Page 3 of Architecti
“What do you want?I think I deserve a night off, all things considered.”
I’m bolshy with him—actually, I’m bolshy with everyone.But it’s dangerous with Ignatius.If I cross the line and piss him off rather than amuse him, it won’t end well for me.As long as I stick on the side of funny, he’ll tolerate it, which is saying something given I’ve never seen him tolerate diddly-squat from anyone else.
He smiles, his jet black eyes glittering with the kind of mischief reserved for demons and heroes.Of which he is both.
Forty years ago, he killed the biggest threat this city has ever seen: Architecti.Meaning, I’m not the only one in his debt.Ora City is, too.
I can’t lie; he did a good thing.
Architecti was a bad bitch.A fallen angel.There are a million rumours about why she fell.Some say she was kicked out of the celestial realm for trying to usurp the hierarchy.Some think it was her desire to take over the underworld.Others say it was a sibling fight.No one knows the truth because the angels all up and fucked off out of our realm when Ignatius killed her.
Most—though not all—of Ora City hate Architecti.As for me, I have a quiet respect for a woman who sees what she wants and goes after it.
Those who want her back tend to be the loudest—protesting and rioting and using far-fetched necromantic resurrection techniques, none of which have worked, thankfully.Much as I respect a bitch, I don’t think I want a homicidal angel running around Ora City.
But back to the demons.They objected to an angel—fallen or otherwise—taking over their realm.
I mean, fair, right?
Unfortunately for us mere mortals, Ora City was caught in the middle.We’re a gateway, so when they went to war, we were royally fucked.Massacre upon massacre of humans, demons and anyone else stupid enough to have gotten in the way.
Ignatius saved Ora by killing Architecti, and thirty years later, the same heroic motherfucker doomed me.
“Don’t be dramatic.It’s just another birthday,” Ignatius says, his figure drifting in and out of focus as the entropy moth struggles to hold both of us in its mind.
“It’s not though, is it?It’s my last one, unless you’re opting out of our deal?”
He huffs out an indignant laugh.
It was worth a shot.I’m shit out of ideas now I’ve been rejected from Finis.
His grin widens, all white teeth and gums.His teeth are the only imperfect thing about him.A slight crook in his front teeth that only seems to make him more charming.I have to suppress an eye-roll.To me, he’s about as charming as a healthy dose of necrotising fasciitis.
He pouts his lips in one smug jerk.“Oh, that’s right.Almost time.How is Aurelia getting on?”
My mouth pinches.The prick knows damn well Aurelia and I broke up six weeks after I made the deal with him—almost a decade ago—and frankly, I’d rather reap my own soul than ever have to see her again.Ironic really, considering I’ll probably have to do just that in three hundred and sixty-four days.
I take a deep breath, praying to the seven devils that he either reaps me now or hurries the fuck up with whatever it is he needs me to do.“Seeing as we’re both agreed that my time is limited, are you going to tell me what you want, or do I need to pillage the moth’s mind instead?”
He picks something off his jacket.“Just a small job.Be a good girl and reap someone for me before you attend your celebration.He’ll be at the rave.”
My nostrils flare, be a good girl?
I’m about to shove my mental scythe up his actual arse when he vanishes and the entropy moth’s mind trembles and settles back into its normal mode of communication.It shows me a series of possibilities—all of them closed off.Paths and fates that are no more thanks to the deal the human made with Ignatius.Scene after scene ripples and swirls, curving through my mind like smoke and shadow.
Reason ten million not to make a deal with a demon.You might think you’re getting what you want, but all a contract does is rewrite your fate.Seal off a lot of possible futures and paths that were once open to you.
Awful really.
A sick sort of twist.
In order to give you what you want, the devil takes everything else.
That’s how the moths are created.They’re the manifestations of closed-off futures.Meaning I can see the soul that Ignatius needs collecting and all the lives they could have lived.And Ignatius, having contracted the poor fool, can communicate with me through those dead futures.
A vision of a young man washes through my mind.He’s skinny and short and holds a wistful gaze that screams yearning.
I bet it was love.
