantly, as if he's already been given an advance preview of the finale. “You don't really think you'll have me at a disadvantage for long, now do you?”

  His confidence is disconcerting. If he's bluffing, then he's a very accomplished liar. “And once you're free, we're all as good as dead. Aren't we?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “What does that mean? 'Not necessarily.'”

  “It means there isn't much point, is there? Death provides such fleeting satisfaction. It's hardly worth the bother. There are more intriguing methods of playing this game.”

  Wow. That makes me feel so much better.

  Not.

  “Why do I get the feeling we aren't talking about chess here?” I mutter.

  He surprises me by laughing. Guess he finds my cynicism funny. “Tell you what, love. You seem anxious to have your friends returned to you, and I must say you've been far more civil than your hotheaded brother. I might reconsider helping you out. But you must do something for me in return.”

  I'm not about to cut a deal with this guy, but I have to say I can hardly wait to hear what he proposes. “What is it you want? And don't you dare say my soul.”

  “Nothing quite so drastic. For now, just the pleasure of your company.”

  I frown, wondering where he's headed with this.

  “It's simple, really,” he explains. “I'm bored. As you can see, there is very little to occupy my mind down here. Just come see me now and then. Talk to me. Keep me company. For one week, that's all I ask. Is it so much? Just a few hours here and there? And if you comply, then I might see fit to tell you what I know about your friends.”

  I say nothing at first. I'm waiting for the catch. Because there has to be one, right?

  “I might consider it,” I waver dubiously. I have to admit, it's too tempting an offer to outright refuse. But I'll be damned if I give him a definitive yes. No matter how harmless his proposition might appear on the surface.

  Because when I say I'll be damned, that could very well mean in the literal sense.

  “Please do,” he encourages me with the utmost politeness.

  “In the meantime, though, can you assure me they won't be harmed?”

  “Their bodies will not be subjected to injury. That is the most I can promise you.”

  I narrow my eyes, suspicious of his oddly constructed wording. “What do you mean, their bodies? You said they were alive. They are still alive, right?”

  “Oh, yes. They are very much alive.”

  “Then I need you to promise me they'll stay that way. That they won't be killed. Or tortured. Or hurt in any way.”

  My demands don't faze him one bit. “Very well. I hereby give you my personal guarantee that they will not be physically poked, prodded, wounded, maimed, murdered or otherwise.” He smiles complacently before adding, “As long as you comply with my request.”

  “You should've been a politician, you know that?”

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn't a compliment.” Giving in to empathy, I reluctantly ask, “Are you hungry? Can I get you some food or water or something?”

  “No.” He waves off my offer as inconsequential.

  “Don't you ever eat?”

  “For pleasure, yes. But I don't need food or water to sustain me.”

  Interesting. I would've assumed that at least the human side of him would require nourishment of some so
rt. He so closely resembles the depiction of a vampire, I have to wonder if creatures like him are where the folklore originated.

  “Guess that explains why you don't seem to need bathroom breaks,” I point out.

  He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “My dear Judith, you have the raw and uncultivated nature of a child.”

  “Thanks, I think.”

  “It wasn't a compliment.”

  Glowering at him, I get up and take the folding chair to the exact spot that it came from. No way do I want to leave behind any evidence that I was here. Russ would shit a brick.

  “Leaving already?” There is an underlying note of sarcasm.

  “Was there some reason I should stay? Frankly, you give me the creeps. Not to mention it's cold down here.”

  “Hm. So I see.” His eyes flicker briefly to my t-shirt before returning to me with a wicked gleam.

  I fold my arms across my chest self-consciously. “You know, you wouldn't even be in this predicament if you hadn't fired the first shot. You started this. It's your own fault and I don't feel one bit sorry for you.”

  “No one asked for your sympathy,” he reminds me.

  “But you did ask for my company. Didn't you? Which leads me to wonder – what's your angle? If you think you're going to somehow gain my trust, you're wrong. If you think you're going to trick me into setting you free, you're also wrong. I have to say, all you're doing here is prolonging your agony and wasting everyone's time.”

  “Time?” His ubiquitous smile conceals a thousand black secrets, none of which I care to see revealed. “Time is something I have in droves. Time, and patience. Some things, you see, are worth waiting for. So run along upstairs to your nice warm bed, Judith Sterling. Lay your head on your pillow and have sweet cotton candy dreams. But please keep in mind, this is a limited time offer. It only stands provided I see your lovely face again within twenty-four hours. Remember your friends and kindly don't disappoint me.

  “I can't be responsible for what happens to them if you do.”

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Seven