Chapter One

“And what will you do in return?” Bargaining for my brother’s soul with one of the Princes Of Demons was not my way of defining a good lunch. Then again, the past couple of days had been a whirl of unpleasant and undeniably strange things, so why not a meal in an expensive restaurant with Prince Daidalos?

In the taking of my brother’s soul, since I was his closest family, I had been sent a messenger to inform me of the transaction at four in the morning the previous day. Blinking blearily and somewhat warily at the stranger in my bedroom while he explained that Carter had done something indefinably stupid had been an unwelcome wake-up call, and in my shock I had not believed it, could not even conceive of what the ‘demon’ was telling me to be reality. I mean, demons? I was a writer, they featured in my stories often, but in real life? Even a writer knows where to draw the line and the tall, green-haired man with overly sharp teeth and reptilian eyes who had woken me up in the middle of the night had quite fairly crossed it.

It was, apparently, common practice to inform the closest family member since the aforementioned person who had lost his soul would be at the beck and call of his new demon Master and therefore not around to see his family anymore. However, in my somewhat desperate disbelief I had not cared about what was apparently usual and had frantically shooed the demon from my room and barricaded myself in, wrapping my body in my duvet and trying not to listen to demon calling for me to sign the release form.

Evidently the family member who was told would also be responsible for making sure that their lost family was not missed, as well as not telling anyone about where they had gone to, hence the form I was supposed to sign.

After hiding in my bed all night, with maybe a couple of further purely accidental hours of sleep, I emerged to find all trace of the ‘demon’ to be gone, with no evidence of a break in or, indeed, that anyone else had been in the house at all. It was easy to convince myself that it must have been a dream or a hyped-up hallucination – my brother selling his soul to the devil? Ha! – and I went about continuing my usual routine for the day, pushing the incident to the back of my mind.

I was half way through a bowl of cereal when the demon from the night before reappeared and thrust a clipboard at me; I almost sprayed him in the face with milk. As it was, I slipped off the stool I was sitting on in shock and nearly whacked my head on the counter as I fell.

The demon then frantically tried to explain to me that he couldn’t go anywhere until I’d signed the form – while trying to force said form into my hands – and that he would be horrifically (he babbled as he described it, but I got the idea) punished if he tried. Of course, I’m not vindictive and he looked so terrified that I eventually took the clipboard and pen he offered me and moved back onto the stool, pushing away the cereal bowl since I didn’t think I could eat anymore.

The gist of the contract that I read was basically that I was to clean up after the whole ‘lost soul’ incident, making sure friends and relatives had an explanation for his absence and afterwards not telling anyone about what I knew. The penalty was something horrible I couldn’t think of a name for, but which sounded rather painful. It was the section saying that I wouldn’t be able to see Carter ever again that gave me pause. Our mother died having me and Dad had died some years earlier, so we were all each other had left, there being very few relatives on either parent’s side of the family that we were in contact with. I was not the most sociable of people either and Carter was my best friend.

The long and short of it was that I asked the demon whether it would be possible to see my brother before I signed the contract, but because the deal between Carter and the demon had already been closed I had to go through the demon who made the deal in the first place. Prince Daidalos. Which brings us to the lunch that was scheduled in a fabulously expensive restaurant I had never even considered entering, with the demon who now pretty much owned my brother.

Before arriving my head was full of possibilities concerning what the great Prince looked like, wondering whether he was scaled or had horns or cloven feet, but in just looking at the restaurant he had chosen I knew that he either disguised himself very well or looked pretty normal. Which he did, when I finally saw him, at least from the neck up and the wrists down.

I was led to the back of the place, past extravagant glamorous parties of people, large and small, that made me feel silly and naïve in my simple pinstripe suit, to the demon’s table, which was tucked in at the back and mostly obscured by fancy wooden screens and flamboyant potted plants. The Prince was equally glamorous, though he dressed down a little more than the other occupants of the place; he had an effortlessly suave and sophisticated look, with a smooth, flawless clean-shaven face, pale green eyes and untidy blonde hair that made him look like an actor just come from a movie set. He was wearing a perfectly fitted (as I saw when he stood up to shake my hand) dark silver suit with a crisp white shirt and no tie, the first few top buttons of the shirt undone to show a tempting amount of flesh. He was the kind of person who had to be seen to be believed. It made it easy for me to dislike him.

His handshake was not the dominating handshake I had expected; with the obvious confidence I suppose he didn’t need it. I pressed a little more firmly than I perhaps should have, too used to subtle power games that were the common fare amongst my brother and his friends.

I didn’t actually see my brother until the Prince sat down, because Carter was kneeling on the floor beside the demon’s chair, hands folded on his lap and his head down. I froze in the middle of sitting, my eyes taking in the clothes he had been wearing three days ago when I last saw him, the pale grey shirt I had bought for his birthday rumpled beyond belief, and the dark rings around his eyes. I looked back at the demon, who was smiling congenially, and couldn’t help but glare before I looked back to Carter.

I realised then that this hadn’t all seemed real until that moment. I had been treating it like a small bout of craziness, going along with everything until I could expose it for the dream or hallucination that it was, but right then, looking at my brother who was so broken and forlorn, I could feel fear for him and, to smaller degree myself, swelling up within me.

The giddy consideration of what the restaurant thought of their guests kneeling on the pristine cream carpet in three-day-old clothes also flittered through my mind.

“Please, take a seat.” Perfectly smooth, gracious voice, though I thought I could detect a hint of command, almost unconscious as if he were used to giving orders and not as much used to being polite. I sat down, my eyes still on Carter. There was a pause before he spoke again. “Would you like something to drink?” My mind ran over a dozen different alcoholic beverages, my first considered response being a dozen shots of something that would strip paint off of walls. I felt I needed the bracing properties.

“Bourbon.” I said instead, going for my brother’s drink. I preferred softer drinks than that, sticking with JD or Southern Comfort, but we always drank bourbon together when one of us was upset and now seemed like a good time for it. “Him… too?” I finally looked back at the demon, trembling against my will under his suddenly heavy gaze, which was no longer simply polite. I thought for a moment that he was going to get angry, but instead he snapped his fingers and a waiter was at his side immediately. To my surprise, he actually ordered for Carter as I’d asked.

Silence fell between us when the waiter scurried off for the drinks, heavy and obvious. My mouth was dry and so were my thoughts, which were still stuck on ‘my brother actually sold his soul’. For the first time, words deserted me. The demon didn’t speak either, he seemed to be examining me or reading my expression (or maybe my mind, hell I had no idea what demons were capable of), his green eyes intent and slightly darker than they had been when I first sat down.

“Trista.” It didn’t surprise me that he knew my name, it had been on the release form after all, but there was some meaning in the way he said it that I didn’t understand and it made me nervous. I absentmindedly fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

The drinks arrived then, an almost hysterical giggle welled up inside me when the waiter moved around the table and put the second glass of bourbon on the floor beside Carter, as if it were perfectly normal to do so.

Carter didn’t look up or say anything, he didn’t move at all. His eyes were completely vacant and aimed at the floor, he didn’t even blink and it made me worry even more; was this what it was like to be without your soul? I shivered at the thought. It didn’t even look like Carter was in there.

The waiter bobbed his head and then disappeared again, leaving silence to fall over the table once more. I noted absently that the bourbon was dark in colour; it was probably well aged and many times more expensive than the kind Carter bought for us. I looked at it, but didn’t touch it, my attention moving back to the demon when he picked up his own drink and took a sip.

“It isn’t poisoned, you know.” The demon nodded at my glass.

“I don’t suppose it would be. It would be bad publicity for this place if I died by poisoning when my drink hadn’t been touched by anyone but the staff.” What was I talking about? My mouth ran off without the rest of me, my mind struggling to catch up and tackle it to the ground before it went too far. “Or maybe they’d like the gossip.”

“All publicity is good publicity.” The demon agreed. And once again I had to wonder at the strangeness my life had taken a dive into recently. I fell quiet again, my mind metaphorically caught up and strangling my mouth with piano wire. The demon glanced at Carter with the amount of notice one would give a pet to make sure it was behaving. “I suppose we should get to business.” He said finally. “I would prefer some conversation, however you seem a little too distracted for it.” He actually sounded genuinely regretful. “So, what is it you wish to discuss?” I paused, going through what information I had. This was going to be me bargaining with demons and although I had written scenes on the same subject before, the fact that the situation was real and not imagined and entirely under my control weighed heavily on my mind. I knew I was going to have to be extremely careful.

“I want to know why my brother lost his soul.”

“I’m afraid that is not information I can give you.” He said mildly. I thought about it.

“Could it be bought?” I asked carefully. His eyes seemed to gleam and I mentally shrank back in my seat, my body unfortunately unwilling to move.

“No.” The word was like a dangerous whisper of silk and it made me shudder and avert my gaze. I glanced at Carter again. I got the feeling that speaking to him directly wouldn’t do much good. The demon’s expression was no longer as hungry as it had been a moment ago, but his eyes had darkened another shade.

“If I wanted to help him,” I said slowly, thinking carefully, “what could I possibly get? Is there a way to free him?” The demon didn’t respond for a moment, he swilled his drink in its glass slowly, not diverting his eyes from me. I tried not to fidget.

“There is a way.” His tone made it clear what the price would be. A direct transfer, my soul for Carter’s. I didn’t like that idea much; it made me feel like my mouth was full of ash. I wasn’t brave enough to make that kind of deal, not when I had no idea what sort of… work I would have to do for the demon. Besides, just looking at Carter now made me feel slightly ill, I couldn’t knowingly subject myself to that, I hadn’t the strength of will. I crossed my legs at the ankles, feeling uncomfortable and angry with myself for being such a coward.

“What else is there?” I asked quietly, praying for something else, some kind of reprieve. I couldn’t do nothing. The demon tilted his head in an almost coy way. It made him look inexorably dangerous. Carter was the only reason I wasn’t running in the opposite direction.

“The best I could do,” he said slowly, smoothly, like tasting fine wine, “without taking your soul is to make him a demon.”

“A…” I considered. “What’s the difference between a demon and a human without a soul?” He smiled a predator’s smile.

“As a demon, lesser demon though he would be, he would keep his soul,” the Prince Of Demons said, “but he would work for me until his debt had been paid. For a soul… about ten thousand years.” The bottom dropped out of my stomach. He grinned, showing white teeth. “On the upside? It’s not eternity.” Which was true. It was much better than his current situation. Then again, I always argued against eternity being used to measure something. If he worked for eternity, how long was that exactly? I suppose it was ‘for the foreseeable future’.

“And what would I have to pay for that?” I asked after a few moments, feeling wary.

“What do you have to trade?” He smiled lazily, leaning forward slightly in his seat. I automatically leaned backwards. Trade? What do I have to trade? My mind went through physical possessions first, but the word ‘trade’ caught my attention and I realised that it could be anything. Even labour. I was a writer, could I barter with that?

“I could…” I stopped. I wasn’t a journalist or a translator or anything, I was a novelist who tended towards fantasy and horror. How on earth would that be worth anything?

“Go on.” I looked up from my musings to find that he was actually leaning on the table now, eyes gleaming and intent, voice deep and encouraging in a faintly disturbing way. I hesitated. What did he know that I didn’t? I glanced at Carter again. If I was too afraid to barter away my soul, then my writing would have to do, no matter what caused that terrible glimmer in the demon’s eyes.

“Well… I’m a writer. I could work…” I stopped. “How could I trade my writing for my brother’s soul?” Demon or not, he would still be my brother. And I would have reduced his sentence from eternity to ten thousand years. I winced, ten thousand years was still an awful stretch of time.

“Writing is an important commodity in the demon realms.” The Prince said, tilting his head and smiling in a way that utterly unnerved me. “Demons cannot write, we are denied that, but we have our language, our symbols…” He paused. “Your life,” he said, “work with our language, write for us, for the rest of your life, and I will reduce your brother’s time with me to ten thousand years and return his soul by making him a demon. He will be able to come and go as he pleases as long as he fulfils the tasks I give him, but he must not be in contact with any of his current family or friends other than you during your lifetime.” His eyelids drooped at my stunned silence. “After you’re dead of course, I will not hold you to keeping him on a leash.” He threw that in like he was being charitable. Which he probably thought he was.

“And that’s it. I learn your language and write for you until I die.”

“Yes.” He spread his hands. “It’s a good deal.” I wasn’t entirely sure of that; I couldn’t help but think that there must be something that I was missing, something important. My writing was worth the difference between ten thousand years and eternity…? But I had no one to ask, nowhere to turn for advice.

“I can continue my life as normal other than that?”

“As you wish. If, of course, at any time you grow bored with the mortal realm…” He shrugged and smiled.

I felt a little frightened at the precipice I was now standing at. On the one hand I would be giving up part of my life to a demon, but on the other I would be saving my brother from being a puppet. Though he would still be a slave even if he wasn’t a puppet anymore... I wished Carter was lucid and able to tell me what he thought; I was uncomfortable deciding something like this on my own, with no one to tell me if I was doing something wrong or not thinking of a certain angle of the deal I was about to make. And I knew I was about to make it. I couldn’t not make it. Not with Carter sitting there staring blankly at the carpet without his usual vibrancy. That was probably the only reason he was even there, the demon knew what kind of effect his presence would have. A bitter taste filled my mouth.

“All right, where do I sign.” I sighed, then jumped in my seat, a sheaf of papers suddenly sitting in front of me and a pen resting in my hand. The demon was smiling across from me, hands folded on the table before him. “I hope you don’t have any objections to me reading this a couple of times…?” He shook his head, still smiling, and waved for a waiter to get another drink.

I spent about an hour scouring the contract for details, making sure I wasn’t going to get a nasty surprise from the fine print or be held to something I wasn’t aware was involved. It was in legal-speak, but time learning the lingo for law-related parts of novels meant that there was very little I didn’t understand and nothing that I couldn’t work out from my patchy knowledge of Latin. By the time I’d been through it three times and still couldn’t find anything I needed to be too worried about (other than the obvious issue of working for a Prince Of Demons) I felt about ready to put my name to the page. I noticed that there was no signature for the demon opposite me, just a big red seal that included his name in two languages, one of which I assumed was the demon language. If it was the demon language then it looked difficult, the symbols were like a cross between Japanese and Greek. With some Korean and Cyrillic thrown in for good measure. I was going to have an absolutely stupendous time learning that, I thought sarcastically.

“Are you satisfied?” The demon was on his tenth brandy with no sign of getting drunk, something I knew I couldn’t have managed, with three of those I was beginning to get into the happy camper stage. The demon's eyes, however, were still sharp and intent.

“I am.” He made a gesture that said ‘well go on then’ and I sighed as I put pen to paper, amused that the pen was a promotional one from Riley’s pool and snooker bar for an instant, and then I signed my name.