50. Chapter 50
Evie
The north road empties out once I pass the river bend, and Brindlewood thins behind me in porch lights and familiar houses until even those disappear, leaving nothing beyond the windshield except the narrow reach of my headlights and black fields pressing close on either side. I check the clock again.
Milo arrived a little after nine the night I summoned him. I think. I’d been more concerned with the fact that a demon had appeared in my living room than with checking the exact time. I’ve got half an hour before the deadline.
Maybe less.
My phone sits face-down on the passenger seat. Daisy’s been texting since I peeled out of Mom’s driveway. I flipped it over three miles back because watching her name light up the screen made my hands shake so badly I nearly put the car into a ditch.
The dashboard clock glows 8:31 p.m.
“Come on.”
I press harder on the accelerator, then ease off when the car takes the next curve faster than I like. Trees blur at the edges of my vision, their skeletal branches clawing toward the road.
My hands are damp on the steering wheel. I keep shifting my grip, wiping one palm against my jeans. I’ve got no plan beyond getting to Krell before he leaves. No idea how you begin a demonic bargain. I don’t know whether he can even do what I need.
I want Milo here tomorrow to tell me how irresponsible I’ve been.
I want him asking Daisy seventeen follow-up questions about some stupid Brindlewood legend.
I want him reorganizing my kitchen badly, leaving cabinet doors open, and hovering behind the front desk because he’s convinced every guest interaction is a learning opportunity.
I want another argument about whether six decorative pillows is excessive.
I want to find his glasses beside my bed in the morning.
Thirty days.
Put that number on paper and I sound insane.
It’s the beginning of a relationship, not the point where a rational person starts considering what her immortal soul might be worth.
If Daisy told me she was driving into the dark to bargain with a monster for a man she’d known for a month, I’d lock her up until common sense returned.
But I’ve lived every one of those days with Milo.
He didn’t arrive for dinner twice a week and take me on a handful of dates.
Instead, he dropped straight into the middle of it, seeing the inn before breakfast and after midnight, seeing me tired, controlling, furious, and frightened.
He learned the exact point where helping me became hovering and kept trying anyway.
He knows what I’m like when everything goes wrong.
I know how his face changes when he’s trying not to smile, how quiet he gets when something matters too much, how he pushes his glasses up when he’s nervous, even when they haven’t slipped.
I’ve known people for years who have never understood me as closely as he does.
Maybe that’s the soulmate part. This is probably what everyone means when they talk about meeting the right person and simply knowing.
A concept I always considered suspiciously convenient until it happened to me.
There was no sensible checklist. No six-month probationary period.
Somewhere between summoning him by accident and standing in my hallway today with his arms around me, the question stopped being whether thirty days was enough time to fall for someone.
I already did.
And if I drive home because this is dangerous, because Milo asked me to, because keeping my soul intact is objectively the more intelligent choice, I’ll still wake up tomorrow knowing I had one last chance to ask and chose not to take it.
I can’t live with that.
8:35.
The old toll factory finally rises out of the darkness at the edge of the field, its broken brick walls caught in my headlights, empty window frames staring back at me. Relief hits first, followed by a fresh wave of fear.
Gravel spits beneath the tires as I swing into the lot. Something sharp cracks under one wheel, and I wince but keep going until the factory fills the windshield. I throw the car into park and look at the clock again.
8:40.
I kill the engine. The sudden silence is awful. Without the road beneath me or the heater blowing against my legs, there’s nothing left to distract me from what I’m about to do.
I’m not sure whether this is brave or spectacularly stupid, and there’s every possibility that Krell is about to confirm the latter. But Milo made his choice when he decided my safety mattered more than what he wanted.
I get to make mine too.
I check the clock one last time.
8:43.
I grab my keys and step into the dark.
The factory door resists the first shove, swollen in its frame from years of damp. I put my shoulder into it, and the metal finally gives with a drawn-out groan that rolls through the building ahead of me.
I squeeze through, phone already in my hand, its flashlight throwing a narrow ray over broken glass and weeds forcing their way through cracks in the floor.
Moonlight spills through sections of collapsed roof, catching on exposed beams and the jagged remains of windows.
Somewhere deeper inside, water drips steadily into a puddle.
My boots grind over grit and broken glass as I pick my way farther in, one hand wrapped around my keys.
I have no idea what I think I’ll accomplish with them if something lunges out of the dark.
Apparently, terror has reduced me to the self-defense strategy of a teenager walking through a parking garage.
“You know,” a familiar voice calls, “for someone about to conduct crucial business, you do have a flair for arriving at the last possible moment.”
I swing the flashlight, and Krell steps out from behind one of the brick supports.
He looks absurdly untouched by the building around him.
The black suit is immaculate, shirt cuffs bright against the dark, and not so much as a cobweb has dared attach itself to him.
Only his mortal form has started to slip.
The warm brown eyes I remember are gone, replaced by a deep red that catches strangely whenever he passes through the moonlight.
“Ah. Yes. That.” He gestures lazily toward his face when he notices me staring. “We’re getting close to departure. Maintaining all the little human details becomes rather tedious.”
He notices the keys clenched in my hand, and one corner of his mouth lifts.
“Evie.” He checks an elegant watch at his wrist. “Eight forty-six. I confess, I’d almost decided you’d developed some regrettable common sense.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” My nerves are too stretched for his attempts at humor.
“On the contrary.” His grin widens. “I’ve always thought common sense was vastly overrated. Particularly in negotiations.”
I stop several feet away. Distance won’t help if Krell decides to do something horrible, but I want it anyway.
He nods toward the phone in my hand. “You can put that away. Unless you were hoping to document the occasion.” Krell clasps his hands behind his back and gives me a slow once-over.
“I’m going to save us both the tedious portion where you pretend you haven’t already decided.
Your original problem remains wonderfully solvable. ”
I open my mouth, but he lifts one finger.
“Hear me out. You keep the inn. Entirely yours. No bank breathing down your neck, no unfortunate surprise expenses, no roof deciding to surrender during the winter.” His tone turns almost conversational.
“And since we are pressed for time, I might even sweeten things. A little money beyond what you owe. Enough to make you comfortable. Good fortune for the business. Protection from the sort of bad luck that seems to find independent proprietors with frankly offensive enthusiasm.”
That gets my attention despite myself. Krell catches it immediately. His smile deepens.
“There she is.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t need to.” He slips his hands into his pockets. “You could stop worrying every time a pipe groans. Hire help without calculating the cost three different ways. Replace that ancient boiler before it attempts murder. Perhaps even take a holiday. I’m told humans enjoy those.”
“Krell.”
He smiles and continues as if I hadn’t spoken. “And all for the same price of your soul. Frankly, with the additions, I’m practically robbing myself.”
“I have objections.”
This time, he stops. My phone screen goes dark in my hand, and I have to resist the urge to wake it again.
“I’m not here about the inn.”
He tilts his head. “No?”
My heart is beating so hard I can feel it in my throat. “I want something else.”
“Well. That is a development.” Krell looks almost impressed.
“If you can give me what I want, I’ll sign.”
“My dear Evie.” His entire face brightens. “You really should have opened with that.”
“Can you do it?”
“That rather depends on what it is.” He smooths an invisible crease from one cuff. “But I feel obliged to remind you that you’re speaking to a demon whose profession is built almost entirely around obtaining things people have been told they can’t have.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No, it’s advertising. The answer is that there are very few requests I can’t at least entertain.” Krell steps closer, red eyes gleaming. “So. What would you like?”
“Can you keep him here?”
His brows draw together.
“Zavian.” My voice shakes despite everything I do to stop it. “Can you make a deal that lets him stay in Brindlewood? Permanently.”
Krell’s hand lowers. The factory is quiet except for water dripping somewhere beyond the ruined wall.
He studies me as if he’s checking for the punch line, then chuckles.
“You came all the way out here to bargain for him?”
“I’m not seeing the funny part.”
“No, no. It isn’t funny.” He presses his lips together, failing to suppress his amusement. “It’s simply so much better than what I thought you wanted.”
“Can. You. Do. It?”
Krell rubs a thumb along his lower lip. “Zavian is going to be absolutely unbearable about this.”
“What?”
“Forgive me.” He straightens, though the delight refuses to leave his face. “There are certain professional pleasures one rarely anticipates.”
“Krell.”
“Yes, yes. We’re in a hurry.” He glances at his watch again. “But to answer your question . . . There are ways.”
“You’re sure?”
Krell’s expression turns mildly offended. “Evie. I am many things. Imprecise about what I can deliver is not one of them.”
I stare at him, waiting for the catch.
“So,” he says, almost conversationally, “you want Zavian to remain in Brindlewood. Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“And in exchange, you’re willing to enter into a binding bargain with me.”
“I am.”
“Then we understand each other.” Krell’s smile deepens by a fraction. “Hell is exceedingly particular about language, but fortunately for you, precision happens to be one of my better qualities.”
That should worry me more than it does. Instead, hope has already gotten its hands around my judgment and squeezed.
“What do I need to do?”
His eyes brighten, and this time there’s no mistaking the satisfaction there.
“Very little. I’ll give you the terms exactly as they need to be spoken. You repeat them back to me without changing a word, Hell recognizes the offer, the contract presents itself, and you sign.” He tips his head. “Simple.”
There’s nothing simple about trading my soul, but I’ve passed the point where the absurdity of that sentence can help me.
“And that’s enough?”
“More than enough. You don’t have to understand every mechanism behind it. You only need to be certain of what you want.”
That, at least, is easy.
“I’m sure.”
“Good. Then repeat after me.”
I get the ridiculous urge to ask Krell for five minutes, even though we don’t have the time for that. Instead, I nod.
His expression sharpens with concentration. “I, Evie Feywin, acting freely and with full intention, offer—”
“EVIE!”