have been more than twenty, and her skirt was hiked up so high I could almost see things I shouldn’t have even been paying attention to. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I’m guessing she wasn’t hired for her intellect. She barely looked up from texting on her phone to nod us in. Apparently Gretchen had an all-access pass.
Reggie himself was behind his desk when we walked in, preening in a hand mirror, and he stood up with a broad smile when he saw who it was. “Gretchen honey! What are you doing here? Did I miss an appointment?”
“No no, we’re just dropping in.” She exchanged hugs with him, then plopped herself in one of his comfy leather chairs. “We’re actually here because I need a copy of some paperwork.”
“Of course. Which?” He perched himself on the edge of his desk, but he couldn’t help darting a glance toward me. I smirked in my head, but kept it off my face. He was trying to figure out why I was here, what this was all about. Good. Let him wonder.
“My contract.”
He chuckled. “More specific? You have a lot of contracts, honey.”
“This one.” She held out her arm, displaying the writhing black tattoo. “I need to see some things.”
He raised one sandy brow, but nodded and walked to one of his file cabinets. “Are you…thinking of backing out?”
“I don’t know yet. I just want to see it.”
Reggie shot me a venomous glance at that, like somehow it was all my fault. Well, okay, it was. Suck it, just like my shirt said.
It took him a few minutes of flipping through files to find it. I didn’t believe for a moment that he didn’t know exactly which document it was. He was stalling, trying to figure out what we were doing and how to undo any damage I’d done. “Ah, here we are. But I don’t know how much good it’s going to do you.”
Gretchen took the offered document from him. Somehow, I’d expected it to be scrawled in blood on parchment, or human skin or something, but it was just a regular old contract, printed on legal-sized paper. Unfortunately, it was written in the scrawling demon script, and it wriggled as we looked at it. The only legible thing was Gretchen’s signature on the final page, along with a smaller version of the tattoo on her arm—the demon’s signature, so to speak.
Reggie stood silently, letting her flip through the pages—there had to be at least twenty of them. Long, detailed contract—before he cleared his throat. “Can I ask what you’re looking for?”
“The loophole.” Gretchen had her head down, so she didn’t see Reggie go a little gray under his tan. I did. “You remember the loophole, don’t you, Reggie?” She fixed him with a piercing stare when she finally raised her eyes to him. Maybe she hadn’t missed him going pale after all. Y’know, I had to admit. The girl kinda impressed me.
“It’s been a long time since I negotiated that one, Gretchen. I don’t recall any particular loophole.”
“Read it to me.” She stood up from her chair, thrusting the papers at him. Somehow, she managed to tower over him despite the fact that he had a good four inches on her, even with her in heels. “Find me the part that explains exactly what this loophole is, and why something tried to kill me today.”
His gaze shifted back and forth between Gretchen and me. I just crossed my arms over my chest and did my best to look intimidating. She had this under control, apparently. When he got no reaction from me, and Gretchen continued to stab him with her frosty baby blues, he sighed and leaned against his desk again.
“I can’t read the language, Gretchen. But, if I had to guess, the other assets that you’ve gathered over the last five years—”
“Souls,” Gretchen interrupted. “Souls I’ve gathered.”
Reggie nodded reluctantly. “Souls. I believe that the original intent was for those to go to the demon who offered you your contract. However, if there is anything in that contract that might leave ownership…ambiguous… well, that might be worth killing over, don’t you think?”
“Ambiguous how? How is ownership decided?”
Reggie shook his head. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t remember any such phrase when I negotiated this one. It may all come down to some interpretation in the language.”
Gretchen frowned. “We need someone to translate this, then.”
“There I can’t help you. I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “But if someone wants those surplus assets—”
“Souls!” We both looked at Gretchen in surprise when she raised her voice. “They are
For a moment, I thought she was going to slap him in the face. Personally, I kinda wanted to see that. Instead, she just shook her head. “I’m going to go make a copy of this. I’m gonna find someone who can read it.” She stalked out of the office, leaving me and Reggie to eye each other warily.
“You did this. She didn’t give a shit about that damn contract until you showed up.”
“You really wanna go there? Start pointing out who is to blame for what?” I raised a brow at him, and ultimately he couldn’t meet my stare. He looked down first. In man-speak, that meant I won. With a smirk, I started walking around, exploring his office. Golf trophies. Autographed celebrity pictures for just about everybody who was anybody in Hollywood. Framed press releases. Everything displayed in very careful order, very neat placement.
There were also some old books, the bindings so faded I couldn’t even tell what they used to say. I picked one up and flipped a few pages, just to hear Reggie hiss in caution. They were practically ancient, whatever they were. Handwritten in fading ink, the paper thick and yellowed. The words in it were English, but not the version we speak now. The kind where they put an e at the end of random words. Olde. Towne. Taverne. There were a few sketches on some of the pages, not professional drawings, just little idle doodles. I fancied that this was the journal of some medieval student, bored in his classes. On the next page, surely I’d find the equivalent of “Kilroy was here.”
