“No servitude.”
Sixt shook her head. She knew that, in order to be taken seriously, she had to appear to be rigid. At least at first. “He’ll do anything I say. Jump up and down naked while singing the ‘Star Spangled Banner’.”
“Okay, look. My family tree is unusual, but he’s still my grandfather. That was a disturbing image and one I will always resent you for.” Sixt laughed. “No sex.”
“You’re not serious, Elora Rose Storm.”
They went back and forth until Rosie concluded that Sixt negotiated like a demon.
“You’re a hard bargainer, witch. I will present your offer to Deliverance and suggest he agree to your terms, as named in detail, except that leaving sex on the table is a nonstarter. It makes no sense to be liberated from the necessity to be sex slave to many so that he can be sex slave to one. He will not go for it.”
Sixt looked thoughtful. She stood abruptly and took up the post she’d been occupying when Rosie first arrived, looking out the window. After a minute of internal debate and, apparently, struggle, she said, “Alright. A review. In exchange for lifting the curse, Deliverance will be attached to my residence twenty-four seven for a year and a day including four hours per day minimum of ‘quality’ time. He will be available to me during waking hours. At the end of that time he is free to go.”
“Sex is not part of the deal. And that means no touching.”
“Agreed. Sex is not part of the deal. No touching.”
“If he agrees, when does the year begin?”
“Tomorrow. Noon. A year and a day.”
Rosie had hoped to at least shave one day off her Granddemon’s sentence, but Sixt was holding all the cards. She pushed Ashes away and rose from the sofa. “I’ll be in touch. Let me warn you, again, for your own good. It would not be in your best interest to push your advantage too far. If you humiliate him, sooner or later, somehow, some way, you will pay for it.”
“Duly noted.”
“Hope so.”
“Bye,” Sixt said cheerfully with the air of a woman who’d won. She wiggled her fingers to punctuate that Rosie had just been dismissed.
Since Rosie wasn’t feeling the vibe of fake pleasantries, she was just as happy to disappear without further adieu. So she vanished.
CHAPTER Eight THE DEAL
“You let a witch out-bargain you? You’re my blood, Elora Rose. You can make a better deal than that.”
Deliverance crossed his arms over his chest as he prepared for a protracted period of obstinance. Rosie hoped to head that off before he dug in.
She shook her head. “Don’t go all inflexible on me or we’re not gonna get anywhere. This is the best deal I can get. The witch is set on her terms.”
“This is the best?” He sounded incredulous. “This can’t be the best. It’s a toss up which is worse. That or the curse.”
“I don’t know what you did to her, but she’s still bothered, even after all this time.”
“I don’t know what I did to her either! What’s her name?”
“Sixt Guerre des Fees. But I don’t think she’s French.”
He shook his head to indicate there was no recollection of anyone by that name. “Nothing. What does she look like?”
“Teuton. Fair. Red hair. Blue eyes. Looks twenty-five or thirty.” Judging from Deliverance’s blank look, she knew it wasn’t ringing a bell.
“You didn’t agree to nice.” It was a request for confirmation.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “You have to be there, but you don’t have to like it or act like you do.” Rosie brightened. “Maybe she’ll get tired of you and throw your hex-freed self to the curb. Ahead of schedule.”
“She wants me to be her butler,” he gritted, “for a year and a day. Then…” He gave Rosie a smile she’d never seen before, and she shuddered visibly in spite of knowing that the demon with the wicked look on his face had a side that was a benevolent grandpop. “I’ll be free. And we’ll see how many ways this witch can beg for mercy.”
“Grand…” Rosie wasn’t sure what she was going to say next. This heretofore unseen side of Deliverance made her uncomfortable. “If you’re going to hurt her, I guess I couldn’t blame you, but I also don’t want to know about it.”
In an instant Deliverance had resumed the relaxed personae Rosie was accustomed to seeing. “Know about what?”
She nodded. “Good.”
“When does this year and a day sentence begin?”
“Noon tomorrow.”
“Did she name a time zone?”
Rosie had to give him props. That was an easy loophole, but a wrong choice. “Pick your battles, Grand. Eyes on the prize. The important thing is not the deal. It’s getting the curse lifted.”
“That sounds right.” He sighed. “But it feels wrong.”
“You can do a year standing on your head. Easy breezy.”
“And a day,” he corrected.
She nodded. “And a day. It’s a witch thing.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I can’t really argue that.”
“I guess you and Litha will have to come see me. If I can’t leave…”
“Of course.” She gave him a side hug. “And Dad. Don’t forget about him.” Deliverance made a face. She laughed. “Just kidding. He won’t have any trouble staying away. Mom and I will be around so much you’ll get sick of us.”
“Doubt it.” He put both arms around Rosie and squeezed. “I already miss not being able to pop in whenever I want.”
“You won’t miss the end of the compulsion though.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t miss that.”
Sixt lived on the ninety-sixth floor in a forty-one million duplex penthouse apartment at 432 Park Avenue. It was sixteen blocks away from her office building. She could have lived closer, even in the same building if she wanted, but she liked the walk in good weather. It made her feel like she was still connected to the world. She even liked it in snow. When it rained, she could ride. After all, it wouldn’t hurt her driver, who was on salary year round to drive occasionally.
The flat had stunning views of Central Park, the rivers, and much of Manhattan. She knew most people would think it was close to heaven and how she wished that she cared.
She couldn’t remember the last time she cared about something. She’d been going through the motions of gathering power and security for a long time. So long that she never stopped to ask herself when there was enough to make her feel safe. There was no spark. No passion. No delight. Nothing challenging. Nothing unusual. Nothing interesting.
Until the demon’s granddaughter appeared in her office. Literally appeared.
Without caring that she was by herself, or maybe because of that, she laughed out loud.
That demon.
Truthfully, she’d been almost instantly sorry for the spell she’d cast. It was a childish, petulant, misdirected use of power. She would have gladly taken it back, but she’d cast the spell in his presence and it couldn’t be reversed without all the same ingredients in place. That included him. And she hadn’t been able to find him. Until now.
If she could trap him into staying with her for a little while, she might be able to find a way to apologize, make it up to him so that he’d forgive her. She couldn’t wait to see if she still thought he was the best thing ever spawned. If he took the deal, that was.
She was lounging on the plush custom window seat cushion in her reading room, wearing silk sweats made exclusively for Bergdorf Goodman and smart wool socks, when she thought she heard the doorbell. She set the crystal wine goblet on the table at her elbow and waited.
Ten minutes passed before there was a soft knock at the door. It could only be Graydon. It was late, a couple of hours past dinner, and the rest of the staff was gone for the night.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened quietly and Graydon stepped in. “There was a note on the floor outside the door. I don’t know how someone gain
ed access to the private elevator. I inquired with the doorman and security. Both said that no one had come up.”
Graydon appeared less alarmed than he might have if he hadn’t been with Sixt for a decade. He’d seen enough odd occurrences to take unusual events in stride and not ask too many questions. One of the reasons why Sixt was so fond of him.
She held out her hand for the note. The paper was a thick linen mix that almost imitated vellum. She rubbed her fingers over it repeatedly, savoring the feel of a handwritten missive on fine stock. There was much to be said for new times. There was also much to be said for old times.
On the back of the square envelope was a large wax seal the color of blood. She didn’t recognize the symbol, but guessed it had something to do with that demon.
“Thank you, Graydon,” she said. He took that as his cue to leave and closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it.
The only indication that the message was intended for her was her name, first name only, written with an actual ink pen in a cursive style beautiful enough to resemble calligraphy. She knew it was the answer to her offer to remove the hex. She also knew it was unlikely he would go to so much trouble to say no.
She hesitated to break the seal. When, if ever, would she receive such a refined challenge to email again?
She glanced at the gas fire as she took another sip of wine, set the stem down, and opened the note.
I accept your terms with prejudice.
- Deliverance
She ran her thumb absently over the handwriting. After so many years, the beautiful demon would be forced to hear her out and forgive her. She couldn’t recall his face, but she did have a lingering sense that he’d been beautiful.
Seeing movement from the corner of her eye, she looked up. Ashes had taken human form for the first time in more than fifty years.
“We’re going to have to do something about that,” Sixt told her. “You look better without clothes on than I do and that just won’t do.” She stopped and looked at Ashes. “Maybe a spell that would instantly clothe you when you shift. Hmmm.”
Ashes never spoke, but she was able to communicate telepathically when she was in two-legged form. This is a bad idea.
“Clothes for you?”
Demon.
“Well, if you felt strongly about it, you should’ve spoken up sooner. Because it’s done now.”
Now.
“Yes, now. What do you mean now? It’s too late for your riddles.”
Careful. Careful. Demon. Demon.
Sixt looked exasperated. “Of course I’ll be careful. I’m always careful. Goes without saying.” At that Ashes melted to cat form, walked over and scratched at the door asking to be let out. “It’s a good thing for you that you’re useful magically. Otherwise, I might decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Ashes yawned and waited patiently for the door to open.
Sixt thought better about her comment to the cat. Perhaps a touch too harsh. She really needed to work on reacting without thinking. “You know I value you above everything else, right?” Sixt said, but the cat trotted away, tail high in the air and twitching. Sixt wished she knew how to interpret that.
She flipped the wall switch that cut the gas to the fire in the study and flipped the wall switch that lit the fire in her bedroom before sliding between fifteen hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets. She turned on her side and stared into the flames, satisfied knowing that she was going to be able to check at least one regret off her list, one less rash action to atone for.
Chapter Nine SPURNED
Sixt had her people clear her meetings for the day, which wasn’t easy because there was a quarterly board meeting in the afternoon and lunch with the ambassador from Namibia to discuss adding diamond mining to the WC6 lengthy list of enterprises.
“Give the Board apologies and tell them there will be a very nice end of year bonus for the trouble of delaying a day. Any of them who don’t keep a place here, get them a suite at the Waldorf and whatever else they want. Show tickets. Drivers. Just do it,” she told the handsome young man who was a CEO’s dream of a guy Friday.
Carlton never missed a beat. Nothing threw him off track. He was as efficient and unemotional as a robot and could work magic, at least the human variety. “Yes, ma’am,” he said in a professional tone that was the envy of every other CEO that rated a mention in Forbes.
Once her agenda was free for the day, she spent the morning planning. She’d worn a shin length black dress because she thought it offset her red hair and coloring and paired it with red fuck-me heels. She’d agreed to no touching, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the demon know what he’d passed up. Twice. Even though the contract had nothing to do with that.
She’d given Graydon the sort of surprise every employee dreams of; paid vacation until further notice that included the equivalent value of his residence, an expense account, and an extremely generous bonus. The only condition was that he had to be packed and gone before noon, all personal items removed from his quarters, which were to be prepared for immediate occupancy by someone who would be temporarily taking his place.
Graydon was speechless. At least that was the conclusion Sixt drew after watching him stare at her without saying a word. “Graydon? Are you speechless?”
“Yes.” He nodded then blinked three times. “I think perhaps I am.”
“Get in touch with Carlton. He’ll arrange credit cards for your expense account and bank transfers to deposit your salary monthly. I will expect you back when I call.”
After Graydon got hold of himself and processed the offer, he grinned in a way that Sixt would have said wasn’t possible for Graydon. “Yes, ma’am. I will report for service when I hear from you.”
“Good.”
“And thank you.”
“Pisssh. Have a fine time.”
“Yes, ma’am.
“Go see Paris.”
She sat at her desk and began to compose some guidelines for how their time together would be spent. As her hands went to the keyboard, she was gripped by an intuitive feeling that her list should be composed the old way. Pen. Paper. Cursive. Before the turn of the nineteenth century, she’d learned to listen to her intuition. It rarely spoke out of turn.
So she shoved the keyboard aside and reached into a side drawer for paper that resembled parchment, at least in looks, and a felt tip pen that wrote with the fluidity of thought. She lost track of time as she labored to cover all the bases, as baseball fans would say. When she’d embarked on her present occupation, she’d bought a range of companies and reorganized them under the present conglomerate, WC6. It was a person according to the Supreme Court. That thought always served to remind her why humans were so dangerous. They were insane.
It hadn’t taken her long to understand that she couldn’t conduct business in America without speaking the language of sports metaphors, which is largely the language of men.
The corporate world of money and power was a challenge that had held her interest for a time, but it was nearing the end of usefulness to her. Sixt lost interest in pursuits every twenty years or so. Conveniently that was the length of time before moving on would be prudent, lest the inevitable questions about her unchanging appearance arose.
She didn’t feel a shift of air or hear a sound, but she knew when Deliverance arrived. The change in energy could only be described as electric.
Her eyes shot upward and locked on the demon who was leaning casually against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. And, even after so long, she remembered instantly why she’d once thought he was surely singular among all creatures ever created.
In simple jeans, scruffy boots, and a midnight blue Henley, he took her breath away. Just as he had two and a half centuries before. The last time they’d met.
Deliverance came into being so perfect physically as to be dazzling to the eye. But magnetism requires more than dazzling good looks. Magnetism requires a dose of something else so esoteric as to be bo
th unnamed and indescribable. It is a quality, an essence, possessed occasionally by humans, but always by incubi.
It is that unnamed elusive thing that makes it almost impossible for women to look away when an incubus is in their presence. Unless a woman is girded with the armor of having found her own true love, her heart and eyes are filled with such longing that she may experience a sense of loss when the incubus takes leave and is no longer within sight.
Witches are no less likely to fall victim to the attraction of incubi merely by virtue of being witches. If anything, their exaggerated range of experience would be likely to make an encounter all the more intense. Because, as everyone knows, for witches pain is more painful, joy is more joyful, desire is more consuming, and sorrow is more debilitating. If a witch happened upon an Abraxas demon such as Deliverance and fell victim to his appeal, misfortune would likely follow.
Such was the case with Sixt.
For several hundred years Deliverance had lived according to the typical habits of an incubus, occasionally selecting a lover and bestowing upon her delights of the flesh remarkable enough to inspire great art and works of literature. In that way, one could almost make the claim that sex demons are muses of sorts.
Sixt was young and impulsive when she’d cursed Deliverance. Like Deliverance, she was no longer young, but gave that appearance, having chosen to use some of her gift on long life and a youthful look.
“Demon,” she said simply.
Deliverance gave nothing away. His expression was guarded, unreadable, as his eyes traveled over the part of her that was visible as she sat behind her desk, and back to her face.
In a flat, emotionless tone, he replied in kind. “Witch.”
“You look good.”
He smirked and said, “Wish I could say the same about you.” Truthfully, he thought she looked as delectable as a display of French chocolates in a glass case. He wasn’t sure why that thought had crossed his mind. He liked chocolate once or twice a year, but not enough for it to come to mind unbidden.
Deliverance (Knights of Black Swan Book 12) Page 6
