Page 15 of Spit

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why? Do you need me to do a taco Bell run for you at 3am? Or fetch you some hundred-year-old scotch from a distillery?”

The demon turned in his seat until his gaze fell on me and my knees buckled as I felt the full weight of his attention. My shadow bristled as it slunk closer to put itself between me and the demon.

Though my null magic didn’t work on Rosie, I had never tested it on Mr. Bub. It needed touch to work, and I didn’t want to get close enough to try. My shadow was a different story, but usually, he shied away from the demon king.

“I need you to go to the Red City.” Mr. Bub stared unerringly into my eyes. I was locked in place under the pressure of his magic; blood roared through my ears as if I were next to an airplane engine. I couldn’t form a word, a thought. Nothing.

I was ten years old again, in my attic. A child in the face of an ancient being with more power than a tsunami.

“I can’t.” The words ripped from my lips, taking more effort than I would admit.

After the apocalypse, Red Cities sprung up all over the world. A place to house the demons that hadn’t wanted to go back to hell after the golden gates had opened. Red Cities were dangerous. The humans that lived in Red Cities were either living out life sentences in exchange for serving the demons or hedonists.

“This task is not up for debate.” Mr. Bub cocked his head to the side. “I require someone of your abilities in the Red City.”

“And you can’t go yourself?” My fingers twitched. I wanted to take out my gun and pump a bullet between his eyes. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would make me feel better. The demon was out of his mind if he thought he could force me to die in the Red City.

My shadow, reacting to my anger, coiled around me like a snake. Becoming invisible so it wouldn’t project its next move.

“When do you need me to go?” My eyes slid to the side as I debated stepping back through the door. The only problem was that I wasn’t sure where the door would lead—but it was unlikely to be the hallway I had just come from—demon magic worked in mysterious ways.

“Now.” He pulled his chicken closer to him, already disengaging from the conversation.

“After this, I’m done,” I told him. “I want your word. I have fulfilled my end of the bargain.”

Mr. Bub’s eyes flicked to mine. “When you have completed the job in the Red City to my satisfaction, then we’ll see.”

I shook my head. “No. I need your word—after this, we’re done. It's been fifteen years since we made this deal.”

“What is time to an immortal?” His lips creaked into a smile, revealing every one of his blackened teeth.

“I want to see my contract.” My jaw jutted.

“You are still a child.” Mr. Bub turned back to his chicken, dismissing me. “One day, you will see what I offer you.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. “What does the job entail?”

Mr. Bub cracked a smile, revealing his rotting teeth. “You are such a contradiction. It reminds me of why I love humans so much. You run and run, Alexis Boudaire, but you are always curious. You want to know the way of things so you can be prepared. You never try to solve problems by facing them, but you watch. You learn. You plan. Never making a move unless you are certain that you will succeed.”

“You sound almost impressed,” I noted.

The demon king hummed. “One of my demons is dead.”

I didn’t know if I should offer condolences, so I stayed silent and waited for him to continue.

“We called him Camio.” Mr. Bub clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Such a shame. Such power. Camio could force a man to eat until his stomach split at the seams while his mind screamed that he was starving.”

“Lovely.” My nose wrinkled.

“Gluttony is such a beautiful sin. Everyone desires more, and who am I but to give it to them?” He mused.

“If Camio is dead in the Red City, what do you need from me? I’m not a detective.” I held my hands out, palms facing up. “I can give a security consult to reduce the risk of someone else dying, but I can’t help a demon that’s dead.”

For a moment, I had forgotten that I was talking to a being beyond my limited human conception. Beelzebub gave me a look so alien, so detached, that it made my skin crawl.

“Camio died last fall.” Mr. Bub remarked lightly.

“Okay.” I felt like I had to say something. Anything.

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