Nothing happened at first. Kidd shot me a puzzled look, but I kept my eyes on the edges of the dark clearing. Our bad boy wanted to make an entrance. Demons always did.
Quite often, animal vision is based on movement. You can hide in plain sight of most creatures, so long as you keep very still. In the dark, humans are reduced to animals, the shades of gray and black blending into nothing, leaving us with only our most primitive instincts to guide us. And the first flicker of movement in the trees caught my attention instantly.
An old god stepped from the trees, moonlight casting dappled shadows over a stag’s haunches, though the moon should have been dark for days yet. Leaves and vines twined about the bare male chest, catching in the antlers atop a curly head. He came forward with slow, stately steps, a look of profound sadness on his aged face.
I smirked. Drawn by the feel of Mira’s magic, he’d chosen his form. It was a good show, to be sure, but if he was looking to awe and impress, he’d misread his audience.
I heard Kidd gasp when he first spotted the god-demon, and wondered what he saw. Illusion was easy, even for the weakest of demons. People were inclined to see what they wanted to see. I doubted this one had the strength to take on the stag-god’s form in truth, so Kidd most likely saw whatever his mind conjured when it thought the word “demon.”
When it got close enough, I reached in the window of my truck and flipped on the headlights. The demon drew back with a hiss, out of character with the wise and benevolent god he tried to ape, and shielded his eyes. “Rise and shine, Sparky.”
From the look on Kidd’s face, I was pretty sure he was about to collapse. I shrugged at him, armor chiming. “What, you prefer something more dignified? Into the light, I command thee, foul demon?” I picked up the squirt bottle and stepped into the circle of light.
The god-demon glared at me behind the shadow of his hands, but it would not cross that barrier between light and dark. As far as I know, the light doesn’t actually hurt them. But man, they don’t like it.
“True form now. Please.” Politeness costs nothing. Yet. To illustrate what was going to happen if it refused, I sprayed the spice mixture into the air, adding cayenne to the scents of wilderness.
The demon growled softly. “You come with threats? Who are you to command me?” The voice slid through my mind like an oil slick, oozing taint and power.
“Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.” That joke never gets old. I slay me. “True form. Now.” I changed the squirt bottle from mist to stream. It was like setting the phasers to kill.
It growled again, but the change was made. There was no mystic transition, no light show or swirls of smoke. One moment, he was simply one thing; the next, something else. That something prowled the edge of the light on four legs, and gleaming teeth glistened with the snarl. Hackles of ebon fur bristled in irritation.
I suppose I could call it a hellhound, but it just felt so cliche. It was definitely no Scuttle. I was dealing with a higher order denizen of Hell here, one I not so affectionately dubbed a Skin-that being what I wanted to turn it into.
The bestial demons were not the most powerful when it came to manifesting on this side of the fence, but their sheer physical prowess made them more dangerous than their humanoid brethren. In the war between good and evil, they were Hell’s Abrams tanks.
“I know what you are,” the beast snarled, pacing a few yards, then back again. “Slayer. Champion. Human weakling.”
“Hey, careful. My ego’s sensitive.” Watching the thing prowl the darkness, I thought seriously about putting down the bottle. My hand itched for my sword.
The hound sniffed in my direction, muzzle wrinkling. “The wards are not yours. I smell a female. You have no power of your own, fangless pup.”
To hell with it. I dropped my hand to my katana. None of them had ever sensed Mira before, and I didn’t like it. “I can show you my fang, if you want. Now, are we going to wave our dicks at each other, or talk deal?” Tact wasn’t my strong suit.
“I am here for a bargain, yes? For that one’s soul?” The narrow muzzle sniffed toward Nelson Kidd next. “Weak, diluted… hardly worth holding on to.”
“Then you can just give it back and we’ll call it good.”
The creature barked a laugh and edged into the light. With the concealing shadows stripped away, it was even bigger than I’d thought. It resembled a cross between a hyena and a wolf, with a large square head and hulking shoulders, but the size of a pony-a large, demonic pony. “I think not.” Its muzzle rippled when it chuckled.
“Name your terms, then.” I settled on the bumper of my truck, keeping my scabbard clear and being careful not to block the headlights. These negotiations could stretch on for hours.
“My offer is the soul of Nelson Andrew Kidd.” The demon went back to pacing. “What do you offer in return?” The stakes, that was always the first thing a demon asked for. They wanted their nice, juicy, Peep-flavored souls.
“My soul. The soul of Jesse James Dawson.” I swear I saw those black ears perk up at that.
The hound actually licked its chops in anticipation. “Your name is known to us.” Wonderful. My reputation preceded me. “Accepted. Name your next term.”
My right hand burned suddenly, starting between my first two knuckles. The smell of seared flesh filled the clearing. In the headlights, I could see a small black curlicue, no bigger than a snail’s shell, on the back of my hand. One down; who knew how many to go.
“Physical fight only. No magic powers or hocuspocus.” I couldn’t compete against something that could pop in and out of existence nearly at will.
It rumbled deep in its chest as it paced, a sound I took to indicate it was thinking. “You will forfeit your mystical protection then, as well. The female’s spells.”
I expected it-tit for tat. Calling for no magic was a fair deal, and Mira’s protection wasn’t going to stop a direct blow, anyway. My agreement to forego them would negate their power, with no effort on Mira’s part. No knowledge on her part, either. I wasn’t lying to her, precisely. And yes, I felt like a shit every time I did it. “Accepted. Next?”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as another portion of the tattoo scorched itself into my skin. Never let them know it hurts.
And so it went, back and forth. Negotiating challenge terms with a demon is rather like two attorneys picking a jury-an offer, a counteroffer, a veto. I had to be careful with my vetoes, though, because every one I used was one he could use, too.
And for every term, the contract was burned into my flesh. It covered the back of my hand and would probably reach my elbow before we were done.
I usually negotiated weapons first. As in, I wanted one. I’d never stand up against the fangs and claws bare-handed, no matter what my training. Preferably, I wanted something sharp or flaming; both, if I could get it. I’d roasted only one demon, but it had been a rather satisfying experience. I ended up with a “melee weapon of my choice.” (’Cause if I specified my katana, they’d find a way to break it, and then I’d be screwed. Always gotta be thinking two steps ahead.)
We addressed location, time, witnesses. I wanted secluded (less collateral damage); we settled on deserted. And while it may sound like the same thing, it most definitely is not. Semantics is everything with Hellspawn.
The demon agreed I could have a second-someone had to drive me home afterward since I’m seldom in any condition to do it myself-and waived that right for itself. Apparently, demons do not play well with others. I stipulated what was to be done with my sword, if I lost. It would be delivered to Ivan, not Mira. It was bad enough that Axel visited the house. I didn’t want any of these other creatures anywhere near my family.
The demon never stopped its pacing, but its mood could be told by the lift of its tail, the tilt of its ears. It conceded to some things it didn’t really like and was inordinately cheerful when I agreed to a challenge date “under the full moon.” A happy demon worried me, but I couldn’t think of any good reason to veto it. Nighttime was the right time, after all, with fewer witnesses and fewer chances for accidental casualties. And the two weeks until the moon came around again would give me time to truly prepare.
I wasn’t sure if it was early or late by the time we’d set all the terms we could think of. My right hand and forearm were covered in elaborate demonic art, evidence of the bargain I’d so carefully crafted. The smell had long
