Devil Take Me

by Jordan L. Hawk

“And cover up those cute little horns?” Chess winked as they joined him on the sidewalk. “Now that would be a shame. Fortunately these folks are used to strange.”

  Realizing she was about to be abandoned, Fluffpaw whined from the back seat of the convertible.

  “Sorry.” Chess ran back to the car and scratched her behind the ears. “You’ve got to stay out here, girl.”

  “Are you sure?” Ralgath examined the convertible’s immaculate interior. “She’ll probably eat your seats by the time we get back.”

  “She’d never do that,” Chess said as they gave Fluffpaw one last pat. “Now, come on.”

  Inside, the place was exactly what Ralgath imagined a roadside bar would look like, if it had been specifically designed with some dive-bar archetype in mind. Even though it was likely no one had lit a cigarette indoors for years, decades of prior smoke had soaked into the walls, ceiling, and vinyl seats and left behind an unmistakable reek. A few people shot pool off to one side of the room, while others huddled around tables or at the bar.

  The bartender looked up as they approached. Even at a distance, Ralgath could smell the mark of another crossroads demon on her. Her eyes went straight to Ralgath’s horns, and she sniffed. “Sorry, demon, but one of your kind already took my soul.” She gazed around at the bar. “And this is what I got out of the bargain.”

  Obviously that demon had been much better at negotiation than Ralgath. “That isn’t why we’re here.”

  The bartender—presumably the JJ of the bar’s name—lifted a brow in Chess’s direction. “She’s in the back, as usual.”

  “Thanks.” Chess led the way through a door marked Private and down a dingy hall. The scent of incense spilled out of an open door at the end, and Ralgath took a deep, instinctive breath.

  “Dragon’s blood,” he said in surprise. “From a real dragon, I mean. Not the fake stuff.”

  “Be polite,” Chess advised. Though the door was partially open, they knocked anyway.

  “Come in,” murmured a low, smoky voice.

  Power slithered over Ralgath’s skin as they stepped in the door and the wards reacted to his demonic presence. Magic wrapped around him like snakes on his shoulders and looped across his throat. It wasn’t constricting—not yet. But that could change in an instant.

  A haze of smoke filled the room, which was lit only by the cold light of a television set. Blankets hung on the walls, depicting images of kittens, dragons, and dogs. An old recliner sat in the corner, and on it was a presence glamoured to appear human, even though it never had been. She looked like an old woman, her hair up in curlers, a bottle of scotch on the table beside her. Slippers hid her feet, and a bathrobe concealed most of her bulk.

  “Mama Lea,” Chess said respectfully, inclining their head. “How are you doing this fine night?”

  The wards tightened just a bit around Ralgath’s throat.

  “Not doing so well now that you’ve brought a demon to me,” Mama Lea said. “That ain’t polite, little hunter.”

  “I’m not here to bother you,” Ralgath said.

  “Too late for that.”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat. “Some crossroads demons have gone missing. I’ve been sent to find them.”

  “An Enforcer?” Mama Lea’s eyes gleamed in the dimness, glamour giving way just enough to reveal slitted pupils. Maybe the dragon’s blood Ralgath had scented belonged to her. “Where’s your hellhound?”

  “I’m not an Enforcer, and she’s waiting in the car.” Or eating it.

  “The missing demons’ names are Zemael and Muzzaxin,” Chess said. “We need to know who might have taken them. Failing that, I need something of theirs to track. Can you help us?”

  “I might could.” A hiss, as of coils slithering over one another. “What will you give me in return?”

  Curse it. Ralgath hadn’t thought to ask Gizrun for an expense account.

  Chess didn’t seem worried. They pointed to the TV. “Warlocks and Angels, huh? What’d you think of the season three ending?”

  Mama Lea’s whole demeanor shifted. “You mean the Magnificent and Galen kiss?”

  “What else? So good. Am I right?” At Ralgath’s blank look, Chess added, “Magnificent is an angel, and Galen is a warlock. Total forbidden love.”

  “I had no idea you were a fan.” Mama Lea fluttered her hands in excitement.

  Chess laughed. “I’m responsible for at least 20 percent of the Malen fanfic on AO4.”

  “You’re chess4malen?”

  Ralgath looked blankly from one of them to the other. “Umm… you both seem to be speaking English, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “No streaming video in the Underworld?” Chess shook their head. “Damn. You really are in hell.” They turned back to Mama Lea. “I’m almost finished with the next chapter. The quicker I get this job done, the sooner I’ll be able to update.”

  “Say no more.” Mama Lea beamed at them. “I can’t tell you who might have your demons, but I might know where you can get something of theirs to track. The Bluesman.”

  “The Bluesman?” Ralgath asked.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what he calls himself. Awful pretentious if you ask me, ’specially as I don’t think he can play a lick. He’s got a thing for crossroads demons. Collects everything he can lay hands on that has anything to do with them—stories, pictures of places they’ve appeared, anything one might have touched or dropped.”

  “A real fanboy, huh?” Chess nodded slowly. “Thanks, Mama Lea. We’ll be on our way so I can get back to that fic soon.”

  “I’m snapdragon27 online,” she called after them. “I’ll be sure to comment as soon as it’s posted.”

  Once they were back in the hall, Ralgath shook his head. “How did you know what to offer her?”

  Chess grinned. “She’s been streaming Warlocks and Angels every time I’ve come to see her. I kept my mouth shut because I figured it would come in handy eventually.”

  Ralgath sighed. It was almost a shame he would be releasing Chess from their contract once they found the missing demons. With their negotiation skills, they would have made a hell of a crossroads demon. Gizrun would probably have hired them the moment they died.

  They walked outside. Fluffpaw trotted up to greet them, a bumper decorated with chrome testicles dangling from her jaws.

  “See?” Chess said as they climbed into the convertible. “I told you she wouldn’t eat my car.”

  THE BLUESMAN lived several hours away. Despite Chess’s driving, Ralgath managed to fall asleep for most of the trip until a harsh bump woke him. Blinking blearily, he lifted his head and found Chess guiding the car down a rutted dirt road. Old farm fields, overgrown with weeds and yielding to the first growth of forest, stretched to either side in the afternoon light. Muddy water filled the ruts in the road, and Chess grimaced with each splash.

  “First stop after this—a car wash,” they said when they noticed Ralgath was awake. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

  Ralgath sat up, and his back and neck protested the movement. He looked from the pink car to Chess’s outfit. “Something like that.”

  “What?” Chess cocked their head. “You think I look this good by accident?”

  Ralgath snorted. “No.” He paused and wondered if it was smart to open up a conversation about the night they met. “You weren’t what I expected when I answered you at the crossroads. I’ve wondered since then if that was on purpose, to throw me off my game, give you an edge. But I guess not.”

  “No.” The corners of Chess’s mouth curled up slightly. “I wasn’t really expecting someone as cute as you, if we’re confessing.”

  Ralgath looked out the window. “I’d wondered that too, if you were actually attracted to me.”

  Chess put their hand on Ralgath’s knee. “Wait, no. I wasn’t… you think I planned on seducing any demon who showed up?”

  “Didn’t you?” Ralgath didn’t bother to keep the bitterness
from his voice. “It seemed like you came prepared.”

  “I live out of this car. Of course I had everything with me.” Chess gave Ralgath’s knee a squeeze for emphasis. “I wasn’t expecting to seduce anyone, because I didn’t realize y’all ever turned down contracts. Now, I’m not denying I wanted to make you moan from the first second I laid eyes on you. And sure, it played a part in my thinking, once you said you couldn’t help. I figured it would be a win-win—we’d both get laid and have a good time doing it, and I’d get my contract.” They let out a sigh. “I didn’t realize you’d lose your job over it. No wonder you don’t think much of me.”

  Ralgath glanced uncertainly at Chess. Their attention was on the road, giving him a chance to study their profile. For once their lips were drawn tight in an unhappy moue.

  A band loosened in Ralgath’s chest. He’d spent years thinking Chess would have seduced anyone who’d shown up, that it had meant less to Chess than even a quick hookup.

  Still. “You used me.”

  Chess glanced down at the steering wheel and then back up at the road. “Yeah. Not very heroic of me, huh? I’m going to make it up to you, though. I promise.”

  They started to remove their hand from his knee, but Ralgath caught it. He wasn’t entirely certain why—encouraging Chess had gotten him into this situation in the first place. But Chess’s remorse seemed genuine. And the spark that Chess had taken advantage of before was still there, whether Ralgath wanted it or not.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.

  Fluffpaw chose that moment to thrust her head between them. Her hot breath scorched the side of Ralgath’s face, and her drool threatened to burn a hole in his cape.

  “Stop that,” he said as he tried to shove her back. It was like trying to push a boulder out of the way.

  “She knows we’ve arrived,” Chess said.

  Ralgath peered out the windshield and saw they’d come to the end of the road.

  It petered out in what could charitably be called a front yard, though most of it was bare dirt. Three cars sat up on blocks, streaked with rust. One appeared to have a tree growing out of the front seat. Chickens pecked and scratched at the mud, totally disinterested in them.

  Like the cars, the house had seen better days. It was three stories tall, with porches upstairs and down. Whatever color it had originally been painted was impossible to determine; only boards bleached gray by the elements remained. The iron railings on the stairs and porches wept red stains, and one corner of the roof sagged ominously. In its prime, the house had probably been a gem of local society. Now it was just sad.

  As Chess shut off the motor, a man stepped out onto the porch. He was tall and thin, and his pasty complexion suggested he didn’t get out in the sun very often. “Who are you?” he called from the porch. “What…?”

  He trailed off at the sight of Ralgath and Fluffpaw. His eyes widened, and his mouth flapped soundlessly like a landed fish.

  Ralgath exited the convertible and faced him. Threading infernal power into his voice, he said, “We’re looking for the Bluesman.”

  The pronouncement boomed nicely around the yard. A cloud picked that moment to slide in front of the sun and added an unplanned touch of the ominous.

  The man put his hands to his mouth. “Y-you’re looking for me? Oh my stars, I just can’t believe it. A real demon, in my yard. With a hellhound.”

  Chess leaned their hip against the side of the car. “You sound like a fan.”

  “Oh, I am. I am.” The sagging porch steps squealed as the Bluesman approached. His pale eyes scanned Ralgath avidly, as though he tried to memorize every detail. “My granny raised me on stories about crossroads demons. They always sounded so glamorous—good-looking, well-dressed, and in charge.”

  Ralgath strove to keep his expression neutral at the reminder that he’d gotten the first two of those right and massively failed at the third. “We are the most sophisticated inhabitants of the Underworld,” he agreed. Though technically he wasn’t a crossroads demon at the moment. He would be again, though, as soon as this was over. “I am Ralgath, and this is my hellhound, er, Fluffpaw.”

  “And this must be your mortal thrall,” the Bluesman said, staring at Chess with a mixture of awe and envy.

  “That’s me,” Chess agreed cheerfully. “The boss here tells me what he wants, and I get it for him. And what he wants today is something only you can give him.”

  The Bluesman let out a gasp. “Oh my. Oh my goodness.” He looked back and forth between them. “In that case, maybe y’all ought to come inside.”

  V.

  THE INTERIOR of the house was as messy as the exterior. The Bluesman led them into a parlor that looked to have been decorated by an old woman in the 1970s, and never updated since. A set of plates painted with hideous images of sad clowns hung in pride of place over the mantle. Ralgath suppressed a shudder. Even demons were afraid of clowns.

  “The recliner is the best chair. Belonged to my granny,” the Bluesman said as he gestured Ralgath toward an avocado-green recliner complete with lace antimacassar. “Can I get y’all some iced tea? Dog biscuits?”

  Ralgath was about to decline, but Chess said, “Some iced tea would be lovely, thank you.”

  The Bluesman beamed and bustled off in the direction of what Ralgath assumed to be the kitchen.

  “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to,” Ralgath said in a low voice to Chess. Fluffpaw sprawled onto the hearth rug and began to drool.

  “I don’t think he’s the one responsible for the missing demons,” Chess whispered back.

  Ralgath stabbed one finger in the direction of the clown plates. “Are you kidding? The man is obviously a serial killer. He’s probably poisoning our drinks as we speak.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Chess said, with an airy wave of their hand. “Now listen, asking him to part with something in his collection is a big favor. We need to play nice, butter him up a bit, and that means drinking iced tea and letting him soak in your infernal presence.”

  “I don’t actually see any evidence of this so-called collection, do you?”

  “Oh, like he’s going to keep his most valuable possessions just sitting out anywhere. Now sit in the recliner and hush.”

  Feeling as though he had once again lost whatever tenuous control he had over the situation, Ralgath sat. The recliner’s cushion was so soft, he felt as though he were sinking all the way to the floor, and it smelled like vinegar and cocoa butter.

  The Bluesman came back in, carrying a tray decorated with yet more sad clowns. “Here you go, the best iced tea in the county.” He passed them each a glass and then took one for himself and perched nervously on the edge of a rocking chair.

  Ralgath took a sip and nearly choked on the sweetness. “Very good,” he managed to say past the syrupy coating forming on his tongue.

  The Bluesman grinned proudly. “I can’t believe this is happening. A real crossroads demon sitting right here in my living room.”

  Chess drank the tea without seeming to notice there was a half a pound of sugar in the glass. “If you don’t mind my asking, why not just go to a crossroads and summon one if you wanted to meet them?”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.” The Bluesman let out a heavy sigh. “Granny made me promise I’d see her again in heaven. Can’t do that if I sell my immortal soul, and well, a promise is a promise.” A mild look of alarm crossed his face. “That ain’t what y’all are here, is it?”

  “No, no,” Ralgath said hastily. “We need your help on another matter.” He hesitated, but there was nothing for it. “Do you know of a demon by the name of Zemael? Or Muzzaxin?” Muzzaxin was a rookie, according to Gizrun, but Zemael had been in the business for decades.

  “Zemael… oh yeah.” The Bluesman snapped his fingers. “She traded for the soul of one of our fine state senators. Well, he wasn’t a senator then, of course. Oh, and she was behind the rise of that pop star. You know, the singer with only one name?”

>   “That doesn’t really narrow it down much these days,” Chess said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ralgath said before the Bluesman got any more distracted. “We’re here because we’ve been told you’re the premier collector of demonic paraphernalia in this part of the country.”

  “In the world,” the Bluesman said, clearly offended.

  “I don’t know about that,” Chess said skeptically. “I hear the Vatican has a pretty extensive collection. Whereas you….” They looked deliberately around the room.

  The Bluesman instantly leaped to his feet. “I’ll prove it. Right now.”

  Ralgath took the excuse to put his overly sweet tea aside. Rising to his feet, he said, “I look forward to it.”

  FLUFFPAW REMAINED sprawled on the floor. She seemed to have fallen asleep with her tongue lolled out and greenish drool slowly eating through the rug. The Bluesman would probably add it to his collection once they were gone.

  The Bluesman led the way into the kitchen, its sink piled high with pots and pans. He opened the pantry, took out a key, and unlocked a second door at the very back. “This used to be the root cellar,” he said, voice muffled by the narrow pantry. “I had it updated to modern standards to house my collection—climate control, humidity control, the works.”

  As he fussed with the lock and the light switch beyond, Ralgath leaned in to whisper in Chess’s ear, “If he puts on a sad clown mask and tries to kill us, I’m blaming you.”

  So close, he was suddenly aware of Chess’s scent once again—gardenias and myrrh and mortal musk. It rose from their warm skin, saturating Ralgath’s senses and sending a shock of desire to his groin.

  A little shiver ran through Chess, though Ralgath thought it had nothing to do with dread and everything to do with his breath on Chess’s ear.

  Chess had said they hadn’t planned to seduce whatever crossroads demon answered their call. Could it be Ralgath affected them just as much as they affected him?

  The door swung open onto a narrow stair leading down. “Just close it behind us, if you would,” the Bluesman called over his shoulder.