Chapter 3
“This has to be some sort of mistake,” she said, fingers gripping the chair edge. “I’m not married.”
“The Department of Records does not make mistakes.”
“Bullshit, it doesn’t,” she snapped. “I think I’d know if I was married. That’s not exactly something someone forgets.”
From his desk he lifted a sheet of parchment. “Sleat, Isle of Skye, Scotland. On the fourteenth of June, in the fourth regnal year of Mary, Queen of Scots—”
“I was human then.” Her heart throbbed inside her breast. “I’m not anymore.”
“Yes, and Fionnlagh MacDonald—”
“Is dead.” The room fell away, and for a moment, it wasn’t Titivillus sitting across from her but Fionnlagh, as he’d been all those years ago, breathtakingly, heartbreakingly handsome, but more importantly alive, his dark brown hair brushed back from his eyes, one green, the other blue, both filled with adoration.
She blinked and he was gone and she was back in the hell of her own making. “I won’t talk about him.”
“Needs must, Ms. MacLeod.” Titivillus tutted. “And put those claws away. That chair’s older than you are.”
She glowered and, with no small amount of reluctance, did as bade, withdrawing her claws from the leather upholstery. “I fail to see how any of this is relevant.”
“You don’t deny that you and Fionnlagh MacDonald did wed?”
Effie flinched. For 478 years she’d gone without hearing that name, only to have it spoken twice in a matter of minutes.
Something she’d buried long ago out of necessity—but apparently hadn’t quite managed to smother entirely—stirred inside her chest. She swallowed hard and blew out a long, slow breath.
“No, but last I checked, marriage was strictly ’til death do us part. ”
“In most cases,” he agreed. “Not yours.”
“I beg your finest fucking pardon?”
“Ms. MacLeod, I needn’t remind you that you married Fionnlagh MacDonald before both your families on the sixth of April in the fourth regnal year of—”
“For fuck’s sake, just say 1546 like a normal person!”
His expression grew pinched as if his patience had already worn thin. “—Mary, Queen of Scots.”
Effie rolled her eyes.
Titivillus spared a glance at the parchment in his hand.
“It was a trial marriage, a handfasting as was common in the Highlands and islands of Scotland at that time. You and Fionnlagh were to live as man and wife for a year and a day, and if during this period you conceived an heir, a formal marriage would result. If not—”
“Then we would go our separate ways.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I was there. I don’t need a dissertation on my own life, thank you very much.”
“Then surely you remember that on the fourteenth of June that same year, you made your own private vows to each other, promising not only a year and a day or until death do you part, but to find one another again in the next life?”
“That’s not— We didn’t mean to—” Effie huffed. “We were practically still children.”
He stared reproachfully down his nose at her. “Be that as it may, we are not here to discuss your intentions, but rather the implications of your actions. Whether you meant to or not, you and Mr. MacDonald bound your souls for all eternity.”
Her heart beat faster. “What does that even mean? Bound our souls for all eternity? In case it slipped your notice, I’m a demon; I don’t have a soul. Not anymore.”
It belonged to Lucifer now.
“What it means, Ms. MacLeod, is that when Fionnlagh MacDonald died in 15—”
“Don’t,” Effie pleaded, words sticking in her throat. “I don’t…I’d rather not know the specifics.”
At any point, she could’ve looked him up, but she’d chosen not to. Most things, once dead, were best left buried.
He stared at her for a long moment, then gave a curt nod, acknowledging her wish. “He went on to spend the next four hundred some-odd years trapped in an endless cycle of reincarnation. A cycle of reincarnation he is still experiencing.”
She jumped to her feet, the chair wobbling behind her.
Titivillus frowned. “Ms. MacLeod, we’re not finished—”
“Just…give me one goddamn minute, okay? I just need a minute.” Her thoughts were racing, and her heart was beating painfully fast, and sitting still wasn’t helping. It only made her feel ineffectual. Pacing at least gave her something to do, even if it was pointless. “Does he remember?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You said he’s trapped in an endless cycle of reincarnation. Does he remember any of it? His past lives or…” She gestured wildly at herself. “You know what I mean.”
She held her breath, waiting for the answer.
“Unless he’s undertaken past-life regression for spiritual or psychotherapeutic reasons, I’d consider it unlikely.”
Her shoulders fell. She…didn’t know how to feel about that, the possibility of being alone in this. If it made it easier or…not.
“Okay, so let me make sure I’ve got this straight. You’re telling me that not only am I still married, but I’m married to a human who very likely doesn’t know I exist?”
“Perhaps now you understand what I meant when I said this was a delicate situation.”
No shit. If Lucifer found out about this…“Tell me who knows.”
“Other than you? No one outside this office. I thought it imprudent to involve outside parties.”
That was the first bit of good news she’d received since stepping foot inside his office. The fewer people who knew about this, the better.
“But, as I’m sure you understand, the matter of contracts is serious business. Under no circumstances will you be able to marry Belphegor or anyone else until you rectify this situation.”
“Okay, so…” Effie shrugged. “How do I do that? Rectify this or whatever.”
Titivillus steepled his hands and stared at her over the top of them.
“Seeing as the marriage was consummated, an annulment is not a viable option. You could, of course, seek special dispensation from the Church, but that would require you contact the Tribunal of the Archdiocese, and Satan only knows how long that could take. You’d be better off reaching out to one of our contacts at the Vatican directly—”
“No can do,” she said, scowling. “Even though it’s a city-state, technically Vatican City is enclave within Rome, and I’m currently banned from traveling anywhere with more than fifty thousand residents. Lucifer’s orders.”
“There’s another avenue, but I don’t think you’ll like it,” Titivillus warned. “You and Mr. MacDonald will both need to renounce your vows.”
Her heart clawed its way into her throat. “Are you saying I have to—”
“I fear you must, yes,” Titivillus said grimly. “All parties must understand the nature of the agreement they are entering into or exiting from. Otherwise, it’s fraud. You know this.”
“Oh, yeah, like I knew what I was getting myself into when I tied my soul to his for all eternity?”
“You were of legal age and mentally competent. You just also happened to be arrogant and a romantic.” Titivillus gave her an arch look over the rim of his spectacles. “One of those defects you’ve divested yourself of, at least.”
She shot him the bird. “You’re a riot. Can I write him a letter? Have him fill out a form? Sign on a dotted line?”
Titivillus stared at her and she sighed. Who was she kidding? Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Any letter she wrote would end up in a landfill somewhere, and she’d be no closer to resolving this ordeal than she was now.
Speaking of somewhere…“How am I supposed to find him? He’s reincarnated. I don’t even know who I’m looking for, let alone where.”
“Hmm. If only there was someone who had access to the Book of Souls who could search for you. Oh, right.” He handed her the piece of paper he’d retrieved from his desk. “I’m at least one step ahead of you, Ms. MacLeod, rest assured.”
Her hand trembled as she took the paper from him. She skimmed it quickly, eyes drawn to a line of bolded text near the bottom of the page. She scowled. “Is this a joke?”
“No, but it is funny.” Titivillus smirked. “Never let it be said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
“You and I have very different definitions of the word funny,” she said tartly. “This is just absurd.”
Finley MacDonald, the paper read. She read the next line.
“This is where he lives? Silver Springs, Georgia?”
“Those coordinates will lead you to a small town located directly over two converging ley lines,” he said, nodding.
“As I’m sure you understand, the electromagnetic field made it difficult to pinpoint his location, as did his curious lack of an online presence, but I imagine once you get to town, he won’t be too difficult to find. ”
Thanks in no small part to the influence of demons, ley lines had largely been deemed pseudoscientific garbage, a pet conspiracy of crackpots and parapsychologists.
It wouldn’t do, after all, to have the global scientific community aware that the electromagnetic lines that crisscrossed the globe created energy vortexes at their intersections, which served as beacons for the supernatural who synthesized energy—be it telluric, celestial, or sacrificial—into magic.
“When I find him, is there anything specific he needs to say to renounce the vows?”
“A simple revocation should do the trick,” he said. “It should be rather straightforward.”
“Sure.” Effie nodded and folded the paper twice, shoving it into her back pocket. “I mean, it’s just a divorce. How hard could it be?”
Effie stared into her armoire, sighed, and dumped her lingerie drawer into her overnight bag, solving the age-old question of how many pairs of underwear to pack by packing every pair she owned.
She couldn’t imagine this taking longer than one night, maybe two, and while she could transmogrify a teacup into a thong if she wanted—perks of being a demon—learning she was married, still married, had knocked her for a six; she’d be lying if she said she didn’t crave a port in this storm even if it came in the form of her favorite underwear.
“Going somewhere?”
She whirled around, clutching a Vivienne Westwood corset to her chest. Belphegor stood in the doorway, watching her. “Shit, you startled me.”