Page 26 of The Devil in the Details

“Then I will search.” He scanned the dark alley, as if he could see into the shadows. Maybe he could.

“Please don’t jerk me around,” she said. “I know your help isn’t free. What’s the price?”

He rubbed his chin, considering her long enough that Zelda grew nervous. Another kiss? That kind of kiss? Look, she enjoyed herself, but she wasn’t doing that in an alley. In the pathetic Martian rain.

“A token of your favor,” he said at length.

“A token,” she repeated. That sounded horribly old-fashioned.

He waved his free hand dismissively. “Typically a ribbon, a handkerchief, ring, or a lock of hair. Some small thing.”

Yeah, horribly old-fashioned, but it fit the gas lamp aesthetic he had going on.

“I don’t trust you,” she said.

“That is unfortunate.” He tilted his head back, as if searching the rock wall above. “Do you think your feline is warm and comfortable? Or is he cold and frightened?”

Oh, that was low. Mal knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted.

“Fine, but not hair,” she said. She didn’t wear jewelry or have the other items he mentioned. Hair was far too personal. Plus, it just seemed like a bad idea giving a DNA sample to the demon.

She fiddled with the collar of her shirt, thinking. Something small. Something she had on her right now. Mal watched intensely and she knew. She didn’t like the idea of tearing off a button from her shirt but fine. She never buttoned the collar, anyway.

“I can give you a button,” she said.

A smile flashed across his face, mostly hidden in the shadows and completely disturbing.

“A piece of your garment, how intimate,” he said, savoring each word. “We have an accord.”

Handing her the umbrella, their hands touched. Zelda felt a familiar tingle.

Mal pointed down the alley to the next building. “This way.”

Apparently, demons could see in the dark. He quickly examined the usual detritus behind the building and turned his attention to the tunnel wall. His head tilted to the side, listening, then he sprang into action, climbing and nearly floating up the rocky surface. High up, higher than Zelda could have ever hoped to search herself, he picked up a very upset Fishtopher.

The cat yowled, scrambling over his shoulders to escape, then changed his mind and dug his claws in. Mal held the cat against his chest as he descended. Once his feet were on solid ground again, he handed Fishtopher over to her.

Hugging her cat tight, all the tears she barely managed to control burst free. The day had been too much. Hell, the last year had been too much. The proverbial rug had been yanked from underneath her and the only constant had been this cat.

“Don’t you ever do that again,” she sobbed, face buried against Fishtopher’s damp fur. He purred in response, the sound soothing her soul.

Everything would be okay. She had her cat. She’d be fine.

“Your token,” Mal said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Oh, um, my hands are a bit full.” The cat had sunk his claws into her shirt and refused to let go. “Could you hold the umbrella and I’ll give you a button?”

Mal stretched a hand towards her, not flesh and blood, but black smoke. It felt solid enough as Mal swiped a thumb across her cheek. Contact wasn’t skin-on-skin, or even smoke-on-skin. The sensation was of puckering and plucking, like a hundred tiny suction cups.

He leaned in, like he might kiss her. A breath away from her lips, he paused and watched her reaction.

Zelda tilted her face upward, lips parted in anticipation.

He placed a soft and lingering kiss on her cheek.

“You token,” he repeated, sounding satisfied as he stepped back.

“Tears?” She touched her face with the hand holding the umbrella, which tilted dramatically and scattered raindrops.

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