by Lizzy Ford
The Devil’s Depot was her last chance. With a deep breath, Emma crossed the street and noticed the small sign on the window advertising Occult and Unnatural Incident Consultations. She knelt before the panting hellhound lying on the wooden stoop in front of the shop. It was much tamer than the barking Rottweiler hellhounds with spiked collars guarding one of the shops down the street. The Great Dane showed its age; gray trimmed its muzzle, flanks, and ears. She waved a hand in front of milky-white eyes. The dog didn’t blink, but its long tail thumped, and a tongue flicked out in search of her.
“Any man who keeps a blind dog can’t be too bad,” she tried to convince herself. “Stay here, angel, and watch out for those idiots in capes.” She fished the squishy remains of a candy bar from her pocket. Her hand emerged coated in melted chocolate and coconut.
“Dammit.”
Emma pinched the wrapper away with her opposite hand and handed the remains to the dog, whose nose prodded her forearm at its scent. It scarfed the candy and licked her hand clean. She rose and wiped the dog slobber on her jeans before glancing at the store name once again.
Candles flickered at her entrance into the shop, and she distinguished several rows of shelves sagging under the weight of goods her eyes were too tired to make out. One wall glowed with the outlines of drink freezers. Her gaze lingered before she realized Coke was the last thing a place like this would stock. It smelled better than the other shops, emanating a spicy, masculine scent with an undertone of basil.
On the opposite end of the store, scowling clerks at the cashier counter looked up when the wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. She girded herself for yet another unfriendly exchange when a warm, charged current of air reached her. She glanced in the direction from which it seemed to come. The store was chilly aside from the peculiar current emanating from the corner to the right of the entrance. The darkness of the corner was impenetrable.
Someone’s there.
She blinked away the eerie sense, turning when the hellhound’s paws clicked on the wooden floor. It ambled into the shop, swung its massive head from right to left, wagged, and sat in the doorway. Had the two silent, brooding clerks not been staring at her, she would’ve retreated to pet the single friendly soul on Demon’s Alley.
“Good evening,” she said and started toward the counter.
“What are you looking for?” one asked.
“I need a consultation on the occult,” she said.
“Consultation?” The girl glanced at the other. “Advice isn’t free. You have to buy something.”
“Can you tell me if you’re going to be able to help me first?” she asked.
“Buy something then we’ll talk.”
Emma looked around, frustrated. Her eyes settled on the hellhound.
“Your dog,” she said.
“That’s Tristan’s. You’ll have to ask him,” the clerk said with a roll of her eyes.
“Fine. Just tell me what you want me to buy, and I will!”
“Don’t worry about it.” The girl sat down with a huff and tossed a hand toward the front corner before sitting down and pulling out her iPhone. Emma watched her text someone and waited. The girl looked up. “Go see Tristan. He’s over there.”
Emma held back her temper, but her pounding head was ready to explode. She started toward the corner with its impenetrable darkness. Her fear of the dark made her stop at the edge of where the light reached, a safe distance away from the inky blackness.
Light reflected off two black eyes peering at her from the dark but disappeared as she blinked. Unable to summon a clear explanation among her tired thoughts, she chalked the glowing eyes up to imagination and waited for the figure in the corner to emerge.
“What kind of advice are you looking for?” The voice was soft, husky, and dark. It sent a shiver through her and was very much like the scents in the store: masculine and soothing.
Suspecting someone was hiding in the darkness hadn’t bothered her; knowing someone was there did. Emma’s tired senses heightened, but she took a step forward. Her imagination was strained enough with the events of the past two weeks that she didn’t need to make monsters out of men sitting alone in the dark.
“Could you please come out of the dark?” she said. “I like to see the people mocking me.”
“I’m not mocking you.” His voice was like the early fall breeze, sweeping over her in a combination of warm and cool, tickling her ears and the sensitive hairs at the base of her neck. She shivered.
The man materialized out of the shadows in a way that brought to mind the warnings from the other shops’ clerks. He took shape as he moved from total dark to partial light. Shadows clung to him, obscuring the width and shape of his frame even when he stood before her. Darkness hovered around him like a cloak, stretching toward her …
Emma stepped back. The shadows were gone.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I’m a little tired.”
She looked up into the man’s face, and her breath caught. His features were uneven and his eyes close together, yet his dark aura rendered him mysterious where he wasn’t necessarily handsome. Sculpted lips were full, and his skin was olive tinted. A low brow with thick eyebrows hovered over dark, warm eyes.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he asked in the quiet voice.
Run like hell, her instincts urged. One of his eyebrows quirked, and her tired mind suspected he heard her thought.
“Please.” His tone softened, a faint smile tugging up one corner of his mouth. He took her elbow, and the spell of his gaze released her. She drew a deep breath, surprised to find she had been holding it, and pulled away.
“Wait,” she said and shook herself mentally. “First, I’ve wasted a lot of time today, and I can’t afford to waste more. I need some sort of consultation with someone who understands … who understands … witchcraft.”
“Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll bring you some tea?”
“No!” she said more forcefully than she intended. “I mean, no, thanks. I’m in a hurry. I just need to know if you can help me.”
“I can. Sit down.” It was not a request, and before she could pounce on his response, he breezed past her, brushing her arm. Emma shuddered as a flare of warmth traveled up her arm. He smelled good, of dewed grasses and sandalwood. She glanced around, distinguishing a table and two chairs in the corner into which she hadn’t been able to see a moment before.
A chill swept through her. She swallowed hard and looked around. She grabbed a small candelabra from the window and set it on the table before she sat. The dog’s nails clicked as it drew near.
Animals can sense evil and storms, she assured herself, ignoring the small voice that reminded her that the street was populated by faux vampires in capes the blind dog seemed to have no problem with.
Tristan emerged from the shadows once again, his gleaming eyes visible first, then his shape molding from shadows. She purposely avoided wondering why her mind played the same trick on her twice and watched him set down the tray. Her eyes were drawn to the movement of his well-manicured hands. He poured her a cup of green-brown tea that smelled as calming as the store’s incense and placed it before her.
He sat across from her, his calf brushing hers. A shot of warm electricity jarred her, and her leg jerked upward instinctively, slamming into the table and spilling tea. She gave a growl of frustration and pain and pulled her knees from beneath the table, rubbing one. Her face was warm.
“It’s okay. I have plenty,” Tristan said with another trace of a smile.
She sensed no danger from the angles and planes of his features, but she sensed no welcome either, as if they sat on a fence while he assessed her before deciding which way to push her: to the vampires outside or to the impenetrable shadows around him. He poured more tea into her cup.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She took a sip of the sweet, hot brew. The hellhound nudged her.
“She likes you.” Tristan raised his eyebrows toward his dog. There w
as warmth in his gaze as he looked at the blind hellhound. It was the first sign of humanity she’d seen anywhere on the street.
“Animals are so much better than humans,” she replied. “I’d take a rabid dog over some of the people I met today.”
“Dogs are kindred spirits.”
“It would be a nice life, wouldn’t it? Eat, sleep, roll over and have your belly rubbed.” She sighed. Tristan chuckled, a sound as dark as the shadows. Despite his strangeness, she felt her body relaxing in his company, her emotions gaining the foothold she had denied them the entire day. She looked away before his gaze could capture her. “I’m looking for some advice.”
“You said witchcraft?”
“I have …” She looked down and around, realizing she’d forgotten the box. Her eyes swept to her car parked across the street, where the lumpy shape of a box was visible against the backdrop of a lit store window. The vampires had multiplied and moved closer to her car. Despair made her throat tighten.
“I think I … wow.” She stared at the table, embarrassed when her gaze blurred with tears. “If you dare make a joke about this costing me my soul or making a deal with the devil, I swear I’ll … I’ll just walk away. Again. I’ve done it a million times already and will do it again if you laugh at me. But I’ll show it to you anyway. Excuse me.”
Frustrated and tired, she stepped over the dog and left the shop. She wiped her face and stalked across the street, snatched the box, paused for a few deep breaths, and trotted back to the porch as several of the caped spectators started toward her.
She entered the shop and found Tristan seated where she left him, one hand dangling down to pet the hellhound’s massive head. He watched her with a piercing gaze she avoided, and she pushed the box onto the edge of the table.
“There. Laugh or whatever so I can be on my way,” she said.
His gaze slid to the box, lingered, then returned to her. He didn’t even touch it. Sorrow bubbled within her. She reached out to grab it, but he caught her hand. Warmth flared up her arm once more. His palm was calloused; his fingers gently stroked the sensitive underside of her wrist.
“It’s too late for someone like you to be out on the Alley. Most people know better than to remain after dark,” he said.
“I don’t have time to wait ’til morning. Or eat. Or sleep,” she replied.
“What is your plan? To sleep in your car?” he asked.
“I lost my keys. I can’t even do that. I’ve failed at everything,” she said and blinked, surprised at how the simple touch affected her. Warmth traveled up her arm, easing her muscles and tension. “I was planning on going door to door until someone called the cops on me.”
“I own the apartments above the shop. I’ll loan you a room. You really look like you could use some rest.”
“Do I look that bad?” she said, suddenly self-conscious with the considering gaze of the handsome stranger on her.
“Yeah, you do.”
She wasn’t sure how to take his honest answer. His gentle touch somehow managed to pull the tension out of her. She had come to Demon’s Alley for help. For the first time in two weeks, a stranger was offering to assist her. It was not the help she desperately needed, but it was help nonetheless.
“Thanks. That sounds good,” she murmured.
Tristan turned her hand to expose her palm. He studied it. She forced herself to draw away finally.
“Better?”
She nodded, in control of her emotions once again.
“Try some tea.”
She hesitated before taking a sip. Her gaze went to the box. He hadn’t looked at it after she set it down.
“You’re not interested,” she said sadly.
“I’m very interested.” His heated gaze was on her, not the box, and his look made her face warm again. “What do you want to know exactly?”
“I want to know how to counter it, what it is, where it came from,” she replied with emotion. “I want to know why.”
“It’s not something you can counter,” he told her.
“I don’t have a choice,” she said with a frustrated sigh. “If you have no intention of helping me, please tell me now and I’ll find someone who will. And please don’t you dare make a joke about this costing me my soul.”
“I would ask nothing you couldn’t afford to give.” His response startled her. There were many things she could afford to give! She could afford to give an arm since she had two. She could afford to give her car, her money, even her life, so long as she kept her soul. It was not the reassurance she sought, and her courage faltered for the first time in two weeks. She studied him carefully, the way shadows molded around him as if he were one of them.
Would you make a deal with the devil? She’d asked herself the question many times over the past few days and always answered yes. Facing the devil, she wasn’t so sure. If Tristan mentioned her soul, he wouldn’t be joking.