Lilith Saintcrow - Working for the Devil

I caught a cab home, the urn cuddled against my belly, and found myself in my own front yard again, under a blessedly cloudy Saint City sky. A faint light rain was misting down, decking out my garden with small silvery beads of water. I'd need to weed soon, and tear up half the valerian. Dry out the roots to use for sleeping-tea.

If I could ever sleep again, that was.

I unlocked my door and stamped my feet on the mat. My familiar, soothing house folded around me.

I carried the urn into the stale, quiet dimness of my house. The hall had that peculiar odor of a place where nobody has breathed for a while, a house closed up on itself for too long.

Halfway up the stairs, the niche with the little statue of Anubis was just the same as it had always been. Dusty, but just the same. My house was still here, still standing. It was only my life that had been burned to the ground.

I settled the urn between two slim vases of dead flowers—I had forgotten to throw them out before I left—and lit two tall black candles in crystal holders. Then I trudged up the rest of the stairs, one by one. I draped my coat over the banister, unbuttoned my shirt, freed my hair from its filthy braid. Somehow washing off all the crud hadn't seemed worth it.

My personal computer deck stood in the upstairs study, next to the file cabinet where Santino's file had rested. I flicked it on and spent a few moments tapping.

When I finally signed on to my bank statements, I sat and stared at the screen for a long time.

I was no longer Danny Valentine, struggling mercenary and Necromance.

I was rich. Not just rich— phenomenally rich. The breath slammed out of me while I sat there, staring at the flickering screen. I would never have to worry about money again—not for a long, long time, anyway.

And just how long would I live, cursing myself, knowing I'd been outplayed by the Devil in a game I hadn't even known I was going to be sucked into? All things being equal, I was lucky to still be breathing.

I looked at the numbers, my pulse beating frail and hard in my throat and wrists. At least Lucifer hadn't welshed on that part of his promise.

I logged out and switched the deck off, then sat looking at my hands in the gathering twilight. The blessed quiet of my house enfolded me.

My hands lay obediently in my lap, golden-skinned and graceful. The right was still twisted into a kind of claw, but if I tried I could move the fingers a little more each day. My wrists were slender marvels of bone architecture. If I scrubbed the dirt off my face I could look in a mirror and see a demon's beauty under a long fall of dark hair, the emerald glowing from my cheek.

Would I still be able to enter Death? I was pretty sure… but I didn't have the stinking courage to find out for sure. Not yet.

Empty. I was an empty doll.

You will not leave me to wander the earth alone . Had he meant it?

Had the only thing Japhrimel not planned for been me ? Or had I been part of his game?

Somehow, I didn't think I'd been something he'd planned. Call me stupid, but… I didn't think so.

The breath left me in another walloping rush. I blinked. A tear dropped from my eyelid, splashed onto my right hand.

I might have sat there for hours if my front door hadn't resounded with a series of thumps.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I tasted bile.

I made it down the stairs slowly, like an old woman. Twisted the doorknob without bothering to scan the other side of the door. My shields—and Japhrimel's—still remained, humming and perfect over the house. Nothing short of a thermonuclear psychic attack could damage my solitude now.

I didn't want to wonder why Japhrimel's shields were still perfect if he was dead. Maybe demon magick worked differently.

I jerked the door open and found myself confronted with a pair of blue eyes and slicked-down golden hair, dark with the creeping rain. He stood on my doorstep, leaning on his staff, and regarded me.

I said nothing. Silence stretched between us.

Jace shoved past me and into my front hall. I shut the door and turned around. Now he faced me in my house, through the stale dimness.

We stared at each other for a long time.

Finally he licked his lips. "Hate me all you want," he said. "Go ahead. I don't blame you. Yell at me, scream at me, try to kill me, whatever. But I'm not leaving."

I folded my arms. Stared at him.

He stared back at me.

I finally cleared my throat. "I'm not human anymore, Jace," I said. Husky. My voice was ruined from screaming—and from the Devil's hand crushing my larynx. I was lucky he hadn't killed me.

Or had he deliberately left me alive? To wander the earth. Alone.

"I don't care what you are," he said. "I'm not leaving."

"What if I leave?" I asked him. "I could go anywhere in the world."

"For fuck's sake, Danny." He pounded his staff twice on my floor, sharp guncracks of frustration. "Get off it, will you? I'm staying. That's it. Yell at me all you like, I'm not leaving you alone. The demon's dead, you need someone to watch your back."

"I don't love you," I informed him. "I won't ever love you."

"If I cared about that I'd still be in Rio with a new Mob Family and a sweet little fat-bottomed babalawao ," he shot back. "This is my choice, Danny. Not yours."

I shrugged, and brushed past him. Climbed the stairs, slowly, one at a time.

I hadn't made my bed before I left, so I just dropped myself into the tangle of sheets and covers and closed my eyes. Hot tears slid out from between my eyelids, soaked into the pillow.

I heard his footsteps, measured and slow. He set his staff by the bed, leaning it against the wall the way he used to. Then he lowered himself down next to me, fully clothed.

"I'll sleep on the couch, if you want," he said finally, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Do whatever you want," I husked. "I don't care."

"Just for tonight, then." He closed his eyes. "I'll be a gentleman. Buy another bed and clear out that spare bedroom tomorrow…" His voice trailed off.

"I don't care," I repeated. Silence descended on my house again, broken only by the soft sound of rain pattering on my roof. The sharp tearing in my chest eased a little, then a little more. Tears trickled down to my temples, soaked into my hair.

He must have been exhausted, because it took a very little time before his even breathing brushed the air, his face serene with human unconsciousness and age. Sleep, Death's younger sister.

Or oldest child…

I lay next to Jace, stiff as a board, and cried myself into a demon's fitful sleep.