The Sinner

Three

Night had fallen and there was a demon in my kitchen eating cereal.

I sat at the window at my tiny desk, crammed full of second thoughts. I hugged my elbows, not moving or daring to take my eyes off Casziel. He sat slumped at the island that served as my dining table, scarfing down spoonful after spoonful of cornflakes. A light breeze could shove him over, but sooner or later, he was going to regain his full strength. His powers , whatever those might be.

Be brave. This is your house.

I uncurled from the chair and forced myself into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. I leaned against the counter, facing my houseguest. Even unceremoniously shoving cereal in his mouth, he was ungodly beautiful.

Ungodly being the operative word.

“How long’s it been since you’ve eaten?” I asked, watching Casziel pile cornflakes on his spoon, spilling milk on the sleeve of Dad’s coat.

“Fifty years,” he said. “Give or take ten minutes.”

“What does that mean?”

No answer. I cleared my throat.

“You must be hungry if it’s been fifty years.”

“I don’t need to eat.” Casziel scoffed as if the idea were beneath him. “I don’t need to drink. I don’t need to sleep. There is nothing on This Side that I need .” He raised his eyes to mine. “Except you.”

A shiver danced down my spine and it wasn’t unpleasant. No one had ever needed me before. Certainly not a man who looked like Casziel…

A few moments passed where the only sounds were the demon noisily finishing off his bowl of cornflakes and pouring another, his third.

“I feel you watching me, Lucy De

“Well, gee, I only have about a million questions.”

Like what had I gotten myself into or if I were being epically duped.

Of course, you are, piped up that sneering voice. Silly Lucy, you think you’re special? Do you actually believe this strange man, who you let into your home , is a penitent demon trying to save his soul?

Casziel lifted his head, eyes narrowing. “Be silent, Deb.”

“Deb?”

“One of your demons,” Casziel said, going back to his food. “Nasty one, too.”

A wave of goosebumps washed over my arms and down my back. “ One of my demons? How many do I have?”

“Just two.”

“ Just ?”

“Two is nothing. Had you more, I might not have found you.”

He found me.

Somehow, the idea didn’t scare me as much as I thought it should. Not as much as having two demons.

“The demon’s name is Deb?”

“And the other is K,” Casziel said. “Best to leave it at that. Demons love hearing their true names in the mouths of humans and will often come when called.”

“Jesus,” I shivered. “What do they do to me? I mean…why are they mine?”

“Not yours alone,” Casziel said. “They’re two of the most powerful in our ranks. Deb is Pestilence. Like an infectious disease. She contaminates humans and keeps them from fulfilling their true potential. K, the Smiter, wracks them with fear if they try anyway.”

“That’s…horrible.”

Casziel shrugged. “That’s their job. Sin. Vice. Immorality. Laziness. What you call ‘deadly sins’ are our stocks-in-trade.”

“What is your stock-in-trade?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“Wrath.”

He said it flatly, with no pride or arrogance but no remorse either. My gaze traced his scars that peeked above the collar of the trench coat. The dream whispered of bloody stones and screams, then faded again.

“Have you ever…killed anyone?”

“In life, yes,” Casziel said. “I was a warrior.”

“You were human? With the feathered wings, I thought maybe you were a…fallen angel.”

It sounded just as crazy to say it out loud as it did in my mind.

He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “No, I had a life, once. A long time ago. I was a commander of armies. Now, my armies do not wield swords; we incite battle among humans. We fuel the rage in men’s hearts. The wrath. ”

“You don’t sound very sad about it.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he said and went back to his cereal, leaving me to glance over my shoulders for “Deb” and “K.”

How many times had I heard their whispers? The ones that told me to keep my ideas for removing plastic out of our oceans to myself because surely someone smarter and cleverer than me was already on it. Or how, when Jana Gill asked me to go out with the gang after work, I always declined for fear of embarrassing myself. Or how, when I worked up the courage to talk to Guy Baker, the whispers would start that there was nothing Silly Lucy could say he’d want to hear.

“That’s what demons do?” I asked after a minute, anger tightening my voice. “Keep humans down? Send us to war or make us feel crappy about ourselves?”

“Demons can’t make you do anything,” Casziel said. “We insinuate. Influence. Cajole. We stoke the fires of your sloth, or wrath, or jealousy, then feed off it. Whether or not you act on our insinuations is entirely up to you, though you rarely believe that. Our greatest victory was convincing humans they have no control over their reaction to adversity.” He tapped his chin. “Asmodeus earned himself a promotion for that one.”

This is a dream. I’m going to wake up. Any second now…

I took a long pull of cold water. “Are there many demons on This Side?”

“Not many. Perhaps a few thousand at any given moment.”

“ Thousand ?”

“We are legion,” he said. “And you’re out of cornflakes.”

“I’ll put it on my list,” I murmured as Casziel wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and slipped off the stool to wander my living area.

He tapped his long fingers on my window. “Does this unlock?”

“Yes, but…”

He pushed it open.

“I only leave it cracked in the summer,” I said, reaching to shut it again. “It’s not safe—”

“None dare hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

The casual menace in his voice sent another tingle down my spine. I’d never had a man—or reasonable facsimile thereof—vow to protect me like that. As if, under his watch, my safety was a forgone conclusion.

It felt good.

Casziel carried his inspection of my tiny studio into the sleeping area, leaning to peer at the photo on my nightstand. My dad and me at Coney Island when I was ten.

“Ah, so he smiles,” Casziel muttered. “I was begi

“Dad’s here right now?”

“Yes and no. Here is a relative term.”

“I thought you said—”

Casziel flapped a hand irritably as he perused my bookshelf that was crammed full. “He’s always here and he’s also somewhere else. Everywhere and nowhere.” He cocked his head, listening, then scoffed. “I beg to differ.”

“He’s talking to you now?”

“He says I’m being vague on purpose. As if it were that easy to explain the nature of the cosmos to a puny human brain for which ‘truth’ is only that which the senses perceive.”

“That’s a little harsh,” I said. “Plenty of people have faith.”

Casziel snorted. “On the surface. On their knees once a week, if that.”

“You have a dim view of humanity.” I crossed my arms. “It’s hardly fair to incite humans to war and hate, to whisper in our ears that we’re not good enough or drive us to temptation and then get all judgy about it.”