Page 1 of Dead Air
One
Almost all the lore you’ve read about the purpose and the acquisition of souls is wrong. A proper demon has no interest in courting musicians or scholars, souls in search of skill or knowledge. Passion feeds the soul and makes it stronger, thus harder work to reap when there were far easier pickings among the greedy and the vain. Most demons prefer low-hanging fruit and to focus on quantity, not quality. More souls in a horde or legion equals a more powerful demon. And the more powerful the demon, the more demand for their services.
The real sport for serious demons and the true test of skill is in bartering with the twisted and the wicked. Dark souls are suited for dark work, whereas a bright, light soul needs bending and breaking before it will haunt and wreak havoc. But the darker the soul, the higher the risk. Even for a demonic legend like Cenn Cruach.
When someone sells their soul to a demon, they immediately forfeit their morality, integrity, empathy, and conscience. These are things that are in abundance in people like artists and teachers, making them less appealing and useful. Virtuous peopleeventuallymake super demons but a rising politician orthe average dark witch are usually fast work for high reward, for the experienced demon. They are often looking to make a deal and easily conned.
Another little known fact about the selling of souls is that one could sell their soul more than once, like rolling a past car loan into a new car’s financing or getting a second mortgage. Their eternal suffering is simply transferred to an older, more powerful demon, but are beholden in the meantime, whenever the lesser demon demands their services.
Cenn was currently juggling a rising politician and a particularly nasty warlock, both highly valuable prospects. The young, conservative senator was chomping at the bit, ready and willing to sell himself to the highest bidder. His potential was limitless and he would bring Cenn many more souls to plunder.
But the warlock was an entirely different matter and Cenn might have met his match in an obscenely wholesome mortal named Niall Gilpatrick. Cenn had made a deal with Hugh Dùbhghlas, reasoning that a young mortal man’s soul would be easy enough to fetch. Unfortunately, Cenn had underestimated the warlock’s cunning and ruthless nature. Dùbhghlas was already as dead and empty as Cenn and had learned to play the game like a demon.
Cenn wasn’t going down without a fight, though, and he was nearly ready to make his opening move. He had studied Niallwell,learning everything about the young forest ranger’s past and his heart’s deepest desires. Of course, thirty-two wasn’t that young, by human standards, but Niall’s life was a blink compared to the millennia Cenn had spent collecting souls.
Naive and utterly selfless, Niall posed a particularly difficult challenge, the type Cenn made a habit of avoiding. Dùbhghlas’s soul was too darkly delicious to resist and he came with his own legion of minions so Cenn had made the riskiest bet ofhis demonic career. He accepted the contract for Niall’s soul, gambling his own autonomy and eminence.
For a warlock whose soul was already mortgaged to the hilt, it was a wily move. He was looking for any advantage against a new demigod. Professor Lennox MacIlwraith had recently defeated the Dagda and assumed the ancient god’s powers. Hugh Dùbhghlas had a longstanding feud with MacIlwraith’s mentor, Merlin Oglethorpe, and his past attempts at revenge had failed. Dùbhghlas was hoping Cenn would fail to make a deal with Niall, granting the warlock control of the demon’s legion of souls and most of his dark powers.
Cenn would cease to be the lord of the lost, the shepherd of sold souls.
He was Lord Smoak, the first and the father of all demons. He wasthe one, the first mortal to offer his soul to the darkness and the first sacrifice ever made.
A lonely man in the wilderness would seem like an easy target but Cenn was preparing for the hardest, dirtiest fight of his life as he watched Niall park his ATV in front of the park’s visitor’s center, at the base of the Hawksbill Mountain. Dressed in his standard ranger uniform, a long-sleeved T-shirt, cargo khakis, and hiking boots, the fit and handsome young man turned the few heads loitering around the parking lot. His dark blond hair was hidden under a ball cap but it did little to shield his big, brown eyes and adorable dimples.
Niall was there to pick up his mail and the week’s supplies and to charm the two women running the center. Neither had reason to suspect that Niall was hiding from his past or how many secrets he was keeping. His coworkers would be shocked if they knew how easy it was for Niall to lie, or why, because he was so universally adored.
Unfortunately, Cenn understood all too well, and that Niall’s lies were of no use to a demon. For they were the fruit of anotherman’s deceit and misdeeds and Niall had simply done what he could to survive. With the exception of onevery biglie and some well-practiced white lies, Niall lived a nearly blameless life in the service of others.
Niall began his life in the D.C. suburbs, the only child of an Irish journalist and an American activist. His parents were killed in a car wreck when he was a toddler, leaving Niall in the care of his aunt, Sheila Winston. A star student and enthusiastic volunteer for dozens of causes, Niall followed in his parents’ footsteps. He studied political science and law at two prestigious universities before accepting a position as assistant to a well-known and highly respected former politician and activist.
Andy Willoughby had been mayor and governor of Oregon before taking D.C. and the morning talk shows by storm. His Clark Kent looks and boy scout charm had made him a hit with the housewives and his evangelicalism about clean energy, the environment, and affordable housing had earned him a loyal following among Democratic voters. There were even murmurs about a presidential run once Willoughby was older and had more experience.
What the housewives and the talk shows didn’t know was that Willoughby was a closeted homosexual and an abuser. Beneath the perfect smiles and polished answers was a calculating narcissist with a brutal temper. He baited the public with wholesome hikes and picnics with women who were older and professional—professors, doctors, lawyers—while preying upon kinder, gentler men like Niall.
Sweet Niall had kept Willoughby’s terrible secrets for two-and-a-half years, taking up CrossFit and pretending to attend self-defense classes to explain the black eyes and bruises. Too noble to out anyone, Niall lied about long hours in the office and weekend trips and he had smiled when anyone shared gossip about the boss’s latest romantic exploits.
Ashamed and afraid to tell anyone aside from his therapist, Niall withdrew from friends and lied to his aunt until fate intervened, six years ago. Niall had been home sick with a terrible cold for two days when his sinuses suddenly cleared and the raw burning in his throat miraculously subsided. Feeling grateful and yearning for fresh air and sunshine, Niall had pulled on a hoodie, slipped his feet into his sneakers, and set out for a short, easy walk to the park at the end of his street. He was approximately a quarter of a mile away when he heard the explosion.
Instead of being devastated at the sight of his demolished townhouse, Niall had cried tears of relief. He was also in a state of shock when he turned up on his aunt’s doorstep and informed her that he wasn’t dead. Then,shewas in shock when Niall told her hewantedthe world to believe he had died in the explosion.
The authorities and the news confirmed that the explosion was a result of negligence on behalf of the gas company, but there was no follow-up story on the lone casualty of the freak midday accident. Niall had contacted the police to let them know he was alive but asked that his name not be released, due to being a victim of domestic violence. He also contacted the few friends who would have grieved for him and insinuated that he was moving and changing his name because he had witnessed something criminal and dangerous.
Being a demon, Cenn knew better than to believe in divine intervention and understood that fate didn’t work like that. Particularly for mortals. Fate was usually a burden and the powers that be rarely cared enough about the average mortal to bless them with good fortune. It was merely a stroke of luck that Niall had decided to take a spontaneous walk, instead of showering and putting on fresh clothes to celebrate the break in his symptoms.
According to an email to his therapist, Niall almost had taken a shower first but gave in to the lure of an unusually warm February morning. The urge to feel the sun on his face had saved Niall’s life and he continued to take shelter in nature. Niall’s aunt helped him find a job at a remote post in the Shenandoah Mountains where he healed and thrived while fulfilling his passion for public service.
Of course, Willoughby hadn’t appreciated that he was spared. Even in “death,” Niall had done what he could to prevent their secret relationship from coming to light. He erased every trace of online contact between them and never told a soul his tormentor’s real name. Willoughby figured out the truth within a few weeks but had no way of probing into Niall’s disappearance without attracting attention to himself. Niall was long gone and the police would only discuss the details of the investigation with a spouse or next of kin.
Willoughby was one of only two weaknesses Cenn had discovered while stalking Niall. He may have healed and put the past behind him, but Niall was still haunted by Willoughby. Life as a permanent trail crew, in an isolated cabin near the peak of Hawksbill Mountain was lonely. While Niall was a naturally solitary person, he craved physical intimacy and Cenn had learned firsthand that he had a very healthy appetite and an active imagination.
Conversations with Kerry and DeeDee were particularly illuminating so Cenn followed Niall into the visitor’s station to eavesdrop. He remained invisible but close to Niall so it was easier to hear his thoughts. Niall’s inner monologue was a delight and a wealth of insight.
“Wait! Watch this one!” DeeDee said, handing Niall her phone.
The sound of a man grunting and loud cracks had Niall’s eyes widening. He licked his lips, nodding. “Sweet baby Jesus in themanger…” he whispered before he gasped and passed it back. “I want to see that part again. How do I rewind this?”
“Look, you goober!” She laughed as she used his finger to tap and slide the dot at the bottom of the screen backwards. Niall was woefully out of touch with the newer social media platforms and had ditched his smartphone when he abandoned his old life.
