Page 111 of The Music Demon

It’d be impossible to argue with that. So he stood up, grabbing the jar and hanky as he did.

“The last instruction is the most important. So, don’t forget. When you apply the vapor, tell her to relax, that she won’t be harmed, and that she’s falling into a deep sleep.”

“Why?”

Shelejiah had lost both interest and patience. “Because you’ll be reinforcing what she already believes to be true. It will make her succumb faster.”

He nodded slightly. “Okay then.” He lifted the jar slightly. “She’s in a temporary coma?” Shelejiah nods. “What then?”

“What do you mean ‘what then’?”

“I mean the word temporary doesn’t agree with my concept of capture.”

She huffed with irritation. “Don’t make me say duh.” Quicksilver blinked. “Ever heard of the Thracian clouds?”

“Thracian clouds,” he repeated. Of course he had. It was thought to be a mythical place where demons could enter, but not leave. Quicksilver looked irritated, “How do you think…?”

“Sit down.”

She motioned for him to take his seat again as she stepped a few paces away to grab a jewelry tree from atop a credenza that was brightly painted with an Eye of Horus in the middle.

The display was laden with a selection of wristbands of all varieties. Woven fabric. Braided leather. Studded leather. Even twisted plastic strands. Some demons found human chemical magic to be all the fashion rage.

“Pick one.”

His gaze rose from the wristbands to meet Shelejiah’s devious expression. “What is this?”

“Any one of these wristbands will allow you to comeand gofrom the Thracian clouds.”

He reached for a woven band with Indian design in green camouflage hues and started to remove it from the tree.

“Not so fast,” she said. His hand froze in mid-air. “That’s an additional charge.”

The demon’s anger rose as quickly as a geyser shooting toward the sky. Shelejiah was unconcerned.

Through clenched teeth, he said, “What do you want now?”

“Your first born.”

Angry as he was, he couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Right. Give me the band.”

“As soon as you sign this contract.”

When he looked down at the table, a contract was waiting for signature. It was a single page parchment, inked in calligraphy, with Shelejiah’s seal pressed into blood-colored wax that was still warm.

His eyes jerked back to hers with a question. “You’re not serious.”

She shrugged. “Imagine what I could do if I had a demon who calls me Mom. Of course, I’m serious. If you want her, sign the contract.”

An array of scenarios ran through Quicksilver’s mind. If he signed the contract and Shivaun bore a child, he could kill Shelejiah instead of paying up. Unless there was some sort of compelling magic in the document that would prevent it. He imagined a scene where both he and Shivaun battled the sorceress for the freedom of their child. And on and on. He didn’t like any of the options.

So he did what demons rarely do. He took the direct approach, with jar and hanky in one hand, he grabbed the wristband he wanted with the other and disappeared.

Shelejiah watched as her pet raven landed on the contract and pooped. She sighed. “Well,” she said to the bird. “It was worth a try. He seemed like the sort who’d be stupid enough to fall for it.”

In response, the bird angled his head so he was looking at Shelejiah with one eye and cawed. “Yes. You have been a good bird. For a very long time. But you just pooped the parchment for spite. So now you’re going to need to give me another fifty years as my familiar.”

The bird squawked and ruffled feathers in protest, for all the good it would do.

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