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Something softens in her eyes, which I can now see are a deep amber that almost seems orange, though surely that’s impossible. People don’t have orange eyes. Then again, people don’t have cloven hooves and tails and fire that dances along their short blond hair either. Strange that the room feels just as pleasantly chilly as it did when we walked in.
Rusalka slowly crosses one leg over the other. “My people are the incubi and succubi.”
Incubi. Succubi.
These terms I know. Pastor John used to rant about the sins of the flesh, sins that somehow also extended to the mind, and he claimed a good person could be ensnared by the wiles and magic of a succubus. I’m pretty sure he meant women who aren’t afraid to have sex out of marriage, since he was always fond of exaggerated metaphors. Though if I pointed out as much to my mother, I was destined for...
I shudder. No. Damn it, no. I owe nothing to the parents I’ve been disappointing since birth. No marriage to a good God-fearing man who will lead the family, will protect, will... I shudder again.
“Belladonna.” Rusalka leans forward, drawing me out of the spiral threatening to suck me under. “Breathe, love. Just breathe. Slowly.” Her voice is soft, but there’s no ignoring the command in it.
If I were better at obeying commands, I wouldn’t be in this position to begin with, and yet I find myself inhaling, matching the cadence of my breathing with hers. Again and again, until surely she must be tired of coaching me through something instinctive to every other human in existence.
But Rusalka never takes her strange orange eyes from mine, never lets impatience enter her honeyed tones as she keeps speaking until I’ve calmed down.
I lick my lips. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to sign the contract, love. I’ll not force you, and Azazel would find some sword to fall on before he pressured you into this.”
So he’s told me. Several times. I don’t know what to do in the face of her unexpected kindness. The hell I was always threatened with is fiery and unfeeling and empty of any comforts. “I know.”
She waits, but I don’t accept her offer of a graceful exit. Rusalka sits back. “I understand why the canny old bastard came to me.”
I let their words slide over me. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but I don’t suppose I need to know. “I’ll adjust. This is all new to me. I didn’t expect... you.”
Rusalka laughs, and the sound wraps around me like a warm embrace. “Few do.”
I don’t know what she would have said next, because the door opens and Azazel steps in. He glances from me to the monster beside me, and though it’s hard to tell on his equally monstrous face, he looks concerned. “Is there a problem?”
Rusalka doesn’t answer, leaving me to speak. “No.” I shake my head sharply. “Everything is fine. I’m ready to sign the secondary contract.” A contract that will bind me to Rusalka for the duration of my time here. Azazel explained it to me before I signed the first one—how he wouldn’t be the one I’d be dealing with for the duration of my service. I think he was hoping it would make me change my mind, but what does it matter who I serve?
“Belladonna,” he starts. “At least read the second contract before you do.”
“It doesn’t matter.” I don’t mean to say it. I’m not supposed to say things like that, to make people uncomfortable by revealing the deep well of hopelessness that resides inside me. A God-shaped hole, though the more I tried to offer myself to Him, the wider the hole became. Until I stopped trying entirely. According to my parents, I just needed to believe harder, to stop doubting, and that would fix everything. Even Ruth wanted that for me. Faith comes so effortlessly to her. She never really understood why I fought against it. If she loved me despite my so-called flaws, she could never quite forget the flaws exist.
I am a horrible disappointment of a daughter, but I’ll be damned twice over before I balk at what needs to be done now. My parents are content to pray over my sister until God heals her cancer. They’d rather she die than lack the faith to see herself well again, as if her cancer is punishment for something she’s done, rather than a terrible thing that happened to a good person because the world is random in its cruelty the same way it’s random in its kindness.
Well, fuck that. My sister will get the treatment she needs, and she’ll live.
I shove to my feet and grab the pen lying on the desk, ignoring Azazel’s sharp protest, then scrawl my name on one of the lines for a signature. I spin to face him. “There. It’s done. Please stop trying to talk me out of this.”
He looks like I picked up a gun and shot him: in shock and something almost like pain. He turns to Rusalka. “I’ve changed?—”
“The human has made her choice.” Rusalka still has that glorious, terrible, and soft amusement in her rich tones. She reaches one long arm over and picks up the pen to sign before Azazel can protest further. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take good care of her.”
I expect that to rile him further, but some of the tension in his broad shoulders eases. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “So be it. Understand that if you misjudge this and harm her, your kingdom is forfeit.”
“Consider me cowed and obedient.” Rusalka sounds anything but. They rise slowly to their impressive height and hold out a hand, which I belatedly realize shifts to black at their fingers... their claws. “Come along, Belladonna. It’s time to go home.”
Home.
There might have been a time when the concept of home was as warm and comforting as the movies make it seem, but I can’t remember experiencing that for myself.
It doesn’t matter. The only peace I find is in the inevitability of sin, of the moment when I know I shouldn’t do a thing but do it anyways, pulled forward by an impulse I’ve never learned to fight. Not for all the prayer and punishment and extreme interventions. Rejecting the church’s teachings hasn’t cured me of that dangerous impulsiveness. If anything, sometimes I swear it’s made things worse.
What’s one more mistake? At least someone actually benefits from it this time. I slip my hand into Rusalka’s and allow her to pull me to my feet. “I’m ready to go... home.”
4
