Not Your Average Hot Guy

by Gwenda Bond

  Mag and Jared rush toward us as I land. Porsoth stays back a bit, and continues to shake his head at my glorious wings.

  There’s someone else still present too. Rofocale. Never one to wait for the right moment, he jumps right into it.

  “Time to go home,” he says, polishing a scuff on his obsidian chest plate. “Have you met your father’s task?”

  He expects me to have failed. Who could blame him?

  “He has,” Callie says. Her voice is thin and serious. “I’m ready.”

  “What is this?” Jared asks, concerned.

  “She promised him her soul,” Porsoth says. “But it’s Lucifer’s fault.”

  “No way,” Mag protests, and Jared is right with them.

  “I made a promise,” Callie says. “I have to honor it.”

  Jared and Mag are clearly getting ready to marshal their arguments. But there’s nothing they can do. A deal is a deal. When you shake hands with a demon, that’s it. No going back, not unless you want to pony up and get some extra pain for the trouble.

  Where I’m concerned, on the other hand …

  “We’re going home,” I say to Rofocale. “But Callie is not coming.”

  “Luke, no,” she says. “You honored your promise too. I won’t let you do this.”

  “Not your choice. Your soul’s too good for me. Stay here, go inside and hug your dog, recount the deus ex Michael.”

  “Still not how that term works. Luke, he’ll…” She searches for the right way to say it. I could help her out.

  Unmake me? End me forever?

  “I know.” I take one step toward her, then another, until our faces are inches apart. I lace my fingers through her outreached hand. I place a gentle kiss on her lips, letting it deepen for one breath, then another. Then, I pull back. The hardest thing I’ve done today.

  “It makes me happy to know the world has you in it,” I say, which is a pretty good parting line. More, because I mean it with every fiber of my demonic being, from toes to wingtips.

  “Luke,” Callie whispers.

  Rofocale heaves a bored sigh. “Does this mean we can leave now?”

  I release her fingers and then I’m already flying away. I’m headed home to face the terrible music.

  I take one last look back before I leave Earth for Hell and see Callie staring after me, surrounded by those who love her. She’ll be fine. She’ll be good.

  Soon enough, I’m almost home, nearing the Gray Keep. Father stands on the upper balcony, awaiting my arrival with a grim expression.

  I probably shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know how I ever thought I could do anything else.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CALLIE

  I stand on the Earth—something that would seem unremarkable except, before this, I was flying and outside the pearly gates—and watch as Luke’s beautiful black wings get smaller and smaller and he finally vanishes into the distance. He’s really leaving me here.

  He refused to take my soul. We had a deal.

  That noble idiot.

  Okay, get a grip, I think. He’s not an idiot. Or noble. He’s never been noble.

  Until the last five minutes.

  “Why did he do that?” I ask Porsoth.

  Porsoth considers. “I daresay he followed his heart.”

  “He should have followed his brain.”

  Mag comes closer, Jared at their elbow. “Callie, this is good,” Mag says. “He could have taken your soul, I have that right?”

  “It’s not good. His father … Porsoth, what will happen?”

  Porsoth goes quiet. Given how chatty he’s been up to now, that’s another bad sign. “Porsoth,” I press.

  “It’s difficult to say.”

  Difficult to say how bad it will be, he means.

  “Will he survive?”

  Rofocale clears his throat. “What a foolish question. Lucifer will mete out justice for his failure. You’ve ruined his chances to achieve greatness. What does survival matter now?” He shrugs. “Ah well. I’d best get back.”

  I’m so angry I want to yell at him, but Rofocale disappears in a cloud of black smoke before I can. The beast he rode over here on stomps toward us and Porsoth makes a clicking noise that slows it. But then the beast disappears too.

  “He almost forgot his monster-horse, didn’t he?” I ask. “I despise that guy.”

  “Rofocale’s not so bad,” Porsoth says, but there’s no real argument in it.

  Jared checks his phone. “Mom’s on her way back—they had the interstate exits closed so traffic’s backed up. It’ll take her a while. But…”

  “But we should get this place cleaned up?” I ask. “Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Callie,” Mag asks, “what do you think we should do? This is over, isn’t it?”

  Is it? The highway is a little pock- and scorch-marked from the brimstone and fighting, and a lot more journalist-heavy than normal. But otherwise no one would imagine what almost happened here: the battle for Armageddon, narrowly averted. We stopped the end times. Cue the party music.

  Luke didn’t take my soul.

  I couldn’t have done any of this without him. He couldn’t have done it without me, either. But there we are.

  I owed him a debt, and he didn’t collect.

  The way I see it I have two options: (a) consider this my one grand adventure and a narrow soul miss and live my life as if someone else didn’t sacrifice himself for it, or (b) at least try to save Luke too.

  The idea of Luke not existing anymore because he refused to hurt me isn’t something I can accept. I’m not planning to force my soul on him, but like with the Cupcake plan, there must be another option.

  B, it is.

  I even have a way to force communication with the other side. The grimoire. Like that, I have the beginnings of a plan.

  “Porsoth, where’s the book?” I hold my hands out for it.

  The owl blinks at me. “You mean to…?”

  “I do.”

  “I won’t be able to help you with the summoning, protocols forbid it. But it might work.” He reaches into his scholar’s robe and then pauses.

  “Where is it?” I ask, waving my hands. To Mag and Jared, I say, “We’re going to need to clear the floor in the Chamber of Black Magic. It already has a built-in pentagram.”

  “It seems I, well, I,” Porsoth says, “I no longer have the book.”

  Time crashes to a halt. “What?”

  Porsoth rocks from hoof to hoof. “It, well, ah, it seems when you and the prince went to converse with Michael, you left the Earthly plane. Your arrangement with Styx, it activated.”

  I can’t believe this. “But I’m alive!”

  “Yes, but zones of existence are rarely crossed by living humans and so the universe must have decided to consider you, ah, briefly dead.” Porsoth hangs his head. “I failed you.”

  This isn’t good. Styx has my book, the key element of my plan. But I’m not giving up that easily.

  “Take me back to Lilith’s,” I say. “You can zap us there, right?”

  “Callie, maybe it’s time to let this go,” Jared says.

  He’s almost certainly correct. I consult Mag.

  “What do you think?”

  Mag stares at me for a long moment. “You’ll never know if you don’t give it a shot.”

  “I’ll be back,” I say. “Get the room ready. Candles. The works.”

  Porsoth hesitates. “Are you certain about this?”

  “To Lilith’s.” I reach out and grasp his wing and the world goes dark and scream-filled.

  * * *

  When we arrive, Lilith is napping or communing with nature or something. She’s reclined in her garden, World Watcher–less now, with flowering vines curling around her limbs.

  Porsoth and I exchange helpless expressions. “She likes you,” he says under his breath.

  The short straw is mine. “Lilith,” I say, “wake up. We need to talk.”

 
; Her eyes pop open. She sits up, the plants releasing her like they share one mind.

  “You came back.” Those same perceptive eyes narrow. “Why?”

  “I need your help.” I shake my head. “No, that’s not right. Luke needs your help.”

  “You should’ve stuck with the first story.” She climbs to her feet, reaching out for the assistance of a spiky-leafed plant.

  “He’s your son,” Porsoth says.

  “I’m aware,” she says and throws her arms out in a stretch, yawning. “Did he betray you? Is that why you’re here? I received a dispatch from the palace inviting me to join his disciplinary hearing. I declined.”

  Hell has disciplinary hearings. Wait, I remind myself, it also has internships. Fair enough.

  “Un-decline,” I say. “I have to get my grimoire back from Styx, so I need time. I need you to go there and stall for it.”

  Lilith comes closer, studying me. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because he doesn’t deserve this. He helped me save the world, and then he didn’t take my soul. He could’ve saved himself, but he didn’t.”

  “Don’t be fooled by one sweeping gesture.”

  “Trust me,” I say. “I’m not. It wasn’t sweeping. He didn’t even give me a chance to talk him out of it.”

  “That’s not why you want to save him,” she says. She sighs. “I’ll go. I can take you by Styx on my way. I make these dark chocolate pomegranate brownies she goes wild over.”

  * * *

  Traveling with Lilith is a new experience. She conjures winds, and we leap into them. With each jump, we’re carried high over the landscape miles at a time. Fiery ridges and dark forests and black-mud swamps go by in a blur. I suppose you could call it travel by witch.

  The fancy cloak she put on before we left sails around her, reminding me of Luke’s wings. The thornbushes are too far below to worry about, because we never quite touch the ground.

  Until the Styx’s still, black waters come into view. The winds lessen, and we land on the banks.

  There’s no calling the goddess this time. She bursts forth from the parting waters. And she has my grimoire in one talon.

  “Lilith,” she says, hissing, “lesser Porsoth, dead human.”

  Lilith’s greeting is warm, ours not so much.

  “I’m not dead,” I say, “so if I could just borrow my grimoire again? Please?”

  Styx shows her teeth. “Ah, but you were dead enough for it to be delivered to me. The way of the world. The book is mine. A fine old book.”

  “I’ll ask you a question, I’ll give you whatever you want for it,” I try.

  Porsoth steps in front of me. He hesitates, and then he grows by several dozen sizes in seconds. He looms over us, nearly as large as the dragon.

  When he speaks, his voice is a deep rumble that disturbs the water of the river. “Give her the book.”

  Styx tilts her head back and releases a gout of flame, then lowers it to Porsoth’s. She slithers closer.

  So this is how I die, in the crossfire of a giant owl-pig and a dragon. Sure. Why not?

  I tremble, waiting.

  “There’s the merciless creature I remember,” she says.

  “Give it to her,” Porsoth says.

  Styx … purrs. Or at least, that’s the closest word I can come up with to describe it. Porsoth is impressive—I’m proud of him—but we don’t have a high-ranking prince to chime in this time. I’m afraid he’s going to have to marry her.

  Lilith produces a basket from her cloak. She waves it in the air.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says. “But I have to go, off to the palace. My boy is in some trouble. I brought your favorite. If you might entertain their request? For me?”

  Styx dips her head to Lilith’s and takes the basket in her teeth. She tosses the grimoire to me and I lunge to catch it.

  “Let’s go, before she changes her mind,” I say.

  Lilith is already sailing away on air currents.

  Styx balances the brownies on her talon. “Not so fast,” she says. “You must still pay a toll.”

  Always another rule.

  “A question,” I say.

  “Try to do better with it,” she says.

  Porsoth shrinks back to his usual size.

  “I could still eat you up,” the dragon says.

  “Promise?” Porsoth counters.

  What is happening? Are these two flirting? They are.

  “Ask,” Styx says to me.

  For once, I don’t search for something I’ve read or seen a documentary about, some random piece of knowledge filed away in my brain. I choose something I lived, a truth only three beings know for certain. I’m pretty sure Styx and Michael aren’t in the same social circles. And Luke’s in no position to talk.

  “I have one.” I clutch the book to my chest and stand tall. “Who convinced Michael to call a halt to the most recent near-apocalypse?”

  Styx shakes her head from side to side. “The legends spread quickly here,” she says. “I know it was youuuu.”

  Ha. “Nope,” I say. “Well, yep, but not just me. It was me and Luke. He answered a crucial question for Michael in the crunch. So your answer was technically incomplete. Can we pass?”

  Styx’s neck sways like a snake about to strike and she grins with every one of those sharp teeth. “Clever girl, you shall pass.”

  She sets one wing flat for us. “Be careful with my book. And Porsoth? Do visit me soon.”

  I don’t push my luck by pointing out it’s my book. Part of me wonders how I knew I’d need it again, why I balked so hard when she first demanded it. For that matter, why was I so drawn to it in the first place? But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past forty-eight hours, it’s that some questions are better left unanswered. If some higher power steered me this way or that, I don’t need to call them on it.

  I’ve got another callout to make first.

  As we step onto her wing, Styx uses a nail on her other claw to flip open the basket from Lilith.

  I extend a hand to Porsoth. He takes it and zaps us back to Earth. I’m almost used to the screaming darkness.

  We appear in the lobby of the Great Escape, met by Bosch and Cupcake racing around us in a frenzied welcome. I head straight to the Chamber of Black Magic.

  Jared and Mag are waiting there amid candles on the points of the pentagram. The furniture is all out of the way, everything except the grimoire stand.

  “You got it,” Mag says. “What now?”

  I walk over and set the book back into place, flipping to the section about calling Rofocale, the minister of Hell.

  Now we see if it’s possible for me to outmaneuver the devil.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  LUKE

  It’s not that I assumed I’d win any popularity contests in the kingdom—the opposite. Yet, somehow being confronted with a mass of demons and my father hungry for my ruin is overwhelming evidence of something past dislike. Past loathing.

  Hatred.

  Although, it could also be that the soulless hordes surrounding me in Father’s throne room, where I sit before him, contrite, not even allowed to stand, are simply expressing the pent-up aggression they didn’t get to spend on the final battle. I thwarted their bloodlust.

  Now I’m its object.

  Rofocale is a stern presence beside Father’s throne, judgment on his face. Father’s is hard, pitiless. The worst part is, I think he’s enjoying this.

  He has his wings stretched out at their most impressive on either side of his throne. I ruffle mine, which I still can’t believe exist.

  “Put those away,” he orders.

  I start to say I don’t know how, but when I think about it they fold back in automatically. I feel smaller.

  I’m sure that was his desire.

  “You had forty-eight hours, which has now elapsed,” Father says. “What were your orders from me?”

  This entire hearing is a sham. I wish he’d skip to t
he punishment.

  “Answer,” he says.

  The chair beneath me means I have to, another of his toys, like the World Watcher.

  “You told me to secure Callie’s soul.” And I agreed to take it, like a monster.

  “And did you?”

  “I chose to release her from promising it to me,” I say. “So I suppose you could say yes, then no.”

  “You admit that you chose to disobey a direct order from both your king and your father?” he asks. “For a human?”

  The company around us erupts into disgusted cries. Someone shouts, “Boil him!”

  “You may as well go ahead.” If they’re going to tell this story until the end of time, I won’t be a coward in it. “Unmake me. I’m guilty. I’ve still not managed to obtain a single soul. What’s more, I don’t want to.”

  Father stands. His shadow falls over me.

  I may be pretending I’m not afraid, but it’s only pretend. I’d rather live. The consequences are beyond my control this time, though. I don’t get to decide.

  He does.

  “Hold on a second,” my mother’s voice says.

  Father double-takes. He was so focused on me, he must not have sensed her arrival. “The messenger said you declined to come,” he says.

  “I changed my mind,” Mother says, and slinks into the room in a long velvet cloak. What is she doing here? “Bring me a chair. I’d like to hear the full charges.”

  “Very well,” Father says, and sinks back to his throne.

  I catch the change that flits across Rofocale’s face. It might be me alone who does. The faraway look that started this whole mess to begin with is on it.

  I’ve been wrong before, but I’d bet my probably-not-much-longer-but-valuable-to-me life on this.

  He’s being summoned.

  Then, he confirms it.

  Rofocale holds up a hand. “Excuse me, sire, I’m afraid I need to—”

  “Summoning—lot of those lately.” Father waves his hand. “Go. We’ll finish this.”

  Mother winks at me and crosses her fingers.

  Something like hope arrives as Rofocale departs.

  Until my father speaks again. He gazes at my mother then at me. “Maybe we don’t need to humor dear Lilith. After all, the prince has admitted guilt and his lack of a spine befitting his station. We could move straight to sentencing.”