Page 13 of The Devil She Knows
Sam reached for the top sheet and read the first line.
“I, Samantha Marjorie Cooper, hereafter known as the damned—” She choked. “Damned?”
Daphne smiled innocently. “Would you preferdarned? Does that sound better?”
“No.” She laughed, incredulous, riding the edge of hysterical. “No, it doesn’t.”
This was such a bad idea. All of it. And yet she looked at the bread pudding beside her, irrefutable proof that Daphne could deliver, and all she could think was, if Daphne could do that? There was hope yet. What if this was the fastest way to get Hannah back?
“Don’t get hung up on the language. Here.” Daphne flipped to the second page. “Paragraph two states that I, Daphne—”
“Hold on. Your name’s seriouslyDaphne?”
She reared back, scowling. “Um, rude. What’s wrong with my name?”
“Nothing, I guess. I just thought demons had names like Balthazar or Asmodeus. Lucifer or Beelz—”
“Don’tsay that name.” Between one blink and the next, her eyes shifted, turning black.
“What? Lucifer?” she asked, genuinely confused. “Why, is it blasphemous or something? Like taking the Lord’s name in vain?”
“No,” Daphne bit out, uncharacteristically tense, black claws beginning to sprout from her fingers, the transformation as fascinating as it was gruesome. “Because hearing it vexes me.”
A laugh slipped out before she could stifle it, Daphne’s prim choice of words at odds with the beastly claws she now sported. “Well, if itvexesyou.”
“Let’s get something straight,” Daphne snarled, lips curling back from sharpened teeth. “You want your girlfriend back? You donottalk to me abouthim.”
“All right! Jesus.” She held up both hands. “I got it, okay? Ixnay on the Uciferlay. You can put the teeth and claws away.”
What was he, her ex? There had to be history there if she got so butt-hurt over simply hearing his name.
Daphne dropped her gaze, glower softening as she plucked at a loose thread dangling from the raw hem of her skirt. “Like I said, I wasn’talwaysa demon. I had—have—a name.”
If she had a name, that meant she had parents who named her. A family, friends; though with an attitude like hers, the latter was questionable.
Not that Sam had any intention of voicing any more personal questions. She liked her headattachedto her body, thank you very much.
Daphne cleared her throat. “Where were we? Oh, right. I, Daphne, a representative of Hell, classified as a not-for-profit corporation as defined in chapter 35, article 1, section 102, subparagraph 5 of the New York State Penal Code, will offer you six wishes to use as the damned—Sorry.” She smirked. “Darnedsees fit.”
“Six? Why not seven?”
“Why not five?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. The Pythagoreans thought six was the perfect number. That, and six just sounds right.”
As reluctant as Sam was to admit it, Daphne had a point. Sixdidsound right.
“Paragraph 2, clause 1 stipulates the limitations of the aforementioned wishes. Basically, you can’t use your wishes to ask for more wishes, and you can’t wish yourself free from the contract.”
“Do people actually try that? Wishing for more wishes?”
“You’d be surprised what people wish for.”
“All right, then. Surprise me.”
“No one’s ever wished for world peace, if you catch my drift. Humans are a selfish breed.”
“And demons aren’t?”
She smirked. “The rest of the paragraph is all legal jargon. Paragraph 3 outlines the manner in which you’ll pay—nonmonetarily, before you get your boring granny panties in a bunch—for the aforementioned wishes.”
