Page 4 of Each Their Own Devil

Aleja could relate to her uncertainty. After all, she had called for the Knowing One by lighting a black candle even when she had believed he’d slaughtered three innocent members of her family. But the moment he appeared, she had no idea what to do, like a house cat who’d gotten ahold of a poisonous snake in the garden.

“Do you want me to kill him?”

“I—” Josephine began. “I hate him now, but I loved him before. I’m scared of him. I want him to rot in prison. I want himdead. I don’t want him dead. I—I don’t know. What would you ask of me, Lady of Wrath?”

This time, Aleja could not stop herself from glancing back at Nicolas, who was so surrounded by shadow that she might have forgotten he was there if not for the glow of his silver eyes behind the curls of incense smoke. His expression was both intense and strangely unreadable, even to Aleja. This was her choice to make.

“Are you on social media?” Aleja asked.

Josephine’s dark eyes blinked. “Yes, but I set everything to private after I figured out how he was gaslighting me.”

“That was smart of you. As payment, I want you to do this: take a bus to another city and buy a burner phone with cash. Open a new account with a fake email address, for only as long as it takes you to find a woman in Oregon, in the United States, named Paola Ruiz. She’s the owner of the Gentle Hearts Agency—they take care of old folks who have no one else. Send a private message to Paola saying exactly this: ‘Al is safe with distant family in Europe. She doesn’t want to be contacted, but she loves you.’ Then delete the account and never reopen it. Do you understand?”

Both the marriage bond and Josephine bristled. “I’m sorry, but I don’t…”

“Do it, or I leave, and you never see me again,” Aleja said, her voice soft and low. Okay, so maybe this felt good. Maybe this felt right, even though it was a stupid thing to contact Paola. Even though she still had no idea what she would do to Josephine’s ex-boyfriend, no matter how much he deserved punishment.

“It was just a strange request, that’s all,” Josephine said quickly. “I thought you would ask me to slaughter a goat or something.”

“It’s a pain getting their blood out of my clothes. Where can I find your ex?”

Josephine’s shoulders sagged. “It’s Friday, so he’ll be atL’Escapade. It’s a whiskey bar at the edge of town. Be careful. It’s where all of Marc’s drug dealer buddies hang out.”

“Be careful? I’m a Dark Saint.”

“I know, but you seem kind of…insecure. Is that why the Knowing One is with you?” Josephine paused and bit her bottom lip in thought. “I don’t want to be a killer, no matter how much Marc deserves it.”

“If I kill him, you won’t be.”

“If there is any other way…”

“I’ll figure it out,” Aleja breathed. “Thanks.”

She paused for a moment, realizing that she had no idea how to take that long step back to the Hiding Place—or anywhere else, for that matter—until Nicolas gripped her arm, and the shadows enveloped them. The last thing Aleja sensed was a whiff of Nag Champa incense clinging to her dark red hair. When the wave of nausea passed, Aleja was not back in the army camp, but on a busy street in front of a glittering neon sign, where half the letters were out and the others too bright to look at, obscuring the name of a French movie. A black taxicab whooshed past them, and her hair fluttered in the breeze.

She had spent so long away from the human world that Aleja had no idea what day of the week it was, but it must have been a summer night. A woman in a sundress looked them up and down before taking a slow sip from her glass. A group of men in loose t-shirts laughed at a video on a phone shared between them. Across the street, a sandwich board with gray letters on a black background readL’Escapade.It was a nondescript storefront with dark windows, as if the bar couldn’t be bothered to be found.

“Was that as awkward as it felt?” Aleja said, suppressing a cringe.

“My professional opinion? You were vicious—it was a delight. But it was foolish to try to contact your cousin, dove. As far as she knows, you’re dead, and it’s better that way. You agreed to that before your Trials. Why let her hope?”

Aleja did cringe then, and the feeling was not tinged with embarrassment but grief. “She thinks so many of our family are dead.”

“So did you, and you survived. Come on. First, we talk, then we deal with Marc.”

In the chaos of the evening, she had nearly forgotten about the Unholy Relic containing a memory from her previous life, moments before Nicolas had rescued her from execution. As she thought of it, her pinkie finger ached, like she could still feel the sting of the amputation. She followed Nicolas wordlessly into an alley betweenL’Escapadeand a kebab stand that smelled of cumin and black pepper. Aleja swallowed; Bonnie’s cooking was delicious, but it had been ages since she’d eaten greasy street food from a paper tray.

This was her first time being surrounded by people when she was no longer human herself. It was like watching the world through a piece of lightly frosted glass that would undoubtedly become increasingly opaque as time went on. As they ducked into an alley, the sound of a Friday night downtown faded beneath the heavy thump of a bassline from one of the apartments overhead.

“You watched the memory?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What do you think?”

Nicolas paused for a long moment. “We can’t trust the Messenger.”

“That conversation took place centuries ago, Nic. That Aleja wanted me to see it.”

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