Page 4 of Architecti
A slide show of possibilities rapid fires through my consciousness.Dancing, kissing, fucking.
Yeah.
He definitely sold his soul for love.Rookie error.Ask me how I know.
As the vision fades, I let out a deep sigh.
The moth’s proboscis pings out of my knuckle.It twitches, fluttering its wings, staring at me.I hold its gaze.That same smug twitch of its antennae shivers through its beady black eyes.
I slam my fist down.It crumbles, bursting into a puff of dust.
Cruel?
Maybe.
But I hate those things.
I flick the entropy residue off my hand and start the bike.
* * *
Do you know what I hate more than entropy moths?Puny ashkissers that beg.
Fighting?That I can respect.I’ll go down fighting when my time comes too.I think that’s why Ignatius likes me; I don’t pander to him like everyone else.
But begging?Pathetic—unless it’s in the bedroom, of course.A pretty bit of meat begging Daddy to stop making her come?Mmm.That I can get down with.
The rave is tucked in an abandoned graveyard behind a derelict building.Even though it’s hidden from sight, there’s no mistaking it’s there.The air is filled with the constant beat of music, the faint hint of sweat and alcohol.
Alas, before I can join the fun, I have to deal with this grinner.
A dribble of piss leaks down the guy’s trousers, and all I can do is wrinkle my nose.
“Please, I just need more time,” he whines.
I scruff his shirt tighter, shove him against the building wall.“You know who loves begging?”
He trembles, his head shaking from side to side.
“The wraiths.You should try begging in hell.I’m sure that will help.”
He lets out a sob.“I just wanted to be loved.”
“We alljustwant something.How do you think I got in this position?”
His eyes harden, he spits on the ground.“Gravetether.”
I tilt my head at him.“If you think insulting me is going to win you any favours, it won’t.It’s only going to get you sent to the underworld faster.”
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.Please, give me more time.I’ll do anything.”He grips my shoulders, giving them a pleading squeeze.Grinning at me, no doubt the same way he did to Ignatius.
“I’ll pay,” he squeaks.
“Sorry, mate.We’re all pawns in this city.Are you Thaddeus Crowhurst, contractee to Ignatius Corvine?”
His bottom lip trembles as he nods confirmation.Tears spill over his lids.He gives me the most puppy-dog expression you’ve ever seen.Demons, give me strength.Why do they always have to make it hard?Like any of this is on me?
He made the fucking deal, and the guilt trip makes me feel like shit.It’s not like Iwantto do this.
