by Rachel Caine
I quickly inclined my head, showing respect while protecting myself from his mesmerizing gaze. Technically, he couldn’t attack me unless I attacked him first—demons had many rules, and that was a biggie—but that didn’t make it any less dangerous. If he thought I was impolite, he could take that insult as a personal attack, and then things would get . . . messy. As in: he’d make a mess of me all over the floor. Even with my Fury sword, I was no match for him. So I played nice, and hoped he’d find me so boring he’d let me go.
“Lord Amaymon,” I murmured. “Nice suit.”
“This old thing?” He motioned to the body he was currently wearing. “He’s a former Hollywood lawyer. Made a standard deal with me—fortune, fame, the works. By the time I came to collect, his soul had been so burned out that he was mostly a husk. I decided to try him on for size before dropping him in the Pit.”
Demonic possession was all the rage in some circles of Hell. “It’s a good look,” I said gamely.
“It is, isn’t it? Joe here had wanted to run away and join a circus when he was a child. I thought it would be fun to do just that, in case there’s anything left of him bouncing around in here.” Amaymon tapped Joe’s noggin. “Seeing himself do what he’d always dreamed of, while not being able to enjoy any of it, would be a lovely bit of torture.”
“Very creative, lord.”
“Besides, being carnival talker suits me,” he said, hooking his thumbs in his lapels.
“Indeed, lord.” Amaymon was an ancient demon of Greed. Unlike his younger nefarious brethren, who were more about whispering into mortal ears and encouraging them to commit the sins that would damn them to Hell, Amaymon was a salesman—he showed people what they thought they wanted, and he let them make their own fate. Modern demons were all about instant gratification, but Amaymon was old-school. He doled out contracts like forward-thinking dentists handed out lollipops: it was the end result that mattered.
I glanced over my shoulder to see how Ceci was taking all of this, but she, like the other humans around us, stood frozen.
“Don’t worry about the meat puppets,” Amaymon murmured. “They can’t hear or see us. I thought a bubble of privacy would be the perfect thing for us to catch up.”
“How considerate, lord,” I said, trying not to sweat. Even when I’d been a demon, I hadn’t been strong enough to portion out time in bubbles. Creatures like him ate ones like me for lunch, and not in the way that a succubus preferred. “Congratulations on your latest business. It seems to be doing well.”
“You have no idea,” he said smugly. “The mortals line up, all eager to spend their money. Most are content to buy their food and play some games and win small prizes. They’re little fish. They can swim away. But for those precious others, the bigger fish who have greed festering in their souls, it’s easy for them to buy more and more tickets, to take another chance that this time they’re going to win the prize they so dearly want.” He laughed, the sound like coins clattering in a pile. “And when they run out of money, I’m happy to make a bargain on the spot. It’s amazing how many people are willing to barter their souls for a toy not worth its weight in copper.”
I had to admit, it was a sweet plan. Those mortals Amaymon targeted would unconsciously react to the closeness of such a strong demon of Greed. He wouldn’t have to do anything directly; his very presence would be enough for those humans to suddenly want some two-bit trinket more than anything else. A Kewpie doll or stuffed gorilla would become something they had to have, no matter what the cost.
And when it came to cost, well, mortals tended to be quick to offer what they didn’t really believe anyone, or anything, could actually take from them.
“You sound busy, lord. By your leave, I’ll say my farewells.” And gather my sheep and get the flock out of there.
“Oh, Jezebel,” Amaymon said with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s talk about you.”
“There’s not much to talk about, lord.”
“How modest! Look at you, all human and sparkly souled. What are you doing with the handful of days left to you before you die and are damned? Still screwing anything that moves?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” I said, shrugging.
“No, of course not. You’re too busy killing the nefarious that are loitering in some pissant little town. I’ve heard you’re quite the hunter.”
Careful, Jezebel.
“I’m not a hunter, lord,” I said slowly. “I’ve no issue with demons just doing their jobs. Everyone’s got to make a living.”
“But you don’t deny that you’ve been slaughtering the nefarious?”
“Only those who get out of line.”
“So you’re less a hunter and more of an enforcer.” A pause, then he added, “One would think you’d be taller.”
“I get that a lot.”
“Maybe it’s your fabled weapon that has your former colleagues so nervous around you. Rumor has it you wield an Erinyes-blessed sword.”
Uh-oh. “Me?”
“You. Quite the prize for a former succubus.”
“You’re assuming the rumors are true, lord. The thing about demons is they tend to lie. No offense.”
“None taken. Why so shy, little human? Look me in the eye.”
I felt his power tug at me, urging me to lock my gaze onto his. I knew from experience that one look would be enough for him to bespell me, and then I’d be spilling my guts—figuratively, and probably literally. I also knew from experience what I needed to do to break his hold.
I bit my lip, hard.
Ow.
“Tell me true,” he crooned. “Do you own a Fury sword?”
Lip stinging, I managed a perky smile, which made my lip sting all the more. To his chin I said, “Actually, lord, I have two of them. One for each hand. The thing is, they clash terribly with all my shoes.”
A pause as he absorbed my words, then he laughed. “Amusing! Well, even if you don’t have such an exquisite prize, you do have something else that’s rather tempting.”
I assumed he wasn’t talking about my boobs. “I’m just a human, lord.”
“Exactly. A human with a soul tainted by Hell.” I heard the smile in his voice as he said, “Tell me, how did a former bottom-feeder like yourself manage to escape the Pit, go human, and gain a soul?”
Throat dry, I said, “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Then I must invite you to try your luck inside.” He motioned to the arch and beyond, to the hidden secrets of the carnival. “Come in, see the sights. Try your hand at the games of chance. Maybe you’ll win big.” His smile broadened. “Maybe I will.”
And that would be my exit cue.
I offered a more formal bow, deep at the waist. “Thank you, lord. But I must respectfully decline.”
“Decline? Even when I have something you very much want to win?”
Still bowing, I said, “I’m afraid you don’t have anything I want, lord.”
“Your friend might disagree.”
Oh no.
I whirled around, but I was much too late: Ceci was nowhere in sight.
To Heaven with formality. I turned back to him and glared at his chin. “Where is she?”
“She’s in my traveling show somewhere, trying her luck. You should thank me, Jezebel. I allowed her entrance free of charge.”
“The Greedy don’t let people get something for nothing,” I said tightly.
“Little fish,” he said, motioning to the archway and beyond. Then he motioned to me. “Bigger fish.”
Shit.
“Don’t worry about your friend. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Until she finds that one prize she wants more than anything. I wonder,” he said idly, “what will she offer once her money runs out?”
“Her soul’s untainted,” I insisted. “You can’t have her.”
“You mean, I can’t have her yet. Who knows what she’ll be willing to do when she wants something desperately?”
I gritted my teeth. If Ama
ymon decided to make Ceci an offer, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d be damned. Forever.
“You’re welcome to walk away, little human. Look after yourself. Leave your friend to her fate.”
My fists clenched. “I can’t do that, lord.”
“Ah, Jezebel. I’d wondered if there was any demon left in you. Apparently, there isn’t. You’re a selfless human. I think I’m disappointed.” He sighed dramatically. “Go on, then. Enter my humble carnival and find your friend before she makes a deal she’ll live to regret. If you get to her in time, you may both leave with your souls unclaimed. If not, well . . .” He laughed softly. “We’ll just have to see what happens from there, won’t we?”
With his words, the time bubble dropped. Not looking back, I ran through the archway.
Behind me, Amaymon shouted, “Enjoy the show!”
—
THE NOISE HIT me before anything else. Screams, mostly: the joyous shouts from prizewinners; the lamentations from losers; the declarations from the agents running games and rides. Around the screams were the sounds from the attractions themselves, metallic clangs and popping balloons and whirring motors and music—so much music from each venue, all of them attempting to drown out the sounds from other booths and rides, creating a blaring cacophony that threatened to rupture eardrums.
Next, the smells: all sorts of foods, their odors mingling—overly sweet cotton candy; the thick grease of hot cheese on pizza; the meaty promise of hamburgers and frankfurters and sausages; fried everything, from dough to ice cream to onions. Beneath the enticing scent of food was the stench wafting from various portable bathrooms, rank enough to make eyes water. More subtle was the stink of thousands of human bodies, the musk of their sweat and excitement and, in some, a growing sense of desperation.
And then the sights themselves: the garish colors and neon lights; the constant motion of rides, cars zooming back and forth and up and down and side to side; the action from the game booths as customers tried their luck and agents tried their wallets; the steady flow of people to buy food as they waited their turns to be entertained, with the pockets of surges as customers exited an attraction. At the far end of the venue loomed a Ferris wheel, the sleepy giant of the Pogo Brothers Traveling Show. A haze of dust tinged the hot air, the dirt kicked up from thousands of tramping feet.
The sounds, the smells, the sights—everything mixed together in a heady blend of controlled chaos. It made me think longingly of Hell, and I felt a pang of homesickness. I could almost smell the brimstone and hear the laughter of demons.
And then I realized that I really was smelling brimstone and hearing demonic chortling.
I look a longer look around, and this time I saw them: demons flitting among the humans, hovering overhead, crawling below, whispering in their ears. Invisible yet subtle, spreading their influence and encouraging people to act on their baser desires. Eat a little more. Spend a little more. Want a little more—just enough to do something irredeemable. And then there’d be a hot seat waiting, ready to be filled for all eternity.
And there was nothing I could do.
I hated it when demons cheated. That sounds insane, but it’s true: demons are supposed to let humans make their own choices. They’re not supposed to tempt them into making the choices that will damn them to Hell. That was cheating. But the King of the Pit recently decided that cheating was fine and dandy, which was one of the two major problems I had with Him. (The other one was He wanted me to be tortured in His throne room every day for the next thousand years.)
Usually, I made my point about cheating whenever I came across demons tempting humans, typically by drawing my sword and doing my best Highlander impersonation. But that wasn’t an option now. Going sword-happy in a crowd was a great way to (a) accidentally cut down humans and (b) get myself arrested while (c) leaving Ceci to her fate. None of that was particularly appealing.
So I ignored the nefarious and focused on finding Ceci.
If I were better able to tap into Hell’s power, I could home in on Ceci’s soul and follow it to the end of the Earth. I’m not that good. Luckily, there’s an app for that.
I pulled out my cell phone and opened Find My Friend. A few weeks ago, one of our housemates, an überwitch, had worked her mojo to make some creative tweaks to the technology. So this particular app stayed running all the time on my phone as well as on Ceci’s, and we never had to worry about getting a signal. A few clicks brought up a map of the entire venue, with a pin indicating Ceci’s location: the Ferris wheel. At the far end of the carnival.
Of course.
I texted her, but I wasn’t surprised when there was no reply. A call to her phone went to voice mail after four rings. Ceci either couldn’t answer or was too distracted to answer.
Who knows what she’ll be willing to do when she wants something desperately?
I ran.
More accurately: I sprinted, peppered with lots of sudden stops. There were too many people packed too closely together for me to run continuously. Pushing my way through clumps of customers, I ignored their nasty looks and offended cries, although one of them shouted something so interesting that I had to turn to him and say, “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” That actually made him blush. Grinning, I turned and poured on the speed as best I could.
The thickest lines were in front of the food stands, or maybe just the thickest people. Most had some extra padding—hey, not judging; Satan knows there’s a little more of me to love than I’d like—but there were also a number of humans who were very large, startlingly large, stuffing themselves with loaded hot dogs and funnel cakes. They all had a sickly gray pallor; even their clothing, stretched against mounds of flesh, was gray, and all of them seemed to be covered in dust.
No, not dust. A halo of gray.
I blinked as I realized I wasn’t seeing most of them as they were now but had instead caught a vision of how they’d appear in the future. With that realization, the hazy image of the obese rippled and vanished. Now I saw the customers as they truly were: humans of all sizes and colors simply enjoying the carnival fare, not knowing how some of them were already marked for Gluttony, courtesy of the Pogo Brothers Traveling Show.
Stupid, flaky Hell power. One day I’d learn to control it. Maybe. I hoped.
Past the concessions were the games of chance and skill, with throngs of mortals vying for an opportunity to try their luck. They aimed toy crossbows and threw weighted darts at balloons; they playfully attacked each other with water guns. None of them saw the demon of Greed lingering by the prizes, its presence transforming the offerings from cheap stuffed toys into fantastic items they simply had to have. Three men by the ring toss began to shout and push one another, each accusing the other two of cheating. The demon grinned as the first punch was thrown.
I chose Ceci over strangers. I kept going.
Off to the right was the fenced-off kiddie area, where sweet tykes could enjoy safe rides and games so tame that nuns would have been bored. There was a petting zoo with lambs and piglets, a saucer ride that went maybe a mile an hour, and flying swings that were less about the flying and more about coasting within easy stepping distance from the ground. A small merry-go-round belted out a happy tune as kids rode pretend ponies and shrieked in delight. Parents watched and laughed and took pictures, oblivious to the demons gathered on the other side of the fence. I hastily counted eight: three from Greed, four from Pride, and one from Envy—all of them fixated on the children, ignoring the parents just as the parents ignored them. I grinned as I sailed past. All the demons could do was look and wish; tempting mortals didn’t include children, who almost always were innocent. Humans caught a break until they were old enough to wear deodorant. After that, the boogeyman stories their parents told to scare them into behaving were more along the lines of cautionary tales.
At the center of the carnival, an enormous carousel held court, showing off its splendor to the crowd. It was the adult version of the children’s merry-go-
round, but this ride didn’t sport plastic ponies. Yes, there were horses, as well as monkeys and lions and dragons, but their mouths were set in screams of rage as they moved up and down, their bodies skewered by brass poles. There was nothing festive about the animals; they radiated hatred so palpable that I couldn’t fathom how the mortals weren’t cowering in terror. Maybe the animals loathed the jaunty tune playing from hidden speakers, stuck in an endless loop just as they were, doomed to travel in a loping circle until the end of time. But, I thought as I ran past the line wrapping around the carousel like an ouroboros, it was more likely that the hatred emanating from the animals was focused on the senseless humans who climbed atop their backs.
I wondered if the carousel animals ever left the carousel.
I wondered if the red paint on their mouths was really paint.
Not my problem.
I kept going.
I darted past signs advertising various shows—this astounding magician and that amazing fire-eater; the snake charmer will be center stage at three, and the strongman will perform incredible feats at five: Buy your tickets now—and I silently had to acknowledge Amaymon’s business sense. What had started as a lark of possession had led to a phenomenal opportunity for him to mark hundreds of mortals for Hell. And that was just in this town alone. How many places did the Pogo Brothers Traveling Show visit? How many humans unwillingly gave up their souls for wisps and fluff? Thousands? Hundreds of thousands?
If I were still a succubus, I would have been impressed. Instead, I was sickened. Bless me, I hate it when demons cheat.
My pace had slowed to a plodding jog. My legs were well and truly pissed at me, and I was breathing heavily enough to put some phone sex operators out of business. My training to challenge the King of Hell included many things, but doing laps wasn’t one of them. Wheezing, I moved past lines for rides like the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Ghost Train, making a beeline for the Ferris wheel. As I drew closer, sounds around me seemed to dwindle and my focus pinpointed onto one car on the ride—the one at the very top. The ride had paused so that the customers could all enjoy the view of the carnival from their vantage points.