Chapter 15: My wicked bones

(NICK NOLAN)

Blaire kneels in the middle of the crossroad, glancing down all the roads quickly. It’s already dark, so headlights will be visible from afar, giving her enough time to react to oncoming traffic. She opens the small tin can to inspect the contents for the hundredth time since this morning. It contains a small photo of her, a chicken bone from her last meal, a bit of soil in the bottom. This she collected about an hour ago from a graveyard after a visit to a health store for dried yarrow flowers.

She snaps the box close, feeling a chill run down her spine. This feels familiar because she has heard about it so often from Rad King, but this is also her first time, so completely new to her.

In Red King’s day, you buried the box in the middle of a crossroads to summon the devil, but with most roads being tarred now, a handful of soil on the tin is sufficient coverage. Red King did the ritual a few nights before they dragged him off to jail, but the Fallen Angel that responded never only laughed at his request for an audience with the Devil.

Blaire places the tin as close to the middle as seems fit to her, and empties the plastic bag of soil onto it. Then she walks away, settling to wait cross-legged next to the car’s front wheel. She hopes a decent Fallen Angel answers the call, or else she’ll need to repeat the summoning on the next night. You never know what you get with a crossroad ritual. The risk is high, but it is the fastest way to communicate with the Devil that is available when you are in a hurry.

Two hours later, a loud thud from the left shakes her from a light slumber. Her neck is stiff from the uncomfortable position, and she feels cold. She looks to the left, squinting her eyes against a flurry of dust hanging in the air. The familiar smell of burning in the air reminds her of home.

The angel is larger than she expected. It wears only a white Roman Empire skirt and leather sandals. Its skin is dark brown, and scaled like a snake’s. The eyes are two shiny black orbs. Behind it, two enormous wings scraped the ground. The feathers were white, but scorched.

Blaire slowly stands, unsure if she should greet it by hand. It walks towards her, shaking the colossal head from side-to-side.

“It’s unnecessary,” he says. “You don’t even need to greet me. Nobody ever does.”

“May I at least start by thanking you for responding so quickly?”

“That isn’t necessary either, but thank you anyway. Are you sure about what you want?”

Blaire nods. “If you can read my mind, you know why I want it too,” she says.

He scrutinizes her with those dark orbs until she can’t stand it, and turns away.

“Look, this is a serious request,” she says. “I know what I’m doing.”

He laughs aloud. The sound is rich, warming the cold inside her. “I have heard that before,” he says.

She turns back to look at him. He reaches out one hand to her head, but doesn’t touch her.

“May I touch you?” he asks. “I’ll be careful. It’s easier to read your memory that way.”

She nods. “Will it hurt?”

“Not if I’m careful, and if you consent.”

She smiles. “Well, thanks for asking, then. Go ahead.”

His fingers are icy cold, despite the fact that his feathers are still smoldering. The contact lasts barely a minute and is so soft she hardly feels it.

“Fine, I’ll set it up. There is a town about twenty miles that way,” he says, pointing to the east. “Find the only bar and wait in the last booth. I’m not sure when it will be, or even if he will come. Fallen Angels can only place a request, but it’s up to the Devil if he wants to respond. If he didn’t show up by midnight on the third day, just go home.”

She smiles up into his face. “Thank you.”

“I’m not promising anything.”

“I know. But I appreciate that you at least listened to me, and will ask him.”

“Well, sinner, you got my undivided attention,” the Devil whispers. “Now, keep it.”

To Blair the words sound raw, as if someone dragged his voice over four miles of dirt road to get to her ears. They are at a booth in a smoke filled pub early on a Wednesday morning. The Devil looks like he just came from a fashion shoot. Purple velvet suit. Gold silk shirt. Top hat. All ten fingers adorned with rings. Nails painted black. Long dreadlocks and a Southern drawl. He snaps his fingers, and a pipe appears out of nowhere. He hooks it over his bottom lip, never taking his dark eyes off of her.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

She watches him smoke without a word. He winks at her.

Blair snickers. “Sinner? Sure, I’ll take that. I’ve done plenty to earn the title. I’m wicked down to the bone.”

The Devil sneers at her with an eye roll. “So why did you summon me?”

“Because I need your help.”

“I’m not the entity you are looking for,” he says, rolling yellow eyes upward. “The other side usually takes requests. You should try them.”

Blair snuffs the air, sweeping the room with her eyes to find those who guard him. “First of all, I’m not looking for forgiveness or mercy. Secondly, you will definitely help me.”

He lifts an eyebrow and exhales a cloud of gray smoke that engulfs them both in a cherry smelling embrace. It vaguely reminds her of grandfather sitting in the rocking chair on the front porch, staring off into the distance, reminiscing. Those were the only times when he smoked.

“Enlighten me on why this is?” His voice rumbles like an avalanche rolling down a mountain.

Blair lifts her hand, pricking the fleshy part of her thumb. Catching his now liquid yellow eyes, she offers the blooded member to him. He leans in with a seductive smile, curling the corners of his mouth. His serpentine tongue flicks out, swirling around the thumb, lifting the red drops. He has some snake in him too, apparently. Red King never mentioned this.

A slow seductive smile spreads across his mouth. He looks good enough to eat. “I see. You are a child of an old, dear friend of mine.”

She flashes him her best smile and leans forward. “He said if I ever needed help…”

He waves a hand at her, inhaling deeply from the pipe. “Like I already said, I’m not interested in restoring you or anyone else to a good standing with your conscience. If you want to be righteous, better apply elsewhere.”

“Fuck that and fuck you,” Blair snorts. “I don’t want redemption. I don’t want to be guilt free. I don’t need you to tame me, or forgive me, or even to restore my soul to innocence.”

He shrugs. “Good to hear. I’m not into the business of mercy.”

“I’m not here for myself.”

“Ahhhh,” he sings the word. “You want vengeance.”

“For my people. What happened to them is atrocious.”

He swirls a wine glass with deep red liquid. It might be red wine. It might be fresh blood. It might be some potion. Or elixir from the gods.

“Some might say that what happened to your people is your fault.”

Blair downs the amber rum in one gulp, wincing at the burn. “No. It isn’t. Bykov’s vengeance should have been against me, not the Natharas as a group. I’m sure they want to hang me, or burn me at the stake, or flail me slowly over a fire. Whichever method they choose, I know they want me dead. They lost a son. I don’t blame them for that at all.”

He twirls his hand in the air. “From here, where I’m sitting, you will soon be with me, anyway. Why should I get involved at all?”

“Because no matter what the outcome is, in the end you win whether I live or die.”

Silence grows between them. With a snap of his fingers, their glasses refill. Blair leans forward to reach hers. This time she swirls the glass, inhaling the aroma of the rum. It is the good shit, so she takes a small sip, enjoying the taste.

“And let’s not ignore the probability of my death is much higher than me living a long and prosperous life.”

“Eventually you’ll die,” he says. “But not too soon. Red King was a good friend. I respected him. Liked him too. Not a lot of humans about whom I can say those words. That is why I invested so much into him and his legacy. The Farm flourished and his people with him. I visited him there often. Now you are all that is left of him. You will rebuild his work. And you will continue the lineage.”

Blair rolls her eyes with a snicker. “That is, if I can find a man that will put up with me. Remember, I killed the last one.”

“There is one among the bulls,” he says softly, peering into the red liquid in his glass. “That will be the one I suggest for you. But it’s not a command, though, only a suggestion. You can take anyone you want.”

“What makes you think I’ll leave a bull standing? Why should I show them mercy? They didn’t have mercy on my people. And I had an agreement with Vasiliev. I had ten days of grace. A last meal with my family.”

“You don’t know what really happened,” he says.

Blaire snorts, not feeling guilty about the unladylike gesture. “Then tell me.”

He shakes his head; the dreadlocks swinging from side-to-side. In the smoky dark room they look like snakes. “I don’t have the time or the will to explain, but I will help you. For Red King’s sake. And for the future of the Napharas. I don’t like to see greatness go extinct.”

She smiles, satisfied. “How will you help?”

“A potion,” he tells her. “That is your style, isn’t it? We’ll put it in your blood, like I did with Rad King’s favor.”

Placing the empty glass down softly, she plants her elbows on the table, leaning forward. “What do I need?”

He snaps those long fingers. A piece of paper appears out of nowhere. It hangs in the air between them. He nods at it. Carefully she plucks the note, as if it were a flower, folding it without peeking. Then she shoves it into her bra.

“Once you have everything ready, meet me here again. I’ll leave the guy at the bar counter here. He’ll call me when you arrive.”

She glances over at the bar counter. “Which one is it?”

“The one with the funny cauliflower ears and the bald head.”

The man is sitting sideways on the last barstool, his back to the door. As if he can hear their conversation, he lifts a hand, waves at her, and then turns away.

“I’ll be back soon,” she says. “As soon as I have everything you need. Don’t I need to sign something? People always sign when they trade their souls.”

He shakes his head from side-to-side. “This one is gratis. In memory of a good friend. I want to see his legacy live on, but if you ever come back…”

She rises quickly, feeling a sense of urgency growing inside her. The Devil will help her, like he helped her grandfather. She steps away from the table, but then turns back to look at him.

“What is the man’s name?” Blaire asks.

“Which man?”

“The one in the Bull Tribe that you think I should take for a husband.”

“Not just me,” he says. “Red King wanted him too, but he never said anything because you always said you don’t want to marry or have children. And then you married that little twerp.”

She chuckles. Luka was a little twerp, alright.

“They named him Fighter,” the Devil says. “Fighter and Battlefield. Boris and Blaire. I think you’ll be the perfect couple.”