Will

He had really hoped that Nyx would get bored and find someone else to exploit once she had fulfilled her bargain, but it seemed as though she was extracting great pleasure from tormenting him specifically, and not about to let up anytime soon.

He did not even want to begin considering what Sam thought about the arrangement. Nothing good, surely. And who could blame her? To her, it must look like… Except, of course he wasn’t, only… Then again, it wasn’t like he and Sam were… She was his friend, and he needed her, but that was it. Still, he didn’t want her to come to the wrong conclusions about him.

Feeling Sam staring holes in his back, Will focused on stirring the stew—more than was strictly necessary, really—and resisted the urge to check over his shoulder. He was sweating profusely, and not just on account of the cooking fire, either.

Sam had cleaned up a little too nicely for comfort, especially now that she was out of those terrible rags. Frighteningly enough, his hand-me-downs looked snug on her, despite the fact that he was neither short nor thin. She must have been eating about a cow a day since he’d last seen her, considering how strong she looked. She’d always wanted to be a superhero when they were kids, and now she certainly looked the part. Muscled and bright-faced, hair like burnished copper, a dusting of freckles across her nose. The very picture of innocence and strength crammed into one very solid package.

She’s exactly what the Frontier needs, Will mused, exceedingly pleased. I just need to get her to a decent level so I can start making use of her.

He felt a sting of shame at thinking of her that way, like a pawn to be shuffled around on a board. But then, would it have been any better if he had murdered her and bundled her off to another world for his personal satisfaction? At least this way, he had an excuse. It was the world that needed her, not him.

He did not sound convincing, even to himself.

Will’s stomach knotted harder, and he only barely stifled an anguished groan. He was not looking forward to the conversation he would need to have with her before the end of the night.

At last the food was done, and Sam helped Will set the table, the two of them moving about each other in furtive silence as they placed down bowls and spoons and mugs and bottles. He hoped his face didn’t look as flushed as it felt.

Miraculously, Mongrel went from completely catatonic to sitting upright the moment the cauldron hit the table, like a saint rising out of his grave. He reached for the ladle, and Will slapped his hand away with a low hiss.

“I’m not done yet,” he admonished, and held his hands out over the cauldron, palms down. Sam watched him curiously. “Prepare,” he said, and the cauldron rattled as a ring of steam shot out the top and its contents simmered momentarily, then returned to placidity.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Fuck,” Will muttered, mentally kicking himself. “I should’ve had you taste it beforehand, so you could tell the difference. Oh, whatever.” He took Sam’s bowl and began ladling stew into it, ignoring the reproachful look he got from Mongrel at the terrible injustice of not having been served first. “Prepare is one of the Cook’s signature skills. Very useful.” He put down her bowl in front of her, embarrassed that he had filled it nearly to the rim—though she did like her food, he remembered, and she would need to eat a lot while her body was integrating the influx of attribute points she had put into it. He did not know of another person who had allocated twenty at once before—he wondered if there were any dangers associated with that kind of leap.

Sam cut herself a thick slice of bread and dolloped on a glob of salted butter, then took a bite of it along with a big, heaping spoonful of stew. She chewed forcefully, taking quick inhalations to cool it down some, swallowed, and had the spoon halfway to her mouth again before halting mid-motion.

“Woah,” she said. “This is… so good.” She smacked her lips thoughtfully, went for that second bite, and nodded with vigor. “Fuck, what did you put in this? Nothing illegal, I hope.” She began elaborating further, but her speech soon became indiscernibly muffled by another mouthful of food.

Will could not help but swell a little with smug pride. “Prepare is a skill that heightens any edible it’s used on to its extremes. Use it on something tasty, and it becomes tastier. Use it on something gross, though, and you’ll only make it more gross. So only a Cook that can, well, actually cook can put Prepare to good use.”

“It’s all right,” Mongrel muttered, having served himself a portion and begun slurping it down, “but no one likes a braggart.”

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“Of course, our local Farmer-Builder Mongrel makes all the produce—the high-quality ingredients he provides are equally important for elevating the home cooking around here.”

“Really damn good, as I said,” Mongrel corrected himself, puffed up like a rooster.

“Although,” Will amended, “maybe I should give the credit to the boys, since they do all the work. Mongrel mostly sits on his ass all day.”

“It’s called ‘delegating’, son,” Mongrel said with an indignant sniff. “If anything, I have the toughest job around here, since I have to wrangle the whoresons. It’s not an easy job, I tell you.” He wagged a knobbly finger. “But, well, someone’s gotta make sure this place keeps running.” He gave a weary, put-upon sigh, then comforted himself with another few mouthfuls of stew.

“Where are the little devils, anyway?” Sam asked. “Won’t they be hungry, too?”

“Oh, they’ve got their own hut to themselves. They’ve been given their supper already, so I reckon they’re enjoying their mid-evening smoke session. Ah, but Number One and Number Two are keeping watch over the farm, making sure nothing goes bump in the night. They all take turns.”

“Does that kind of thing happen a lot? Bad things, I mean.”

Will cleared his throat. “Let’s just say most people choose to live inside city walls for a reason.”

“Oh.”

“Does that frighten you?”

Sam grinned at that, and her eyes shone like feverish blue flames. “What a silly thing to say!”

“Well, I understand your incredible talent for diving headfirst into trouble hasn’t lessened any, but it might be healthy for you to cultivate some sort of self-preservation skills.”

“So I don’t go and get myself murdered or something like that, you mean?” she asked, still smiling.

Will nearly swallowed his food the wrong way, cleared his throat noisily. “Ah… yes. Something like that, I suppose.”

“Don’t worry, Will. I can take care of myself.”

It seemed an insane statement to deliver with such utter confidence in a place like the Forlorn Frontier, but Will found that he believed her. Sam’s talent for tangling herself up in every mess she came across was no joke, but she was equally adept at smashing her way out of them again.

The way he saw it, the only reason she could charge through problems like she did was because she was too bull-headed to realize that she should be the one getting knocked down. Those kinds of thoughts just didn’t enter her head. He wasn’t sure what actually did go on in there, aside from… thinking about her next workout, or something. He had never quite shared her enthusiasm for picking things up only to put them back down again.

Nyx eventually came and joined them at the table, curling up cross-legged beside Mongrel on the kitchen couch. Will had made a point of not setting out a bowl for her, but she had taken the liberty of fetching one from the cupboard anyway. She took a helping of stew and two slices of bread besides, and drained two mugs of beer before pouring herself a third, burping against the back of her hand. Will ground his teeth, nurturing a cold resentment in the pit of his stomach. Demons did not need human sustenance to survive, but Nyx insisted on eating more than her share anyway. One day, he was going to find out how to hurt her kind, and when he did, he would wring her neck into knots.

Mongrel made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring at her breasts, the bowl-to-mouth back-and-forth of his spoon slowing to a crawl while he studied her naked form, humming appreciatively like an art critic admiring a sublime piece of art.

Nyx soon took notice of it, and tucked her arms back and thrust out her chest to give him a better look. “See something you like, Matthew?” she cooed.

Mongrel opened his mouth to reply, but Will cut him off. “Mongrel,” he growled warningly.

“Looking is nice, but touching is even nicer,” Nyx continued, undeterred, without looking in Will’s direction. She moved an inch closer to the ugly man. “Go on, Matthew. I won’t charge much for the privilege.”

Mongrel looked down at his hands like a man at war with himself, the—very small, no doubt—rational part of him trying hard to wrestle back his pathetically overdeveloped libido.

“Mongrel, you know what we agreed,” Will said sternly, trying to nudge his friend—because that was, sadly, what he was—back to sanity. However much of that Mongrel had ever been in possession of. “No one makes any more deals with the demon. None.”

Mongrel bristled, tucking his chin down against his chest. “I know that,” he grumbled. “I wasn’t considering it or anything.”

“Of course not, Matthew,” Nyx agreed, sounding entirely too amused. “I was just teasing.” She scratched him behind the ear with one long fingernail, and Mongrel swallowed hard while he tried—and failed—not to appear affected.

For some reason, Sam looked rather pleased about all this, nodding to herself with a secret little smirk before digging into her food with renewed vigor, heaping herself another portion that was barely any smaller than the first one he had given her. She really was hungry.

She had forced down three full portions by the time she finally called it quits so he could begin cleaning up, and if he didn’t know any better he would have thought she was looking around for dessert, the greedy guts. She patted her belly contentedly, and Nyx echoed the gesture. Sam shared a reluctant laugh with the demoness, and Will shook his head as he worked on scrubbing the cauldron clean. Despite her better judgment, she seemed to make friends with everyone she met sooner or later.

Then the cleaning was done, and the bowls were dried and put away, the mugs left out so people could nurse a drink throughout the night. And suddenly there was nothing else for Will to busy himself with, and he knew that he couldn’t keep putting off what he wanted to put off more than anything in the world.

“Sam,” he said, almost scaring himself with how serious he sounded. His breath hitched when she smiled up at him from her seat, and he had to take a moment to still himself. “Would you mind if we speak in private for a minute? There’s something important I need to tell you.”

“Oh, of course,” she replied quickly, running a hand through her short hair. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“Would you go and wait on the front porch for me?” he asked, blowing past her question. “I’m just going to fetch some things—I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“All right.” She sounded a little more hesitant now, but she was already standing up, chair scraping on the floor. “Just don’t keep me waiting, tough guy.”