by Rachel Caine
“Demons don’t have hearts.”
“Of course we do,” he chided. “As you know.”
Daun was right: I did know. When I had run away from the Underworld and became human not even a year ago, I had soon fallen in love with a mortal. And then things truly had gone to Hell.
“Fine,” I amended. “You have a heart. And yes, I’d cut it out.”
“Would you?” Daun cocked his head, exposing more of his throat. “Lying naked in your overstuffed bed, surrounded by pillows? I think you’ve gone soft.”
I stared at his neck, and I imagined the edge of my sword piercing that majestic blue skin. My weapon was no mortal toy that would meet only smoke and shadow; now that the sword touched Daun, he’d have no chance to discorporate and flee to the Pit. The Fury sword was an Erinyes-blessed blade of magical steel; one cut from it would kill. All I had to do was flick my wrist, and that would be the end of the demon Daunuan.
The end of the one who’d been with me for thousands of years—the one who’d saved my life and spared my life and made a holy Hell of my life too many times to count.
The sword suddenly weighed a thousand pounds.
Mental note: Start weightlifting.
I sighed and lowered the blade. “That’s your neck, you dumb demon, not your heart.”
“So you can’t cut your way from my neck to my chest?” He smiled as he sat up. “Like I said, babes. You’ve gone soft.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to turn your insides into outsides all over my bed.”
“Maybe not.”
He was on me before I could blink, his body on mine, hips pressing against mine, his mouth hovering over mine, and for one intense moment I remembered what it was like to give myself over to him completely even as he gave himself to me. I remembered the feel of him, the feeling of him, deep inside me, remembered moving with him, bodies rocking, fingers interlocked, our sweat mingling.
And then I remembered that he was still a demon, and I was just a human—a human with a soul to lose.
I tried to tap into Hell’s power to blast him away, but now that I was mortal, my connection to the magic that fueled the Underworld was flaky at best and undependable at worst—and this was clearly an “at worst” sort of moment.
I growled, “Get off!”
Daun began kissing my neck. “Working on it.”
He did . . . something . . . and I gasped before I could stop myself. Then I thought: Not like this. I wanted him—bless me, I was horny enough to want a quadriplegic leper—but not like this.
With that thought, my sword—my wonderful, magical sword—suddenly was between us, its tip nestled under Daun’s chin.
“I said, ‘Get off,’ as in ‘Get your body off of mine.’ ” I smiled grimly. “Unless you really do want me to spill your insides all over my bedspread.”
Daun sighed and leaned back. If the sword pointing at his chest made him uneasy, he hid it well. “Bishop’s balls, Jez. You went human and lost your sense of humor. Not to mention your sex drive.”
“My sex drive is alive and well, thanks. It’s just tempered with a survival instinct.”
He snorted. “Damnation would be loads more fun than survival.”
“That’s a matter of perspective. I’d have to die before the damnation set in.”
“So?”
“Not keen on dying just yet. Have to stop Armageddon first.”
“You’re not keen on that, either.”
I wasn’t. But unless there was another former demon who could do the job, I was stuck. I’d recently learned that the King of the Pit was bringing about Armageddon, and I was the only one who could stop it . . . by becoming the new Ruler of the Underworld. The only way for me to claim the seat of the Hell was to challenge the sitting King . . . and win. So now I spent most waking moments preparing myself for that challenge and hoping the Apocalypse wouldn’t happen along the way. Things would have been much easier if I didn’t care. But I did. I’d fallen in love with more than just a human last year. I’d fallen in love with humanity. Terrible trait for an ex-demon.
Daun was one of the few entities who knew what I was fated to do. It was grossly unfair that he also knew the way to my sweet spot.
So I shrugged—which, for the record, isn’t easy to do while holding a sword level in one hand. “If the world went away, there’d be no more chocolate.”
He shook his head. “Chocolate over sex. You’ve changed. At least you still sleep naked.”
“I might not be a succubus anymore, but I’m not dead.” (Ditto the “anymore,” but that’s another story.) The sword was getting heavy in my hand again, and this time it had nothing to do with emotions or memories or other human crap that I still found difficult to handle. It was also difficult to act menacing when I was in bed. “Get out of here, Daun.”
“Before I go,” he purred, “I’ll give my favorite former succubus two truths.”
“Don’t bother. Demons lie.”
“Only when we want to. Truth number one: I know you don’t control that pigsticker of yours.”
“Really?” I said lightly. “You hear that from the demons who’ve crossed me? No? Oh, right—that’s because I killed them deader than disco. With the sword you claim I don’t control.”
His amber eyes sparkled with secrets. “I’ve been watching you. I’ve seen you fricassee your former brethren. That doesn’t change a thing. I know how you move, how you think.” He smiled lushly. “I know you, Jezebel. You wield that Fury sword, yes. But you don’t control it.”
I forced myself to smile. “If that’s the case, sweetie, you really should get out of here before I lose control and accidentally poke you with my ‘pigsticker.’ ”
“I’m going, but not before I share with you this second truth.” His voice slid into my mind. You can’t cut out what I’ve already given away.
Gentle pressure on my brow—a ghostlike kiss, chaste and fleeting.
“Liar,” I said, my throat dry.
“Sometimes,” he agreed. “But not tonight. Be seeing you, babes.”
The stench of brimstone and sex, and then he was gone.
I waited for a count of ten seconds before I lowered the sword. As soon as it touched the bed, it vanished, going . . . well, wherever it went when I didn’t need it.
Daun was right. Bless him six ways to Salvation, he was right.
I didn’t know how to control my sword. I didn’t understand how the sword knew when I needed it, or how it got into my hand just in time, or where it went when I was done. The former Fury who’d passed it down to me hadn’t included a user’s manual, and the only other Fury left in the world was a big believer in me learning things the hard way. Because the blade did what I needed it to do—slice and dice unruly demons—I had placed the weapon in the “Gift Horse” category of life and not worried about it. Demons took advantage of opportunities and didn’t question them; curiosity was a human trait—one in which I was, apparently, sorely lacking.
Whatever. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know everything about my sword. I could still use it. Daun was lucky that I didn’t use it on him.
Stupid incubus.
I buried myself under the covers and closed my eyes and absolutely, positively did not think about the second truth Daun had whispered. Because no matter what I felt about him, or thought I felt about him, demons were liars.
And when they claimed to tell the truth, they told the biggest lies of all.
I sighed. Stupid, stupid ex-demon.
Only one thing could nudge me out of my funk. I poked my hand out from the blankets, opened my nightstand drawer, and pulled out the one tool that I could always count on—at least until I drained the batteries.
Twenty minutes and three orgasms later, I finally got back to sleep.
—
LATER THAT MORNING I shuffled into the kitchen, aiming for the coffeemaker.
“Won’t do you any good,” a woman’s voice called out. “You busted it yesterday, remember?”
&nb
sp; I paused mid-yawn and looked over at the kitchen table. There sat Cecelia Baker, my former coworker and current housemate; she was grinning at me, her teeth a brilliant white against the dark chocolate of her skin. Partially because of the richness of her coloring, Ceci had used the stage name “Candy” when she’d been an exotic dancer; the other part had to do with, she claimed, being sweet as sugar. Which was a total lie, but then, customers didn’t pay dancers to tell the truth. Still grinning, Ceci took a sip from a Styrofoam cup.
I said, “Hunh?” It was the best I could do on interrupted sleep and no caffeine.
“You,” she said. “The coffeemaker. Yesterday. Remember?”
Blinking, I tried to pierce the cobwebs around my brain. I thought I remembered the smell of burning plastic, but that could have been the remnants of last night’s dinner loitering in the air. (Those warnings about some containers not being microwave-safe? Not hyperbole.) But now that I was thinking about it, there had been another kitchen-related scorching yesterday, hadn’t there?
Tentatively, I said, “I blew up the coffeemaker, didn’t I?”
“Yup.”
“Oops.”
“Yup.” Ceci took another sip. “You were trying to heat it up with your funky Hell-power thing instead of putting a cup in the nuker like a normal human being.”
I mumbled, “Yeah, well, I’m not a normal human being.”
“That’s no excuse. Here.” Ceci reached into a paper bag and pulled out a second Styrofoam cup. “Mama’s got your medicine, light and sweet.”
“You’re my favorite person ever.” I dragged myself to the table, plopped onto a chair, and gratefully accepted the steaming cup. “I owe you one.”
“I’ll add it to your tab. FYI, you’re up to roughly seventy billion IOUs.”
“Duly noted.” I took my first sip of liquid deliciousness and sighed contentedly. On a scale of sex to chocolate, coffee ranked somewhere between a nooner and a Caramello.
“Don’t linger over that java. You’re mine today.” Ceci smiled, all innocence. “And I know just the thing.”
I sighed. My housemates took turns training me in their own unique ways on how to prepare for my upcoming challenge. It was Ceci’s job to help me learn how to be human. Apparently, that was an important factor in trying to save humanity. I’d been trying to convince her that the best thing I could do was overdose on reality TV, but she tended to have other ideas—most of which had to do with charity, empathy, and other shit like that.
Resigned, I asked, “What’s on the agenda for today? Not another stint picking up litter by the highway, I hope.”
“Complain, complain. No, I’ve got something a little more fun in mind.”
I perked up. “Dancing?”
“Nope. We’re going to a carnival.”
A pause as I digested this, then I said, “Please tell me that means we’re going to Rio.”
“Sorry. There’s a carnie not even an hour away. It’s here only for a couple days before it moves on.”
I made a face. “A carnival? Seriously? That’s a breeding ground for Evil.”
“You speaking from experience?”
“No, from watching season four of Heroes.”
“Don’t be all pessimistic,” Ceci said. “Carnivals are awesome. I had my first kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel. I even thought it was true love. Brian . . . Haley? Henley? Something like that. Oh, that Brian. Oh, that kiss.”
“Oh, my stomach. I can’t believe we’re going to a carnival because you’re a hopeless romantic with a short-term memory. Can’t we just see a chick flick?”
She smirked. “You can’t learn about the human experience just by watching movies. The carnival will be packed with people of all ages, from all slices of life. It’s the perfect place for you to bask in all the humanity and have a little fun along the way.”
“Your definition of ‘fun’ is very different from mine.”
“That’s a good thing, considering that you’re an ex-demon. Get your butt in gear, Jez. We’re off to the Pogo Brothers Traveling Show.”
I blinked. “Polo Brothers? Will they all be wearing collared shirts?”
“Po-go. Go. As in ‘Let’s get going.’ ” Ceci pointed at my coffee. “One more sip, then get ready. We’re spending the day at the carnival.”
Well, it had to be better than spending the day picking up trash, right?
—
“GLAD WE GOT here early,” Ceci said as she shut the car door. “Look at that line to get in.”
I glanced at the throngs of people queued up to gain admittance into the carnival, then shrugged, unimpressed. While the wait might have been remarkable by mortal standards, I’d worked in Hell for thousands of years. You didn’t experience a long wait until you needed to get inside the Gates that separated the Pit from Limbo. Good things might come to those who wait, but Evil believes in the fine art of anticipation. Demons never complained about waiting. First, waiting was easy when you were eternal and didn’t need to breathe. Second, complaining was a good way to get yourself tortured for a few centuries. Hell wasn’t big on bitching.
As we walked to join the line, I took in the hundreds of people swarming outside the gates that surrounded the carnival. Most were families, with moms and dads desperately trying to keep their precious little tax deductions entertained while they waited to get inside. There also were a large number of adults without kids, clumped in groups or linked as couples, chatting and checking email on their phones. Clearly, a good portion of the crowd had been there a long time—the grumbles and sighs of exasperation were a giveaway—but no one peeled off to leave. Maybe it was because of the enticing sounds of music coming from beyond the gates. Maybe it was the heady smells of grease and sugar weighting the air with the promise of junk food. Maybe it was those things together—the sounds, the smells—that wove an invisible web around the crowd, pulling everyone close, keeping them in line. Penned.
It occurred to me that all my years as a demon had made me a rather cynical human.
“Does this count as me basking in all the humanity?” I asked as Ceci and I took our places among the masses.
“It’s a start.”
“I wish humanity had bothered to shower.”
“Just be glad it’s not the height of the summer.”
“Hey, you’re not the one who’s armpit-level to the world.”
“You’re not that short.”
“Says the woman who could have been an Amazon in another life.”
We waited.
We inched forward.
We waited more.
Time did this weird thing where it felt like two hours had passed, but my watch insisted it had been barely twenty minutes. Ceci had been right: I’d learned more about the human experience by coming here. Specifically, all of my practice waiting as a demon didn’t matter, because waiting as a human was excruciatingly boring. Who needed Hell? This was an eternity of torture by itself.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ve basked. Can we leave?”
“Bask a little more.”
I sighed.
We inched.
As we slowly drew closer to the looming arch at the front of the gate, a man’s voice rode the air. The tone was enthusiastic, even infectious; it carried over the grumblings and mutterings of our fellow waiters. Ahead of us, people stilled, some even shushing the folks behind them. Soon, Ceci and I were close enough to make out the words.
“Welcome!” said the voice. “Welcome to the amazing Pogo Brothers Traveling Show! You’ve waited so long, so very long, and now your patience is going to be rewarded!”
It was a beckoning voice, one that demanded you settle down and listen attentively. It was an entertainer’s voice, hypnotic, enthralling. I tensed as I realized two things simultaneously: One, the voice belonged to the carnival barker, who I could see standing up ahead, not needing a microphone for his words to fill the air.
Two, I knew that voice very well.
“A small fee ga
ins you entrance and ten tickets,” the barker announced, “a bargain by any stretch! With those tickets, you can buy scrumptious food and drink! You can try your luck at games of chance! And if you’re willing to pay a little more—just a little, nothing that would break the bank—you can watch our marvelous shows! Enjoy our breathtaking rides! See all that the amazing Pogo Brothers have to offer! If you’re willing to pay, we’re happy to oblige!”
He stood next to the admissions booth at the front of the arch, charming in his seersucker suit, grinning as he talked the talk. Dark haired, dark eyed, silver tongued, quick with a smile—the barker was the quintessential showman, winking at the women and clapping men on the shoulder, taking extra time to shake children’s small hands before they walked through the arch.
And if I knew him as well as I thought I did, he was fantasizing about how all those souls would look on his record as he filed his claim Below. When I’d said to Ceci that carnivals were breeding grounds for Evil, I had no idea how right I’d been.
“We have to go,” I said to Ceci.
“Patience, Jez. We’re almost by the ticket booth.”
“Seriously. We have to go now.” I glanced at the barker, whose back was to me. “Don’t run; he’ll notice if we run. Just start walking back toward the parking lot.”
“What’s the problem?”
I turned back to Ceci, saw the frustration in her eyes. “The barker. I know him. He’s—”
My voice was cut off as a ripple of power washed over me, and then a warm hand clamped down on my shoulder.
“Why, as my human body lives and breathes,” the barker declared. “Jezebel! Have you gained weight? Oh, forgive me, that’s just your human soul I’m seeing. It looks delightful on you!”
Forcing myself to smile brightly, I turned to face the demon Amaymon, one of the dukes of Hell. A glance revealed that he appeared human enough—male, tall, handsome, if a little soft around the edges—except for the telltale glow around his eyes. Most normal mortals wouldn’t see the reddish shine, and those who did probably would mistakenly assume the eyes were bloodshot. But if they looked too closely, they would be caught by his hypnotic gaze, and then they’d be little better than puppets. Which is why I made it a point not to look him in the eye.