Page 105 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“Ah, pet, I have offered that, but you did decline, and I respect your autonomy, however shortsighted you might be for depriving yourself of such godlike pleasure.” The anger that had previously raged in Lex’s eyes was gone. Devils ran hot but were capricious, indecisive, and, occasionally, flighty.
“Where were you ten minutes ago? We could have used you.”
Lex smiled again. “I’ve moved on. But I do so appreciate you catching this particular menace. Once you reap him, I’ll have both my third soulanda favor Lucifer will owe me, which simply could not have come at a better time for me.” Brushing some more of the curious gold dust from his shoulder, he did not offer any further response. It was an odd, knowing, smug expression, and Vickie suspected that wherever Lex had come from, he had not been alone.
A small part of Vickie might have considered burning for Lex once, but that was before she knew that Azrael was hers. It was all real. Azrael was the most honest part of her life.
No amount of devilish pleasure could be worth trading the only person in the world who saw her,reallysaw her, for who she was and loved every bit of her.
“I hope you’re here to collect this monster’s soul,” Vickie said firmly, and Lex shrugged, nodding.
“One small issue,” Lex said, examining his nails and looking sheepish. “I can’t collect living souls without working a rather intricate curse.”
“Are you kidding me right now, Lex? You used ‘a rather intricate curse’ on Azrael.”
“With an object and some motivation of a, ah, personal nature, darling. I do apologize for acting on impulse there. Very wrong of me. Angelic, almost. I’m ashamed, and like I said, I’ve moved on. This will go faster if someone is willing to kill the fellow.”
Nodding, Azrael stepped forward, expression deadly serious. He snapped his fingers, and a pair of rapiers, which Vickie recognized from the Hart family vault, appeared in his right hand.
“It doesn’t seem fair to kill an incapacitated man,” Azrael said.
“Azrael, no,” Vickie warned. He couldn’t be serious.
Lex regarded Az with begrudging respect. “Azrael Ashmedai Hart, though you be named for greater devils, I do think we could be friends.”
Az’s eyes turned thunderous, but he shook his head. “Might still be too soon for that. Still, if you could make this a fair fight?”
Cocking his head, Lex blinked. “You’re certain? Fair as in both armed with swords, no magic?”
“Azrael…” Vickie began.
“No,” Az said. “I want to do this right. I want him to know that it was me who ended him, for all the harm he’s caused. For hurting the fortune teller. For breaking into myhome. For the lives he’s claimed by tricking people into an obsessive, cruel religion, and for generally being an absolute asshole. You were right, Vickie. I didn’t see that people like him are sometimes guilty of worse crimes than making others uncomfortable. I want to be the one to end him.”
Azrael met her eyes. “Vickie, please.”
She nodded, taking a step back.
Lex clapped, and a shadow of purple, ginger-scented smoke surrounded them for a moment, and then Chet and Azrael were standing in the center of the room, several arm widths apart, each holding one of the antique Hart family rapiers.
“You’re a fool,” snapped Chet, his scowl remaining, even though he’d been unfrozen.
“I am,” said Azrael, eyes flitting to Vickie. “But not about this.” He whirled, thrusting the rapier toward his opponent.
It must have been years since the last time Az had fenced,but Vickie remembered that Priscilla had often bullied him into dueling with her with the family heirloom he wielded now, and Azrael had been a fierce combatant.
Their swords clashed, sparks flying off gleaming metal as each desperate lunge and parry made the whole scene feel more and more surreal.
Vickie was going to fucking murder Azrael Hart if he went and got himself killed in a sword fight, of all things.
Chet managed to get in a slash across Azrael’s cheek, but Az parried, twirled, and, with a grunt of exertion from cutting through skin and muscle, plunged his blade deep into Chet’s chest. He’d aimed with precision between Chet’s ribs, and blossoming blood framed the silver of the sword at once. Chet crumpled to the floor, gasping for a moment before his body went limp.
Lex clapped again, and all evidence of the fight, the blood, the struggle around them, was gone in another puff of smoke that smelled far too nice to be murder cleanup. All that was left was the body. Part of her wanted to know where the rest had gone, but she decided it would be best not to ask, and focused instead on clenching her fists to avoid going to Azrael and attempting to tend to the wound on his cheek.
Azrael leaned against a bookshelf, panting, and wiped at the cut with the back of his sleeve, turning to look at Lex. Evelyn was still hovering over Priscilla, muttering and pulling things from her pocket, but it looked like Priscilla was stirring, and the incantations were less frantic than they had been.
The devil pulled another strange box out of his pocket.
“Soul prison,” Lex said, holding it up, and nodding at Vickie. She picked up the pen, and the ghost of Chet appeared, took one look at her, and then let out a high-pitched shriek of agony. As Vickie gripped the pen, it began to burn, leeching Chet’s essence—starting with his shiny shoes, moving up to his starched chinos and dress shirt, and finally, his crunchy-looking, gel-slicked hair, until the pen was glowing and painfully hot in her palm.
