Working for the Devil

by Lilith Saintcrow

  It’s said by the Magi that demons invented the arts of love, and I was tempted to believe it. The kiss tore through me, lightning filling my veins, the smell of him invading me, making me drunk. Blood-warm, his darkness folded around me, and I shuddered, my hands coming up and clasping behind his neck. My entire body arched toward his, he tipped me over onto the bed. I didn’t care.

  He bit his lip, and the smoke and spice of demon blood filled my mouth. I gasped for air, swallowing, choking on the scorching-hot fluid, his Power wrapped around us both. I was too far gone to think, nothing but a welter of sensation, my throat burning, eyes closed, his hands tearing at my clothes, finding bare skin and burning me all the way down to the bone. I cried out twice, shaking and shuddering, wet with sweat, my heart exploding inside my chest. And when he drove his body into mine I nearly lost consciousness, screaming, thrashing away from pleasure so intense it was like the chill-sweet darkness of Death. It was like dying, being held in his arms while the Power tore through me, remade me, and finally drove me down deep into twilight. Again.

  CHAPTER 41

  The soupy half-conscious daze lasted for a long time. I would surface for long enough to remember where I was—completely naked, in a demon’s arms, lying in one of Jace Monroe’s beds—and then my mind would shiver back into a kind of halfsleep. My entire body burned, changing. He held me when my bones crackled, shifting into new shapes; things moved under my skin, internal organs changing and moving, my heart pulsing lethargically. He murmured into my hair, his voice taking away the pain and bathing me in narcotic drowsiness.

  It ended with a final flush of Power that coated my skin, sealing me away. I came back to myself with a rush.

  Japhrimel lay next to me, my hair tangled over his face, my head pillowed on his shoulder. His fingers, no longer scorching-hot but merely warm, trailed up my back and I shuddered. “It’s done,” he whispered. For the first time, he sounded tired. Exhausted.

  “It hurt,” I said, childishly. That was the first shock—my voice wasn’t my own anymore. Instead, it was deeper, full of a casual power that gave me gooseflesh. Or would have given me gooseflesh, if my skin hadn’t been so—

  I looked at my hand. Instead of my usual paleness—a Necromance almost never went out in daylight unless forced to it—I found my hand covered with golden, poreless skin. My nails were still crimson and lacquered with molecule drip, I still wore my glittering rings, but that just made my hand look even more graceful and wicked. “Anubis,” I breathed. “What did you—”

  “I have shared my Power with you,” he said. “There was pain, but it’s over now. You share a demon’s gifts, Dante, though you are not demon yourself. You will never be a demon.”

  A kind of dark screaming panic welled up from behind my breastbone. But I was too tired—or not precisely tired. I was numb. Too much had happened, one shock after another. I was too emotionally drained to react to anything right now—and that was dangerous. Numb meant not thinking straight, and thinking straight was the only thing that was going to keep me alive. “You did what?”

  “You are still everything you were,” he pointed out. “Now you are simply more. And Vardimal will not be able to kill you so easily.”

  “Sekhmet sa’es—” I pushed myself up, trying to untangle my body from his. A few moments of confusion ended up with me sitting, the sheet clutched to my chest, staring at him. Bare, hairless, golden chest, his collarbones standing out, and behind him, glaucous darkness lay on the bed. So that’s why he never takes it off, I thought, and had to put my head down on my knees. They’re wings. Oh, my gods, they are wings—I hyperventilated for what seemed like ages, Japhrimel’s hand on my back, spread against my ribs. The heat from his touch comforted me, kept the gray fuzz of shock from blurring over my vision.

  Finally the panic retreated. But it was a long time before I looked up and found that the room was going dark. “How long has it been?” I asked.

  “Ten hours or so,” he replied. “It takes a short while for the changes to—”

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” I said. “I wish you’d warned me.”

  “You would not have allowed it if I had,” he pointed out. “And now you are safer, Dante.”

  “How safe?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation with a naked demon. Then another more terrible thought struck me. “Am I still a Necromance?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Or at least, I presume so.”

  “You presume so?” Okay, so maybe I wasn’t numb, just stunned. I stared at him, my breath coming fast and short. My heart pounded.

  No, not numb. Stunned, and numb, and terrified.

  “I presume so,” he said. Dark circles ringed his green eyes. “I have never done this before.”

  “Oh, great,” I mumbled, and looked down at the side of the bed. My clothes lay in a shredded heap. “Japhrimel—”

  “You could thank me,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together. “If you were a Magi—”

  “I’m not a Magi,” I interrupted. “I’m a Necromance. And I’m human.”

  “Not anymore,” he said shortly, and levered himself up from the bed. “I told you, I will not allow you to be harmed. I swore on the waters of Lethe.”

  “Shut up.” I bolted up from the bed, yanking the sheet with me. It tore right down the middle. I stood there, looking at the long scrap of green cotton clenched in my hand. “Gods,” I breathed, and then looked wildly around.

  I found myself across the room, with no real idea of how I’d gotten there. As a matter of fact, I collided with the wall, and plaster puffed out in a cloud. Faster than human, one part of me thought with chilling calm. I’m faster than human now. That will come in handy when I go after Santino.

  I untangled myself from the wall, shivering. Stared at my hands. My golden, perfect hands.

  “Why?” I whispered. “Gods above, why?”

  “I swore to protect you,” he answered. “And I will not let you leave me behind, Dante. No one, demon or human, has treated me with any kindness—except you. And even your kindness has thorns. Still—”

  I clapped my hands over my ears and bolted for the bathroom. Japhrimel watched this, expressionless.

  The vision that confronted me in the bathroom mirror made my stomach revolve. Or do I even have a stomach now? I thought. I looked . . . different. My tattoo was still there, quiescent against my cheek, the emerald glittering slightly. But otherwise . . . my face wasn’t my own. Golden skin stretched over a face I didn’t recognize—but there were my dark eyes, now liquid and beautiful. I looked like a holovid model, sculpted cheekbones, a sinful mouth, winged eyebrows. I touched my face with one wondering fingertip, saw the beautiful woman in the mirror touch her exquisite cheekbone, trace her pretty lips.

  I looked like a demon. There was only a ghost of the person I used to be left in my face. Japhrimel’s mark remained on my left shoulder, but it was a decoration instead of a scar, etched into my newly perfect golden skin. And my hair, Japhrimel’s inky black—but long, falling over my shoulders in choreographed strands.

  My flat stomach, lightly ridged with muscle, showed no more marks from Santino’s claws. I twisted around, pulling my hair up, and strained my neck to examine my back in the mirror. No ridged thick whip scars. I couldn’t see my ass in the mirror, but I felt along the lower curve of my left buttock and found no scarring there either.

  Gone. They were gone. All except Japhrimel’s mark on my shoulder. I dropped my hair over my back, shuddering.

  The disorientation made me grab at the counter. I tried not to do it too hard, but my nails drove into the tiles. My hair fell over my face, tangling, tempting. I still clutched the piece of green cotton sheet in my other fist.

  “Anubis,” I breathed out, and closed my eyes, shutting out the vision. I sank down to my knees, sick and shaking, banged my head softly against the cabinet under the countertop. My breath shivered out of me. “Anubis et’her ka . . .” The prayer shivered away from my lips, a m
ore terrible fear rising out of my panic-darkened mind. What if the god no longer answered me? What if the emerald on my face went dark, what if the god no longer accepted my offerings?

  I choked on a dark, silty howl that filled my throat. I felt the inked lines of my tattoo shift slightly, and tried to breathe. If I could breathe, if I could just breathe, I could find a quiet space inside myself and see if the god allowed me back.

  Japhrimel gently freed my fingers from the tile. “Hush,” he said, and knelt down. He took me in his arms. “Hush, Dante. Breathe. You must breathe. Shhh, hush, it is not so bad, you must breathe.” He stroked my hair and kept whispering, soothingly, until my shallow gasps evened out and I could open my eyes. I clung to him, the material of his coat soft against my fingers.

  Now that I knew what it was, it made me slightly sick to think about touching it. But he pressed his lips to my forehead, and the warmth of that touch slid through me, exploding like liquor behind my ribs. “You must be careful,” he said. “You will damage yourself if you try hard enough. That will be unpleasant for both of us.”

  “I hate you,” I whispered.

  “That is only natural,” he whispered back. “I am yours now, Dante. I am A’nankimel. I have Fallen.”

  “I hate you,” I repeated. “Change me back. I don’t want this. Change me back.”

  “I cannot.” He stroked my hair. “You have a demon to hunt, Dante.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I started to giggle. Then chuckle, then roar with panicked laughter.

  You have a demon to hunt, Dante.

  I was still laughing like an idiot when Gabe kicked the door to the bedroom in, Eddie right behind her.

  CHAPTER 42

  I crouched in the bathroom, a towel haphazardly wrapped around me. My throat burned from laughing until I screamed, and screaming until my voice broke.

  Outside, raised voices. Japhrimel had driven them back into the room and stood guard, not allowing any of them to come near the bathroom.

  Gabe: I don’t care what you think, that’s Danny in there. You can’t—

  Eddie: Used to be Danny. That goddamn thing did something to her!

  Gabe: What the fuck did you do? Answer me, or I’ll—

  Japhrimel: Injuring me, if it is possible at all, will harm her. You don’t want that. I can calm her, if you leave. Leave now.

  Eddie: Shoot the fucker, Gabe, shoot him!

  Japhrimel: Shooting me might possibly harm her. And if she is harmed I will kill you both. This was the price I demanded of her, and she has paid. It is a private matter.

  Eddie: Shoot the fucker, Gabe! Shoot him!

  Gabe: Shut up both of you. Or I’ll shoot you both. What the hell happened to Danny? What did you do to her? You’d better start talking.

  Long tense silence. Whine of an active, unholstered plasgun. Then another sound, footsteps. Drawing closer. Feet in boots, a familiar tread.

  Japhrimel: Don’t, human. She is dangerous.

  Jace: Fuck you.

  The door slid open, a slice of light spearing the darkness. I put my head on my knees, curling even more tightly into myself.

  He didn’t turn the light on. I smelled him, rank with dying cells. Human, a smell I had never noticed before. Would I smell it everywhere, this effluvia of decay? How did Japhrimel stand it? How could I stand it?

  He didn’t walk into the bathroom. Instead, he stood in the door for a moment, looking. Then he slowly bent his knees, knelt down, and crawled into the bathroom on all fours.

  The darkness wasn’t helping. Neither was the electric light that poured through the door. Nothing was helping. Nothing would ever help again.

  He stopped just inside the door. I huddled against the antique iron bathtub, making a small breathless mewling sound. The sound wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard I drove my sharp new teeth into my perfect new lips. My datband was blinking. It had to be reset—I didn’t scan as human now. I scanned like a genesplice, like an aberration . . . like something other. He told me I wasn’t a demon, I was hedaira—but what the fuck did that mean?

  Jace eased himself to the side, sitting with his back against the wall. He sat for a few moments, and then, slowly, he reached up into his linen jacket and pulled out—of all things—a pack of cigarettes.

  He never used to smoke, I wonder if he got those from Gabe, I thought, and my breath hitched. The small wounded sound I was making quit, too.

  “Mind if I smoke?” he said, quietly.

  My breath sobbed in.

  He lit up. The brief flare of the lighter seared my eyes. I huddled back even further, the soft helpless sound rising to my lips again. But he didn’t do anything, just inhaled some synth hash smoke and blew it out. “It’s a nasty fucking habit,” he said, his tone pitched low and intimate. “But you’ve always got to have a pack, in case some petty thug you’re trying to ease needs one. You know?”

  I said nothing. Squeezed my eyes shut. Patterns of Power shifted in the darkness under my eyelids, patterns I had never seen before. Part of a demon’s Power. Shaking at the edge of my control, straining to leap free.

  He tapped the ash onto the tiled floor next to him. The tiles were dark-green, with lighter green ones scattered every fourth or fifth tile. It was pretty, and kind of soothing.

  He took another drag. “I must have seen thousands of these in my time,” he said. “Smoked a few, too. Have to take detox every six months, but it’s worth it to see someone relax when you offer them a stick. You know they used to call these fags? Used to make them out of tobacco ’stead of synth hash. Nicotiana. Eddie still grows some of that shit.”

  My breathing eased out a little. His tone was so normal, so familiar. I opened my eyes, resting my cheek on my naked knees. Watching him.

  He finished the smoke and ground it out on the floor. I heard low shuffling sounds out in the bedroom. Gabe’s hiss, the slow static of Japhrimel’s attention. Japhrimel was trembling, too, a fine thin tremor racing through his bones. I could feel it in my own body, the demon’s need of me.

  Like an addiction.

  “I remember one time I was talking to this guy,” Jace continued, lacing his fingers over his knee and leaning back into the wall, “and I had to find out what he knew. He was uncooperative . . . they’d already put him through the wringer by the time I got there. I took a look at the situation, and settled down in a chair. Then I offered him a cigarette. I had the information in five minutes. Useful things.”

  More silence. Jace tilted his head against the wall. I caught the gleam of his blue eyes.

  “You remember that little slicboard shop we always used to get our boards tuned at? You still ride a Valkyrie?” He waited.

  I was surprised to hear my own voice. “After jobs, sometimes.” I sounded flat and bored. My breath hitched; my beautiful new voice was ruined and husky—but still lovely. It still made the broken glass on the floor shiver slightly; I felt Japhrimel listening intently.

  “You always loved Valkyries,” he said. “I think what you liked best about riding a board was the flying. The adrenaline. Made you feel alive, right?”

  A tear trickled down my cheek, touched my knee.

  So demon-things can cry, I thought. It was the first sane thought, and I grabbed it like a shipwreck survivor.

  “I miss Saint City,” he said. “That noodle shop on Pole Street with the fishtank on the far wall. And that hash den we used to drink at—the one with the great music.”

  My throat was raw. “It closed down,” I whispered. “Two hookers ODed in a week. On T-laced Chill.”

  “Shit,” he said easily. “Damn shame. They played RetroPhunk all the time. And Therm Condor.”

  “Ann Siobhan,” I supplied finally, my voice shaking.

  “The Drew Street Tech Boys,” he said after a considering pause. “Audiovrax.”

  I seemed to be slogging through mud to think. “Blake’s Infernals.”

  “Krewe’s Control and the Hover Squad,” he said.

  “I hated th
em,” I whispered.

  “Did you?” Now he sounded surprised. “You never told me.”

  “You loved them.” My voice caught on a hoarse sob.

  “You bought me all eight discs,” he said, scratching at his cheek. “Damn.”

  “I incinerated them,” I admitted. “After you left.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  It sounded like he meant it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whispered, my voice raw.

  “I was trying to protect you, Danny. If you’d known, you’d have come riding into Nuevo Rio with your sword out, to ‘save’ me. That goddamn honor complex of yours would have gotten you killed. Just like you’re trying to get yourself killed avenging Doreen.”

  “I have to,” I said. “I have to.” I choked on the words. Rigger Hall had taught me how to be hard—but to be hard was no use without your honor. Honor was everything. And honor demanded I avenge Doreen, even if it killed me.

  Even if it turns me into a genesplice aberration? I wondered, and my breath jagged out, a low moaning sob.

  “I know,” he answered, softly, intimately. “You can’t be anything else, Danny. I always liked that about you. Right out to your fingernails, you just can’t be anything other than what you are.”

  “Look at what he did to me,” I whispered.

  “So what?” Jace said. “You’re still you. Still my pretty Danny Valentine. And while you sit in here moaning about it, your prey is either getting away or digging into a hidey-hole.” He shrugged, his shirt moving against the tiled wall and making a little whispering sound. “We need you to finish this hunt, Danny. Gabe needs her own revenge on the Saint City Slasher. Eddie needs Gabe happy. I need Sargon Corvin dead so I can start living again and maybe prove to you I ain’t so bad. You’re letting us down, Danny. Come on.”

  I shuddered. It should have been a transparent ploy, but it needled me. I was letting Gabe down—she’d dropped everything to come with me. And Eddie loved her. It must eat at him to see her unhappy.