by G. P. Ching
A full set of instruments was set up behind her: guitar, bass, keyboard, and drums, but no one came out to accompany her. He toyed with the folded paper tent at the center of the table advertising live music. She was the opening act for the real headliners, a band called Technothrob.
Juliette Bittercourt gripped the microphone and parted her lips on an inhale. Lucifer grinned as she started to sing a blues number about the Devil, a woman, and a dare. He leaned back in the booth, throwing an arm across the padded leather seat. It wasn’t opera, as she was known for at Revelations, but the tune accentuated her powerful voice. A trickle of magic cut through the bar, the patrons pausing with drinks halfway to their lips to turn and stare at the enchanting sound.
Only, she couldn’t sustain it. The magic left as quickly as it had come, and although her voice was good on its own, it couldn’t make up for her worn stage presence. She’d aged quickly since fleeing Revelations Institute. A few more weeks, and even a dive like this wouldn’t hire her.
“Ripe for the picking,” Lucifer murmured. Two fingers of Scotch slid across the table to him.
“This is the best we could do,” the waiter said.
Lucifer sniffed. Horridly fresh with nary a whiff of sin. The waiter didn’t wait around for him to complain. Smarter than he looked.
Abandoning the sorry excuse for a drink, Lucifer stood from the booth and navigated the tables toward the raised platform where Juliette sang. She began her second number, frowning at him as he took the stage beside her. Her eyes pleaded for help from the bouncer at the back of the room but the man looked like he had better things to do.
Lucifer swept Technothrob’s guitar into his hands, pressed his fingertips into the strings, and began to play. If Juliette’s magic had trickled into the room, Lucifer’s jackhammered. The air vibrated with every strum. He drew upon the night, channeling moonlight and darkness into thick waves of melodious energy. A middle-aged woman near the stage knocked over her drink, and the man next to her ignored the splash of liquid that hit his thigh, instead staring, slack-jawed, at the duo.
Juliette went with it, growling out the words and sashaying her hips. The patrons in the back drifted forward, leaving their valuables behind, bumping into the people ahead of them. The woman who spilled her drink ran her fingers through the ice cubes and then through her hair before joining the crowd swarming the stage. Her date was already reaching toward Juliette’s feet.
With a wicked grin, Juliette removed the microphone from its stand and shuffled back from the hands reaching for her. She sauntered to Lucifer’s side, stepping behind him to press her body into his back and sway to the music. More people filtered in from the street and pushed the tables aside to crowd every square inch of the Goat’s Pajamas. A line formed out the door, visible through a window near the stage. Lucifer smiled wickedly at the waiting patrons. Filthy humans. So easy to manipulate.
The manager emerged from the back room to start collecting admission.
Suddenly, Lucifer’s cheek began to ache. He was out of time. Out of power. He needed a soul, now. “Wrap it up,” he said into Juliette’s ear.
Juliette finished her song and Lucifer thrummed his last note. Without hesitation, he encircled her wrist and dragged her from the stage. The crowd chanted, “More, more, more,” as the two disappeared into the backroom.
“Back here,” she said, leading him into a dressing room that might have been a converted broom closet. “Are you one of them?” she asked searching his eyes.
“One of whom, Juliette?”
“A… clown, from the institute.”
Oh, she thought he was a demon from the school in the cloned body of a former student. He shook his head. “I am not one of them. I am the source of all of them.” He allowed her to see his true self, a fleeting glimpse of the lord of Hell.
She trembled but didn’t back away. “You’re the Devil.”
“I prefer Lucifer, but yes.” He spread his hands.
The sweet scent of fear billowed from her skin, and he watched her delicate throat contract as she swallowed. Her breath came out in a ragged pant. “Are you here for my soul? Am I dying already?”
“What if I told you I could make you young again, Juliette? Young forever and more powerful than you could ever imagine?”
“What’s the catch?”
“You must commit your soul to me for all eternity.”
That made her back up a step.
“Of course, if you live forever, what’s the difference?” He cocked a brow. “You’ve already endured physical evolution at Revelations. What I offer you is no different. As long as you serve me, you will remain young, powerful, and immortal. I will make you into one of my own, no longer constrained by the flesh and blood prison you inhabit now. What happened tonight will be the beginning of a long and beautiful relationship. Fame, fortune, endless beauty will be yours.”
“And if I refuse?”
He scowled, turning toward a scattering of wine bottles crowding the vanity, most of them empty. He lifted a half-full cabernet and tipped the bottom toward her. “I predict you’ll crawl inside a bottle and die within a year. Your liver is already as porous as Swiss cheese, and you are aging faster than anyone predicted. Your human body can’t take the stress of your lifestyle.”
She stared at her toes, fingers knotted in front of her hips.
“Of course, you could change. Give up the drink and get a day job bringing some accountant coffee while your body slowly dies around you. If that’s what you want, you don’t need me.”
She paced the small room, smoothing her hair and tucking it into her chignon.
Someone pounded on the door. “Hey, Juliette,” a man’s voice called. “People are begging for you two to come back on. They booed Technothrob off the stage. I’ll pay you an extra five for another set.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Juliette yelled.
“Five?” Lucifer asked.
“Hundred,” Juliette said. “He’s offering me double my contract.”
Lucifer shook his head. “If you say yes to what I’m proposing, you’ll burn hundred dollar bills to keep your hands warm. You’ll wipe your face on Franklins when you run out of napkins.”
That made her eyes widen. She was a greedy little thing and vain. “I need time.”
“You don’t have it. Decide now or walk on that stage without me and see what happens.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I never saw myself in Heaven,” she murmured. “God and I don’t get along.”
“What did the Great Oppressive Deity ever do for you?”
“Nothing.”
“You would be my queen, Juliette. The queen of lost souls.”
Her expression hardened, and he could feel her decision spread through her body like a disease, all the way to her heart. “I’ll do it. Where do I sign?”
“Nothing to sign.” He nabbed a dirty glass from the counter and dumped out the contents, then filled it halfway with wine. Sticking his left pinky in his mouth, he bit down hard. She whimpered when the tip of his finger dropped from his lips into the glass along with a gush of black blood. It foamed and bubbled on contact. He had to hand it to her for not screaming—most humans would—but then Juliette had seen her share of horrors at Revelations, hadn’t she? He handed her the glass and whispered, low and sweet, in her ear. “Drink and become immortal, my darling. Your new life awaits.”
Although it was clear she found it repulsive, she took a deep breath and tossed the drink to the back of her throat, flesh and all. She swallowed the entire concoction in one gulp.
“You are a worthy companion, Juliette.”
She crumpled in on herself, clutching her stomach and moaning. A second later, her body slapped the floor. Juliette writhed on the stained linoleum near his feet, her skin buckling as the body of a black worm snaked beneath her flesh.
“Such a beautiful exchange of energy. I’m feeling stronger already.” Lucifer held up his hand and flexed his regenerated pi
nky.
“What have you done to me?” She panted, curling tighter on her side.
“Ignore the pain. It’s temporary. Simply your soul leaving your body. You won’t need it anymore. Tonight, Juliette, is the beginning.”
Abruptly, her moaning abated and she went perfectly still. Lucifer squatted to lift her off the floor, stroking the graceful length of her neck and cradling her body across his knee.
“Isn’t that better? Come, my darling. Our fans await.”
Continue the story—>Hope’s Promise, Soulkeepers Reborn Book Two
About the Author
G.P. Ching is a USA Today bestselling author of science fiction and fantasy novels for young adults and not-so-young adults. She bakes wicked cookies, is commonly believed to be raised by wolves, and thinks both the ocean and the North Woods hold magical healing powers. G.P.'s idea of the perfect day involves several cups of coffee and a heavy dose of nature. She splits her time between central Illinois and Hilton Head Island with her husband, two children, and a Brittany spaniel named Jack, who is always ready for the next adventure.
www.gpching.com
[email protected]
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Books by G.P. Ching
Soulkeepers Reborn
Wager’s Price, Book 1
Hope’s Promise, Book 2
Lucifer’s Pride, Book 3
* * *
The Soulkeepers Series
The Soulkeepers, Book 1
Weaving Destiny, Book 2
Return to Eden, Book 3
Soul Catcher, Book 4
Lost Eden, Book 5
The Last Soulkeeper, Book 6
* * *
The Grounded Trilogy
Grounded, Book 1
Charged, Book 2
Wired, Book 3
Acknowledgments
The first time I wrote Wager’s Price, I was going through a hard time personally. A death of a young family member was followed almost immediately by a cancer scare and then a diagnosis of leukemia in another. At the same time, I was sending my oldest off to college with all that entails.
Although I was happy with Wager’s Price when I published it the first time, people close to me could tell I was going through a hard time when I wrote it. And when I read it again, I could hear the difference. Without my knowledge or consent, life had slipped into my writer’s voice. So I waited, and as my family member recovered, so did I. I dealt with the demons under my bed so that I could deal with the demons under the school. And now Wager’s Price is ready and Hope’s Promise is well underway.
Thank you to my tribe, authors Tara Cromer, Suzan Tisdale, and Laurie Larsen, for giving me the courage to rewrite this story and tell it as I’d always intended.
Thank you to editor Nikki Busch, who understands my voice and my themes and was able to give this work her attention. Your encouragement was an uplifting force in my journey.
And finally, thank you to Amy Conley and Debbie Eyre for beta reading Wager’s Price. Your enthusiasm for the story gave me the confidence to set it free on the world again.