Chapter 25
Maybe we tip off Valefar that we’re on to them?
” Lucareoth said when Morgan got back upstairs with the burritos that night.
The little burrito joint near their building was excellent, but they didn’t deliver.
“Except I’m worried Brad’s scheme is far enough along that it wouldn’t even slow things down. How are we going to stop this?”
“Should we stop this?” She set down the bag. She’d managed to spend the rest of the day focused on logistics, but she’d had too much time to think while waiting for their order. “What if the soul market is the solution to our problems?”
Lucareoth sat down slowly. “How can you say that?”
“If Brad pulls this off—it’s a big if, still, but if,” Morgan said, not meeting his eyes.
“Well, there’s the answer to your quota and my debt.
It’s not like we weren’t already trying to get souls already.
We’ve failed and we’re out of ideas. This could fill the gap, without asking so much of anyone we know.
I don’t have to hold my breath every time I cross a street, worrying I’m going to die and spend the next century getting tortured in a lamp.
You can probably convince Bel’aliol to keep you here as an account rep, and you never have to go back or get eaten.
We can stay together. Heck, you’ll probably get a promotion, I’ll get a promotion, we make rent and you and I and Gisele don’t get thrown out on the street. It could solve everything.”
“At the cost of thousands of people’s souls!” He was staring at her.
“A fraction of their souls.”
“That’s still part of their soul!”
“So they spend a few minutes on the Infernal Plane powering stuff.” She rubbed her face.
She’d just spent ten minutes counting stained ceiling tiles, after forty-five minutes trapped on the subway next to a guy whose cologne hadn’t covered his body odor.
“Maybe a day or three. Humans already built a society full of stuff we find painful. Our lives are basically run by corporate overlords who churn through us and toss us out with no warning if it will save them a dollar. We spend most of our time doing annoying, meaningless stuff. How much of our lives do we spend commuting? Or in line at the DMV or filling out expense reports or any of the other stuff we already call soul-killing? Is it really so bad if humans spend a little more time having our souls drained before we go off wherever it is that we go?”
“And what about consent?” Lucareoth folded his arms. “Gisele was pissed at us for not giving her a choice on whether to do something—this is worse. None of these people really understand what they’re being asked.
They’ll barely be aware it’s been asked.
And what do they get for their soul-labor anyway? A crappy kale smoothie?”
“They’re literally consenting, it’s part of the marketing campaign. We know the Deal doesn’t work if they don’t know.” She walked around the table, pulling the burritos away from Rix’s investigative nose. “And we pay in our labor for stupid things all the time.”
“Not after death!”
“Pretty sure capitalism would keep you on the hook after death if they could figure out how.”
“You’re OK with making it worse.”
“We’re talking about people who don’t even see you as a person!” Why couldn’t he see she was doing this to protect him?
“So just because they see me as a monster means I have to be one?” He shook his head.
“Look, I agree that a lot of humanity is petty. And stupid. But I like your plane because sometimes you’re allowed to want something other people don’t want you to want.
I want to be something different. And now you’re telling me you’re giving up. ”
“Can I stop it at this point? Really?” Her throat tightened.
“I’m this tiny little cog in this giant machine, and Brad’s going to do it with or without my help.
I don’t know who made all the parts of my phone.
I don’t even know that everyone who touched that burrito is happy and fairly compensated.
But I do know that my life’s at risk, my livelihood’s at risk, my…
my love’s at risk. And I could do my job and let this happen and save all those things, or I could lose everything and it would still happen anyway. ”
His tail lashed unhappily. Then it stilled. “You love me?”
“I shouldn’t have said that,” she said, and when his face fell, she rushed, “That way, I mean. I’m sorry. It should have been some perfect shining moment and I’ve just ruined it. I’m ruining everything, just like I always do.”
She turned for the door.
He half-stood. “Wait, I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She grabbed her purse. Rix nosed her, tail wagging madly.
“Where are you going?” Lucareoth asked, helplessly.
“Rix and I are taking a walk,” she said on impulse, and grabbed the leash. Rix’s tail wagging accelerated. “Enjoy your probably-not-ethically-sourced burrito.”
Rix lunged for the stinkovater. He definitely preferred fascinating smells over lots of stairs. She brooded all the way down and stepped out into the sultry night.
Was she being a terrible person?
Well, OK, the answer was almost certainly yes.
The idea of the bonds of capitalism no longer being released even by death was objectively horrifying.
But was it really worse than the rest of her life up until now?
Plenty of people did physically demanding or even humiliating jobs for years, for lifetimes.
If nothing else, this one seemed unlikely to affect the working class.
A tax on the overprivileged kale-drinkers, as it were.
What if Brad were right? What if this marketplace of his took off?
A few minutes in Infernal servitude wasn’t so much to ask.
Having your cookies tracked online hadn’t seemed that bad, either, until little bit by little bit, every piece of your data went up for sale.
What would things look like in five years?
In ten? Would browsing a website or reading an email or using the heated seats in your car cost a fraction of your soul?
How many fractions could you sell? How much would it add up to, in the end?
What happened if you traded away sliver after sliver to tech company after tech company, until there was nothing left?
Each transaction might have an imperceptible cost, but what happened when every tech company claimed their own slice, and the total became very perceptible indeed?
But as much as she objected to cookies, she still set up retargeting ads at work. Because that’s what you had to do if you were in marketing, and refusing to do it wouldn’t make the practice stop. They’d just hire someone else.
And losing this job put a lot more than just her rent on the line.
Still, who was Lucareoth to judge her?
“The Council seers are in a bit of a state,” a voice noted from behind her.
Morgan nearly leapt out of her skin. She’d thought she was being reasonably aware, but she hadn’t heard any footsteps.
Murder flapped down in front of her and cocked his head at Rix. Rix sniffed at him curiously, the bird standing completely unafraid of the hellhound. Then Rix yipped and crouched in a puppy play bow, tail whacking Morgan’s thigh hard enough to bruise.
“I keep asking you not to sneak up on me,” Morgan said, willing her heart rate to come back down to normal.
“I’m sorry,” Fiona said, and she did actually sound sorry. “It’s habit at this point. Anyway, I don’t think I remember them being this upset since back when I first started, with that whole thing with Thoth and the ruby and that Madhuri kid.”
“What do they see?” Morgan tugged Rix’s lead and hoped he’d heel. She didn’t want Fiona looking at him too closely.
Fiona had been looking everywhere but her, Morgan realized.
Now, her mother trained her full gaze on her daughter and Morgan suddenly remembered why she’d always had such mixed feelings about getting her mother’s undivided attention.
“Apocalypse, Morgan. They’re seeing an apocalypse, tinted with Infernal traces. And you’re in the middle of it.”
“Me?” She had a sinking feeling she knew why.
“You said you hadn’t managed to get a job at GreenField. The last time we spoke, there was the chance for a war, yes, but nothing like what they’re predicting. What changed?”
What could she tell her? Part of her wanted to just curl into her mother’s lap and confess everything and wait for Fiona fix it.
But she couldn’t, could she? Fiona would send Lucareoth back to certain death.
And how would she fix Morgan’s debt? Morgan didn’t like to think about how the Penguin Incident had been resolved.
It involved her mother throwing herself in front of a levin bolt, then open-heart surgery, and a major favor being called in from the Fae Court.
She could picture Fiona demanding that Bel’aliol take her instead, all too easily. And Morgan couldn’t do it.
Nor was she ready to give up the chance the soul-securitization scheme offered. Unless it was really going to cause an apocalypse? She just wanted more time to think, that was all.
She shook her head slowly.
But an innocent car chose that moment to drive past them and Rix lost his mind defending her from the metal monster. Murder flapped in objection. Which caught Fiona’s attention.
“Pumpkin, where did you get that dog?”
“Why do you ask?” Morgan said, mostly to buy time. Her heart rate shot straight back up. Why had she thought it was safe to bring Rix out?
“He’s got a seriously strong glamour on him,” her mother said, her tone distracted, as she paced around Rix and Morgan. Rix straightened up a bit, clearly confused why the little bird didn’t want to play with him. Fiona sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Is that brimstone?”
“He probably farted,” Morgan said desperately.
“No, that’s not it,” Fiona said and twitched her fingers. She straightened suddenly. “Morgan, that’s a hellhound.”