Working for the Devil

CHAPTER 10

I wanted to walk to Gabe's, and the demon had no preference either way. So we walked. The rain had stopped, and the pavement gleamed wet. At least it wasn't dark-moon—that would have been bad all the way around. I get cranky around darkmoon, even with the Espo patch to interrupt my menstrual cycle and keep me from bleeding while I'm on a bounty or just can't be bothered.

I stole glances at the demon as we walked down Trivisidiro Street. Gabe's house was in a bad part of town, but she still had the high stone walls that her great-great-something-or-another had put up. The real defenses were Gabe's shields and Eddie's rage. Not even a Chill junkie would intrude on a house held by a Skinlin and a Necromance. Skinlin were mostly concerned with growing things, the modern equivalent of kitchen witches; most of them worked for biotech firms getting plants to give up cures for ever-mutating diseases and splicing together plant DNA with magick or complicated procedures. Skinlin are as rare as sedayeen but not as rare as Necromances; most psions are Shamans. Another hot debate between the Ceremonials and Magi and genetic scientists: Why were Necromances and sedayeen so rare?

The only real drawback to Skinlin is that they are berserkers in a fight; a dirtwitch in a rage is like a Chill-freak—they don't stop even when wounded. And Eddie was fast and mean even for a dirtwitch.

The demon said nothing, just paced alongside me with even unhurried strides. It was uncomfortably like walking next to a big wild animal.

Not that I'd ever seen a big wild animal, but still.

I lasted until the corner of Trivisidiro and Fifteenth. "Look," I said, "don't hold it against me. You can't blame me for being cautious. You're just here to yank my chain and take this Egg thing back to Lucifer, leaving me in the dust and probably facing down Santino alone to boot. Why shouldn't I be careful?"

He said nothing. Laser-bright eyes glittered under straight eyebrows. His golden cheeks were hairless and perfect—demons didn't need to shave. Or did they? Nobody knew. It wasn't the sort of question you asked them.

"Hello?" I snapped my fingers. "Anyone in there?"

He still said nothing.

I sighed, and looked down at my feet, obediently stepping one after another on the cracked pavement. We had to wait for the light here, Trivisidiro was a major artery for streetside hover and pedicab traffic. "All right," I finally admitted, while we waited for the light. "I'm sorry. There. You happy?"

"You chatter too much," he said.

"Fuck you too," was my graceless and reflexive reply. The light changed, and I didn't look, just stepped off the curb, already planning how to ditch him after Gabe's house.

My left shoulder gave one hot flare of agony. His hand closed around my arm and jerked me back as a warm rash of air blasted up the street. The telltale whine of hovercells crested, and a sleek silver passenger hover jetted past, going well over the speed limit, a sonic wash of antipolice shielding making me cringe.

I should have sensed that, I thought.

I ended up breathless and stunned, staring after the car. Sooner or later a cop cruiser would lock onto it and the driver would end up with a ticket, but right now my skin tingled and roughened with gooseflesh. The demon's fingers unloosed from my arm, one by one.

My breath whooshed out of me. I wasn't focusing on my surroundings. I was too busy grousing to myself over being stuck with a demon. It was unprofessional of me—but more important, it could get me killed. I couldn't afford to lose my focus.

I closed my eyes, promising myself I would pay attention from now on, okay, Danny? It's no skin off the demon's nose if you fucking well get yourself run over by a frat boy in his daddy's hover.

I should say thanks, I thought, and then, If it wasn't for him I wouldn't be standing here, I'd be at home nice and warm and dry. And going on with my life.

"Thanks," I said finally, opening my eyes and taking a slightly calmer look at the world. "I know you're just doing what you're told… but thanks." I won't pull a stupid stunt like that again.

He blinked. That was all the response I got from him.

I checked the street and was about to step out, cautiously, when he caught my arm again.

"Do you hate demons?" he asked, looking out over the empty street. The "don't walk" sign began to flash.

I jerked free of his hand, and he let me. "If what you tell me is true, it was one of yours that killed my best friend," I told him. "She was sedayeen. She never hurt anyone in her life. But Santino killed her all the same."

He stared across the street as if he found the traffic signals incredibly interesting.

"But no," I continued finally, "I don't hate demons. I just hate being jacked around, that's all. You could have simply asked me nicely instead of sticking a gun in my face, you know."

"I will remember that." Now instead of «robot» he sounded faintly surprised. "Santino killed your friend, then?"

"He didn't just kill her," I snapped. "He terrorized her for months and nearly killed me too."

There was a long silence filled with city sounds—the wail of sirens, distant traffic, the subwhine of urban Power shifting from space to space.

"Then I will make him pay for that," he said. "Come, it's safer now."

I checked again and followed him across the street. When we reached the other side he dropped back to walk beside me, head down, hands behind his back while he paced. My thumb caressed the guard on my sword, wanting to pop the blade free.

If they were right, and I could kill Santino, this was the blade that would do it.

Wait until Gabe sees this, I thought, and found myself smiling, a hard delighted smile that would not reach my eyes.