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“The hierarchy doesn’t approve of our kind being rendered realistically,” Eisheth says. “There can be no proof of our existence. You know this.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t know when last you Crossed Over, dove, but there are countless dark and depraved images floating around This Side. Perhaps you’ve heard of the internet?”
A rhetorical question. The internet was an idea whispered into humans by one of our own—Sheerree, Queen of Madness—during the latter part of the last century. The celebrations were epic and lasted eons. I still have the bitemarks.
“Besides,” I say. “You’ve seen renderings of us in the grimoires. All hooves and tails.”
“Seems unnecessary,” Eisheth says after a moment. “Your human is on the brink; you need only push him over.”
“Aye,Iam to push him over,” I declare. “Iwill deliver him to Asmodai. He is my charge, not Deber or Keeb’s. The glory belongs to me and me alone. I will not share it.” I press a finger to my chest. “He ismine.”
The strange thrill those words inspire in me is unlike any I’ve felt in all my years as a demonic entity. It’s warmer, softer, and yet just as potent as my usual hunger. Dormant emotions trying to wake. My finger, I note, is resting directly on my heart.
Bloody hell.
I reach for my glass and down the brandy, wishing it had any effect on me. For a long moment, dread fills me that Eisheth will read the weakness painted all over my face. She’ll take me to Asmodai where I’ll spend a millennium in inconceivable agony. Perhaps I deserve that. Perhaps I’m growing soft. I shiver at the word.
But the succubus rises, her leathery wings fluttering enough to lift her from the settee onto the floor. “I admit, your plan is intriguing…if you can pull it off.”
I ease a breath. “You haven’t seen his talent. All will happen exactly as I say.”
“I certainly hope so, for your sake.” She moves to the window where she pauses. “A warning, Ambri. Because you were once my lover and friend.”
“Once?”
She doesn’t smile. “Mind that as you raise your human to fame and riches, you don’t forget to whom the real glory is owed.”
I incline my head in the smallest of bows. “Asmodai will not be disappointed.”
“See that he isn’t. It would be a shame if he were to cut off that magnificent cock of yours and feed it to his imps.”
Her body folds inward and upward, as Eisheth takes her anicorpus form. A large bat with blood red eyes flaps obscenely in my living room, then flies into the night.
I shut the window, then lean my hands on the sill. A shaky exhale escapes me as I raise my head and see my reflection in the glass. My exquisite face is twisted in anguish. Immediately, I stiffen, stand upright and smooth my jacket. I smooth my expression too, make it impassive. Cold. Deadly.
All will happen exactly as I say.
And yet, and yet…
seven
“I’m sorry, Cole,” Mark O’Shea said at the end of my shift at the pub the next day. My boss’s face was a mask of genuine worry and regret. “Business is just too slow these days. A downturn.”
“Right,” I said, my tone flat. “I get it.”
“Sorry for making you come out here, but I wanted to tell you in person.” He studied my face, his brows furrowing in concern. “As soon as it picks up—the very bloody second—I’ll call you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Mark pursed his lips. “You going to be okay?”
“Yep,” I said, managing a wan smile. “I’ll be fine.”
My boss—former—boss’s expression was dubious. He pressed an envelope into my hand. “Your paycheck plus a few extra quid. And you call me if you need anything.”
“Right. Thanks, Mark.”
“I’m sorry, Cole. I really am.”
