She turned for the door.
He half-stood. “Wait, I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She grabbed her purse. Rix nosed her, tail wagging madly.
“Where are you going?” Lucareoth asked, helplessly.
“Rix and I are taking a walk,” she said on impulse, and grabbed the leash. Rix’s tail wagging accelerated. “Enjoy your probably-not-ethically-sourced burrito.”
Rix lunged for the stinkovater. He definitely preferred fascinating smells over lots of stairs. She brooded all the way down and stepped out into the sultry night.
Was she being a terrible person?
Well, OK, the answer was almost certainly yes. The idea of the bonds of capitalism no longer being released even by death was objectively horrifying. But was it really worse than the rest of her life up until now? Plenty of people did physically demanding or even humiliating jobs for years, for lifetimes. If nothing else, this one seemed unlikely to affect the working class. A tax on the overprivileged kale-drinkers, as it were.
What if Brad were right? What if this marketplace of his took off? A few minutes in Infernal servitude wasn’t so much to ask. Having your cookies tracked online hadn’t seemed that bad, either, until little bit by little bit, every piece of your data went up for sale. What would things look like in five years? In ten? Would browsing a website or reading an email or using the heated seats in your car cost a fraction of your soul? How many fractions could you sell? How much would it add up to, in the end? What happened if you traded away sliver after sliver to tech company after tech company, until there was nothing left? Each transaction might have an imperceptible cost, but what happened when every tech company claimed their own slice, and the total became very perceptible indeed?
But as much as she objected to cookies, she still set up retargeting ads at work. Because that’s what you had to do if you were in marketing, and refusing to do it wouldn’t make the practice stop. They’d just hire someone else.
And losing this job put a lot more than just her rent on the line.
Still, who was Lucareoth to judge her?
“The Council seers are in a bit of a state,” a voice noted from behind her.
Morgan nearly leapt out of her skin. She’d thought she was being reasonably aware, but she hadn’t heard any footsteps.
Murder flapped down in front of her and cocked his head at Rix. Rix sniffed at him curiously, the bird standing completely unafraid of the hellhound. Then Rix yipped and crouched in a puppy play bow, tail whacking Morgan’s thigh hard enough to bruise.
“I keep asking you not to sneak up on me,” Morgan said, willing her heart rate to come back down to normal.
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said, and she did actually sound sorry. “It’s habit at this point. Anyway, I don’t think I remember them being this upset since back when I first started, with that whole thing with Thoth and the ruby and that Madhuri kid.”
“What do they see?” Morgan tugged Rix’s lead and hoped he’d heel. She didn’t want Fiona looking at him too closely.
Fiona had been looking everywhere but her, Morgan realized. Now, her mother trained her full gaze on her daughter and Morgan suddenly remembered why she’d always had such mixed feelings about getting her mother’s undivided attention. “Apocalypse, Morgan. They’re seeing an apocalypse, tinted with Infernal traces. And you’re in the middle of it.”
“Me?” She had a sinking feeling she knew why.
“You said you hadn’t managed to get a job at GreenField. The last time we spoke, there was the chance for a war, yes, but nothing like what they’re predicting. What changed?”
What could she tell her? Part of her wanted to just curl into her mother’s lap and confess everything and wait for Fiona fix it. But she couldn’t, could she? Fiona would send Lucareoth back to certain death. And how would she fix Morgan’s debt? Morgan didn’t like to think about how the Penguin Incident had been resolved. It involved her mother throwing herself in front of a levin bolt, then open-heart surgery, and a major favor being called in from the Fae Court. She could picture Fiona demanding that Bel’aliol take her instead, all too easily. And Morgan couldn’t do it.
Nor was she ready to give up the chance the soul-securitization scheme offered. Unless it was really going to cause an apocalypse? She just wanted more time to think, that was all.
She shook her head slowly.
But an innocent car chose that moment to drive past them and Rix lost his mind defending her from the metal monster. Murder flapped in objection. Which caught Fiona’s attention.
“Pumpkin, where did you get that dog?”
“Why do you ask?” Morgan said, mostly to buy time. Her heart rate shot straight back up. Why had she thought it was safe to bring Rix out?
“He’s got a seriously strong glamour on him,” her mother said, her tone distracted, as she paced around Rix and Morgan. Rix straightened up a bit, clearly confused why the little bird didn’t want to play with him. Fiona sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Is that brimstone?”
“He probably farted,” Morgan said desperately.
“No, that’s not it,” Fiona said and twitched her fingers. She straightened suddenly. “Morgan, that’s a hellhound.”
