Working for the Devil

by Lilith Saintcrow

  It was while I was staring at the vevé and waiting for my body to acclimatize to the resident Power, my mind tuned to a blank expectant humming, that the precognition hit.

  The demon had my shoulders, drew me back away from the clear space in the pavement, the babalawao’s chanting rising against the backdrop of city noise. “Dante?”

  My gods, does he sound concerned?

  “What’s wrong? Dante?”

  “Nothing,” I heard my voice, dim and dreamy. Precog’s not my main Talent; if it was I’d be a Seer. But I had enough of it to be useful sometimes. “Nothing.” Darkness folded over me, a quiet restfulness, the sound of wings. The vision trembled just outside my mental grasp. If I simply relaxed and let my minor precognitive talent work, it would come to me, and I would be warned . . . but of what?

  What did I need a warning for? I already knew I was in deep shit.

  “Nothing . . .” I whispered. Hot fingers touched my forehead; my fingers curling around my scabbard, head lolling, I sank into the candleflame of the future, guttering, held in a draft—

  “Don’t lie to me,” he snarled, and I found myself dimly surprised. Why should he give a shit if I lie to him? I thought. I snapped back into myself, hot prickles running over my skin, my stomach flipping uneasily, my eyes fluttering. “Dante! Dante!”

  “I’m fine,” I said irritably. “Just give me a minute, okay? Will you?”

  “As you like.” Heat roiled over my skin. Was it him? A flood of hot, rough Power slid down my spine from the demon’s hands. It knocked the premonition—and my hold on relaxation—away like a jo staff slamming into my solar plexus. There went any hope of seeing the future.

  “—fuck—” was all I could say, digging my heels into pavement, curling around the scorching pain in my middle. The Power tipped back and slid into the hungry well of Nuevo Rio. “Gods damn it—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  It was too dark. What had—

  I opened my eyes slowly. The demon stood, feet planted, green eyes glowing like chips of radioactive gemstone. “I lost it,” I said. “A premonition, and I lost it. Ask me before you do that next time, all right?”

  The demon shrugged. I looked up. Brick, plasteel, cardboard, and aluminum sheeting, tenements sloped crazily up. Instead of the street, it was an alley. Why wasn’t I surprised? Had he dragged me here, thinking I was about to have some sort of fit? “I acted for your safety,” he said, quiet but unrepentant. “I feared you were being attacked.”

  “Who would be stupid enough to attack me with a demon right next to me?” I snapped, and wriggled out of his hands. He let me go, clasping his hands behind his back again, standing straight, his eyelids dropped, hiding his eyes. “Great. A premonition usually means something nasty’s on its way, and now I’m not even forewarned. Perfect.”

  Japhrimel said nothing.

  I sighed, filled my lungs with the heavy carbon stink of Nuevo Rio. Curdled smells of garbage and human misery rose around me. My shields were paper-thin, the premonition draining me; I forced myself to breathe through the stink. “Anubis et’her ka,” I breathed, shaking my head. “I’d better get back. I think I’m going to crash.”

  “Very well.” Japhrimel took my elbow, guiding me toward the mouth of the alley. “You should take more care with yourself, Dante.”

  “Nobody ever got rich by being cautious,” I muttered. “Besides, what do you care? As soon as we find this Egg, you’ll be on your way back to Hell, and I’ll probably be left to clean up the mess. I’ll be lucky to get out of this alive, and you’re telling me to be careful.” I snorted, concentrating on placing one foot in front of the other.

  “I would not leave you without being sure of your safety,” he replied, quietly enough. “It would grieve me to learn of your death, human.”

  “Bully for you,” I muttered ungracefully.

  “Truly,” he persisted. “It would.”

  “Fuck,” I said, the beginnings of a backlash headache starting behind my eyes. “Just get me back to Jace’s, okay? My head’s starting to hurt.”

  “Backlash,” he said. “Dante, there is something I would—”

  If he kept talking I was going to scream. “Just get me back to Jace’s, all right?”

  His hand tightened on my elbow. I closed my eyes. “Understood.”

  CHAPTER 26

  I stamped into the practice room just as the afternoon heat began to get thick and heavy, black-stacked clouds massing over the city. There would be rain soon, a monsoonlike downpour. Thunder and lightning would accompany the rain, and by the time full dark fell the steaming city might get some relief.

  I wasn’t wearing my bag or my coat, just jeans and a fresh microfiber shirt, boots and my rings. My hair was wet, braided back tightly, and I’d relacquered my fingernails with the molecule drip that made them tough as claws.

  The practice room was a long hall floored with tatami, weapons racked on the wall and three heavy bags ranged in a row near the door. One wall was mirrored, a ballet barre bolted to the mirror (Now that probably wasn’t here before, Jace must have put that in, I thought snidely) and Eddie faced Jace in the center of the room.

  Jace had a jo staff, and Eddie had one, too. They both wore black silk gi pants, and Eddie wore a white cotton tank top that did nothing to disguise just how hairy he really was. I stopped, leaning against the doorjamb to watch.

  Jace, stripped to the waist, held his staff with both hands. Muscle flickered under his skin, the scorpion tattoo on his left shoulderblade moving slightly, his golden hair plastered down with sweat.

  Gabe was stretching out, well away from them. She went into a full front split, then leaned forward to touch her forehead to her front knee. Showoff, I thought, the ghost of pain behind my eyes reminding me of backlash.

  Japhrimel, his arms folded, leaned against the wall on the other side of the heavy bags. The windows were covered with sheer curtains, but the sun pouring in still made it a little too warm. Nobody had flipped on the climate control in here.

  I watched as Eddie moved in, Jace parrying strikes, low sounds of effort from both men. I watched the fight, almost feeling the wood balanced in my own hands, jagging in a breath when Eddie smacked upward, meaning to catch Jace in the face. It was a dirty move, but they were both good enough—and with two Necromances standing by, if someone caught a bad strike we were well prepared to handle it.

  Japhrimel approached me slowly. “Better?” he asked. Behind him, the sunlight coming through the windows dimmed. The clouds had arrived. That didn’t break the heat, though; it just made one more conscious of the awful humidity pressing against skin and breath.

  I don’t know why heat rose to stain my cheeks. “Yeah,” I said, glancing up at his unremarkable, saturnine face. “Thanks.”

  “I’ve seen backlash before,” he replied quietly. “The best thing for it is Power, and letting the pain pass.”

  “Thanks,” I said again. “It helps, to have someone there during—”

  Crack. Eddie’s strike wrenched Jace’s staff out of his hands. I clicked my tongue. That’s the first time I’ve seen Jace lose at staves with Eddie.

  Eddie growled. “Quit fuckin’ around and give me a fight, hoodoo! Goddammit! You ain’t no fuckin good to us distracted!”

  “Shut up, dirtwitch.” Jace snarled back. “Want to switch to blades?”

  “You’ll fuckin’ kill yourself,” Eddie scooped up Jace’s staff, tossed it at him. Jace’s hand flashed up; he caught the smooth wood, then turned it vertically. “Thanks anyway. Been a while since I saw you make an amateur move like that. Hey, Danny!” He glanced over Jace’s shoulder at me. “Come on over here and work his fidgets out, will you? Goddamn boy can’t even hold his staff.”

  I sighed. I had expected this. “Fine,” I said, shrugging. “We’d come to this sooner or later.” I looked up at the demon’s face, quiet and shuttered. “I’m going to spar with Jace. I want you to stay out of it, all right?”

  Japhrimel
nodded his dark head.

  “Cool,” Gabe said, bouncing to her feet. “I’ve missed watching you two fight. Better than a holovid.”

  I ignored her. What would piss Jace off most? I thought, looking up at the demon again. A faint breeze swept through the room, carrying the promise of thunder with it. Okay.

  I stepped close to the demon, went up on tiptoe, my hand curling around his shoulder, the smell of musk and dark Power enveloping me. “Hey.” I pulled on his shoulder and he bent a little, obediently. I kissed his cheek—just a peck, but I heard Jace’s indrawn breath and knew I was halfway to winning.

  He fought better when he was angry, anyway.

  “Thanks.” I repeated to Japhrimel, whose eyes had half-closed. He looked surprised. “It helps to have someone there while I’m in pain.” My tone was a little more intimate than I’d planned. “I appreciate it.”

  He nodded once, sharply, and straightened, his gaze flicking away from me. I turned back to the practice room.

  Gabe’s jaw dropped. She sidled back, almost to the mirrored wall. Eddie followed her, watching Jace, white teeth showing in a wide grin.

  Jace walked deliberately over to a rack near the windows and put his staff up, scooped up his scabbarded sword. “I’m game for it, if Danny is,” he said quietly, and I had to fight the smile that wanted to pull my lips up. Careful, Danny. You haven’t fought him in a while, ease into this.

  I made it to the center of the room and yawned. I hadn’t even stretched out beyond my usual morning routine. Jace carried his sword, approached me cautiously, his booted feet shushing over the tatami. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said, his blue eyes locking with mine. It was his usual greeting, usually followed by a kiss. My body remembered the sound of that voice. I let myself smile, then. My rings gave out a low, sustained humming.

  “You’re in for a treat,” Gabe said to the demon. “Jace and Danny are the best in the biz. They used to do naked-blade slicboard duels, back in the day. And—”

  “Shh,” Eddie said. “I wanta see this.”

  “Hi, baby,” I said quietly, holding my sword, fingers curled loosely around scabbard and hilt. “Missed me?”

  “Every damn day.” Jace’s face was set. His shoulders were loose and easy. Maybe I didn’t piss him off as much as I thought. “Every single motherfucking day.”

  “Hmm.” I smiled sweetly. “Shouldn’t have left.”

  “Didn’t have a choice,” he returned.

  We circled each other, wary. I shifted my weight forward, playing through the sequence that would end with his head separated from his body. He countered almost immediately, and we went back to circling.

  Point for him, he’d made me twitch first.

  “Yeah,” I said. “You were in such a hurry you didn’t even leave a note. Must have been really deep and hot, Jace, for you to just get up and leave.” I let my smile broaden. “What was her name?”

  “I’ve been a fucking monk since our last time, sweetheart,” he said, the easy smile dropping from his voice.

  Second point for me. I’d pushed him too far.

  “I hope it’s made you a better fighter . . . than you were as a lover.” I tacked that on just to goose him.

  “You had no complaints.”

  “None I told you to your face.”

  He was smiling again. He moved in, testing, and I countered.

  “When are they going to—” Eddie began. I tuned him out.

  “Wait.” Gabe replied.

  I caught a flash of Japhrimel watching, hands behind his back, his eyes almost spitting sparks.

  “Try me again, sweetheart,” Jace said, his tone low and purring. “I’ve been dying for it.”

  “Good for you.” I shuffled back, to the side; things were rapidly heating up. “Get used to disappointment.”

  “You don’t want an explanation?”

  “Three years too late, Jace. All I want to do now is forget you ever existed.” My own voice dropped to a whisper. His eyes narrowed.

  “Good luck,” he said. “I just bought myself free of the Corvin Family, sweets, and I have some time on my hands. Want to help me fill it?”

  “I’d rather turn into a Chillfreak whore.” My blade whispered free of the sheath just as his did.

  “Now?” Eddie asked.

  “Just wait,” Gabe whispered back.

  “Mmh.” Jace said. “You say the sweetest—”

  He moved in then, with no warning. Metal clashed and rang. We separated, both of us breathing fast and deep.

  “You’ve gotten quicker,” he said.

  “And you still talk too goddamn much,” I said, wishing I could spit. That would add something to the festivities.

  “I should put my tongue to better use,” he muttered, and gave me a flash of the famous Monroe grin, the one that had Mob groupies following him around all the time.

  “Try it on someone who cares, fucker,” I spat at him, and that broke the tension.

  We moved in on each other, feet shuffling, sparks spraying from the metal and the Power in the air. He wasn’t trying very hard, and I almost got him twice before he realized I was serious and began to scramble. Cut overhand, spin-kick, he tried to lock me into a corps-a-corps where his height and weight could overpower me but that was an old trick, move move move, scabbard flying in to jab him in the ribs, it was a cheap shot but every little bit told, I had speed and endurance, he had power and a different type of endurance—

  Parry, parry, a short thrust he had to shuffle back to escape, metal sliding, wall coming up fast, was I going to cheat or was I going to—

  I cheated.

  I popped my left hand forward, the scabbard held horizontal, and a dart of Power flashed from my rings, spattered on his defenses.

  We separated, both breathing hard now. It bought me some breathing room.

  “Cheater,” he said. Sweat rolled down his forehead, his hair truly soaked now. Thunder rumbled outside.

  “Anything for you,” I answered, showing my teeth. Sweat dripped down the shallow channel of my spine. My ribs flared with deep rasping breaths. “You going to come and get me, baby?”

  “You should be so lucky,” he said. “We’re full-on now, sweetheart? You sure? Last time we did this I spanked your ass.”

  “I was holding back,” I said. “Since you always bitched when you lost.”

  He grinned. “You sure, Valentine?”

  “Come over here and find out, Monroe,” I dared him, katana dipping into guard. He was coming in low, his shielding swirling with the peculiar spiky turbulence of a Shaman, impossible to predict. I was glowing, glitter spattering through my aura; reacting to his nearness and to my own defenses springing up, locking with his.

  We closed in again, and this time he was serious. Metal screamed and Power tore through the air, ozone, smell of musk, the mark on my shoulder suddenly coming alive. Spray of sparks, he was using a pattern I didn’t recognize but muscle memory took over again and it was like riding a slicboard, trembling on the outer edge of adrenaline control, fully alive, fully aware, kiss of breeze against my sweaty forehead, clap of thunder like angels striking and neither of us flinched, spin, half-falling, get up get up, kicked his bad knee, felt the flare of sick pain from his shielding but he was too hyped on adrenaline to slow down, we closed again but I had momentum, push, Power crackling, across the room, running, his face inches from mine, eyes locked, my lips peeled back with effort, familiar, every other time we’d fought blurring under my skin, memory and intuition and action—

  Glass. Shattering. I drove him through the window, separating from him for long enough to gain footing on the stone walk outside, heavy scent of wet green air rising from the garden on the other side of the strip of stone flags. Boot soles gripping, sliding, cut overhand, he batted it away with more luck than strength. Harsh gasps of air tore at my throat. His shielding flared, trying to throw me off, I reacted without thinking, tearing Power from the air and smashing at him.

  Rain spattering aga
inst my skin, stinging-hard. Rivulets of water down Jace’s face. We were outside now, booted feet crunching in glass, the wild rain pounding on both of us, soaked to the bone and suddenly chill, breath steaming, sparks flying like water as we danced.

  Flying. I didn’t have to hold back. The rhythm of the fight changed, became insistent, no think! No think! Move! Jado-sensei screamed in my memory and I fell, landing on the wet stone scrambling, scrambling, throwing aside one of his strikes, on my feet again, whirling, his scabbard coming in, deflected, I was going to bruise there by tomorrow, didn’t care, alive, alive, see you stay that way, alive, alive—

  Thunder.

  He fell, blood striping his face, landing sprawled on the marble. My blade kissed his throat. For a moment I was tempted—push the blade in, no resistance, you can watch him bleed, watch the soul leave the body, watch the sparks fly, and then—

  “Do you give?” I asked, my voice a harsh croak. My ribs flared.

  “Of course,” he said, his eyes closed, head tipped back, throat exposed. Steel caressed the vulnerable place where his pulse beat. My hands weren’t shaking, but they were close. “Anything you want, Valentine.”

  “Stay off my case, Monroe.” I let the temptation slide away. Not today. I wouldn’t kill him today.

  Thank the gods, think of the paperwork . . . I sheathed my blade, suddenly aware that the rain drenched both of us, my shirt stuck to my body, my jeans chafing, boots sloshing in foaming water. I offered him my hand, still tuned to combat, watching his blade just in case.

  “Sure.” He took my hand; I hauled him up from the stone walk-turned-river. “You still look good when you fight, sweetheart.”

  I tore my fingers out of his, watched as he sheathed his sword. Both of us were bloody—scraped knuckles, a cut on his scalp, his knee, a shallow slice on my shield arm, my back on fire. “Good match,” I said grudgingly. “You’ve been practicing.”

  “So have you. That double-eight thing kicked my ass.”

  “Where’d you learn that little shuffle-trick? That’s nice.” I pushed a strand of wet hair out of my face—no matter how tightly I braided it, sometimes little bits worked free.