by SM Reine
“Because they track the slaves bought and sold by the House of Belial, including slave-specific codes. You can track every mortal who passed through service with the House of Belial. You know what that’s worth?”
“Anything,” Isobel said automatically.
“For some people, yes. The ledgers would be a way to find any number of missing persons. For a librarian, however, the only interest is completion of the Palace of Dis’s records.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t know anything about those ledgers, do you?”
Isobel didn’t, but Hope did. She felt angry again. Angry and desperate.
Fritz spoke so casually of how important those ledgers could be, as though finding “missing persons”—more like kidnap victims—was just a part of doing business. He knew that, and still, he hadn’t done anything with those damn ledgers.
“Why?” Isobel asked. “Why haven’t you used your family’s records to help the enslaved?”
“The ledgers are generations old now. The people most hurt by the purchase of those slaves are dead.” Fritz shook his head, jaw clenched and trembling. “People I share blood with died to protect the secrets of the House of Belial. There would be no justice in releasing that information. Not for the slaves who are already gone, and not for the Friederlings still tangled in Malebolge.”
She realized that she was pacing back and forth across a Persian rug, probably at risk of tearing holes in it with her boots. She forced herself to stop walking.
“We’ve always had disparate senses of justice,” Isobel said.
Fritz smiled faintly. “Yes, I’m soulless.”
“I never should have called you that. It wasn’t nice.”
His smile grew. Isobel was struggling with anger against the Friederlings, but Fritz was just happy that she was showing signs of being the wife he’d lost years earlier.
I’m such a piece of shit.
Fritz had only benefited from his family’s actions, enjoying the fruits of relationships that they had built with demons. Hope had taken the initiative and built relationships with demons all on her own.
What was a little slavery compared to complicity in murder? She was just as bad as the Friederlings.
Isobel leaned against his chest, gripping the lapels of his shirt in both hands. The thudding of his living human heart felt powerfully strong against her cheek, without her own pulse to combat it. “I’m remembering things, Fritz.”
“Remembering things? Like what?”
She had to confess to him. He deserved to know what Hope had hidden from him for so many years. “I was ruthless in obtaining clients. I knew they were bad people and I helped them anyway, just because I wanted the prestige.”
“I know,” Fritz said. “We talked about that a lot.”
“You don’t know the worst of it,” Isobel said. “You don’t know how many terrible things I did to get those clients.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
He’d probably feel differently if he knew that Ander had been involved…but she couldn’t bring herself to say that.
It was a good thing she couldn’t cry anymore.
She was still struggling to get the words out when Fritz pulled away from her. He braced his hands against the fireplace, staring into its depths and giving her the time to study his frame outlined by the light of dancing flames.
Isobel had always admired the perfection of his body, the balanced lines that made him look like he was about to fight at any moment. Now Fritz leaned heavily on his intact foot, giving an awkward tilt to his spine that made him seem so much more damaged.
He didn’t look any less perfect to her.
“It’ll piss my family off if they find out these ledgers landed in the Library of Dis.” He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t think I care very much.”
Fritz grabbed the bucket from beside the fireplace and tossed its contents over the fire. The flames smothered under the sand. He jabbed at the coals with a poker until they were dark, then swept them aside.
There was a handle underneath the place the fire had burned.
He lifted it to reveal a safe. Isobel didn’t breathe as he twisted a code into the lock.
“You’ve had those files in Hell all this time?” she asked.
“The librarians would have known if I removed the documents from the Palace. They know everything.” Fritz opened the door of the safe and reached inside. He extracted a stack of papers bound together by a rubber band, and his brow creased. “Wait, where…?” He leafed through the papers. Tossed them aside. Ran his hands along the inside of the safe.
Isobel’s heart dropped. “What’s wrong?”
Fritz slammed his fist into his knee.
“The ledgers are missing,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DAYS TICKED PAST ON the clock in Fritz’s room.
Isobel watched them winding down. She should have been doing something with her last hours, but she couldn’t seem to get off the couch. It felt like all her organs had been replaced with rocks and gravity had tripled.
The things that she still couldn’t remember seemed so important now. Those last few black patches in her memory hurt.
Leaving her old life behind had never bothered her too much before, since it was hard to miss things that she hadn’t been able to remember. Isobel had only known her old life—her life as Hope Jimenez—by the things that Ander had told her. And he hadn’t seemed to know much. He’d certainly never let on to the fact she’d been a lawyer.
All he’d said was that her family had come from what was now known as Iran, but had lived in Manhattan for at least fifty years. He’d also told her that necrocognition was a family skill.
That was about it.
She’d never pressed him for more information because even that degree of familiarity was nauseating, and she hated that Ander knew anything about her at all.
At least…she thought she’d hated Ander.
In fact, her hatred for the infernal crime lord had been unique to Isobel. Hope had liked him quite a lot. And clearly Ander had known Hope very well—much better than he ever let her know.
Which led Isobel back to the one frustrating question that seemed more important than anything else.
How had Hope originally become acquainted with Ander?
Isobel shut her eyes, tipped her head back against the couch, and tried to remember. She forced herself to relive all the memories that made her uncomfortable, especially all the times that she’d spent associating with Ander and hiding it from Fritz.
She still couldn’t remember anything with Ander before her wedding.
“Why?” she asked aloud. “What am I missing?”
Whatever she couldn’t remember was obviously a huge part of who Hope Jimenez had been.
Isobel massaged her temples with her fingertips. Thinking circles around and around these questions was going to drive her crazy before she died permanently.
The door creaked open. Fritz had returned from the Library, where he’d been planning to confront Onoskelis about the ledgers. “Why are you just sitting there?” Fritz asked, slamming the door behind him.
She rubbed her dry eyes. “Trying to remember. Did you get anything from Onoskelis?”
“All I’ve gotten is that she felt the ledgers cross the Palace wards at some point. She couldn’t tell me if they’d been coming or going.” Fritz’s hands clenched into fists. “And she won’t budge on rewriting your contract without those fucking ledgers. I can’t buy her. The librarians don’t care about anything but information, and somehow, they’ve already got everything else they want from my family.”
He slammed out of the room, going onto the glassed-in balcony that overlooked the city.
Isobel’s whole body ached when she stood to follow him. She practically creaked when she stepped outside.
Fritz’s balcony was small and sheltered by glass, preventing the cruel winds from bearing down on them. Looking up, Isobel could see that only a few other r
ooms had similar balconies. Even in Hell, Fritz had the best of the best.
He glared out at the city, refusing to acknowledge her presence.
“So there’s nothing left to do,” she said.
“My staff on Earth is searching. They’re ripping apart every goddamn Friederling property. If they find anything, they’ll be through the portal with the ledgers in no time.” But he obviously didn’t expect that to work.
No amount of the Friederling fortune could save her now. Not if Judge Abraxas and the librarians weren’t playing ball. And not if Isobel couldn’t fill those last gaps in her memory.
“Are you going back to Earth?” Fritz asked.
“What’s the point?” Isobel leaned on the railing, gazing out at Hell. The dust storm had settled, so she could actually make out the dark city. It was beautiful in a stark way—the way that trees stripped bare by winter were beautiful.
“You’d have a few more days.”
“I can’t do anything with that,” Isobel said. “I’m not going to spend the last of my life afraid.” At least, she wasn’t going to prolong her life when she knew that all she’d be able to feel was fear. It filled her with a panicky feeling so immense that it was almost painful.
Fritz leaned on the railing beside her. “You could take this as a last chance to talk to Cèsar.”
A laugh escaped her even though she didn’t really think it was funny. All that time spent dwelling on Hope Jimenez’s life, and Cèsar was the last person Isobel had been thinking about. “He’d be such a sad puppy about it.”
“Don’t have any loose ends you want to tie up with him?”
She shot him a sideways look. “Jealous?”
“Of Cèsar? My employee? My aspis?” Fritz looked like he was considering denying it, but then he shrugged. “Yes.”
“Don’t be,” Isobel said. “I was done with him before we even started.”
His hand engulfed hers. His skin was cool compared to the air in Hell. “Sweetheart, I’m not jealous of him because of you.”
“I hooked up with him.” She tossed it out there, looking for a reaction.
She didn’t get one.
“Yeah, I know,” Fritz said. “Cèsar’s terrible about shielding his emotions.”
Apparently, Fritz was very serious about being comfortable in his non-monogamy. It prickled at the back of Isobel’s neck. “Then why are you jealous?”
“It’s because it all comes so easily to him. The guy is so damn good. There’s right and wrong in his world, and he’s firmly on the right side of it. Must be nice.”
“Just because your family is bad doesn’t mean you have to be,” Isobel said.
“It’s inside of me. It’s in my blood.” Fritz glared out at the city. “Many of the slaves in Dis are here because of the House of Belial and our agreement with the House of Abraxas—for all that’s not even worth.”
“That bothers you?” Isobel smiled faintly. “Maybe you’re not completely soulless.”
“Only half,” he said.
She turned her hand to twine her fingers with his. “You’ve never been anything but a hero, Fritz.” She meant it. Whatever disgust Hope harbored for the Friederlings and the House of Belial, it didn’t apply to Fritz.
He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t exactly return the gesture, either. He was stiff to the touch. Fritz glared down at her, head tilted so that he studied Isobel down the bridge of his nose. “I’m not a hero. I’ve never felt so goddamn helpless.”
The intensity in his voice would have been surprising, maybe even off-putting, before Onoskelis had released most of Isobel’s memories. But now that she could recall their years together, their too-short and tumultuous marriage, it made something blossom among the fear in her chest. A warmth that filled her to the tips of her shriveling fingers.
There were still too many things that she didn’t remember, but she didn’t doubt that they’d loved each other. Not anymore.
“If your staff finds the ledgers, good,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. “We’ll know soon. And if not…” She rested her head against his shoulder.
“What do you want to do in the meantime?” Fritz asked. He pulled her against his chest.
She found a smile lurking somewhere inside of herself, somewhere hidden among the darkness. “Take a guess.” She tugged the hem of his shirt out of his pants, loosened his belt. “Just…be gentle.”
Fritz wasn’t gentle.
He wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t hesitant, and he didn’t show any sign of acknowledging that they were facing Isobel’s last hours.
He shoved her against the railing on the balcony. He stripped the leather from her body and didn’t flinch at the wounds she’d been concealing underneath. She felt small and helpless in his grip.
It had always been like this between Fritz and Hope. He wasn’t a particularly imposing man, so when he did show his strength, it was shocking. He handled her as easily as though she were nothing more than a doll. She was at least twenty pounds heavier than she’d been in her lawyer days, and it was still nothing to him.
Hope had always liked that, and so did Isobel. She especially liked that he didn’t treat her like death might leave her brittle and fragile—even if it did.
Pressed between the glass of the balcony and Fritz’s body, Isobel lost herself in the touch, surrendering to grief and inevitability and the end of everything.
With Fritz, she mourned Hope Jimenez. She mourned Isobel Stonecrow.
And she let it all go.
Isobel and Fritz dozed in bed afterward, neither awake nor asleep. The mahogany monster with its foam mattress and down comforter looked completely out of place against the black stone of Hell, but it was incredibly comfortable.
She drifted on waves of memory with her cheek pressed against Fritz’s chest, listening to his beating heart.
The contract’s magic was almost completely gone now.
She didn’t try to push through against the holes in her memory anymore. There was no point in that. Instead, she reveled in all the little things she did remember—the moments where life had been nothing but Fritz and Hope. Afternoons on white sand beaches. Breathless interludes on her desk at work. Kisses exchanged while Fritz was drenched in the blood of demons.
They’d been so young, so impulsive, and in so much of a hurry. Fritz had been fun. Always fighting, always getting into trouble, always bringing other kopides home to their condo so they could drink on the weekends.
Those were the moments that Isobel remembered.
Not Ander. Not her court cases. None of the terrible people she saved.
Just the love.
Fritz’s breathing grew deep. His heartbeat slowed. She lifted her head to see that his eyes were closed.
Isobel slipped out of bed. Fritz didn’t stir.
Even though he was asleep, there was still something distinctly guarded about him. He wasn’t the fun young kopis she had married, hopping around the world to slay demons in his private jet while his wife held down a job.
It was as though Fritz had taken her responsibilities onto himself after her death. He’d become the businessman. The person who worked a job in an office. That kind of responsibility weighed heavily on him.
Isobel touched a hand to her chest. Her heart wasn’t even pretending to beat anymore. Her muscles felt weak, too.
She checked the clock.
Another day had passed, and it was March. Probably spring equinox on Earth.
Her contract was over and they’d almost slept through it. If she’d stayed in bed for just a few minutes, Fritz would have woken up to find her gone.
“Looks like time is up,” she whispered.
She wouldn’t leave her body somewhere for Fritz to find it.
Her vision blurred as she stepped into the hallway. She wasn’t dressed, but it didn’t matter—she had to get away from Fritz’s quarters.
Isobel climbed the stairs of the tower, legs weakening with every step. The inhabitants of the
Palace didn’t look at her twice. They lived among succubi and slaves. A naked zombie staggering through the halls was nothing.
A white roar that sounded very much like the winds of Dis filled her skull. She didn’t feel afraid, didn’t feel angry. She just felt blank.
She found her way out onto a bridge, but the weather didn’t touch her. Her skin had gone numb.
The magic of Ander’s contract unraveled from her mind.
For a brilliant moment of clarity, Isobel remembered everything.
She wasn’t the woman who used to be Hope Jimenez. She was Hope Jimenez, and she remembered it all—from her first days in preschool to her graduation from a private high school, all the boys she had dated, her many thousands of lessons in necrocognition from her father.
Everything blended seamlessly with the months she spent as a new woman in Ander’s employ, and the years beyond. The life she had created as Isobel Stonecrow. The people she had helped.
She was whole. The veil had lifted.
Then she was sinking, fraying, dropping into nothingness as her body failed completely.
Hell swirled around her. The towers distorted. When she hit her knees on the bridge, there was no pain because her body was already shutting down. Sensations couldn’t travel from her limbs to her brain.
“Isobel?”
Someone was speaking to her, but she couldn’t turn to see who it was.
She was dying and everything was so quiet.
Neurons sparked. Memories swam through Isobel’s skull.
She was getting married to Fritz on a white sand beach. The ceremony was officiated by another kopis, a man who was ordained to perform exorcisms, but equally qualified to join them in matrimony. Hope was happy. She was excited. She wasn’t even afraid for Fritz as he fought the surge of demons that followed the ceremony.
But she also felt guilty. Like marrying him was the wrong thing to do, exactly because it made her so happy.
Hope had no right to be that happy.
Another spark of failing neurons.
She was graduating law school. Ander was standing in the back of the room, smirking smugly as she strode across the stage. Knowing that he already had her in his grip.