“Nigellus is back,” he said, all of his loose easiness falling away, replaced by tightness.
My racing heart slowed, though the tension in my shoulders matched his. “Oh. Well, at least he didn’t come back while you had me tied up in the bath with your head buried between my thighs.”
He consciously loosened his posture. “A fair point.”
Too late, something occurred to me. “And... he probably just heard every word of that, didn’t he?”
Rans lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “I would imagine so, yes. The good news is, he’s usually quite discreet.”
I sighed. “Awesome.”
A few moments later, the demon in question entered the room, his dark eyes flicking over the images playing on the television. His gaze turned to me, one eyebrow lifting.
“Anne Rice despised that film adaptation, you realize,” he said.
I shrugged. “Really? Oh well, it’s not like she didn’t get a fat royalty check out of it for the movie rights. So, how’s my father doing?”
Nigellus looked drawn—almost haggard as he scrubbed a hand through his close-cropped hair. I shouldn’t have cared, but somehow it was still a bit disconcerting to see him in any other state than cool and put-together.
“He is well enough. Edward is with him. They seemed to be getting on—Edward is in his element with someone to fuss over, as I’m certain you can imagine.”
Despite everything, I took comfort from his words. For the dozenth time, I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my natural affection and trust for Nigellus’ soul-bound butler.
“That’s good,” I said cautiously. “Thank you for arranging it.”
“Did your business in Hell conclude the way you’d hoped?” Rans asked, as though the being in front of us hadn’t been secretly betraying his trust for centuries.
Nigellus’ expression went flat and distant. “Not particularly, no,” he said. “But, that being said—as long as the wards are in place, it needn’t concern either of you.”
“I disagree,” Rans shot back, a hint of steel creeping into his tone. “Anything that would concern us if the wards went down also concerns us while they’re up, Nigellus.”
Vampire and demon gazes locked for a long moment, neither backing down. I glanced back and forth between the two of them, like someone watching a tennis match. The silence stretched. Somewhat to my surprise, it was Nigellus who broke first.
He turned away, waving a dismissive hand as he paced the length of the room. “Myrial has already lodged a complaint with the Council. Not an unexpected move.”
“A complaint against me, you mean?” I clarified.
“Who else?” Nigellus replied. “As I said, though, you need not concern yourself. I will attempt to deal with the situation.”
But I wasn’t about to accept another pat on the head and a mouthful of platitudes under these circumstances.
“What if I want to lodge a complaint against Myrial?” I pressed, anger flooding me. “Does no one in Hell give a damn that she... he... violated the treaty once, and made a pretty spirited attempt to violate it a second time by shooting silver bullets at Rans in St. Louis? If I’m demon enough to get through the gate from Hell to Earth, don’t I merit protection under Hell’s laws?”
I was on my feet, fists clenched, not remembering when I’d risen from the couch.
“Politics,” Rans muttered from behind me, his voice tight.
Nigellus turned, so that his back was no longer to me.
“Strategy,” he corrected. “You are young, Zorah, and you were raised in the human world. I chose to prioritize your immediate physical safety over dealing with the matter in front of the Council, by bringing you here and arranging for the wards to be put in place rather than going straight to my fellow council members. That decision left an opening for Myrial to take. It was a calculated risk.”
My eyebrows went up. “Wait. So you’re an actual member of this Council?” That probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, I supposed. “What is it, exactly? The governing body in Hell? Does it cover the tithelings, or just demons?”
“Yes, yes, and both,” he said, with the air of someone who found the fact that he needed to have this discussion with me endlessly tiresome.
I took a moment to match the list of answers with the right questions. “Can’t I go and make an unrelated complaint about Myrial trying to bully my father into a soul-bond? He’s a titheling now, and you said demons weren’t allowed to bind tithelings.”
His lips quirked down. “I said it was frowned upon. There’s a significant difference.”
I caught Rans’ brief expression of surprise at Nigellus’ words, but he shook his head minutely when I shot him a questioning look. I let go of it and returned my attention to the current subject.
“Okay, fine. But even if trying to bind a human against his will isn’t a crime in Hell, surely breaking the treaty is. Call me naive, but ‘politics’ isn’t an adequate explanation for ignoring the fact that Myrial fathered a cambion on Earth a few decades ago, in clear violation of the peace agreement.”
“Perhaps it wouldn’t be,” Nigellus said grimly, “if a credible accusation were leveled by the Fae Court, with incontrovertible proof of the perpetrator’s identity attached.”
I tried to digest that. “So the demons only care about getting caught? Not about the law itself?”
“Elegantly put,” Rans muttered in a sour tone.
Nigellus shot him a dark look. “The governance of Hell is a complex system, and not one best understood within a human frame of reference. The behavior of Hell’s denizens is shaped by contracts and agreements, not mandates.”
I shook my head, frustrated. “Isn’t the treaty with the Fae both a contract and an agreement?”
The demon tipped his head in the barest of acknowledgements.
