The Price of Brimstone

by Allie Gail

  “For instance, I would very much enjoy a nice glass of 1926 Macallan. But seeing how beggars can't be choosers, any whiskey would do.”

  That's it? All he wants is a drink?

  “That's all?” I ask dubiously. I can't believe that's the extent of what he's asking for. There's got to be a catch here somewhere.

  “Yes, of course. Like I said, just a trivial little wager to make the game a bit more competitive. Nothing significant.”

  “And what am I supposed to ask for?” It's not like there's anything he can do for me, aside from the obvious.

  He shrugs. “I'm afraid I'm rather limited at the moment in what I can offer you. But I don't expect you to win, at any rate.”

  I decide to take advantage of his arrogance by suggesting, “If there's no chance of me beating you, then why don't you put my friends on the table? I win, you arrange their release. Seeing how you're that sure of yourself, it shouldn't be too much of a gamble.”

  “That wasn't the agreement.” He purses his lips, clearly displeased by what was probably a very predictable request, given our position. “Don't get greedy. Take it down a notch and try again. Think smaller this time.”

  Well, it was worth a try. I contemplate for a moment, even while the rational part of me is screaming that making any sort of deal with Price, no matter how trivial, is a really dumb move.

  “One minute,” I find myself saying. “That's what you can give me.”

  “One...minute, did you say?” He sounds puzzled. Can't say I blame him – the idea just popped into my head and sounds a little crazy even to myself.

  “That's right. Sixty seconds of your life. During that time, you belong to me.”

  “I like where this is going. Please, continue.”

  “Which means, of course, that you have to answer any question I ask. Completely and truthfully.”

  “Sorry,” he declines in a cold voice. “No deal. What else have you got?”

  Sonofabitch – I might have known that wouldn't work. You'd think there would be some way for this to work to my advantage, but he's not about to let that happen. Damn him!

  Frustrated, I simply propose the first thing that comes to mind. “Okay. Fine. How about this – in that time, you can't lay a finger on me or hurt me in any way, no matter what happens. No matter what I do to you.”

  Intrigued, Loc tilts his head slightly to one side while considering my counteroffer. “Unusual request. All right, then. Agreed. Your sixty seconds to my single glass of whiskey.”

  “No tricks or strings attached?” I just know there's some nefarious motive here somewhere.

  “Strings attached?” Smirking, he eyes me with amusement. “What do you suppose I have to gain from requesting one measly little drink? Judith dear, you're taking this way too seriously. It's just a game.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. Relax. Trust me, if there's something I want from you, I'll find a way to get it without resorting to cheap trickery.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “Count on it. One way or another, I always get what I want.”

  Right.

  Not trusting him not to find a way to cheat, I gather up the cards and shuffle them myself.

  “I'll deal.”

  Twenty minutes later, I'm gloating shamelessly while Mr. I-Don't-Expect-You-To-Win has to eat crow. Because – what do you know – I managed to clean him out with a full house to his flush. Who'd have thought?

  Well, me, for one. Considering Gabby taught me how to play poker years ago, it was inevitable that I'd have a good shot at winning. She and her friends used to get together for regular games, and when I was visiting I'd sit in. Got pretty good at it, too. Lucky for them we didn't play for money, just grocery coupons. I'd give them back at the end of the night anyway because really, what was I going to do with a pile of seventy-five-cents-off Geritol clippings?

  “Beginner's luck.” Loc seems unfazed by my victory, but I still can't help rubbing it in just a little.

  “Beginner's luck, my ass,” I snort through a triumphant grin. “It's called bluffing. If you knew as much about me as you claim to, then you'd already be aware that I've been playing poker since I was ten. You just got hustled, dude.”

  It's an even greater triumph to me that he looks mildly surprised by my revelation. Shaking his head, he slowly drawls, “My, my. You naughty girl.”

  “I'd stay out of Vegas if I were you,” I smugly advise, getting up to put the deck of cards back in their place on the shelf.

  “And here I thought you were the sweet and innocent type.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  “Did I?” Through folded hands, he taps one forefinger against a knuckle as if he's considering this. “Mm...no, I rather doubt that. Now if you're quite done strutting about like a vainglorious peacock, would you care to go ahead and cash in?”

  “Hmm. You know, I don't think so. Not right now. I think I'll save it for a rainy day.”

  “Today was about as rainy as they come,” he reminds me. “And what are you planning on doing with your minute, may I ask? Please do enlighten me. I'm not sure I can stand the suspense.”

  “Yeah? Tough luck, Chuck.”

  “Are you open to suggestions from the floor? Because I have a number of deliciously kinky ideas I'd love to run past you.” The bright eyes glitter like jewels.

  “Oh, really? Like last ni–” The words are halfway out of my mouth before I realize what I'm saying.

  Shit.

  When am I ever going to learn to think first, then speak?

  “Last night...” His mouth curves into a serpentine smile. “Last night I was merely skimming the surface. Testing the waters. Quite an illuminating experience, I must say. Not much of a challenge, though. I had no idea you'd be so easily seduced. Experiencing a bit of a sexual drought, are we?”

  I set my jaw, glaring at him indignantly. “Is that what you think?”

  “If I'm wrong, I'd certainly like to hear your defense.”

  “My defense is, I was dreaming! People can't control what they do in their dreams.”

  “Can't they?”

  “Normal people can't, no!”

  “They could if they put some effort into it.”

  My natural curiosity overrides my temper, spurring me to ask, “How did you do it?”

  “The path from dreams to reality is easier to access than one might think.”

  A poetic sentiment, but unfortunately one that explains jack shit. “If you're able to...I don't know, astral project or whatever you were doing, then surely you could persuade one of your cronies to come rescue you. So why haven't you done it?”

  “I don't need rescuing.”

  “Sure doesn't look that way from my end.”

  “You might want to look again.”

  “Do you have any idea how close you are to losing your head? Russ and Max are talking decapitation and dismemberment if you don't start talking soon. Did you know that?”

  Incredibly, even the grisly threat of decapitation has no effect on his cool demeanor. He merely smiles, as if he knows something I don't.

  Which he probably does. Talk about a scary thought.

  “Doesn't that bother you?” I persist.

  “Should it?”

  “I would think so! I don't care how much of a masochist you are, getting your head chopped off can't be a fun experience!”

  “Relax. They aren't going to chop off my head.”

  “No? Have you met my brother? Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't he the one that was having a grand old time dissecting you?”

  His smile widens into a teasing grin. “Judith Sterling. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were concerned for my well-being.”

  “Don't take it personally! I just don't want to have to clean up the mess!”

  Chuckling, he raises both hands to shush me. “Keep your voice down. We wouldn't want Attila the Hun to find out you've been coming down here, would we?”

/>   From somewhere upstairs, I could swear I hear a muffled thump.

  “Shit,” I mutter, hastily making sure everything's in its place before making a beeline towards the door. Hopefully it was nothing, but I don't want to take any chances. If Russ wakes up and happens to come down and notice the open padlock, that's it. I'm never going to hear the end of it.

  “What's your rush, little sister?” Loc teases.

  “Eat me,” I snap back.

  “Mm. With pleasure.”

  Freezing at the foot of the stairs, I turn to give him a stern look. “No. Don't even think about it.”

  “What?” Now he's all innocence, and for some reason his wide-eyed expression makes me want to laugh. Damn it all, like it's not bad enough that he's the poster boy for sex appeal. Does he have to make me laugh, too?

  “You know what, dream weaver.”

  “It was your idea, dollface. I was just going along with it.”

  “I don't have time for this.” You'd think he wouldn't be temping fate by stalling me. If Russ catches us, I'm not the one who'll lose my head. “Just stay out of my dreams. I mean it, Loc.”

  But I know, even as I quietly pull the door shut and snap the padlock in place, that he'll be in my dreams whether I want him there or not.

  ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter Eleven

  There's no need to worry about Loc invading my dreams. I don't sleep a wink all night, a problem I attribute to my extended afternoon nap. Although the truth of the matter is, that's probably not the real reason. I don't like to admit it to myself, but I think the source of my insomnia is lurking down below. His words keep playing through my head.

  You might not like what you hear.

  What was that supposed to mean? Was it his subtle way of letting me know that it's too late, that Skylar and Owen are dead and buried and have been this whole time? Or is it that they're suffering in ways I can't even begin to imagine? Or – and I hope this is the case – maybe it was just another tactic to try and persuade me that the whole question-and-answer scheme is a waste of time.

  Over and over I've asked myself, is it possible that he really isn't responsible for their disappearance? Isn't it possible – maybe even likely – that they simply ran off together and we'll eventually learn what happened via some tacky OMG-look-at-us-we're-so-in-love selfie on a social forum? Loc could've very easily been in the right place at the right time and jumped at the opportunity to taunt my brother. It's just the sort of twisted game a demon would play.

  Because if he knows where they are, why isn't he saying? Why put himself through all that agony? Not to mention, why would anyone have gone to all the trouble of abducting them in the first place? What's the point of any of it?

  None of this makes a shred of sense. But then again, that could be because I'm trying so hard to tune out the truth. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that he isn't the monster everyone says he is. Maybe it's because I've always considered myself a pretty good judge of character and although I can't deny that Loc is warped in his own right, I feel there is still enough humanity there to balance it all out. To keep him from going full-on diablo.

  Or maybe I'm just a gullible fool.

  I shuffle downstairs to find Max sacked out on the couch, sleeping soundly. How much rest can he be getting, I wonder? I feel a twinge of guilt that he's supposedly here because of me, but then I remind myself that he'd just as likely be here anyway, keeping an eye on the prisoner. Besides, I didn't ask for a bodyguard. They started this whole stupid thing – why should I feel guilty?

  Shaking off my drowsiness, I nuke myself a cup of hot chocolate with marshmallows before settling in front of the computer. The first thing I do is scan through the career center's listings. It doesn't take long to confirm that the local prospects are woefully limited. Not surprising, considering the town's diminutive population. Last time I checked, it was less than three hundred. Hardly a bustling metropolis, but what can I say, it's home. The good memories outweigh the bad.

  Slowly sipping from the steaming mug, I gaze out the window at the gray sky and yellowing grasses that nod in the breeze. At least it isn't raining today. Not that I mind the rain, but it would be disappointing to the kids who are looking forward to going out begging for candy tonight.

  I remember one year, when I was maybe five or six, I couldn't wait to dress up in my mermaid costume and go trick-or-treating, but the weather wasn't cooperating. I was crushed when the rain wouldn't let up, positive the night would be ruined. Mom could see how anxious I was. She told me not to worry, that mermaids certainly didn't mind getting wet and nothing was going to stop us from having fun. She draped a poncho over my costume and drove me to town, where we went trick-or-treating in the rain. We had a blast splashing through puddles from house to house, and our dedication even earned me extra candy. That turned out to be one of the best Halloweens I can remember.

  Funny thing about Halloween. There are those who view it as some kind of pagan holiday, like it's supposed to represent evil or something. Fortunately, my parents were never that way. Even though Daddy was a minister, he always said there were more important things to get bent out of shape about than little kids playing dress-up and knocking on doors for chocolate bars.

  Besides, evil doesn't limit itself to one particular day.

  It was a bright, sunny day in June when I witnessed it firsthand.

  Not with my own eyes. I saw it through my father's eyes. He'd come home from one of his mission trips with a bleak, haunted look that, quite frankly, scared me. I'd never seen him cry before, but for days after his return he seemed to be teetering on the edge of breaking down. After some coaxing, I finally got the story from Russell.

  Turns out he was in the middle of reciting an excerpt from the Rituale Romanum when the possessed girl tore out her own eyes and died from the trauma.

  All I knew about her was that her name was Annika, she lived in the Black Forest foothills in Germany and she was eight years old.

  The message alert bling of my phone snaps me back into the present, and I pick it up to see who is texting me.

  Happy Halloween! Watch out for hobgoblins and don't eat too much candy.

  It's from Gabby. Smiling to myself, I text back No promises! with a winky face. Bless her heart, she has no idea that real monsters do exist. I certainly don't have the heart to tell her. My parents kept their unconventional activities a closely-guarded secret, even from family, and I see no reason to spill the beans now. Besides, who would believe it?

  Finishing off the hot chocolate, I force myself to stop procrastinating and concentrate on the task at hand. First I email my resume along with a letter of introduction to a few local businesses. Even if they aren't hiring now, my hope is that they might consider me for a future position. After some debate, I decide to expand my search to some companies in the bordering counties as well. Commuting isn't ideal, but beggars can't be choosers. And while I may not have a lot in the way of bills, the money in my bank account isn't going to last forever.

  I've been trying not to think about the fact that my forever is walking a very tenuous tightrope these days.

  Enough of this. It's Halloween – I should be indulging myself in all things spooky, not stressing over my job situation. That problem will still be here tomorrow.

  Powering down the computer, I warm up a bowl of leftover soup and take it upstairs so as not to disturb Max. He's still out like a light. I could probably shuffle-hop-step my way through the house in tap shoes and he wouldn't budge an inch.

  Keeping in tune with the holiday, I pop in an old DVD of Hocus Pocus and snuggle under the covers with my soup. I'd planned on putting in Halloweentown after this one, but by the time it's over I'm struggling to stay awake. Ugh, I'm going to have to get a better handle on my schedule. If I'm not careful, I'll be getting my days and nights mixed up.

  Well, I suppose I could always get a graveyard shift job like Max.

  For now, though...

  Mmm.
/>   For now, I'm going to pull the covers up to my chin and take a nice, long nap.

  Sometime later, I'm awakened by the sound of the doorbell. My first muddled thought is to wonder who the heck would come trick-or-treating way out here, but when I open my eyes and see daylight filtering through the curtains, I realize it can't be that. It's too early yet.

  Yawning, I slide out of bed with a thud and pad down the hallway. Max has already beat me to it. I stop on the landing to eavesdrop. I can't hear what's being said, but when he closes the front door, he has a cardboard box balanced on one of his forearms.

  “Who was it?” I ask, stretching lazily.

  “UPS.” His gaze never leaves the package. He's looking at it as if he expects something to jump out of there and bite him.

  “Your book? Already?” He must've paid a fortune for expedited shipping. That, or they've been plotting this for longer than he let on.

  Nodding slowly, he slides a finger under one of the box flaps and pops the tape loose. I skip the rest of the way down the steps so I can get a better look. The contents are swaddled in bubble wrap, and I watch with great anticipation as he carefully unwinds the plastic to reveal what's inside.

  I don't know what I expected. The Necronomicon, maybe? Guess I've seen one too many Evil Dead movies. Because it's just a book. Antiquated, no doubt, but nothing visibly unique. A ratty, warped hardcover edition with mildewed yellow pages and a title so worn and faded I can't make it out. It even smells old. The musty scent reminds me of a library on a rainy day. Kind of pleasant, actually.

  “That's it?” I only ask this to confirm that they sent him the right one. It's going to suck if he got ripped off.

  “This is it.”

  Oh. Well, good to know. “So what now?”

  He merely smiles and carries the book into the kitchen, with me tagging along at his heels. Once he sits down at the table and opens it, I lean over his shoulder so I can get a look at what he finds so interesting.

  Gobbledygook. It's all written in Latin.

  Too bad I elected to take Spanish.