41. Midnight
Midnight
Nine Years, Five Months,
and Twenty-Nine Days To Go
T he first thing I do when I haul myself off the bedroom floor is shower, drink a toxic amount of coffee and then march myself back to the cemetery I summoned Ignatius in.
Fuck Aurelia.
I intend to break my contract and spend the rest of my life wishing her a sickening amount of bad karma.
I draw the same salt circle as last time. Even though it didn’t contain him, I feel safer making it.
I place the mirror in the circle. Slit my palm and drop several droplets of blood on the mirror.
Nothing happens.
Weird.
Is it because I don’t want the demon the way I did the last time? The desperation to save Aurelia was acute, now I’m just pissed.
My fingers find the brand on my wrist and rub as I continue to summon Ignatius.
A tingle scratches my fingertips.
The cemetery tilts. Dark clouds billow and throb in the sky, shadows crawl across the graveyard like the skitter of spiders.
They swirl around me, faster and faster as if I’m caught in a tornado.
My body is yanked backwards, my arms fling out to support me, but I never hit the ground.
I fall down.
Down.
Down.
When I do hit the ground, it is not in the cemetery.
I am in an office, blinking up at a ceiling. There are walls lined with shelves of books and jars and specimens and interesting tools and trinkets. My eyes land on a shelf of blades, my fingers twitching to hold them, use them.
I stand up to find a large mahogany desk, behind it a wall of achievements and the occasional framed piece of artwork from a child.
Candles flicker in sconces.
The door flings open, making me flinch. Ignatius strides in and glowers at me.
“I’m busy. Speak fast,” he says.
“I want my soul back.”
That stops him mid-stride. I stare at him.
He stares back. When I continue the staring, he makes an odd guffaw sound. “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Deadly.”
This time, he laughs. A full-bodied, head thrown back howl made of malice and cruelty.
“And what? You think I’d just give it to you?”
“Aren’t all deals negotiable?”
“Before they’re signed, sure.”
“You broke your end of the deal,” I hiss.
That makes his eyes narrow into venomous slits. He strides to his desk chair and sits.
“This should be good. Please, Mercedes, explain how I have cheated you.”
“Aurelia…”
“Did she die?”
“No.”
A nasty sneer curls his lip and makes spite dance in his features. “Then I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I gave you what you asked for.”
I stand tall, my body tense and rigid. My fists clenching and unclenching.
“I didn’t ask to be cheated on.”
His face twitches as if he’s trying not to smirk. He leans forward on the desk, clasping his hands.
“Let me get this right… you thought, because your girlfriend?—”
“Ex.”
There’s that twitch again, and it makes me want to pick up one of the blades from his shelves and cut it from his smug face.
“You thought because your ex cheated on you that it would negate our blood contract?” He raises an eyebrow.
“I thought it was worth a shot.”
“Nothing breaks a contract, Mercedes.”
“My name is Midnight. And that isn’t true, is it?”
He leans back in his chair. “Oh?”
“There are several recorded cases of contract breaks. Renegotiated, angelic blessings from the Crowned Moth and…”
“And?” he says, raising an eyebrow, clearly knowing exactly what the last method of contract breaking is.
“And the death of the demon.”
He laughs, wipes his nose. “And you thought you could what? Summon me in that salt circle and stab an angel blade in my back?”
I shrug. “Anything’s worth a shot when you’ve nothing left to lose.”
He tilts his head at me, examining me. My arm sears hot, the brand flaring bright red. I’m dragged across the room until he lunges for my wrist and pulls me halfway across his desk.
“For wasting my time, I’m going to make you my personal reaper.”
“No,” I snarl through gritted teeth and try to wrench my hand away. I will not let him control even more of my life and what little time I have left.
The brand on my arm grows so hot it makes my eyes water. I bite the inside of my cheek against the rapidly blistering skin. My brand morphs and changes. The stench of burnt flesh fills the air, and I gag.
I wriggle harder, desperate to stop this, to change my fate. But I should have learned this by now. We mere mortals do not control our fate. We are nothing in a world of angels and demons.
Several entropy moths materialise and flutter around my head, sealing my fate.
That cunt.
Finally, he releases my hand, and I recoil, stumbling back and cupping my still sizzling wrist.
“You will spend the next nine years reaping souls for me, Mercedes, and then you’ll have the pleasure of reaping your own soul.”
With every ounce of poison I can muster, I say, “And if I refuse?”
“Feisty, aren’t we. I already have control of your soul… but I tell you what. I like your sass, and I’m in a good mood today. I’ll give you one IOU during the nine years to be used however you like. No questions asked.”
“A favour?”
“Cute, but no. It’s just an IOU. I suggest you use it wisely.”
That was a mistake. I will find a way to use the favour against him. If he thinks I’m going to bend over and accept the loss of my soul, he’s wrong. I don’t care what he makes me do, I will never give up.
I smile, big, bold and toothy. “I’ll use it now. Break my contract and let me out of it.”
His expression turns cold. “Sass wears thin. Nine years, as many souls as I desire, and a single IOU in exchange. Now, choose your scythe and get the hell out of my office.”
He jerks his head in the direction of the shelves of blades. He flicks his hand, and three dark ribbons of shadowy magic materialise, projecting out from the wall and coalescing in the corner.
“The shadows will take you home.”
I reluctantly head to the shelves, always keeping the shadows in my periphery. My fingers skim across the rows of blades, trailing over the hilts. The ribs, grooves and gilded handles are all as stunning as the intricate detailing on their curved blades.
But none of them call to me. I don’t just want a blade. I want a weapon I can use on a demon.
I dismiss a dozen in rapid succession. Too heavy, too small, too dirty, too old.
My eyes catch on a bone on the shelf above; it’s locked in a glass case, lain on a silky bed. But I swear it shimmers, almost as if it’s made of stars.
My fingers fumble over the latch and push the lid up. I need to choose a scythe, not a bone, but I feel like it’s calling to me anyway.
I hover just above the bone. It’s a finger, but the bone doesn’t look like any I’ve seen before, it shines like the deepest night sky.
I stroke the bone, and it trembles. When I pull away, there, laid on the silk fabric, is a scythe. The hilt is still curved and ridged, the bulbous knuckle forming the tip. But protruding out is a silvery-white blade made of bone.
This is the one.
I can’t explain why, but it calls to me. I need it.
I swipe it, slot it in my pocket. It sits heavy against my thigh, unnaturally warm as if it hungers for the souls I’ll reap.
Or maybe it remembers the soul of the titan who once wielded it.
It’s special, that much I recognise. I lower the glass case and glance at Ignatius.
He doesn’t bother to look at me, his head buried deep in scrolls.
When I look back at the silk bed, another bone has appeared. I squint down only to realise it’s not really there. A ghost of a bone, but you could only tell if you knew to look closer.
I step into the shadows, the oddest sensation settling in my gut. Warmth that spreads to my chest, setting my heart to racing.
Even as I disappear into darkness and Ignatius fades, I feel like I’ve won. Like I took something of his, and he doesn’t even know it yet.