Chapter Ten #2
Finally, the meeting broke up, just as I was rolling my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time at the speaker’s overblown language.
Honestly, thus far, the Devil wasn’t any worse than a reasonably bad human.
He just had horns, a tail, and the methods to enact his punishments—both light and dark.
The harpy from Saint Aloysius’s piped up to say she had brought some holy water, which would protect against demons and the Devil in particular, and she began to distribute it as the participants made to leave.
“Miss Hastings,” Az said, while we were making our way out, “please don’t tell them I was here.
” They sounded nervous. “I, um, saw the notice about the meeting, and I have been thinking about finding a new position, and I wanted to gauge the general sentiment about His Evilness and Hell. Given this, though,” they said, gesturing to the disgruntled crowd, “it sounds like I might be stuck there for a while.” They sounded so mournful I couldn’t help but sympathize.
On the other hand, I imagined the Devil himself would be rather pleased at how dimly he was viewed by the general populace.
Or perhaps not, given his generally vain self.
I hadn’t realized a denizen of Hell could be just another employee and might have the freedom to hunt for another position. Did that mean they took a salary? Did they get days off? Oh my goodness, did Hell have unions?
“What do you do there?” I asked. “Perhaps I could keep my eye out—”
“I assist Keres in her work. I’m a stakeholder,” Az replied.
“Pardon?” As far as I knew, stakeholders were the people who held money during betting. It didn’t sound like a sustainable position to me. Nor did it seem light-punishment related.
“A stakeholder,” Az repeated. “I hold the stakes when souls are being nailed to them.”
My stomach roiled. Perhaps it was a good thing I hadn’t eaten after all.
“I don’t know that we have that kind of job up here,” I said in as delicate a manner as possible. “We don’t generally—”
“But you do have executions,” Az said, sounding almost gleeful.
“Mm, yes,” I admitted.
“Those skills are transferable,” they replied. “It’s all pretty much the same thing.”
It was beginning to sound as though the only difference between here and Hell was the elevation.
We were at the exit by now, and I was wondering how to gracefully disengage myself when a hand reached out and grabbed me.
I yelped—not my finest moment—and turned to see the marquis, his good looks almost entirely obscured by an enormous fake mustache.
He was wearing clothing that looked as though it had been chosen by someone who liked taking risks—I’m not saying that navy and pea green don’t go together, but they are definitely a choice—and his hat was an old battered thing that he might’ve found on a dust heap.
“Hastings.”
He sounded annoyed. Mad, almost.
“My lord.”
His lips, or what I could see of them, given the obstruction, thinned in distaste.
But I was not going to call him Marcellus in front of my new friend Az.
Actually, I should not be calling him Marcellus at all; that would be a level of intimacy that would invite more intimacy, and I already felt tempted enough.
And there I went again, thinking about kissing him. Stop it, Hastings, I reminded myself. The mustache should have been deterrent enough. That it wasn’t meant I was very far gone.
“She’s coming with me,” he told said new friend, who looked terrified. Rightly so, since Az had just mentioned not wanting anyone to know they had been at the meeting.
The marquis tightened his hold on my arm, but I resisted, yanking away from him. I still wanted to observe everyone leaving, after all.
“I don’t want to leave ju—” I began, but he leaned in and stared into my eyes.
“Come with me. Now.”
I could tell he was using his demon power on me, and it was effective—I started to walk with him, though I could feel every fiber of my being screaming against it.
It was as though he’d wrapped ropes around my body and was tugging me along with an inescapable force that was impossible to resist. It felt quite unpleasant, to be honest.
Interesting. When he’d used the power on me before for the kiss, I most definitely didn’t feel this reluctance within myself. That must have meant I wanted to kiss him, even though I hadn’t truly acknowledged it. Or he hadn’t used it in the first place?
I’d have to test his power—what it could and couldn’t make me do.
Or not. Because who knew what else he might persuade or command me to do?
I probably shouldn’t answer that.
Though it honestly wouldn’t take much to get me to want to do more of that with him. Or even that.
I couldn’t lie to myself about what I wanted. Even though it was likely the worst idea I’d ever had.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“You didn’t eat.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, surprised.
“I know things about you, Hastings.”
If I weren’t so intrigued by him, that comment would have been terribly creepy. As it was, it was only slightly creepy. But I was still intrigued.
It was sadly hypocritical that if a less attractive person had said the exact same words, I would have drawn the blade from my cane right away. But because it was him, I was only mildly irked.
“I assume you are hungry too, then,” I remarked.
“Famished.”
We walked in silence for a bit, with me looking around for an eating establishment where we would go relatively unnoticed. Given his getup, however, I didn’t think that would be possible.
“Where did you find those clothes, by the way?”
He glanced down at himself. “These things? Zeglas, one of the demons you didn’t meet, lent them to me.”
“Remind me never to ask Zeglas for fashion advice,” I said dryly.
He laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. This moment felt incredibly normal, walking arm in arm with a charming gentleman along a London street at night. That I was a human and he was the Devil’s son didn’t seem to matter; for now, we were just two people on our way to dinner.
It couldn’t last, of course. I didn’t mean the whole walking-to-dinner thing; of course that would end.
I meant the feeling-normal thing. There was no chance any of this was sustainable, which I had to remind myself, even when he was being the most charming and the most kissable person I’d ever met.
Which was all the time.
Except, perhaps, for right now with that egregious thing on his face.
“Can you remove that?” I asked, gesturing to the offending item.
“You don’t like my facial flora?” he said, twirling one side of the mustache.
I shuddered. “It’s hideous. Hellish, even.”
He tilted his head back and laughed even harder than before, making me grin in satisfaction.
It was thrilling to be able to make a demonic creature burst out in laughter, of all things, when demons from Hell—as far as I understood—were not generally known for being humorous or even possessing a sense of humor in the first place.
“Oh, over there,” I said, pointing to a chophouse across the street. “I don’t know it, but it looks as though it could be fine.”
“I like that you are willing to take a risk, Hastings.” His tone was resonant with meaning, and I felt it through my whole body. “But first—” He stopped and put his hand back up to his mustache and yanked it off, dropping it on the pavement.
I stepped forward and ground my heel into it, a bright smile on my face. “There. Now as long as everyone we see is colorblind—”
“Poor Zeglas,” he murmured, shaking his head.
“If he were truly poor, perhaps he would have to sell some of his clothing,” I retorted, causing the marquis to break into laughter again.
We crossed the street, him still chuckling, me feeling the warm glow of our whatever-it-was alongside the knowledge that it was only fleeting.