The Demon’s Queen (A Deal With A Demon)

I’m ashamed to say I hide for days after that disastrous dinner. Azazel comes to my door several times and knocks as politely as if he were a suitor instead of my captor. And he just as politely leaves when he receives no answer.

There’s no reason for that to upset me further. I should be grateful for the reprieve. Should be pleased that no matter what else is true, he doesn’t intend to take advantage of the power dynamic.

No, that’s all on me. I’m the one who climbed in his lap and demanded something I knew would hurt us both. And the bastard gave it to me without hesitation—only to leave me wanting more.

By the third day, I’m sick of my own company, my relentlessly spinning thoughts. I pull on a pair of pants, a long shirt that could probably be termed a tunic, and some boots I found tucked in the bottom of the wardrobe.

“I don’t care how long it takes. I’m getting out of this magic trap of a hallway.” I glare at the room around me. “You have to let me out at some point!”

But when I throw open my door, it’s to find Ramanu waiting for me. They’re wearing a boxy cropped top that leaves their stomach bare, a garment that may be pants or may be a skirt, and boots. They grin. “Perfect timing.”

I narrow my eyes. “Perfect timing for what?”

“Azazel is tied up in meetings today, and I figured you could use a change of scenery.” They offer me their arm. “Let’s go shopping.”

“Shopping . . .”

They don’t wait for me to move; they loop their arm through mine and turn us down the hall. “Yes, Eve. Everyone loves shopping. It’s an excellent way to pass the time, and there’s something to be said for seeing the very people Azazel has fought so hard to make a better life for.”

I shoot them a glare. “So we get to the crux of the matter. You’re here to campaign for your boss.”

“I campaign for no one, darling. It sounds like a staggering amount of effort with little fun involved.” We turn a corner, and I could sob in relief at the sight of wide stone stairs leading downward. Ramanu laughs a little. “The castle is wary of strangers. It helps if you’re polite in the first place, rather than cursing at it.”

“You speak as if it’s a person.”

“Not quite.” They shrug. “But magic is a strange thing and it never hurts to be courteous when dealing with borderline sentient objects and places.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I murmur. Up until the moment I woke up here, I assumed magic was fiction. Yes, this world—or my world—is complicated and strange, but hundreds of years ago, they were calling things like antibiotics witchcraft and no one washed their hands. If there’s magic, then it’s just science that we don’t have the technology or knowledge to explain yet.

It’s hard to keep that belief when faced with a castle that seems to shift itself at will.

I don’t think science can explain that.

We walk down the stairs and then down another set and another. I haven’t worked out in a week, and I’d love to believe that my endurance wouldn’t flatline as a result, but my thighs are shaking by the time Ramanu stops and tilts their head to the side. “Castle, please. You’re being difficult for no reason. I’m not absconding with her. We’re going on a nice little walk to let the sun touch her face, and then I’ll return her, safe and sound.” They snort. “You’ve being overprotective.”

“Overprotective of whom?” Surely not Azazel. He’s more than capable of taking care of himself.

“Ah, here we are.” Ramanu turns me to face the staircase . . . except it’s gone. Instead, there’s a narrow hallway that ends in double doors.

I shudder. “I am never going to get used to that.”

“You’d be surprised.”

I don’t have a chance to come up with a response to that, because we walk out the doors and into another world. One strange and yet familiar at the same time. I’ve traveled widely, and if every city I’ve visited has a different feel, they all share certain things in common—the main of which is a large variety of people moving about their day with a rhythm that feels almost coordinated.

These people aren’t human. They have skin tones that range from a rosy pink to a deep crimson that edges into black. Their horns are different shapes and sizes. Some of them have wings tucked politely against their backs, some have dual sets of horns like Ramanu, and some even have scales like the dragon-man who attended the auction. They’re tall and short, fat and skinny and brawny, and everything in between. Some of them are clothed similarly to me. Some are wearing dresses. Others are wearing pants or kilts and little else.

And there are humans mixed in among them.

I try not to stare as Ramanu leads me down a cobblestone street that seems designated for foot traffic only. I see a willowy Black human with short curls and warm dark-brown skin. There’s a short white human with pale pink skin, a long blond hair, and the kind of curves that make my mouth water. And more. So many more.

And the children. I don’t know why it shocks me to see them walking side by side with people who may be parents or guardians. Or the small group in an open courtyard we walk past, darting about and laughing wildly as they play some game I don’t recognize with two balls. The sound rolls through me, easing something tight in my stomach. These children are happy. They’re safe. Safe enough to be comfortable being loud and rambunctious.

I’m not naive. I understand all too well that this is a small sliver of the population. Surely abuse and neglect exist here just like they do in my world . . . but it’s hard not to slow, wanting to linger in this moment of peace.

“I would like an explanation,” I say softly. “Not for what Azazel did—for how this works. Because it sure seems like your people take advantage of mine.”

Ramanu snorts. “There was a time when that might have been true, but Azazel put a stop to it. We only offer bargains to those who want them, and they’re fair enough deals when all is said and done. Anything within our power to grant in exchange for seven years in this realm with safeguards in place to ensure no one is forced to do anything.”

“The power dynamics⁠—”

They stop short, stopping me alongside them. “In the human world, you would be right. There are power dynamics at play, and they can be abused readily. Not here. The contract is sacred, Eve. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. Both parties sign it, and it’s binding. To violate it is to nullify it.”

Nullify.

I tuck that knowledge away to examine later. If I can force Azazel into breaking the contract, that will nullify the terms and force him to take me home . . . hopefully. Ramanu mentioned something about this when we spoke earlier, but I wasn’t willing to listen then. I am now.

“Seven years is a long time,” I finally say.

“Yes and no.” Ramanu shrugs. “Time moves differently from realm to realm. It’s not an exact science, more like two rivers running next to each other at different speeds. You can jump from one to the other, and it feels like you haven’t moved at all. We bargainers have a little control over where we land, which means we can return our humans to a place and time not too distant from where they left. The magic in this realm also slows aging, so you’re not actually losing time at all. It’s more as if you’ve gained the years—and what you’ve gained, you’ve spent here. Then you return home, none the worse for wear and with whatever you wanted enough to bargain for in the first place. Win-win.”

I suspect they’re intentionally simplifying things and leaving a few key details out. Like the fact that someone would have to be in a desperate situation to think that making a deal with a demon is a legitimate strategy.

Ramanu seems to know everyone, smiling and calling folks by name as I meander the aisles. This, at least, is familiar. I love shopping. Gaining new clothes or necessities was always a burden as a foster kid. I was with a handful of families growing up, and while none of them were the stuff of horror stories, there was never enough to go around. Once I started making the kind of money I do now, I went a little wild with the spending. At least until Pope found out I was getting myself into trouble and sat me down with a financial advisor. The impulse to spend and spend and spend, to surround myself with expensive and beautiful things, never quite went away, but I have better control now.

And a wicked investment portfolio.

Not that any of that matters here.

“Would you like it?”

I jolt and glance at Ramanu. They nod to the bracelet I’ve been fondling. I shake my head and set it back down. “I don’t have money.”

“Eve.”

The censor in their tone irritates me. I glare. “I realize that you offered to take me shopping, and if you were one of my clients, I’d allow you to pay through the nose for whatever I want, but you’re not.”

They sigh. “Neither is Azazel, currently, but we’re shopping with his funds.” Ramanu nudges me with their shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to stick it to him, just a little?”

My pride wants to ignore the offer, but that would only deny me the pretty things in this place—and the chance to make Azazel hurt, even a little. Though I suspect I’d have to buy out every shop in the city for him to feel the pinch. I pick up the bracelet again. It’s an intricate creation with a rainbow of gemstones. Bright and shiny and loud. I love it. “Fine. I suppose I could find a few things.”

“That’s the spirit.”

We walk for hours, visiting shops and chatting easily. I expect to have to carry bags, but Ramanu arranges for my purchases to be delivered directly to the castle. It frees me up to watch the city’s citizens. Again and again, I’m struck by how familiar this all is despite how strange the people appear to me. But they’re just people, aren’t they? Citizens of this city going about their business by shopping, eating, socializing, working.

Despite myself, I can’t help seeing why Azazel would want to protect this. If Ramanu isn’t overstating the direness of the situation before he took over, this wasn’t how people acted before. They’ve benefited from Azazel’s rule.

We’re nibbling on some kind of street food that’s a bit like a kebob with vegetables I don’t recognize when Ramanu straightens. “Damn. Duty calls.”

I know better than to ask if I can keep wandering. I’m not ready to go back to my richly appointed cell yet, but what does that matter? I sigh and take the last bite of my food, then follow Ramanu to a garbage bin to toss the stick into. “Can we do this again sometime?”

They turn their face to me. Not for the first time, I’m struck by the suspicion that they see me just fine despite not having eyes in the traditional manner. “You know, you could ask Azazel to take you. It would get him out of the castle, which would do him some good.”

“I am not interested in what would be good for Azazel,” I say primly.

“He’s not a bad man.” Ramanu guides us through the thickening foot traffic with ease. “Not in the way you think. He’d kill, burn, and maim to protect his people and his humans, but he doesn’t abuse his power. He’s sharing power for the good of the realm. For all its peoples—not just the bargainers. That’s got some folks’ backs up, but it won’t stop his pursuit of the greater good.”

“Folks like Brosh?”

Ramanu almost misses a step. They’ve been so graceful to date, it’s like a record scratch. “I would prefer you don’t say that name outside the castle.”

“Is he like some kind of boogeyman? Speak his name three times and he appears?”

“No. Nothing so dramatic. But he has an irritating number of supporters in the city and beyond. There’s no reason to draw attention to ourselves.” Their tone is breezy, but contains a new tension that makes me think there’s more going on than what they’re saying.

The castle looms large in front of us. It truly is like something out of a fairy tale. I don’t know what kind of rock it’s made of, but the rock almost a cross between granite and opal, strong and gorgeous, gleaming with a dazzling rainbow of colors in the late-afternoon sun. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s home,” Ramanu says simply.

We’re almost within the shadow of the castle when they stop so abruptly, my shoulder wrenches from our still-interlocked arms. “Ow.”

“Get behind me.” They don’t wait for me to comply. With a smooth move, they free themself and shove me behind them. Ramanu is taller than me by about half a foot. And they’re built significantly leaner than Azazel, so I have no problem seeing around their shoulder to where two massive bargainers stand blocking our way.

The largest of them has wings, and I catch myself wondering if this was the same person I saw flying on my first day here. Surely not. That would be too large of a coincidence. They’re even larger than Azazel—apparently the metric I judge everyone by these days—and wear only a kilt around their thick waist.

The other is closer to Ramanu’s size, lean like a blade, with curving ram’s horns that bracket their long straight dark hair. They grin, revealing too-sharp teeth. “Hand her over or this gets messy.”

Ramanu laughs, loud and pretty. “I think not.”

“We have no issue with you, Ramanu,” the larger one says. “Stand aside.”

There’s a faint shtck sound like a blade being drawn. My heart leaps into my throat when I realize what it is. Ramanu’s claws. They were petite and black, but now they’re curved and look vicious enough to disembowel someone.

Any hope I had of this being all posturing and bullshit disappears. Ramanu may be dramatic, but they’ve shown no signs of being unnecessarily violent. They wouldn’t issue this unspoken threat if they didn’t mean it.

As if sensing my growing fear, they turn their head enough to speak to me over their shoulder. “Don’t run. They’ll have a third waiting to snatch you if you do. Stay close.”

I don’t know if they mean to reassure me, but I am very much not reassured. “You can’t take three of them on,” I hiss. “We have to run.”

“I have no intention of taking three of them on,” they murmur. “I’m stalling.”

“Stall—” The word dies in my throat as the double doors to the castle slam open with a violence that seems to shake the entire square we stand in. People hadn’t seemed to register the growing possibility of a fight before, but they scatter now, rushing away from us or taking refuge in the stores on either side. In seconds, the square is empty but for the two—three—attackers, Ramanu, and I.

A huge form fills the doorway, and I let out a sound of pure relief at the familiar sight of wide shoulders and horns as he steps into the fading light.

Azazel is here.