At the shores of Italy, I had to book a ferryman to cross the waters to the island of Murano. Penniless and exhausted, I didn't have a clue how to achieve that. It occurred to me to tell one of the ferrymen that I was of a noble descent, that I was the main reason for the Blood Apple he was biting. But that would have only led to my capture, as I glimpsed a few of my father's soldiers around the shore—I didn't know how to identify a vampire then, so if they were around, I didn't notice them.
Watching the sun sinking low, I considered sneaking into one of the boats, disguised as one of the many veiled Italian women crossing over. It had been Angel's idea to wear a veil since we escaped so I'd go on unrecognized. But I couldn't do it. Not because of my cowardice or inexperience, but because of my fear of water.
I wasn't going to try and see my reflection in the waters anyway. My family, in spite of our differences, still meant a lot to me. It was also too dark at the shore after the sun had died in the nighttime waters. But the shaky and small boat didn't offer much safety, and my unreasonable fear of the unknown—the water—knew no salvation.
I ended up standing helpless at the shores, watching everyone merrily crossing over to Murano as if they were taking their boats over the River Styx, but crossing over to heaven.
"I could help you for a price," I heard someone say.
When I turned around, I saw a thin and scruffy man in a purple suit. He looked more clownish than elegant, although the French nobleman's outfit suggested he was wealthy.
"How much can you pay to cross over to the bay?" His hands hung in the air theatrically, as if he were a ringmaster trying to entice me into a circus.
"I don't have any money." I didn't fear him. He was neither a Karnstein nor a Sorrow. Frankly, he didn't look like he belonged here.
"Who said the price is always money?" He smirked.
I pulled my veil tighter around me and took a step back.
"No." He flashed his hands again. "You misunderstood me, my friend."
"How can you help me, then?" I was desperate.
"I have a boat." He pointed at one at the shore. "And I only take one passenger with me. For a price, like I said."
"If you say I misunderstood you, then what price would you have me pay?"
"Nah." He waved his hand. "Nothing really special." He cocked his head. "I'm a nice guy—well, not everyone thinks that, but that's how I think of myself. I help people, actually." He glanced at the sky momentarily, and then his cheeks twitched. "Let me rephrase that: I help desperate people."
"What would you have me pay?" I insisted, thinking to get away from him.
"Your soul." He smiled. He wanted it to be a sincere smile, but it came out really awkward. Not weird, but as if he wasn't really good at what he did. "Would you mind selling me your soul?" He seemed desperate now. I almost laughed.
"Are you who I think you are?" I squinted in the dark.
"I have a lot of silly names," he said. "But I'm only trying to help."
"Help?" I chuckled. "You do dress silly, I must say. You're nothing like I pictured you."
"Really?" He was disappointed. "I was told this was the latest fashion in Europe."
"I'm really disappointed in you," I said. "I mean, you're so feared all over the world. How did you manage to make people fear you like that?"
"I paid a few people, generously, at the beginning of time," he said. "You seed an idea in people's heads for centuries, and you got yourself a place in history. Could you please not tell anyone?"
I didn't know what to say or feel. In my darkest moment, I got my release, laugh, and joy from a reluctant devil. How ironic was that?
"I could not tell anyone." I smirked. "For a price."
"Huh," he sighed. "That was good. Care to work for me?" he joked. "All right. All right." He waved his hands again and summoned the ferryman on his boat. "Skeliman! Would you please cross this woman over to Murano?"
"For free?" Skeliman sounded like an old, grumpy man. I couldn't see his face, as he was hiding behind the shades of night.
"It's a favor," the devil said. "Please?"
"Skeliman the Ferryman does no favors."
"All right." The devil walked funnily toward him, annoyed by the muddy ground on his new boots. "I will pay you myself. A golden egg. How about that?"
Skeliman agreed under one condition: that I didn't try to see his face. I said yes, as long as I sat in the middle of the boat so I was the farthest I could be from the water.
As I got to the boat, I turned to ask the devil a question I couldn't resist. "So selling one's soul to the devil is just a lie?"
"Of course not," Skeliman answered on behalf of the fashionably dressed devil. "A lot of people sell their souls to the devil. You should have sold your soul to him now, if you don't mind me saying. Better than selling it to…"
"Sell it to whom?" I asked.
"You don't want to know," the devil interrupted.
"There is someone else people sell their souls to?" I was curious.
The devil nodded silently, his hands behind his back. He seemed worried.
"You don't want to talk about H—" The Skeliman meant that mysterious someone, but choked on the last word. Was he going to tell me his name? "Only the sorrowful and unlucky have to sell their soul to Him. Let's call him 'Him' for now. I worry if I say his real name, actually."
"Why? Who is Him?" I asked.
"Darling." The devil approached and slightly pushed me into the boat. "It's better not to talk about
