Azazel may have more use for me than anyone else in my life on account of me signing the contract, but that doesn’t mean he really wants me around. And now I’m puking in the hallway.
Typical Catalina.
Sometime later, his low voice penetrates my fog of misery. “It’s normal to have side effects from jumping realms. Frankly, I’m impressed you managed not to fall unconscious. Most people do.”
I close my eyes and try very hard not to think about how my mouth tastes right now. Surely the demon realm has toothpaste, right? Except I can’t focus on that, because Azazel’s pity crawls around beneath my skin, and I’d do anything to claw it free.
I let myself tip back on my ass, effectively breaking the contact with his hand on my back—not a hallucination, apparently—and force a grin. “Oh, please, this has nothing on the time I took a wrong turn and ended up in a biker bar that only served Jack Daniels.” Not strictly true. My boyfriend and I had a fight, and he left me on the side of the road, but I’m not about to admit that. It’s just sad, not entertaining, and I am nothing if I’m not entertaining.
He blinks those eerie dark eyes at me. “What?”
“Bikers only respect like two things—or at least these bikers. I can’t pretend to speak for bikers as a community just because I had one interaction with the people at this bar.”
Catalina, stop fucking talking.
But I can’t. I never can. Not when my nerves are strung tight like this. It’s not fear. That would be ridiculous. But . . . nerves. “Anyways, those two things are fighting and drinking, and I am a lover not a fighter.”
“Catalina—”
I talk right over him, his impatience only driving my words to bubble up faster, spill from my lips as if I can outrace his disappointment. “So I obviously couldn’t fight any of them if I wanted to keep my good looks and avoid a hefty hospital bill, which meant the only option was outdrinking every single person in the bar.” The memory still makes me shudder. No fear there, of course. Just nerves. “They found me as charming as you do, and I managed to walk out of there with cab fare and only a tiny bit of alcohol poisoning.”
I probably should have gone to the hospital, but if I’d done that, they would have called my emergency contact, a.k.a. my mother. Instead, I spent three days on my bathroom floor, wishing for death. Or, if not death, because that’s very permanent and I have commitment issues, then a nice little coma that I would wake from feeling refreshed.
“Catalina, sleep.”
I barely feel the press of Azazel’s fingers on my temples before everything goes gray, then fades to black. “Neat trick,” I slur.
Even falling into a magical sleep isn’t enough to make me miss his irritated sigh.
2
CATALINA
I spend two days recovering in the nicest room I’ve ever seen. I don’t have much choice, seeing as how I’ve been locked in. Hard not to take that personally, but I’m doing my best to be agreeable, so I try to keep myself occupied in the room itself instead of scheming on ways to break out.
To be fair, the room is luxurious. It looks like something out of a movie about what Hollywood people think ye olden days looked like. Giant bed filled with enough blankets to make a comfy burrow. Lush carpets underfoot to cushion the stone floor. Thick curtains on a window overlooking the city.
The city itself looks like an old-school version of cities everywhere. Or maybe even a current one. I’m not a city expert. There are tall buildings and short ones, and I got bored staring at them after the first hour.
Finding out the bathroom had indoor plumbing was a great relief, and the shower is very large, but that only occupied me for a short time too. Same with the wardrobe filled with some of the fanciest clothing I’ve ever gotten my hands on. All in my size, which is another neat trick. I indulged in a fashion show worthy of any movie montage, but I exhausted the clothes quickly enough.
Azazel appeared briefly to give me a tattoo that apparently functions as a verbal translation spell. Nifty thing, that. There’s also a secondary tattoo that apparently marks my demon bargain. But that meeting is far too short for my liking. He obviously doesn’t want to spend any more time in my presence than strictly necessary.
Boredom set in quickly.
Food appears at regular intervals, but no matter how much I try to watch the door, I never see the person who brings it. Must be magic, but that knowledge doesn’t help me decrease the boredom. It builds and builds inside me, making my skin too tight and my mind staticky.
Azazel locked me up because he didn’t want to deal with me. Just like my mother used to. Oh, she called it “grounding,” but I’m pretty sure when most kids are grounded, their doors don’t have locks on the outside.
I shudder.
“No. Enough of this. I made a bargain with a demon and now I’m entitled to an update,” I say aloud. I don’t give a fuck that I haven’t been hurt and that I’ve been fed and clothed and nothing has been asked of me. Anything would be better than this. Anything.
Which is how I find myself kneeling in front of the lock and trying to pick it. A skill I learned far younger than I’ll ever admit . . . and the same one that prompted my mother to install a dead bolt on my door.
“I am not thinking about that right now,” I mutter. The bobby pins I pulled from my hair are stronger than most—an expense I justify for this very reason. Having no escape makes me feel like an animal in a trap.
I have no illusions about how far I’ll go. I will gnaw off my own limb to escape.
Thankfully, the only thing between me and relative freedom is a locked door. A locked door that seems to be resisting me, but a locked door nonetheless.
“Come on.” I twist the pin, feeling for the lever. “Please. I can’t stay in here. If I do, I’m going to start screaming and never stop.” Dramatic? Yes. Accurate? Also yes.
The lock clicks.
I blink. I hadn’t even found the lever yet . . . or at least I didn’t think I did. Half-sure I imagined that click, I try the handle.
Unlocked.
“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Cat. You’re just better than you thought you were.” Gods, I don’t know what it say that I’m talking to myself, but it’s not a good sign. I’m losing it. I need to get out of this room. I push to my feet, take a moment to fix the fall of my dress, open the door, and step into the hall.
“Neat trick.”
I scream and practically levitate six feet to the right. A mocking laugh responds. I spin to face the voice and find an unfamiliar bargainer demon. This one is built shorter and more delicate than Azazel—but still plenty tall by human height standards—and they have a second set of horns curving up from their eye sockets. I frown. “Are you a guard?”
“Merely a curious party.” They grin. “Name’s Ramanu. Pronouns are mostly they/them, but really any will do.”
“Nice to meet you.” I smooth my hands over my dress, nerves making me want to bounce on my toes. They don’t seem dangerous—or at least not more dangerous than anyone else in the world. Worlds? Realms?
I clear my throat. “Are you going to make me go back in my room?”