Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 90(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
I stride through the crowds as they flee, and lean against the glass as the teller stares, unblinking.
I’ve conjured a dapper black suit, white shirt and of course, as cliché as it is, a blood red tie.
I look good. But, to the credit of the teller credit, he hasn’t fainted either from fear or awe.
“Who owns the property at 23 Widow’s Walk?” I demand, trying to keep my voice from instilling too much terror in this mortal.
His lip quivers, and he shakes his head. “Please…”
“Who’s in charge?” I try.
He lifts a trembling hand and gestures to some stairs. The other hand isn’t anywhere to be seen. An alarm of some sort? That’s adorable. As if his human law enforcement would stand a chance against me.
I nod, drop a few conjured gold coins on the desk, turn, and head for the stairs.
At the top, I find the office marked “MANAGER” and enter without knocking. The woman behind the desk jumps out of her seat, running for the window, then drops into a crouch when I step her way.
Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have a problem with suicide, but I need to conclude our business quickly, and figuring out who’s next in line of ownership would be more hassle.
“God, please save me…” she’s whispering, fingering a silver cross hung around her neck. “What’s happening? Oh, God…”
“The property at 23 Widow’s Walk,” I say, dispensing with pleasantries. “What do you want in exchange for the deed?”
“Twenty-three…”
“Widow’s Walk,” I repeat impatience making is hard to not stop her heart with a flick of my finger, then try to remember the original name of the house. “Wintermere. I want it. You’re going to sign it over to me. Tell me what you need, and make it quick. What’s the going rate? A lifetime of riches? A dozen virgins? The presidency?”
She stares, and for a moment I think she might pee herself. Then I see the sparkle in her eyes, and if I had lips, I’d be grinning.
Greed is such a powerful motivator. She forgot her religion soon enough.
“Wintermere,” she repeats, her breathing starting to calm. She still backs away from me, but this time she’s going to her desk. She runs her fingers over the keys of the device there, click-click-clicking, then nods. “23 Widow’s Walk. A fine property. In need of some renovation work, but the bank took possession of it—”
“I know all about possession. You are the bank’s representative. Tell me what you want.”
“Well, you’d have to pay the back taxes…”
I lean forward, and she lets out a little shriek as my face comes close to hers. “Don’t try my patience, mortal.”
“I…” The defiance enters her eyes, and I know I have her. “I want to never want for anything again.”
“Done,” I say, and hold out my hand. “Now, put the name of Eve Davenport on that deed, and be quick about it.”
And when she shakes it, I don’t bother pulling in my talons.
As I walk away with my signed deed to the property, exiting through the now-empty foyer and ignoring the distant wailing of police sirens, I envision how the next decade will play out for the bank manager. She will want for nothing, not because she has it all, but because I’ve taken her capacity for desire.
Those who want for nothing care about nothing.
Back at the property, I find Eve waiting for me with tears in her eyes. Those tears make me angry, and I swear to myself that I will work for the rest of my existence to ensure she never sheds any again.
She runs straight to my arms, and I catch her mid-sob, wrapping her close and holding her safe. “Where were you?”
“Keeping my end of our bargain,” I tell her, and pull the deed from my jacket pocket. I’m starting to enjoy human clothes, for their functions at least, if not for the way they cover my perfection. “Take this, and the house is yours.”
She reaches for it, then hesitates. “And you’ll stay?”
I open my mouth to reply, but as the words form a pressure builds in my throat and behind my eyes. Demons do not experience pain the way humans do, but Eve does.
Her scream cuts through the morning air, and I pull her close as darkness spreads across the sky. Not dark like night. No. This is different. This is a darkness rarely glimpsed in the world, and one that draws a snarl from my lips.
Swirling clouds gather, the air filling with ash as a form takes shape, and Eve finally starts to calm as He appears.
“Hurt her like that again,” I growl, “and I swear to—”
“To whom do you swear, Aios of Kharon’s Reach, if not to me, your lord and master? Am I not the one who made you as you are?”
Anger flares. He could end both of us in a heartbeat, but if He touches a hair on Eve’s head, I will find a way to take my revenge, even if I have to claw my way into the pits of His domain myself.