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Joy couldn’t help but soften. “It wasn’t because of you.”
“Oh.” Iyore tried badly to hide her relief. She was never really good at hiding her emotions; always been an open book. “I guess you work somewhere in the mall, now?”
“Did you go looking for me?” Joy asked teasingly, though she was secretly pleased. She’d quit her job at Icy World a week after the incident. Even now, she couldn’t believe she’d thought going back there—seeing his face every fucking day and acting like she wasn’t bothered would mean she wasstrong.
She didn’t want to be strong anymore. She wanted to be hurt. She wanted to be fuckingfurious.
“I did,” Iyore said earnestly.
Joy’s heart throbbed. She stood, coming around the wooden table, holding her arms open wide. Iyore eagerly fell into her embrace, holding her tightly.
“I know I don’t deserve to ask for forgiveness,” she whispered wetly into Joy’s throat, “I know the things I said were all kinds of hurtful, so I know, despite whatever had made me act that way, you might still need time.”
Joy pulled back from the hug to meet her eyes. They were glistening. Joy’s were, too. This was why Iyore was her best fucking friend—her soulmate, if soulmates existed. They’d tried dating in secretonce upon a time, when things between them had gone heated in the privacy of their boarding house in Secondary School, but they’d never been brave enough to make it anything real.
Then they’d graduated, Joy had gone abroad to further her education, and back in Nigeria, Iyore had fallen in love with someone new. Through it all, they’d still remained close friends, and when Joy had returned back home with her Bachelor’s and Master’sin the bag, their friendship had picked up where it’d left off, like the years they’d spent apart had been nothingmore than the blink of an eye.
“I do need time,” Joy said, squeezing Iyore’s hands in hers. “But thank you for talking to me. You didn’t need to tell me any of that. It means a lot.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“I know. I forgive you. I just need a little time.”
“Yes. Of course. Anything you need.”
“I love you.”
Iyore’s lower lip wobbled. “I love you, too.”
Joy hugged her again. When she pulled back, she made a “gimme” motion with her hands. “Give me your phone. I’ll give you my new number.”
Iyore’s eyes lit up, like Joy had given her the greatest gift in the world.
FOUR
While Joy was at work, Malachi used the opportunity to pay his other contractor a visit. He moved through the aether, and appeared in Desmond’s little hut hidden in Mmuo, the forest that bordered the north of the city.
The little old man didn’t even jolt when Malachi appeared out of thin air, though he did begin to cough violently. Desmond had a freaking mansion in the wealthiest estate in Arehjia, but this was where he’d chosen to come to die. Malachi wasn’t necessarily surprised; without any true family or friends, of course the next best place the old man would want totake his eternal leavewould be where the source of his power lay.
The hut held all his trinkets;little dolls made of straw, cowrie beads, animal bones and skulls, and a multitude of cloth stained in various, unappealing colours. Stacks of cash—both in Naira and Dollars—filled patterned bags in the corner of the small space, a physical representation of Desmond’s ever-growing greed over the years. All that money, hoarded and wasted. He lay onapile of mats in the middle, curled up on his side, his dark brown skin sweaty and ashen.
Their relationship had been strictly business from the start, but Malachi couldn’t help but stare at him and feel … something. Pity? Empathy? Desmond’s contract had provided Malachi with an escape route from his sect, and he’d had the contract for nearly two years; it was expected he’d feel something for someone he’d been bonded with for so long.
“Useless,” Desmond hissed when he was done coughing, his voice raspy.
And there went the empathy, gone like smoke.
The handkerchief Desmond had held to his mouth had a fresh splatter of red in the middle. Unlike Joy’s blood, Desmond’s blood did absolutely nothing for Malachi. Even his emotions were disgusting. Malachi had a theory after all his time spent on earth; each human and the emotions they gave off tasted differently depending on the human and their principles.
Desmond lied, stole, manipulated, and cheated, so everything about him tasted positively vile. Then again, Joy was literally plotting to slowly drive her victim mad before killing him, yet Malachi had never tasted anything moredivine. Perhaps Malachi didn’t understand after all.
“All that power,” Desmond continued, “and you can’t find a way to heal me?”
Malachi remained expressionless. Despite what Desmond thought,Malachihadtried to heal him, even though healing an ailment as extensive as this would take up way too much magic, and Malachi already had a limited amount of power as it was. But it seemed Desmond’s shady dealings had come to a head; whatever was ailing him was magical in nature, done by someone—possibly another demon at the behest of a human—whose magic was more powerful than Malachi’s. When Malachi had tried to remove the webs of magic, it had felt like chopping off the head of a hydra; where one fell off, three more grew in its place. He’d stopped for fear of making it worse.
He was sure Desmond had tried summoning another demon to help him, but other demons weren’t willing or desperate enough to negotiate like Malachi; once they saw that Desmond’s soul was already owned, they would simply leave him there without a word.
“Useless!” Desmond spat. He began to cough again, violently hacking away into his handkerchief. “Fuck, how long?” he asked. He sounded truly pitiful.
