Page 44 of The Deer and the Dragon
With a gentle frown, she said, “It’s a mistake you’ll have to learn from, Marlow. Names, commands, promises…they have power that those of us having a mortal experience don’t understand. Humans aren’t like fae, sweet one. We can lie. We can break our word. We don’t need consent. Some suggest that the human kingdom is the true hell, and I often wonder if they’re right.”
The incense suddenly became too strong. I struggled to see through the cloud of smoke before I realized it was just the glaze of my own impending tears. Betty was the first human I’d ever spoken to about Caliban, even if I hadn’t said his name—hadn’t said anything, really. She’d validatedme. She’d recognized my experience and my pain all in one gentle piece of advice.
“Are you still working with Azrames?” Fauna asked. Her tone was gentle enough not to break my reverie, but there was a new edge to her question.
Betty’s happy smile returned. “Of course I am! It’s better in this lifetime than ever before. Business is abundant in the city. And the internet? I’m not even on the damn thing, but one client tells another tells another. It’s remarkable.”
Fauna propped her elbows against the counter and rested her chin on her hand as she looked at me, explaining, “Betty is one of the few witches I know who work with a demon. They make quite the team.”
I balked at the sentence. Imagining the bartering of souls and the gnashing teeth of hellhounds, I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “What could a demon want from a business partnership?”
Betty’s lip pressed into a line. She gave Fauna a look.
Fauna complied, albeit impatiently. “Marlow, why might a detective arrest a criminal?”
“Um…because it’s their job?”
I could tell she mutteredidiotbefore trying again. Betty kept her polite chuckle to herself as Fauna continued, “It’s not just for the money. You know human psychology better than this. Tell me what a detective gets out of solving a case.”
“A sense of justice?”
Her face-framing curls puffed up in a cloud as she blew a dramatic huff of air. “Satisfaction. It’s an orgasmic satisfaction to know that you were responsible for solving something complicated, for cracking a code, for tackling malevolence. Now, humans barter mostly in money or materials, but a lot of fae prefer a different form of payment. Like devotion, or kindness, or pain.”
“He wants pain?”
“For the love of the deities, I cannot with this girl.” Fauna threw up her hands.
Betty sighed heavily. She looked at me seriously. “I help women. Mostly those in abusive relationships, be it with lovers or husbands or parents. They come to me when they’re in a bind, and Azrames gets the job done. The woman is set free, I pay my bills, and Azrames gets the victory of absorbing malevolence. The same way that a dam creates electricity from water or that we might get fire from wood. Malevolence does not feed malevolence. He’s paid by taking one thing and converting it into another. Something new. Something better.”
“Betty is the Patron Saint of Women,” Fauna said with the click of her tongue. She’d folded her arms over her chest and was leaning against the shelves. “You are the Patron Saint of Frustrating Everyone Around You.” Then to Betty she asked, “Would Azrames be willing to help us find Marlow’s Prince?”
Her brows lifted, eyes alarmingly clear as she tested, “When you sayprince…”
“I meanPrince.”
Betty shuffled around the counter to lock the front door without another word. She flipped the sign fromOpentoClosedbefore beckoning us to follow her into the back room. I wanted to be alarmed at how quickly she’d reacted, but I had no basis for comparison. I picked my way through the shop, moving a curtain to the side as I ducked into her private office. I’d expected a round, velvet-clad table and a crystal ball but found merely a writing desk with a small, pretty—if a bit peculiar—altar. A number of candles, crystals, and one intricate, unfamiliar sigil decorated the space. A cup of tea sat on one side and a sealed, blue bottle of an unknown liquid rested on the other.
Betty lit a few of the candles. Low, ambient music continued to pipe through the shop. It wasn’t the relaxing spa music I’d expect from a yoga session or crystal store but, rather, the low, haunting pluck of a mandolin.
“Get the light, would you?” she asked Fauna.
The electric bulb winked out with the click of her wrist.Shadows filled any space that the orange glow couldn’t reach. Betty gestured for us to stand back. We gave her space while she closed her eyes and settled into a slow meditation. When she called to the demon, it was not unlike me calling a friend on the telephone. She spoke to him again with a calm, patient informality, then waited. Thirty seconds of nothingness passed. My nerves heightened as if every cell were on its tiptoes. I held my breath as one minute stretched into two. Three minutes, then five, then ten and still, nothing had changed. The anxiety must have been clear on my face, since a squeeze on my arm from Fauna urged me to remain silent.
Fifteen minutes passed before the candles flickered.
My sharp intake of air was the first noise in the room. There’d scarcely been an inch between me and the wall behind me, but I jolted so suddenly that my head hit the plaster as I stumbled backward, putting as much space between myself and the newcomer as I could.
A young man, scarcely older than Fauna, tucked his hands into his pockets at the far end of the space. My eyes struggled to adjust through the gloom, but aside from the yellow flicker of Betty’s flames, I could have sworn that the beautiful male was in monochromatic shades of black, white, and gray. He wore a black jacket rolled up at the forearms with a thin white shirt beneath. I swallowed, dragging my eyes away from the way the material left little to the imagination between the divots in his abs and curves of his pectorals. Large, thick silver chains in the form of one long rope lassoed into a single necklace, intermittently dotted with large, circular breaks in the chain. I’d intended to look only at the necklace, but my eyes traveled down the lowest rope to where a curious pendant—another circle with an interesting, complex sigil—hung just above the button of his pants. Even his steely skin was highlighted and shadowed as if he’d stepped from a world without color. Two obsidian horns, scarcely distinguishable above the youthful mess of his mussed, dark hair, poked up just above his temples.
“Hey, Az,” Fauna greeted. “How’s Hell?”
Chapter Fifteen
“Fauna.” He flashed her a cocky grin. He smelled of ashes and smoke, and with his lack of color, that was precisely what he looked like. I could have imagined it, but Fauna seemed to pink slightly as she squirmed beside me.
“You two know each other?” I surprised myself by choking out a question.
The one they’d called Azrames started. His eyes flared in genuine surprise. While Betty’s eyes remained closed, I didn’t miss the way her head had tilted in disbelief.
