CHAPTER Eight THE DEAL
“You let a witch out-bargain you? You’re my blood, Elora Rose. You can make a better deal than that.”
Deliverance crossed his arms over his chest as he prepared for a protracted period of obstinance. Rosie hoped to head that off before he dug in.
She shook her head. “Don’t go all inflexible on me or we’re not gonna get anywhere. This is the best deal I can get. The witch is set on her terms.”
“This is the best?” He sounded incredulous. “This can’t be the best. It’s a toss up which is worse. That or the curse.”
“I don’t know what you did to her, but she’s still bothered, even after all this time.”
“I don’t know what I did to her either! What’s her name?”
“Sixt Guerre des Fees. But I don’t think she’s French.”
He shook his head to indicate there was no recollection of anyone by that name. “Nothing. What does she look like?”
“Teuton. Fair. Red hair. Blue eyes. Looks twenty-five or thirty.” Judging from Deliverance’s blank look, she knew it wasn’t ringing a bell.
“You didn’t agree to nice.” It was a request for confirmation.
“Nope.” She shook her head. “You have to be there, but you don’t have to like it or act like you do.” Rosie brightened. “Maybe she’ll get tired of you and throw your hex-freed self to the curb. Ahead of schedule.”
“She wants me to be her butler,” he gritted, “for a year and a day. Then…” He gave Rosie a smile she’d never seen before, and she shuddered visibly in spite of knowing that the demon with the wicked look on his face had a side that was a benevolent grandpop. “I’ll be free. And we’ll see how many ways this witch can beg for mercy.”
“Grand…” Rosie wasn’t sure what she was going to say next. This heretofore unseen side of Deliverance made her uncomfortable. “If you’re going to hurt her, I guess I couldn’t blame you, but I also don’t want to know about it.”
In an instant Deliverance had resumed the relaxed personae Rosie was accustomed to seeing. “Know about what?”
She nodded. “Good.”
“When does this year and a day sentence begin?”
“Noon tomorrow.”
“Did she name a time zone?”
Rosie had to give him props. That was an easy loophole, but a wrong choice. “Pick your battles, Grand. Eyes on the prize. The important thing is not the deal. It’s getting the curse lifted.”
“That sounds right.” He sighed. “But it feels wrong.”
“You can do a year standing on your head. Easy breezy.”
“And a day,” he corrected.
She nodded. “And a day. It’s a witch thing.”
“It’s stupid.”
“I can’t really argue that.”
“I guess you and Litha will have to come see me. If I can’t leave…”
“Of course.” She gave him a side hug. “And Dad. Don’t forget about him.” Deliverance made a face. She laughed. “Just kidding. He won’t have any trouble staying away. Mom and I will be around so much you’ll get sick of us.”
“Doubt it.” He put both arms around Rosie and squeezed. “I already miss not being able to pop in whenever I want.”
“You won’t miss the end of the compulsion though.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I won’t miss that.”
Sixt lived on the ninety-sixth floor in a forty-one million duplex penthouse apartment at 432 Park Avenue. It was sixteen blocks away from her office building. She could have lived closer, even in the same building if she wanted, but she liked the walk in good weather. It made her feel like she was still connected to the world. She even liked it in snow. When it rained, she could ride. After all, it wouldn’t hurt her driver, who was on salary year round to drive occasionally.
The flat had stunning views of Central Park, the rivers, and much of Manhattan. She knew most people would think it was close to heaven and how she wished that she cared.
She couldn’t remember the last time she cared about something. She’d been going through the motions of gathering power and security for a long time. So long that she never stopped to ask herself when there was enough to make her feel safe. There was no spark. No passion. No delight. Nothing challenging. Nothing unusual. Nothing interesting.
Until the demon’s granddaughter appeared in her office. Literally appeared.
Without caring that she was by herself, or maybe because of that, she laughed out loud.
That demon.
Truthfully, she’d been almost instantly sorry for the spell she’d cast. It was a childish, petulant, misdirected use of power. She would have gladly taken it back, but she’d cast the spell in his presence and it couldn’t be reversed without all the same ingredients in place. That included him. And she hadn’t been able to find him. Until now.
If she could trap him into staying with her for a little while, she might be able to find a way to apologize, make it up to him so that he’d forgive her. She couldn’t wait to see if she still thought he was the best thing ever spawned. If he took the deal, that was.
She was lounging on the plush custom window seat cushion in her reading room, wearing silk sweats made exclusively for Bergdorf Goodman and smart wool socks, when she thought she heard the doorbell. She set the crystal wine goblet on the table at her elbow and waited.
Ten minutes passed before there was a soft knock at the door. It could only be Graydon. It was late, a couple of hours past dinner, and the rest of the staff was gone for the night.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened quietly and Graydon stepped in. “There was a note on the floor outside the door. I don’t know how someone gained access to the private elevator. I inquired with the doorman and security. Both said that no one had come up.”
Graydon appeared less alarmed than he might have if he hadn’t been with Sixt for a decade. He’d seen enough odd occurrences to take unusual events in stride and not ask too many questions. One of the reasons why Sixt was so fond of him.
She held out her hand for the note. The paper was a thick linen mix that almost imitated vellum. She rubbed her fingers over it repeatedly, savoring the feel of a handwritten missive on fine stock. There was much to be said for new times. There was also much to be said for old times.
On the back of the square envelope was a large wax seal the color of blood. She didn’t recognize the symbol, but guessed it had something to do with that demon.
“Thank you, Graydon,” she said. He took that as his cue to leave and closed the door as quietly as he’d opened it.
The only indication that the message was intended for her was her name, first name only, written with an actual ink pen in a cursive style beautiful enough to resemble calligraphy. She knew it was the answer to her offer to remove the hex. She also knew it was unlikely he would go to so much trouble to say no.
She hesitated to break the seal. When, if ever, would she receive such a refined challenge to email again?
She glanced at the gas fire as she took another sip of wine, set the stem down, and opened the note.
I accept your terms with prejudice.
- Deliverance
She ran her thumb absently over the handwriting. After so many years, the beautiful demon would be forced to hear her out and forgive her. She couldn’t recall his face, but she did have a lingering sense that he’d been beautiful.
Seeing movement from the corner of her eye, she looked up. Ashes had taken human form for the first time in more than fifty years.
“We’re going to have to do something about that,” Sixt told her. “You look better without clothes on than I do and that just won’t do.” She stopped and looked at Ashes. “Maybe a spell that would instantly clothe you when you shift. Hmmm.”
Ashes never spoke, but she was able to communicate telepathically when she was in two-legged form. This is a bad idea.
“Clothes for you?”
Demon.
“Well, if you felt strongly about it, you should’ve spoken up sooner. Because it’s done now.”
Now.
“Yes, now. What do you mean now? It’s too late for your riddles.”
Careful. Careful. Demon. Demon.
Sixt looked exasperated. “Of course I’ll be careful. I’m always careful. Goes without saying.” At that Ashes melted to cat form, walked over and scratched at the door asking to be let out. “It’s a good thing for you that you’re useful magically. Otherwise, I might decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”
Ashes yawned and waited patiently for the door to open.
Sixt thought better about her comment to the cat. Perhaps a touch too harsh. She really needed to work on reacting without thinking. “You know I value you above everything else, right?” Sixt said, but the cat trotted away, tail high in the air and twitching. Sixt wished she knew how to interpret that.
She flipped the wall switch that cut the gas to the fire in the study and flipped the wall switch that lit the fire in her bedroom before sliding between fifteen hundred count Egyptian cotton sheets. She turned on her side and stared into the flames, satisfied knowing that she was going to be able to check at least one regret off her list, one less rash action to atone for.