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“As soon as I saw you,” the Soul Dealer said, eyes opening wide as he tried to prove his loyalty. “But you began to punish me, Master!”
A narrowing of Satan’s eyes hinted he might start to punish the Soul Dealer again for such an insolent reply. But the expression slackened as he beckoned to the pendant. It floated through the air, coming to rest in his outstretched hand.
“This must be freely given in order to be of any use to me.”
“Unless it is gotten in shadow,” the Soul Dealer explained hastily. “And Death was stupid enough to wrench me from this form in order to best me.”
Satan was silent, as though waiting for the Soul Dealer to offer up extra words with which to incriminate himself.
“What is stupid,” he sighed at last, when no further explanation was forthcoming, “is that you have this fantastic little insurance policy.” He sneered as he looked at the pendant before his gaze flicked to the Soul Dealer like the sharp crack of a cat o’ nine tails. “Because I so dearly desire a morsel of barbecued man-flesh.”
The Soul Dealer’s face blanched. “Master, please—”
“Stop your incessant babbling!” The volume of Satan’s tone was back to its full roar, powerful and savage, before it dropped again. “I’ll keep you around—fornow. But you best prove your usefulness to me, do you understand?”
“Y-yes, Master,” the Soul Dealer whimpered. He still cowered on the ground but managed to summon enough courage to crouch down and stretch out his neck so he could kiss the edge of the shadow where Satan’s feet might be, if he had bothered to manifest any. “Thank you, Master.”
“Get out of my fucking sight,” Satan snarled, handing the pendant back to his sniveling subject. “And only come back when you can tell me you have made progress.”
The cage faded the rest of the way away, and the Soul Dealer wasted no time in making the most of his newfound freedom. He pushed himself up off the rocky floor with a grunt of pain and skittered away into the darkness. A few second later, his shadow-crow followed, leaving Satan to think, and dream, and plan.
* * *
Bunny steppedbackward as Death’s grip loosened on her waist, taking in his sudden frown. She matched it with one of her own even as her hands trailed from his neck to his chest.
She didn’t understand. Seconds ago, he had been really into this—into her—and now he seemed to be back-pedaling. His apology in no way lessened the blow of his question. Her eyes widened for a split-second, right before they squeezed into a narrowed scowl.
Who are you? Was this guy for real?
She pushed away from him gently, looking for any signs he was joking. He was looking back at her, his inky gaze skipping curiously over her face as though looking for clues there. If he was messing around with her, he was a pretty good actor.
Bunny dipped her head to one side, scrutinizing him. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” he replied, with zero hint of a pun. “I have no idea who you are—or who I am, come to think of it.” He glanced down at the space that had grown between them before his eyes flicked back up to her face. “We appear to be… friendly.”
A blush tingled in the apples of her cheeks, threatening to spread. She fought against it, forcing her brain to take over instead of her emotions.
“Do you know what day it is?” she asked, trying not to sound too freaked out, even though it was hard to do. She wasn’t as good an actor as he was apparently.
He shrugged apologetically, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his thick coat. “Wouldn’t have a clue.”
Bubbles of worry began to drift upwards in Bunny’s stomach, as though her sense of panic was beginning to boil. “Where do you live?”
“No idea.”
Okay, generic questions weren’t helping. The trick was to ask something that would spark his interest—if he retained any of the information. She lifted her chin, casting a knowing look in his direction.
“Do you have a job?”
He paused, as though considering the question carefully, like he could almost grasp something. She saw the way his eyebrows lowered, and he looked away to the side when the thought managed to escape him.
“Not that I recall,” he told her. His voice had fallen into a lower register. She could hear his frustration beginning to mutate into something else. Fear, maybe. She could feel it creeping into her, too. If he couldn’t remember his job—the thing he was entirely devoted to—then she didn’t stand an actual hope in Hell of helping him through this. She licked her lips nervously.
“What was the last thing you do remember?”
His face went blank. On him, it wasn’t a particularly unusual expression. Bunny’d gotten used to his stoic facade; the way he rarely physically reacted to anything. But there was a shadow in the depths of his obsidian gaze, and she got the distinct impression that he was digging deep to retrieve something. Anything. After a few seconds, he lifted his chin and his gaze met hers.
“Lilacs.”
