Page 54 of Just One Little Bargain

“Anything.”

“Why did you refuse it?” She’s running her thumb along the seatbelt strap. “When I offered my soul, you said no.”

“Because you didn’t understand what you were offering.” I keep my eyes on the road. “Taking your soul under those conditions . . . Hell wouldn’t have cared. The contract would’ve been valid, but it would’ve been wrong.”

“Wrong by whose standards?”

“Mine. Which are apparently the only ones that don’t matter.”

“And if I had believed you? If I’d known exactly what you were and offered anyway?”

“I need a contract, Evie. That’s why I’m here. Every rational calculation says I should be trying harder to convince you.”

“So why aren’t you?”

“I’d want it to be fair.” But there’s another honest answer, and it’s louder. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That’s a nice thing to say.” Her voice is careful. “But how do I know you’re not just saying that to get me to trust you?”

“Because I can’t lie.”

I realize too late what I’ve just admitted. Father’s voice echoes in my head, lecturing about revealing weaknesses to potential contracts, about maintaining advantage, about never giving mortals information they could use against you.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Heat crawls up my neck. “But it’s true—demons can’t lie. We bend the truth, twist wording, imply things that aren’t accurate. Most of us are excellent at it.”

“And you?”

“I’m . . . not most demons.” The understatement of my entire existence. “I’m terrible at it. I say too much or the wrong things.”

“So everything you said . . .”

“All true. Couldn’t be anything else, even if I wanted it to be.”

When I steal a look, she’s biting her lip.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The laugh spills out of her. “You’re just very bad at this.”

“It’s not funny.”

“You are the worst demon alive.” She’s wiping her eyes now, shoulders shaking. “You handed me your weakness because I asked nicely.”

She laughs harder, warm and completely unguarded, and I immediately want to hear it again. Preferably often enough that I can remember the sound when I’m back in Hell getting lectured about my inadequacies.

“Okay.” She shifts in her seat, her knee angling toward me. “If you can’t lie, tell me how Hell works?”

“You sure?”

“I want to understand what I’m dealing with.”

“It’s a corporate structure: departments, quotas, reporting chains; soul acquisition, punishment operations, bargain enforcement, legal review. My department negotiates bargains with mortals. You close the deal, file the contract, move on.”

“And if you don’t close it?”

“Disciplinary action or reassignment.” My jaw tightens, the memory of my last review still fresh. “The Soul Furnace, if you fail badly enough.”