Working for the Devil

"Christ," Eddie snorted. "And a partridge in a pear tree. Want her fucking left kidney too, Da

I ignored him, but the demon shifted his weight, standing right behind me. My left shoulder throbbed, a persistent fiery ache.

Gabe's dark eyes half-lidded, and she inhaled more smoke. "I can get you the para waiver and one H-DOC and maybe an omni, but a plug-in… I don't know. This doesn't constitute new evidence."

"What if I made a donation?" I asked. My rings spat and crackled. "This is important."

"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped. "What the fuck, Da

I accepted my tea from Eddie, who slammed a pink flowered ceramic mug down for the demon. My mouth quirked, turned down at the corners. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just… Doreen, you know."

"I know." Gabe flipped over another page. "I can't get a judge to sign a plug-in for you on the basis of this… but I can ask around and see what the boys can do on the unofficial side. Might even be able to get you some backup. What do you say?"

"I work alone." I jerked my head back at Jaf. "The only reason I let him tag along is because I've been forced into it. You should have seen it, Gabe. It was awful."

She shuddered, a faint line begi

I had never asked who her personal psychopomp was. Now I wondered. It wasn't a polite question—each key to unlock Death's door is different, coded into the deepest levels of breath and blood and consciousness that made up a Necromance. It was like looking in someone's underwear drawer to the nth degree.

I blew across the top of my tea to cool it. Gabe flipped grimly through the rest of the file. Her fingers shook a little; she tapped hot ash into a small blue ceramic bowl. Eddie hovered in the kitchen, ru

"Gods above and below," she said, finally. "Can that thing actually track Santino?"

I half-turned on the stool. Jaf's eyes met mine. Had he been watching the back of my head? Why?

"Can you track him?" I asked.

He shrugged, spreading his hands again to indicate helplessness. I glared at him. "Ah." He cleared his throat. It was the first almost-human sound I'd heard from him. "Once I am close enough, I can track him. The problem will be finding the part of your world to look in."

"I need a plug-in to get information on who's in whatever town I go to," I said softly, swiveling back to look at Gabe. "The nightside will help me trace him, especially if he's up to his old tricks. Dacon can do me up a tracker, but if Santino's a fucking demon and notices me using Magi magick, he might be able to counter." I paused. "Hard."

Gabe chewed at her lower lip, considering this. She looked over at Eddie, finally, and the Skinlin stilled. Motionless, barely even breathing, he stood in the middle of the clean blue-tiled kitchen, his blunt fingers hanging loosely at his sides.

She finally looked up at me. "You'll get your plug-in. Give me twenty-four hours."

I nodded, took another sip of my tea. "Good enough. I'm going to visit Dacon and the Spider, and I need to kit myself out. Has Dake moved?"

"You kidding? You know him, can't stand to walk down the street alone. He's still in that hole out on Pole Street," she answered. "You've got to get some sleep, Da

I shrugged. "I don't think I'll get much sleep for a while. Not until I rip his spleen out—Vardimal, Santino, whoever he is. Whatever he is."

"If he was a demon, why didn't we know?" Gabe tapped her short, bitten nails against her swordhilt.

I tipped my head back, indicating Jaf. "He says Santino's a scavenger, and they aren't allowed out of Hell. This one escaped with something Lucifer wants back."

"Great." Her mouth turned down briefly. "One thing, Da

My rings spat green sparks. It was small consolation that Gabe understood how much more dangerous the demon was than me. I would have thought she'd be a little more understanding, knowing what it was like to be pointed and sneered at on the street.

But then again, a demon was something different. "He's not a thing," I remarked acidly, and Japhrimel gave me a sidelong look. "He's a demon. But don't worry, I won't."

CHAPTER 12

I needed to shake out the fidgets and think, and I thought best while moving. I doubted the demon could ride a slicboard, so we walked. The demon trailed me, his boots echoing against pavement. My fingers locked so tightly around my scabbard they ached.

Bits of foil wrappers and discarded paper cups, cigarette butts, the detritus of city life. I kicked at a Sodaflo can, the aluminum rattling against pavement. Little speckles from quartz in the pavement, broken glass, a rotting cardboard Cereon box, a pigeon hopping in the gutter, taking flight with a whir of wings.

Two blocks fell away under my feet. Three.

"That went well," Jaf said finally.

I glanced up at him from my boot toes. "You think so?" I settled my bag against my hip. "Gabe and I go way back."

"Gabe?" His tone was faintly inquiring. "And you're… Da

"I had a classical humanist for a social worker." I stroked my swordhilt. "I tested positive for psionic ability, got tossed into the Hegemony psi program. I was lucky."

"Lucky?"

"My parents could have sold me as an indentured, probably in a colony, instead of having me in a hospital and automatically giving me to the foster program," I said. Though a colony would have been preferable to Rigger Hall. For a moment the memory—locked in the cage, sharp bites of nothingness and madness against my skin; or the whip burning as it laid a stroke of fire along my back—rose to choke me. The Hall had been hell—a true hell, a human hell, without the excuse of demons to make it terrifying. "Or sold me to a wage-farm, worked until my brain and Talent gave out. Or sold me as a breeder, squeezing out one psi-positive baby after another for the colony program. You never know."

"Oh."

I looked up again, caught a flash of his eyes. Had he been looking at me? His profile was bony, almost ugly, a fall of light from a streetlamp throwing dark shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. His aura was strangely subdued, the diamond darkness folding around him.

Like wings.

I was lucky. I didn't know who my parents were, but their last gift to me had been having me in a hospital and signing the papers to turn me over to the Hegemony. Even though the Parapsychic Act was law and psis were technically free citizens, bad things still happened. Psis were still sold into virtual slavery, especially if their Talent was weak or their genes recessive. And most especially if they were born in backroom clinics or in the darkness of redlight districts and slums.

His black coat made a slight sound as he moved. He had a habit of clasping his hands behind his back while walking, which gave him a slow, measured gait. "So what do you do?" I asked. "In Hell, I mean. What's your job?"

If I thought his profile was ugly before it became stonelike and savage now, his mouth pulling down and his eyes actually turning darker, murderously glittering. My heart jumped into my throat, I tasted copper.

"I am the assassin," he said finally. "I am the Prince's Right Hand."

"You do the Devil's dirty work?"

"Can you find some other title to give him?" he asked. "You are exceedingly rude, even for a human. Demons do not conform to your human idea of evil."

"You're an exceeding asshole, even for a demon," I snapped. "And the human idea of evil is all I've got. So what is such an august personage doing hanging out with me?"