Page 43 of Spit

“Okay.”

The wrath demon sighed. “Being a Steward is a dangerous job.” He said cryptically.

“You’re all stewards, right? Legion called you ‘facets’ or something.”

“Yes. That is correct.” Arlo nodded. “We each reign over our Sins in the city.”

We passed a window that overlooked the lawn, a long winding path led over the rolling hills, and a thatch of trees sat in the distance that appeared to be the beginning of a forest.

There wasn’t much nature in NOLA, not by my standards, which didn’t count the southwest oaks that lined the streets of the garden district—but the thick kind of trees that would swallow you whole and hide a candy house. I’d been to Atchafalaya National Wildlife Refuge once or twice on the way to Baton Rouge from Beaux bridge, but that was more swamp than forest.

“But you don’t normally live at Hemlock house?” I pressed.

“I have a residence in the Second Circle district. It’s close to the main house, so I can get here quickly if needed.” Arlo replied stiffly.

“And you can communicate without words, though your bond? Can you speak to Legion using your mind?”

“Yes.” He answered, clearly not knowing why I was asking so many questions.

“Is there a limit? How far do you have to be before you can’t hear one of the other facets?”

“I haven’t tested it.” Arlo considered my question, brushing his thumb over his lip. “If we are in the Human Realities, we can communicate. If we are all in Hell, we can communicate.”

“Mars and Quinn check in a lot?” I kept my voice casual. “Or have they gone missing before?”

“I wouldn’t say missing,” Arlo said thoughtfully. “We are demons. We don’t measure time the same way that humans do.”

“But Legion is worried. He said that two days is a long time.” I contradicted.

“Yes. I suppose.” Arlo opened the door for me. “Legion doesn’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Camio?” I guessed.

Arlo grunted in agreement. “We have seven days. Seven days before the bond might weaken. If Mars or Quinn have been hurt severely, they might not survive if the bond between the facets dissolves.”

Before I could ask another question, Arlo opened a door and smiled brightly as if we hadn’t just been talking about his friends dying. “This is your room.” He declared. “I’ll make sure the kitchen sends some food up.”

He was gone before I could say another word.

Based on the opulence of the mansion, with its expansive marble and golden fittings, I expected something akin to a rococo monstrosity of a room.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The room was painted a calming sage green with a plain grey bedspread. However, that was the extent of any respectable interior design.

The far wall was lined, floor to ceiling, with vending machines. Some were identifiable, with brightly colored candies and chips; another was stocked entirely with sachet drinks with Korean writing on the packaging. I paced in front of them like a shark, my gait hindered but the echo of pain in my thigh. The machine on the far end was stocked with strange plastic eggs that gave no hint as to what was inside. Another machine held nothing but lube, condoms, and an assortment of sex toys.

I had definitely been given gluttony’s room. I guessed it was fitting.

A knocking sound drew my attention, and I turned to find my shadow climbing on the wall and pointing to the hatch beside the bed.

“Was that you?” I asked.

My shadow didn’t have a face, but I got the feeling that he rolled his eyes.

I hadn’t seen a hatch like that before; I lifted it to find a bowl filled with chili and some nachos on the side. I was starving, so the food was welcome—Arlo had kept his word.

I ate silently, throwing the occasional nacho to my shadow, who snatched each chip before it hit the ground.

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