Darynda Jones - Sixth Grave on the Edge

I felt Reyes, felt his heat before the door opened and he stepped inside. He didn’t interrupt. He stood back and watched over me as I let the pain of death crush me into dust.

My boyfriend called me a stalker.

Well, he’s not actually my boyfriend …

—STATUS UPDATE

I led Mr. Joyce to the door and promised I’d do whatever I could. I still had no idea if he was crazy or not, but I planned to find out.

“What have we got?” Cookie asked, her voice soft.

“We have a client who sold his soul to the devil.”

“Another one?”

She knew just what to say. A little embarrassed, I graced her with the best smile I could conjure under the circumstances. “Exactly. When will these guys ever learn?” I looked over at Reyes, who’d stood watch the whole time. I was more than a little embarrassed that he’d witnessed my breakdown. “Is that even possible?”

“It’s possible,” he said. I felt genuine regret emanating off him.

“Then I have a card game to go to.”

He pushed off the wall and followed me as I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. “You’re not serious.”

I stopped and leveled a determined gaze on him. “I’m as serious as neuroblastoma.”

He bit back a reply, knowing it would do him no good. He was learning.

I paused at Cookie’s desk. “You’re not wearing that tonight, are you?”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“Nothing. If you’re running away to join the circus.”

She gasped, then narrowed her lids threateningly. “I should have locked you in your office with your stepmother instead of using these ridiculous intercoms you insisted on buying at that horrid estate sale and coming to your rescue.”

It was my turn to gasp. I also jutted out my index finger accusingly for dramatic flair. “That estate sale rocked. Who doesn’t love a good taxidermist’s collection?”

She shivered at the reminder.

“And those intercoms aren’t half as ridiculous as that outfit.”

Her expression hardened and I felt the weight of sorrow lift. God bless her. I winked knowingly then strode out of the office to prepare for tonight.

But first, Uncle Bob.

I accepted a card that read LIVE FREE OR DIE from a homeless man with leathery skin and several missing teeth. In return, I gave him what little change I had in my pocket as I walked across the parking lot to my apartment building. And it was literally my apartment building. Reyes had bought it for me. I had no idea what to do with it, but I loved that it was mine.

“You aren’t going to that game,” Reyes said as he stalked behind me.

“Sure am.”

Heat from his anger rose around me. A lot of heat.

I whirled around to face him. “What is the problem?”

He kept coming until he was only inches away from me. “You. It’s like you search out the worst, most dangerous situations to go into, then rush to get there without a second thought.”

“I have second thoughts,” I said, and turned to continue my journey to the building. “And sometimes I even have third and fourth thoughts, too.”

He grabbed my arm before I’d taken two steps. “This isn’t funny.”

I made a pointed effort to look down at his hand, the one holding my arm, before refocusing on his face again. “No, it isn’t.”

He let go of my arm. “You can’t save every desperate soul out there, Dutch.” When I started toward the building again, he stepped in my path. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you try, and I’ll be stuck here alone, all because I’m in love with a bleeding heart who’d rather risk her life for strangers than listen to anything I have to say.”

I shifted my weight to one leg, jutting out a hip. “You’re in love with me?”

He stepped close again and rested a hand on my jutting hip. “You know I am.”

“I know. But the heat of your anger is going to burn you alive.”

He ran his tongue along his lower lip as he studied me. “Maybe I have a fever.”

Suddenly worried, I reached up and felt his forehead. Blisteringly hot, but when wasn’t he?

He tested his forehead himself. “See? I probably need a sponge bath,” he said, turning playful.

As sexy as that lopsided grin of his was, I was starting to get worried. I felt his forehead again. “Do you really have a fever?”

“Ever since the first time I saw you.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at that. “Seriously, Reyes. Are you feeling bad?”

“Only when you’re not near me.”

“Do you get sick?”

“Every time we’re apart.”

This was getting me exactly nowhere. He was deflecting on purpose. “Fine. But I’m going to that card game. I totally have a plan,” I said, sidestepping past him.

“Because your plans always work so well.” He followed me inside and up the stairs.

“That’s not fair.”

“Dutch, I’m not kidding. Dealers are not what you think.”

“Dealers?” I stopped on the stairs and gaped at him. “You knew about him? You knew he was here?”

“No, not exactly, but I do know they exist. And if he really is a Dealer, he’s very, very clever. He could convince a mother to sell her children into slavery for a dime.”

“I can’t believe a being like that actually exists. So it really is possible to sell your soul to the devil?”

He nodded. “And you don’t even have to go to the crossroads to do it.”

“Holy cow. How do I not know these things?” I continued up the stairs while foraging in my bag for my keys.

“It’s not really what you think,” Reyes added. “There’s a lot you don’t know, and there’s a lot you don’t need to know, like how to handle a Dealer.”

“So, what are they, exactly?”

“They are demons. The Fallen.”

“Like Hedeshi?”

“Very much like Hedeshi, only they’ve gone rogue.”

“Rogue?” I stopped on the landing. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re demons who’ve escaped from hell and are living on earth as humans. They owe no allegiance to my father. They simply live here, feeding off the souls of others.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Wish I could, but they have to eat just like you and I do.”

“You mean to tell me souls are their sustenance?”

“Exactly, but they can only get a soul if the donor willingly gives it up.”

“Why would someone willingly give up their soul?”

He shrugged. “Power. Money. Health.”

“I just— I’m so floored by this.” I slid my key into the lock, but stopped again, trying to absorb this new turn of events. “Is there a contract? Like in the movies?”

“No. No contract. That’s Hollywood’s version of a Dealer. In real life, they are much cleverer than that.”

“Then how is the bargain sealed?”

“Upon the human’s word, the Dealer marks the soul. Then, when he’s hungry, he calls it forth. Believe it or not, a person can live without their soul. Not very long, but it can be done.”

“What about Mr. Joyce? Did he still have his soul?”

“No. He was right. His soul was gone and probably has been for at least a couple of months. He won’t last much longer. He’s been so absorbed in his daughter that he didn’t realize what he was feeling was the illness that happens when the soul is gone. The body withers away.”

Damn. I hated to hear that. “Okay, answer me this: Is it possible to get one back after the demon has fed off it?”

“It depends on how long he’s had it, if it still has any energy left. They can live off one soul for months if they have to.” He stepped closer to emphasize his next point. “And yours,” he said, his tone warning, “he could live off for hundreds of years. A millennium, even. Getting your soul would be like winning the lottery of feasts, which is why you aren’t going anywhere near him. He has to trick you out of it, and trust me, a Dealer can do exactly that. They are often called Tricksters in your mythology for good reason.”