by R. J. Blain
I could trust my dad to fish for grandchildren, and I almost felt bad about disappointing him. “The donor is at no risk of being mated to me, which is why they were my donor. The strain and donor are anonymous, which is fine because I couldn’t afford a male wolf, and I had a choice of the free, anonymous donor or paying a ridiculous amount. The only downside is that I won’t know what I’ll become until I shift for the first time. I have been informed I will not become a spider, so I won’t have to burn my own house down if I caught a glimpse of my spider-self in the mirror. Or swat myself. I also am not a flying cockroach or some other horrific bug.”
My mother giggled. “You didn’t actually ask about the virus being a spider strain, did you?”
“I got it in writing I would not become a creepy-crawly,” I announced, rather proud of my foresight. “I think my requests of cool species were denied. All I know is the donor doesn’t have a wolf strain and that I’m at zero risk of being mated to the donor.”
“A mated male or an unmated female, I’d presume,” my father said. “Lycanthropes have a reputation about refusing to donate their blood or their virus, though, unless it’s really important. Why the secrecy?”
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, honestly. If the donor wants to be anonymous, and I don’t become a creepy-crawly, I’m good with that. I’m quite grateful, really. The virus is doing its job, and chemotherapy wasn’t cutting it. The chemotherapy made it so the virus could work, though. I think one of the docs tried to explain it, but that was after the chemo had its way with me. That part of the treatment was really unpleasant, but I got through it, and that’s all that matters. I might even get to leave the hospital sooner than later, since they’re letting me have visitors now. I also made an arrangement with my school, so I won’t fall behind despite my treatments. Look at me. I’ve become a responsible adult, and I haven’t even finished school yet. You deserve a certificate for having successfully raised a human being to adulthood. Well done. I will make arrangements for various compensation to be distributed on the expected days.”
I assumed I would live to see Christmas, and I’d make good on my promise, even if it meant raiding my childhood selection of art supplies and making them cards and crafts. On second thought, I’d try to work miracles with money, as I possessed zero artistic ability outside of my knack for practitioner magic and the circles and shapes required to make my magic work.
My father shook his head and clucked his disapproval. “You know that isn’t necessary, Sandra.”
It was, if only to make up for my poor decision-making process in the face of cancer and the probable death I’d dodged thus far. In an effort to distract from the reality I’d be disregarding his request, I pointed at my bald head. “I’ve decided bald just isn’t a good look on me, Dad. You know that practitioner buddy you have? The stylist? He would make my year if he came over for Christmas and helped fix this mess. I’ll even pay him for the work.”
Technically, I could do the magic myself, but I went out of my way to avoid people learning I could do more than a few basic parlor tricks. It helped do things like keep the Devil from learning I’d torched his house.
I regretted my impulse on the other side of my treatments, although I gave myself some credit: getting spanked by a divine and exiting life in a hurry beat a long, drawn-out battle I couldn’t win. Winning hadn’t been an option before.
As winning had become an option, I needed to step with care and escape the notice of those who might be able to figure out I’d been the one with a grudge, some gasoline, and matches.
My father smiled, a good indication he liked my request, as it was something he could afford. “I’m sure that’ll be fine, but I’ll ask him. He’s worked with cancer patients before. Is there anything we can get from your apartment?”
“I have everything I need.” I wouldn’t inform them I’d been planning on dying, resulting in having pared most of my belongings down to what could fit in a box or two, which had already been packed. The apartment, which I had thanks to one of my scholarships focused on providing housing for promising students, would be mine as long as I held full-time student status.
I’d have to see how the internship with the university’s client went—and if I’d be able to afford somewhere on my own.
“Good. If you change your mind, let us know, and we’ll go get whatever you need.”
My father would not give up until I agreed to his terms, preferably forcing my parents to go to my apartment to feel useful. Instead of to my apartment, I’d send them to the library, assuming the hospital would let me bring books in. I pointed in the general direction of my stuff, which took up a corner of the room. “You could always take my library card and bring me some new books to read. Since it doesn’t look like the cancer is going to get me quite yet, I don’t want to perish from boredom. Then you’ll have to ferry books to and from the library for me.”
My mother pounced on my cheap briefcase which also served as my purse. When I needed more space, I took a backpack to the university, but the briefcase helped remind me I aimed for a career where I needed to maintain appearances and present myself as a professional. She located my wallet and retrieved my library card from its disorganized depths. “Are you ever going to sort that like a proper adult?” she complained. “It looks like a twister tore through your cards. You do not need your elementary school identification card anymore, by the way.”
Like hell I didn’t. “That card is proof I survived elementary school, and it keeps the rest of my identification cards company. Also, that picture of me is wretchedly adorable, and it can be used as a weapon against unsuspecting people.”
“The doctors said you need to get a lot of rest, so we’ll go to the library and see about bringing some books to you. I’ll grab some of your blank journals from the house and some pens so you can take notes. If you’ve been in here studying for weeks, you’re out of space in whatever journals you brought with you,” my mother announced, wielding my library card as though it were a weapon rather than a laminated piece of cardboard. “We will return. We expect you to be here when we get back. No trouble, Sandra.”
Somehow, I kept from rolling my eyes at my mother’s edict. “I’ll do my best,” I promised.
“Good. Come along, dear. We must go tend to our daughter’s needs, and if we don’t give her books, she might try to end the world.”
“I wouldn’t actually try to end the world, you know. I need to live here, so it’d be really stupid to destroy where I live.”
My mother faced me, and she grinned at me. “I always knew you were a smart one. Remind yourself of that if you get any destructive urges.”
“Why do you think I’m going to get any destructive urges?” I demanded.
“I remember what you did to your swing set when you were five,” she replied on her way out the door.
My father laughed, came over to my bedside, and kissed my forehead. “She’s just worried, although you did have it out for that swing set for some reason I still don’t understand.”
At age five, I’d been obsessed with horses and bananas, so I’d done my best to turn my swing set yellow. I couldn’t remember where I’d gotten the paint, but I’d been successful in my attempts, although every moving part had required extensive cleaning or replacement by the time I’d finished. “It wasn’t yellow, Dad. We’ve been over this before. If it had been presented to me in the one true color, which is yellow, I wouldn’t have needed to steal the paint and turn it yellow.”
“Whatever you say, Sandra,” my father replied before strolling out of my room. “Listen to your mother and stay out of trouble.”
I waited for them to be out of sight before I shook my head and wondered how I, a terror tyrant of a child, had deserved such good parents—or what they’d done to deserve me.
After one of the doctors informed me I had more guests and inquired if I could handle seeing them, to which I declared myself more than ready to escape the boredom of being on
my own, the Devil, his wife, and a woman I recognized as a handmaiden—or the handmaiden?—of the Devil stepped into my room.
Yep. I was dead. I was worse than dead. I was about to be escorted to my demise. While deserved, why had the Devil brought his wife and his whatever-she-was? At the courthouse, she’d been introduced as the Devil’s secretary, curtly informing the prosecution she would absolutely take offense if anyone tried to sugar-coat her role in the Devil’s operations.
I couldn’t remember her name, but I blamed the cancer for that. Names had become somewhat sketchy since it had opted to make a mess of my brain. Would the lycanthropy virus help me survive the Devil’s wrath? Would being part of such an experiment pay for my funeral?
Before I could tell the doctor I had changed my mind about having visitors, the man fled.
I couldn’t blame him for bailing, although I worried about my survivability in the face of the worst the hells had to offer. Well, if I was going to end up in one of the Devil’s many hells anyway, I’d do my best to earn the trip. “I know it’s bad of me to forget my doctors’ names, but I wasn’t aware that was a good reason to actually send me to hell. I’d say make yourself comfortable, but if you’re here to flay my skin from my bones, I’d rather make you work for it, honestly.”
The Devil’s wife, who appeared as a human but with a snow leopard’s tail and ears, tossed back her head and laughed. “I have no idea how you came to that conclusion, but you’re adorable. We’re not here to kill you, flay your skin from your bones, or even torture you. If you’d like to learn some torture techniques, I have a dungeon and we have some really nasty fucking assholes we have to rehabilitate. I’d be happy to teach you.”
Wait. What? I stared at the woman, and after some concentration, I remembered her name was Darlene. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. Teaching one of the newbies how to properly torture a fucking asshole makes the time go by—and the fucking assholes tend to clean up their acts faster, as we tend to pull out all the stops when we’re training. Diana here was a quick study. It took her all of about ten minutes to figure out how she might creatively discipline the fucking assholes in her care. Not that she particularly cares about them unless they demonstrate they’ll change their ways. It’s a coin flip with some of them.” Darlene rubbed her hands together. “Lucy, I could spend entire weeks with her in the dungeon.”
The Devil’s patience-tested sigh intrigued me. “My darling, we’re here to discuss the internship, not convert her into a dungeon queen. Don’t I already have enough dungeon queens? I’m not going to be allowed in my own dungeons at the rate you two fiends keep stealing my work.”
In unison, the women shrugged, and according to their expressions, they couldn’t care less if they broke the Devil’s heart.
The Devil’s handmaiden sighed and bowed her head, and her dark hair fell over her face. Huffing, she shoved the long, thick locks out of the way. “Nobody from your school warned you we were coming, Miss Moore?”
I blinked. “From school? What?” I pointed in the general direction of my phone. “It’s been quiet, and I’m supposed to be recovering from barely dodging death, so I’m out of classes for the moment. I mean, I’m in some pretty hellish classes right now—or was before the cancer got me—but this is a little ridiculous. Also, please. Call me Sandra.”
“Diana,” she replied, and she turned a narrow-eyed stare onto the Devil. “Is there something you forgot to do, Lucifer?”
“Forgot? No. Chose to ignore? Yes. This is far more entertaining. Look at how well she’s handling this. Her general assumption we’d come to escort her to my many hells to be one of the fucking assholes amuses me, but she’s tolerant. She needs to be tolerant. When I asked the school for recommendations, I specified I needed someone who had a quite high tolerance for the insane and absurd, and I’ve already created mayhem for her in court once. She survived that.”
Darlene placed her hands on her hips. “I swear, you and Kanika can’t behave yourselves even when you try. I think you like the courts here with how often you make appearances, and you keep dragging our daughter into it. Worse, you actually go to every hearing. You could try to skip at least one.”
“But why would I do that? They’re delightful. Kanika gets so mad at me every time, and you know how I love when my little cupcake gets all bristly. My little candy cane doesn’t bristle all that much, and my little saltwater toffee tries to ignore my posturing because he’s smart.”
Diana flexed her hand, and blue flames burst into life, dancing over her skin. “Your little candy cane wants to punch you so hard you wake up in next week for being a pain in the ass. Why didn’t you call Miss Moore? She has cancer, and she does not need any stupid surprises from you right now.”
“She had cancer,” Lucifer replied. “Past tense. That’s important. She had cancer. Of course, she also had an immune system, but that’s a different matter entirely. Don’t get so wound up. She’ll be just fine. Relax, Diana. Relax. And no, I didn’t do anything nefarious for a change, nor did I recruit anyone to do anything nefarious on my behalf. I kept my word, and I have behaved, much like an angel, for the entire week, just as you demanded.”
“Angels are assholes,” Diana muttered, and she gave her flaming hand a shake. The blue fire winked out. Inhaling, the woman regarded me. “I apologize, Sandra. Please allow me to handle the formal introductions and explain why we’re here. This is Lucifer, whom you would know as the Devil. This is his wife, Darlene. I’m Lucifer’s secretary, and I’ve been cursed with handling most of his important affairs.”
“You poor woman.”
She smiled. “He pays well enough for me to put up with him, so don’t you worry about me, Sandra. Due to some business dealings he has become involved with, he needs a good intern to help handle the workload. After lengthy discussions with the local universities, you were picked as our best option. We come prepared to offer you good financial incentives and schooling opportunities to work with Lucifer. In reality, you’ll be in a secretarial role, handling scheduling, taking notes at business meetings, reviewing various legal documents for potential snares, as well as meeting and coordinating with Lucifer’s contacts when needed. You will be paid an hourly wage, your schooling will be handled, with credits being issued for the relevant work you do, and you will be given opportunities to work with private mentors and professors to maintain your full-time student status, as we’re aware your lodging is dependent on your status due to a scholarship. That said, if you can’t maintain full-time status due to your work, lodging will be provided.”
I opened my mouth to inform the trio someone had lost their damned mind, but I spent a few minutes thinking it through.
From what I’d seen in the courthouse, Lucifer needed all of the help he could get, and I needed him to not destroy the world where I lived, which trumped all of my other general complaints. If he didn’t get the help, what were the odds of my home surviving?
“How on Earth did you jump to that conclusion?” Lucifer blurted.
“Where you go, chaos follows,” I replied. “I thought I was being somewhat sensible. If I’m not being sensible, blame the drugs. If it’s a drug, I’ve probably taken it lately.”
“That’s not much of an exaggeration.” Lucifer checked the IV stand and the computer attached to it, which automatically distributed some of the drugs. “They have you on some pretty high-grade painkillers, too. If you have dependency issues, I will address them.”
“Well, they weren’t precisely expecting me to survive, so they weren’t all that concerned about dependency issues,” I admitted. “You know it’s bad when they’re whipping out the entire pharmacy when trying to eradicate the cancer, and even then, the only reason it worked is due to the lycanthropy virus. I hope lycanthropy isn’t an issue for whatever it is someone like you needs an intern for.”
Dr. Lakset would pay for not disclosing the Devil was the client. The last thing anyone needed was a client from hell. I had gotten t
he client from hell. Maybe Lucifer liked lycanthropes for lunch. I could see that as a viable option. As I wouldn’t become a wolf, I likely had some form of exotic flavor.
The Devil shook his head. “I rather like lycanthropes, really—and not for lunch, no matter what you may be thinking. They’re fun, especially when they’re unmated and cranky. I expect you’ll redefine what it means to be cranky, especially as the virus isn’t having to compete with your immune system to replicate. Diana, why don’t you pull out your little toy and see what her levels are at?”
I sat up straighter. “You have a scanner?”
If hanging out with the Devil meant I could indulge in playing with the types of toys the CDC didn’t let most touch, I could cope with having him as a client—or a boss. Whatever. I’d figure out the business relationship after I got to see the fancy scanner I’d only heard about.
Diana set her briefcase down on one of the visitor chairs and pulled out a rectangular device I recognized to be one of the CDC’s fancier meters, which showed up on the news during big events. “It doesn’t get much better than this one, so we’ll be able to get a good look at your condition. Most hospitals don’t even have access to these puppies. I received it as compensation for putting up with His Sulfurous Majesty over there. If he’s wise, when this one is no longer effective, he will replace it with the current best-in-line. I get to use it a lot more often than I expected, too.”
“Diana really likes her scanner. She did not get to study science sufficiently as a child, and she tries to make up for this as an adult. Last week, she learned the scanner also has access to educational videos and recordings on every test result. I was concerned I’d lose her to her toy for a few hours there, but I learned how to turn that feature off, so I only let her play with it when it’s needed.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” Diana muttered under her breath, although she would need to work harder at not being heard—unless she could shield her thoughts.