“So you see, I didn’t have a choice.” In another week on her own, Eve would’ve been dead.
EVE
I wake up in an instant but keep my eyes closed as I listen to Azazel talk to someone with a light and melodious voice . . . Ramanu. It’s sheer habit to keep my body relaxed and my breathing even. My mind, though? It’s racing.
The bed I’m lying on is unfamiliar. I can’t hear Azazel’s footsteps, so the room must have carpet instead of the marble floors of the hotel suite. More than that, the very air feels different. It takes several slow inhales before I fully register the . . . I don’t know how to explain it. Hotel air has a definitive feel, sterile and a little off from a home. The air isn’t humid, but I can’t feel it actively leeching the moisture from my skin. And there’s a faint scent in the air, something layered in the way of old houses. This is a room that’s been lived in.
It adds up to one horrifying realization: That motherfucker kidnapped me.
I can barely register their words, can barely think past the screaming in my head. It’s everything I can do to lie there and pretend to still be unconscious as Azazel and the other person leave and close the door softly behind them. Even then, I make myself count to one hundred slowly to ensure they’re gone.
No one returns in the intervening time, so I slowly open my eyes with the intention of scanning my room for cameras—and a way out.
I lie on a massive four-poster bed, each post thick dark wood with carvings winding up its height. The comforter is thick and looks handmade. I drift my fingers over its surface, hating that I find the texture pleasing.
There’s no point in playing possum any longer. I sit up slowly and take in the rest of the space. A large wardrobe hunches in the corner, big enough to hide three bodies. A doorway leads into what appears to be a bathroom. The door Azazel left through is massive, easily eight feet tall and twice the width of normal doors.
And there’s a window.
That gets me moving. If I can escape, I can flee and try to find a gas station or maybe another house close by and beg a phone call. No matter where Azazel’s taken me, Pope will retrieve me. They’ll come up with a plan that will see me home and safe. I just need to get out.
I rush to the window—an ornate curved thing that looks like it belongs in a castle—and freeze.
There’s no glass, which should have been my first clue that something is wrong. The second is that we’re not on the ground floor. In fact, we’re so high up that I can see the entire city sprawled out at the base of my tower.
A city I’ve never seen before.
“No, no, don’t panic. There are plenty of places in the world you haven’t visited. This is just . . .” There are mountains in the distance, the massive peaks a deep blue-purple that hardly looks real. But that’s not what has panic threatening to short out my thoughts.
No, that dubious privilege goes to the creature flying through the bright-blue sky in the distance. I almost convince myself it’s some kind of predatory bird, but as it swoops down and then up again, appearing to ride the air currents, I have to admit what I’m seeing.
A person with crimson skin and large bat-like wings.
A fucking monster.
“This is not happening.” Speaking aloud doesn’t snap me out of the vision I’m trapped in. The creature in the distance continues to fly and spin, as graceful as any predatory bird I’ve ever seen. “Drugs. It has to be drugs.”
But I don’t feel high. I’ve dabbled in more than my fair share of mind-altering substances in my ill-spent youth, and there’s a distinct feel to each of them. For a drug to make me hallucinate this, I should be feeling some other effects. I’m not.
A second monster joins the first, though this one appears to have a specific destination in mind, rather than the pure entertainment of being in the air. I rub my eyes—hard—but nothing changes when the dancing spots clear. “Maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown. Something snapped.” Except my mind feels fine. I’m scared. I’m angry. I’m one sharp breath from panicking. All those sensations are familiar to me, even if this situation is far more dire than any I’ve encountered to date.
Someone knocks on my door, light and polite but also clearly not intending to be ignored. I sigh. “I don’t know why you’re knocking. It’s not like I can say no.”
The monster that emerges through the door is like nothing I’ve ever seen or imagined. Humanoid for the most part, but with the same deep-crimson skin as the flying one I just saw. It’s their face that stops me short. They have two sets of horns, one seeming to replace where humans have eyes.
What the fuck?
“I’m Ramanu. They/them.” They step into the room and close the door. They’re wearing a black tunic-type garment that reaches their midthighs and little else aside from black sandals that lace up their muscular calves. “I’m sure you have questions.”
Only half a million. I don’t know whether to treat this as if it’s all normal and fine or start screaming and never stop. “What did Azazel drug me with?”
They lean against the door and cross their arms over their chest. “No drugs. No hallucinations. Your mind hasn’t broken. Azazel brought you to the demon realm.”
“Of course. I’m not drugged or losing my mind; I’m in hell.” I choke out a laugh. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Not that Christian self-recrimination circle jerk.” They wave that away. “I realize this is a lot for a nonmagical human to process, but there are countless realms in existence. Once upon a time, they were cozy and close.” They press their palms together. “But a millenium ago, some kind of catastrophic event happened to scatter them.” They yank their hands violently apart. “These days, unless you go through Threshold—which I don’t recommend—only a handful of beings can traverse realms. Like the bargainers.” They point one clawed finger at themself. “My people have a long and storied history of coming to your realm and making bargains.”
It’s too much to process. This is impossible. It should be impossible. I close my eyes and force myself to just . . . accept. I can keep screaming internally that this is all the trick of a traumatized brain, but in the event it’s not, I’ll be at even more of a disadvantage if I keep resisting the truth that’s right in front of me.
Bargains.
I open my eyes. “Bargains as in contracts.”
“Bargains as in contracts,” Ramanu agrees. “I won’t pretend I understand what drove Azazel to change his plans, but rest assured that you’re safe. Even if he weren’t essentially king, these days no one in this city would dare abuse or threaten a human. Bargains are sacred to our people. Humans are to be protected.”
If I assume this is all real, then I need to start plotting. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes and try to think. Azazel had me sign a contract. If Ramanu is to be believed, that contract is the reason he was able to bring me here. To go home, I just need to do those steps in reverse. “How does one cancel a contract—or a bargain, I guess?”
Ramanu grins. “It would have to be mutually agreed upon.”
Something that won’t happen, given how much effort Azazel went through to trick me and bring me here. “Oh.”
“Of course,” they say silkily, “there are other ways. If the terms of the contract are violated—in your favor, of course—then it’s null and void. The bargainer will be forced to fulfill their side of the deal and return you to your realm.”
My mind trips over their words. I read that contract fully. “There’s nothing in there about him giving me something. And when would it even come into play? The terms were for a lifetime.”