“You’re a very strange person, you know that?”
“I saw you turn into a dog and eat a live sheep,” she sputtered. “I’m not sure you have a great handle on normal behavior.”
“You still seem cranky. Have some dinner.” He pulled the dome off her tray, revealing a beautifully plated steak, a bowl of cauliflower soup, and a small watercress salad.
Her mouth watered at the rich aromas. “Where did this all come from?”
“Room service here is fast and Michelin rated.” He filled her wine glass. “Hopefully, some filet mignon and red wine will placate you.”
She picked up her knife and fork to cut the steak and took a bite; it was as soft as butter. For the time being, she could almost forgive Kester for kidnapping her in the middle of her slice of bread.
“I hope you like it here,” he said.
“It’s… fancy. Empty, but very grand.”
“You don’t find it comfortable?”
She cut another piece of rich meat. “It’s not what I’m used to. It’s amazing, but I was about two days away from being homeless, and it just seems like it’s a waste for a place like this to lie empty when there are probably families freezing outside.” She frowned at him. “You’re not eating?”
“I filled up on lamb.”
It took Ursula a moment to realize that he was talking about the ewe he’d devoured. “Right.” The image of his gore-covered teeth almost put her off her food. “What exactly are you? Some sort of werewolf? Am I going to turn into a wolf now that I work for Emerazel?”
“A hound. I’m a hellhound, and so are you. But you won’t transform for a number of years.”
“Are we…” She struggled to get the word out. “Witches—I mean, mages? Like people are talking about? The terrorists who slaughtered people in Boston?”
Kester shook his head. “We are mortal demons, compelled by our marks to work for the fire goddess. I know magic as well, but you needn’t learn it. I just need you to learn to fight and to collect souls.”
She nearly choked on her wine. “I’m sorry—did you say I’m a demon?”
“I did.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “And your job is to find those in Emerazel’s debt. Force them to sign the contract, by whatever means required.”
She took a deep breath, trying to process the word demon. “I’m having a hard time with the demon concept. Surely demons are scaly creatures with pointy tails and claws.” She stopped herself. “I mean, you have claws, but no scales.” She shook her head. She was babbling like a loon now. “Demons are monsters. I don’t look like a demon, do I?” She gripped her knife so tight she thought the silver might bend.
“Right now you do.”
“It just sounds like madness.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not sure when you last spent time around normal people, but normal people don’t talk about demons. They don’t fight monsters in ringstones, or eat live sheep, or travel across continents by incinerating themselves.”
Kester leaned back in his chair. “But you’re not normal. Normal people don’t have severe retrograde amnesia, and they can’t light things on fire with their hands. Given the rest of your life, the fact that you’re a demon shouldn’t be much of a surprise.” His green eyes gleamed. “What exactly was your explanation for your powers?”
“Genetics,” she blurted. “A mutation. I have no clue. I’ve hardly taken any science classes. And anyway, it just happened for the first time tonight so it’s not like I’ve had time to think about it.”
“You think a random mutation in your DNA could allow you to do this?” He held up his silver fork. For an instant his hand glowed incredibly hot, like he’d pulled the door to a furnace. Then the fork collapsed on the table in a molten lump.
She felt dizzy, overwhelmed by a strange sense of vertigo. “I have no idea. I don’t understand any of this.” Maybe he was right, though. Only the supernatural could explain everything she’d seen. “I need to know more specifics about this new job.”
“You track down people who’ve struck a bargain with Emerazel, people who’ve traded their soul for fame and wealth. You need them to sign the contract to bind their soul to the goddess when they die. Very rarely, you might meet another such as yourself who has carved Emerazel’s mark in their body. But there aren’t many around with these.” He unbuttoned his shirt collar, and her eyes landed on the familiar scar in the center of his athletic chest. “Emerazel’s strength can only be granted through one of her blades, and there aren’t many in the world.” He buttoned his shirt again, and she tried not to think about his body.
“I don’t even know how I got my scar,” she said.
“You really have no idea?”
“Nope.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “What happens when someone signs their soul away?”
“Each god has their own hell. Emerazel’s is the inferno. The debtor’s soul will go there once they die.”