Sins of the Soul

“I look up, and there he was. The demon. ‘Save yourself,’ he said. And I knew he meant first blood. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I didn’t want that life.

“He stared at me, then he said, ‘I will save him from these injuries. And you. For a price.’ I told him to do it. I told him I didn’t care about the price. So he saves my dad. And the price is me. He gets my soul, and he turns me into a fucking assassin. I ran so fast and hard from the Asetian Guard that I ran smack-dab into the thing I was running from.” She gave a bitter laugh. “And that’s the end of the story.”

“And your father?” But he already knew the answer. She could see it in his eyes.

“Died two months later. Legionnaires’ disease. He went on a business trip to Belgium and two weeks later, he was dead, along with five other people who stayed in the same hotel.”

“Legionnaires’ disease?”

“It’s a rare…deadly…kind of pneumonia. Caused by a bug. Legionella pneumophila.”

“It’s the bugs you can’t see…” Alastor echoed the things she’d said to Marie, and his gaze dipped to her pocket where she kept her ever-present little bottle of sanitizer.

“Yeah. Stupid, I know. You can’t even get Legionnaires’ disease by direct contact. You have to breathe it in from the air-conditioning system or something.” She shrugged, uncomfortable with the topic.

“Do you believe the demon lied to you?”

“No. I believe I was too stupid to read the fine print. He did exactly what he promised to do. Saved my dad from the injuries he got in that car accident. He never promised that my dad would live forever.”

“The demon’s name. Tell me.” His voice was edged with tension. As though the name really mattered. Maybe it did. Maybe different demons had different levels of power. Maybe some were even a match for a soul reaper.

“I don’t know. I never knew.”

“Then how could you summon him? You need a name for a summoning.”

“That’s what I thought, but apparently not. He said I didn’t. And I never summoned him, not before now. I just waited until he set me a task. And in between his visits, I tried to…just live.”

“Describe him.”

“Butt-ugly. Stocky. Big head. Balding, with a ring of gray hair. His eyes scared the crap out me. Small, dark, soulless.”

A muscle jumped in Alastor’s jaw. That small, telltale sign made her uneasy.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Couple months ago. I’ve been trying to summon him since the night I shot Butcher. No luck. No answer.”

“And you won’t get one.”

Something in his tone chilled the blood in her veins. She swallowed, backed up a step.

“Why not?”

“Your demon’s name was Gahiji. And he’s been terminated.”

“What? Terminated? Dead? Do you mean dead? How can a demon be killed? I didn’t even know that was possible.”

When he offered no reply, she fell silent for a moment, digesting the shocking information, trying to figure out exactly what it meant. “What about my debt?” she asked, the words almost choking her. It’d be nice to think the demon’s death set her free, but she knew way too much about the Underworld’s workings now to let herself think that for even a second.

Alastor just stared at her, his eyes chilled to that flat blue-gray that made her feel like taking a step back. Maybe two. Just in case his amazing control finally blew. Something about this situation stirred his emotions. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out. But what was it…anger? Something else? And the big question was: why?

“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what you know. Does this demon’s death negate my debt?”

“What I know,” Alastor echoed, his tone completely flat. “See, that’s the thing, pet. I don’t know, and not knowing is not a good thing.”

He was lying. Or if not exactly lying, not sharing the whole truth.

“And…” she prompted, waiting for him to fill in the blanks. When he said nothing, she tried to free-associate things on her own. “Maybe that’s why the Shikome is interested in me. Maybe the demon’s death somehow transferred my debt to her. Maybe—”

“She wants you for some other as-yet unknown reason. There was no transfer. Your debt is still owned by the same entity that has owned it all along.” Bitterness leached into his words, and she wondered at that. “The question is, why the bloody, sodding subterfuge?”

“What subterfuge? And how can I still owe the debt to the demon I’ve owed it to all along if he’s been, as you put it, terminated?”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t what?” Frustration surged. “Either explain what the hell you’re talking about, or shut up with the cryptic comments.”

Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.

Alastor chose option two. He shut down. No matter how she phrased the next question and the next, he refused to say another word about the demon. And that left her with a greasy ball of unease churning in her gut.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN