Realistic or Modern Paradiso [Closed]

[Lucyfer]

“A demon is the worst thing in this world, Eden, so I need you to recognize when you may confront one.”​

The words resounded in the numbed mind of Marquise Eden Savidge, the warning of her late father Donahue before he taught her one of the few tricks of the trade she was allowed to learn before becoming an adult. They were on repeat, a soft warning against what she was already etching into her own flesh with her once-perfect nails – now ragged and scratchy things, with blue paint chipped, and the end of one index finger stained with fresh and dry blood as she worked at the etching in her own thigh.

The glyph was coming together, not created in blood which could be smeared, but as the lines of a wound that would scab over, one day, if she lived. There was enough light around her cage for as she sat in it, and none suspected anything of their broken little lamb as she sat with glazed blue eyes and made no more sounds of protest.

No one recognized any extra blood on her already bloody and bruised body.

Whenever one walked by, she covered the marking with her dress.

They – whoever they were, a question Eden needed answered more than she needed to heed her father’s warning – did eventually come to gather her from her cage the day the glyph was finished. Well, Eden thought it was the same day. With no access to natural lights, and no apparent schedule for anything, Eden couldn’t honestly be sure – but she was sure the scratchings were immaculate when the cage door was opened and a sweet voice called, “Come with me, little one. It’s almost over now,” she cooed, “we have what we need, so come – you can go free.”

As if Eden believed that.

Still, like a kicked dog, Eden moved forward to the extended hand and even took it, accepting the help to stand on weak legs that trembled from hunger and blood loss as she lifted her gaze to the woman who was all smiles – not even malicious smiles! Gentle and kind, with a soft touch to stroke Eden’s blonde hair, “It’ll—”

Eden yanked with all the strength she had left on the woman’s hand to bring her down to her own height.

“Anyone who summons a demon is desperate or stupid. The stupid are nothing to worry about, but the desperate….”​

Hot blood rushed over Eden’s lips and across her tongue, as it gushed from the woman’s neck. Her shriek was short-lived, not because of what Eden did, but the silenced shot that followed and ended her misery.

The silenced gun aimed itself at Eden, but she felt no fear as Enochian words whispered over her lips. Likely just nonsense to the others in the room, if they even heard the sounds, but she wasn't worried about being shot for it. They weren’t going to kill her. Not yet. Not here. They kept her alive this long for some reason.

And they didn’t seem to notice, or care, about the gentle aura of light that hovered over the body of their fallen comrade. Fluorescents, right?

“Put her in cuffs, and cover her mouth,” the one holding the gun said to the others, “did you all forget?” Whatever they might have forgotten, he didn’t spell out as others scrambled, and someone grabbed her hands and yanked them behind her back. There weren’t formal cuffs, but someone had zipties.

It didn’t phase Eden. The glazed look returned. No cry escaped her lips when the plastic dug into abused wrists, or when the guards were now significantly harsher in dealing with her. She felt the burning in her flesh, and she knew, the call was heard, the offer extended to the universe.

“The desperate know what they’re doing.”​

 

[Syntra]

There just wasn't a lot of light in Hell. Most of it was damp darkness; the kind that crawled inside your bones, provided you still had them, and stuck. Cantareia was sure that someone else would consider that to be terribly funny, given Lucifer's entire light-bringing shtick, but she hadn't really laughed for, what, centuries? Maybe even longer? And she certainly wasn't going to break that habit now.

Not without good reason. Whether this reason was good, that still remained to be seen.

What was she talking about, you ask?

The one source of light that she could see. It was all the rarer out there, in the Wastes, a place reserved not for your regular demons but for those who had somehow managed to fall after the initial fall. To disappoint their dearest leader. Of course, saying it was 'reserved' for them was quite the euphemism; one that implied Satan thought banishment to be an appropriate retribution, which was as far from reality as could be.

He, of all people, saw where such things led. What would it look like, to have a Hell 2.0 contained within the actual Hell? How would he explain it to the investors? Not that there were investors, and not that he had to explain himself. Satan didn't have to do anything at all that he didn't like, but he also couldn't stop his subordinates from talking. From arriving to conclusions, too.

No. The truth of the situation was that Satan just... didn't have as much control over his own dominion as he would have liked. An unfortunate thing, some would have said; some, but definitely not Cantareia.

Never Cantareia.

The same Cantareia who, experimentally, reached towards the light. Why did she do it? Why would she not do it was the better question here, if only because it provided some distraction in the overall emptiness. Something new to focus on. A... purpose? Or a means, if you cared to distinguish between the two. Often, Cantareia found the two to be nearly synonymous.

A wish? Yes, that was what it was. A formalized one, akin to a letter written in a very elegant font, but a wish all the same. The style couldn't mask the raw desperation, either, and, well, that did bring a smile to Cantareia's lips.

(Something close to a smile, anyway. She couldn't be too sure, on account of not being too good with these things.)

Poor little human.

Did she mean it? Not really. Humans, also, rarely meant what they said, and so Cantareia felt justified in playing the same game.

What was obvious was that the person on the other end of the line - a woman? the handwriting did have that feminine touch to it - very much meant her offer, though. She couldn't not have meant it. Sure, dumb kids tried out demon summonings all the time, but actual dumb kids a) didn't know the right script, b) didn't sweeten the deal with a soul.

Which, speaking of--

Cantareia's eyes widened, the surprise, itself, catching her by surprise. How many decades had it been? How many centuries?

That soul... Not the one that had died to light the fire, but the one that held the match. The one still firmly attached to its mortal shell. It burned bright, a sun stuck in a sea of candles, and Cantareia decided, right then, that she would have it.

Finally something that could help!

Of course, that involved actually showing up. There were rules for such things, and, as much as Cantareia resented them, she couldn't just... barge in and take the payment without delivering the goods.

Not how demons operated.

That she, herself, was the goods in this scenario was demeaning enough to earn her eyeroll, though that was all the protest that Cantareia would allow herself to indulge in. She had places to be, after all -- now, if the human's terror was any indication.

Blip!

If there was one thing Cantareia loved about being a demon, 'interdimensional travel' was the answer for sure. Admittedly, she did enjoy more things about it, but the convenience was out of this world, and the reactions never disappointed either. They certainly didn't disappoint now; as she emerged out of thin air, all glamour and sharpness, it was the familiar chorus of gasps that welcomed her.

"A--Ahhh!"

Going with the classic here! Good to see some things hadn't changed.

"Thou Father in Heaven," someone mumbled automatically, which, also, was a classic in its own right. Cantareia could respect that.

"What the fuck did the brat do?"

Well, that wasn't very nice. The way the man grabbed the brat by her hair also wasn't very nice, "Explain yourself! What treachery did you conco--"

There was a quiet, wet sound. One could say it was almost too quiet in the general chaos of the situation, but it was very much noticed, the same way that the silence before a storm tended to be. Mostly, it was noticed by the man himself -- and while Cantareia wasn't an expert on the human psyche by any means, she had the inkling it might have been because the sound was caused by his hand falling off.

Well, not exactly. It hitting the floor was the more accurate phrasing.

The man stared, not quite comprehending. A few others screamed. They screamed some more when other hands fell on the ground -- mostly, the ones that still bothered to hold their guns. Cantareia, meanwhile, walked over to the man and the brat, wearing the tiniest smile on her lips.

"Forgive me for being so terribly rude," her voice was accented, though nobody present could even begin to guess at what that accent might be, "but I would like to actually talk to the lady." The sun, shining from afar. Her sun, now. "You treating her this roughly just won't do." Caring little for the way he flinched, or much else, Cantareia put the gag away. For a demon, her touch was... surprisingly gentle?

Perhaps.

Perhaps it was what the girl had expected, though.

This angelic-looking girl, who apparently knew how to summon a demon. But considering just what demons were, that, also, wasn't too shocking.

"Hello there, little lady," Cantareia tilted her head aside, "You have called, and so I am here. What is it that you wish for?"

The agreement hadn't technically been struck just yet, so the demon supposed she could consider the carnage to be a... goodwill gesture. A preview of things to come.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Can you really call this treachery?’

Eden could not help but wonder, when her hair was pulled and she was shouted at, drawing a whimper from the sudden pain before it was just gone. Along with the man’s hand, as she saw when the wet thwack sound reached her ears. She looked back up at his face to see the pain had yet to register, just shock.

Shock was on everyone’s expressions in the silence that followed the demon’s action, and Eden let her gaze drift back to the dark creature she’d pulled from – well, somewhere. For all she knew the demon had been walking around the street over, but Eden assumed Hell. The demon was both what she expected, and not at all, the contradicting truths in her head: demons were evil, but demons had once been angels.

Was Lucifer not the Light-Bringer, and the Most Beautiful Of All?

It was not Lucifer’s assumed golden radiance before her, but quite the opposite. Dark-skinned and white haired, she brought to mind more the peaceful images of a full moon night than a raging sun, a calming presence that was still just as vicious when provoked. But when not, the lilt of her voice was beautiful, and her touch was soothing as she removed the gag and tilted Eden’s head to request the wish.

‘Twinkle, twinkle, little star….’

If only it was as innocent as wishing on a star.

There were rules for making deals with demons. The first, perhaps the most important, was to be as objective as possible. So the words she’d spoken to her tormentors as her wish was held back, quite physically, when she pursed her lips together against them in a struggle for her mind to find what shreds of logic and reason remained to compose the wish. It had to be in words, it couldn’t just be a vague feeling or something in the heart.

How did she say she wanted everyone who harmed her dead and answers to what happened, that wouldn’t somehow end this too soon, before she had—

The word came, and she broke the cardinal rule in a breath, “I want to find the truth to what has happened to me and my loved ones, and feel closure for the events.” The difference! The single difference was that it was no longer for the demon to decide, the subjectivity was wholly in her own feelings. When she was satisfied, then the contract would be at its end, and the demon would have her soul. She wouldn’t feel closure until she knew what had happened, and all those who had inflicted it upon her were dead.

Not that the demon couldn’t try to manipulate that along the way to speed up that feeling, but if so, it didn’t change that desired feeling, did it? She’d have it.

“Is this a wish you are capable of granting?”

One of the men, missing a hand, chose that moment to try and run, while another scrambled for a gun, and yet another – a phone. Likely not to call the police, there was no help there, but perhaps to call someone, warn them of what had happened, but Eden didn’t take her gaze away from the demon to take in the panic that was swirling around.

“You can have all of their souls for it, and every soul of those who have wronged me, to the end when you will have mine.” She wasn’t offering them in exchange for herself, that was stupid. There was no getting out of that part of the agreement. Still, it couldn’t hurt to promise the demon would be well-fed until then.

 

[Syntra]

Everything came to a standstill. The screams calmed; the people did, too. The world held its breath as Cantareia's eyes hung on the little lady's lips, hungry for her words, for that elusive something hidden in her heart, and--

Okay, fine.

None of that happened at all, mostly because the idiots didn't know how to savor their last seconds on this Earth. For them, waiting in silence apparently would have been too dignified. Too sensible. Of course they ran; of course they shouted. Had they had the good sense to provide a decent enough atmosphere, Cantareia might have... what, spared them? No, likely not. Mercy was a rare treat, not a bone to be thrown to rabid dogs. What she could have done, though, was kill them in less painful ways.

Had she already decided to kill them all?

Maybe.

Maybe it would be a better idea to direct that ire towards the lady herself, though.

My, my! I have to say, you really are a brat.

The truth? Fair enough. Annoying, but also somewhat expected, if only because that seemed to come with the territory of being human. They were all like that, with their whims and feelings and little particularities that made sense as much as they didn't. No, hoping to get this over with quickly would have been foolish. That was why Cantareia hadn't bothered with that.

Feel closure, though? Feel it?

You couldn't force feelings. You could force someone's hand, perhaps even someone's mind, but never feelings, and Cantareia recognized, right then, that she could very well be looking at years of service. Years that might not even go anywhere! Because humans had this unfortunate tendency to die, usually without ever knowing true satisfaction.

Such was their curse.

What if that closure never happened for her? The contract would be void, then. It wasn't like she'd get the soul just because nobody else had thought to call dibs on it. Again, not how these things worked.

I should go home.

Yes, that she should. She should laugh, thank the girl for her time, and let the assholes tear her apart.

Wouldn't they just love it?

The thing was, Cantareia never quite did what she was supposed to do.

And the soul, that sweet, sweet soul...

"Perhaps," the demon's lips curved up into a smirk, "But can you do it? Be happy with the truth, whatever it might be?" Because that was the true question, here. The deciding factor. "I suppose you are lucky," Cantareia almost purred, "That I am willing to find out."

In the end, why not? Human lives weren't even that long. What were years, when you knew millennia? When you'd seen kingdoms rise and fall, and turn into dust? The blink of an eye. The briefest of dreams. The truth of the matter was that Cantareia could either have the soul or not, and all that not even attempting to reach for it would do was ensure the worse outcome.

How illogical.

Foolish.

She could suffer some annoyance, Cantareia was sure.

The other souls... didn't interest her nearly as much, but she supposed they would be nice to have.

"Yes," the smile widened, "I agree." In the background, a few others got the staggeringly bad idea of grabbing their weapons. They found out just how stupid it was rather quickly, though; it took but the tiniest effort for Cantareia to find their lungs with her mind, and think 'crush.' To their endless lack of luck, the distance between intent and action was non-existent, for her. "What is my lady's name?" she asked, paying little attention to the mayhem around them, "And what shall be mine?"

Not that Cantareia cared too much, but the damn protocol had to be observed. For... reasons.

Reasons that were likely very stupid, but binding all the same. For someone who had gotten famous for his precious rebellion, Lucifer certainly loved all the little rules.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘I never said I had to be happy with it.’ Eden didn’t speak to that, though. She did not think she would ever know happiness again, no matter what information she found. There might be that last spark of queer excitement at having it all put together, but happiness? No, she was already writing that off. How could one be happy when there was a death sentence over their head, anyways?

That she was luck also seemed a lie, given what she’d just sold, but what choice did she have? Go along with these psychopaths, who were, blessedly, dropping like flies now? Absolutely not.

“I am Eden Savidge,” she answered the query, and knew the part about naming. Of course, she would not get the demon’s real name. No demon was fool enough to let that slip, because that would give Eden too much power. The temporary name would act like the seal of the contract, and melt away with the contract as well when all was said and done. It was an important bit, but she hadn’t really taken the time to think that part through.

It was one thing to name a dog that couldn’t argue, but to name a demon? ‘Auriel is too on the nose.’ And a little too angelic, anyways. The fact it was the angel that guarded Eden had made it the first name to come to her head, but that seemed a bit ridiculous since the demon would be her end at some point.

So her mind drifted back to those initial, lunar impressions. “Esmeray?” It was more question than statement. It was funny how she’d come upon that name, looking up Esmeralda years ago when she had loved Hunchback of Notre Dame, and so found Esmeray and other similar names. It wasn’t exactly a proper English name, but then again, the demon didn’t look at all like a proper English woman.

Barely human, despite being strikingly human.

Then again, perhaps that was just because Eden knew.

“It can be otherwise if you do not like that,” it was just something to be called for a while, after all. Eden was not sold on any particular name for this, but it was a necessary component, like the soul, like the glyph. It all had to come together to finalize the details of the contract.

These fallen bodies hadn’t been necessary, but they were a nice addition, now that they were all…well, dead. ‘Now what?’ Perhaps Eden shouldn’t have been so hasty in wanting them dead…they might have had information that could be useful. The realization was a secondary one, but slowly slipping into her thoughts, all the same. They’d been a more damning threat, but now she had the luxury of thought.

 

[Syntra]

Eden Savidge. Eden? Cantareia might have laughed, wondering what people even used that kind of name for their very human, very non-garden daughter, but in the end, she contained herself. Names were a... strange thing. A powerful thing, but also a roll of the dice, and some just got plain unlucky, usually via their parents getting a little more creative than they perhaps should have.

And as for her name...

Esmeray? It could be that, but also apparently didn't have to be, in case Cantareia didn't enjoy it too much. If she felt bad about it, the girl would be kind enough to come up with something else. And, well, wasn't that ridiculous?

Cantareia was Cantareia, and nothing this Eden said could change anything about it.

Esmeray wasn't a name; it was a shield.

A shield with which she would crack her skull open one day.

Why did she have to like it?

Deciding to withhold any comment, Cantareia dropped to her knees. Strangely enough, the movement felt gradual; the falling of a feather, more than a rock dropping on the ground. A weightless thing, somehow given weight. At the same time, the glyph on the girl's thigh lit up with a queer blue flame. It didn't really hurt, but what it did was command attention. "Eden Savidge," she began, "To you, I pledge myself. I, Esmeray," not Cantareia, that was important, "Shall stand by your side, until such a time that your wish is fulfilled, or your life lost. This I swear, here in this world, and all the others."

Each word was another link in the chain, and, by the time Cantareia was done speaking, the entire thing was wrapped rather solidly around the girl's metaphorical neck. No escape now, she thought with grim amusement, For either of us.

Not that Cantareia really wanted to escape. An escape was, perhaps, the thing she desired the least, with such a treat just within her reach.

So close, and yet so far.

Something of a theme in her long, long life.

I will have to actually work for it, won't I? Because, instead of being normal and wanting riches or fame or love, the girl simply had to set her sights on something as elusive as the truth.

A thought wormed its way into her head, as unwelcome as it was relevant. 'Humans are fragile,' it started, 'Don't you remember?' And she did, of course that she did, because nobody had ever known that better, save for, perhaps, the pompous ass Raphael himself.

Then, the natural continuation of that thought: 'And this is your fragile human now. Your fragile human that you should try to keep alive as she rushes headfirst into danger.'

Oh, this was going to be very annoying.

Something in her still remembered what shock was, and that warmth was good for it, so she reached for one of the coats on the nearby hanger and wrapped it around the girl's shoulders. "How hurt is my lady? Do we need to visit a... healer?" They might not call them that anymore, but Cantareia was sure she'd understand the gist at least.

No, the demon hadn't bothered to keep up with humanity. Why? To better understand her hypothetical charge, in the unlikely case that she actually got one?

Okay, fine, not her best argument. Too late to cry over spilled milk, though.

"I should also like to hear what happened here. I understand finding out is part of my task, but," an elegant flick of the wrist, "Surely there is some context to all of this?"

To the cage, the strange humans, everything they'd planned to do to her.

"I would prefer to think you are not so barbaric a species for such things to be too common."

 

[Lucyfer]

The demon offered no protest, but stepped to Eden and took a knee, declaring herself Esmeray and binding herself. Eden felt the change in the mark, and knew it would be forever burnt into her thigh. It would not hurt, but there’d be no removing it. The sin would always be there. At least the likelihood of anyone ever seeing it was almost zero, so she wasn’t terribly concerned at the moment.

That was a problem for later.

Many things were a problem for later, if they were ever problems again.

Esmeray rose, and walked away. Eden followed, but intended to go further, to finding an exit, only to be stopped when Esmeray put a coat over her shoulders. That did pause her, and she considered shrugging it off, because it had been theirs, but then…why? Why care about using what they had, when it could be very useful to her?

‘Actually….’ She kept it on her shoulders as she turned around and went to where the bodies were, finding one that had a cell phone and picking it up. The screen was locked, but that was a minor problem. Someone could get into it. She had…her parents had those kind of connections.

She’d inherited them.

All of it.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Eden said as she slid the phone into a pocket of the coat, and decided to put it on properly by sticking her arms through the sleeves. It was too large for her, the peacoat hanging almost to her ankles, but that was probably for the best. She bundled it around herself to hide the blood. “I don’t think I do, anyways,” actually, she might, but that wasn’t on her mind.

She probably needed a doctor, food, water…but these all felt like secondary concerns of someone who hadn’t sold their soul. Of course, she needed to live long enough to get answers, but the length of that hadn’t settled in her head, yet.

“I want to go see a…kind of family friend,” she told Esmeray, “Her name is Sybil, I have an address, we can….” Was a taxi the best move? Would uber or lyft be better? Who was going to ask less questions? Maybe a bus? “Do you know how to drive?” Maybe they could steal a car belonging to one of these people?

Oh right – she had asked what was going on, “I don’t…know what happened.” She said, looking out again at the massacred bodies. That lifelessness touched her eyes, not glazed but not…fully taking it in, because that was too much. “I came home to celebrate the holidays with my family. Someone shot my father, and I suppose they killed my mother,” her memory liked to make her uncertain.

“They kidnapped me. They didn’t explain why. They tortured me. They wanted to know what I wanted.” Such a strange line of questioning, and it didn’t really dawn on Eden what answer had satisfied them, or why they chose to stop when they did, “I assume they’re enemies of my family, but I’m not sure for what, or why…we have enemies I just…I never really learned them.” She looked away from the massacre, “My family dealt with the supernatural here. Not always in the nicest of ways, but they…tried to be fair. Just.” Not that everyone saw it that way. “Sybil would know more, my father put her in charge of quite a bit.”

 

[Syntra]

Doctor? The word was unfamiliar to Cantare… no, Esmeray, and she couldn’t resist the impulse to say it aloud, much like someone else might be tempted to grab a strange object. “Doc-tor.” The only downside to this? That producing the sound did not get her any closer to understanding just what this ‘doctor’ might be. “I see.” No, she didn’t. Judging by context, it had to be something – someone? – related to healing, though that territory was still rather wide. Rather ambiguous. Uncertainty wasn’t actually something Esmeray wanted to get used to more than she had to, and so she vowed to find out more about this topic later.

And about many other topics.

Likely enough topics to make her head spin.

Fuck, why hadn’t she bothered to learn in advance?

Oh, yeah! Lucifer’s prison hadn’t exactly been brimming over with opportunities. It hadn’t been brimming over with anything at all, which was what made it so fearsome in the first place. The… emptiness. The silence. Having all the time in the world, but not one single thing to actually do. Esmeray had heard stories of demons who had allegedly gone mad in there, with nothing to pick apart but their own thoughts. She’d mostly considered those to be exaggerated; after all, it wasn’t like thoughts were that bad. Didn’t everyone spend all of their time with those by default?

Well, no.

Not like that.

Not till the threads that held them together snapped.

“I suppose you’d know best.” At least in that regard. Clearly, Eden didn’t know best when it came to not getting fucked over, but Esmeray wasn’t going to complain here. Humans who thought the deals weren’t skewed really were… rather sweet. Why make this even harder for them? For her own pleasure? She wasn’t that childish. “And this Sybil you speak of,” the demon tilted her head aside, “What is she exactly?” Apparently someone who could help unravel this mystery, which was everything that Esmeray ought to care about.

Everything, aside from the practical concerns. Practical concerns, such as:

“Drive?” she repeated, the word not unfamiliar to her this time, but certainly unexpected. Unexpected, and most unwelcome. “Drive… what, my lady? A carriage?” Great! Another addition to the ever-growing list of annoyances, as if it wasn’t miles long already. And she’d spent, what? Ten minutes in this dimension? Oh, this was going to go swimmingly. “I cannot say that animals love me. This… might prove to be problematic.” ‘The stupid fucks won’t stop freaking out the second they smell me’ would have been a more honest translation, but, as far as Esmeray knew, politeness wasn’t actually about saying what you wanted to say. No, it… seemed to be about the exact opposite of that? And somehow still expressing it, through all the self-created obstacles.

Humans really were a strange bunch.

“Therefore, I cannot recommend the course of action. If there is an easier way to reach this friend of yours, we might want to do that instead.”

Not a muscle moved in Esmeray’s face as Eden relayed her – by most people’s standards tragic –story. Ah. Yes, I can see why calling me seemed like the better idea. ‘Seemed,’ not ‘was.’ Exchanging eternity for a brief lease on life was anything but smart, but it wasn’t Esmeray’s job to play the guardian angel to hapless humans. That they couldn’t follow a few clear-cut axioms really was nobody’s problem but their own. What she… wanted, though? One piece of the puzzle, and likely an important one, so Esmeray filed it away for later.

In the meantime, however: “That is… very sad to hear, my lady.” Few things would have sounded faker coming from the demon, perhaps short of her reciting the Lord’s Prayer. But, hey! It was the thought that counted, right? And Esmeray at least tried to do the whole… being decent thing. “My heart hurts for you.“

 

[Lucyfer]

As Esmeray repeated ‘doctor’, and then went on to question ‘driving’, Eden found herself pulled from her daze to wonder at how little the demon she’d just brokered a deal with knew about earth. ‘When were you last here?’ She still thought of driving as involving carriages, so at least 1800s, but there were doctors then, certainly. When did the word come into existence? If Eden had a phone, she could have looked it up.

She did not.

Not a working one.

It was almost enough to cause Eden not to focus on the demon’s pithy little comment about her heart hurting. That – knowing what Esmeray was – caused Eden to laugh. It was as amused as it was angry, and it hurt, definitely confirmation she probably did need to see a doctor as she wrapped an arm around her ribs and quelled the laughter, covering her lips as she regrouped.

She could still taste the blood on them. “Sorry,” why apologize? Habit. She lowered her hand, “There’s…there’s no need of that, Esmeray. I know you don’t care about what happened to me beyond how it helps you understand getting my soul, so please…I’ve had enough confusion this night.” No more. “I know demons are cruel, but isn’t this enough?”

Driving, though. She sighed. “We’ll walk, until an opportunity presents itself,” and so she would indeed walk out, into the streets near the port. Which was…fortunate. She knew the area. She knew how to find Sybil, and she explained, “Sybil was left in charge of many goings on in the criminal and supernatural world by my father. She may have an idea of what happened, or will at least have ideas of where to begin looking.”

And she could be directed to find others.

At least, Eden thought it might be that easy.

An opportunity to get a taxi did present itself as they left the dock area, as there were plenty of taverns and bars that enjoyed the docks. Some things never changed – one of those things were sailors. The coat that Eden wore helped to mask her injuries, and she gestured for Esmeray to get in first.

“You just get in and take a seat, like a carriage,” Eden murmured quietly so the driver wouldn’t hear.

There was…probably a problem of payment, something she only realized once she took her seat and watched the meter start. ‘Oh no.’ She didn’t want to have to harm him, or cause a problem by not paying. Could he just bill her? Was that a thing? Or if she could just access venmo or cashapp….

Blessedly, there was a way around those problems, as Eden dug in the pockets. There was no wallet, but there was some spare cash in one of the pockets – perhaps a rainy day surprise for whoever once owned the coat. Either way, it ended up more than enough to foot the bill, and Eden gave it all as a tip before she exited the car, and walked the short distance to what she knew to be Sybil’s home away from home.

‘Please be here.’

She didn’t actually know Sybil’s home address, so it was just the business address – and Eden didn’t want to be wasting her time in the kind of place that passed for a ‘legitimate business’ for all of Sybil’s…doings.



Unbeknownst to her, when she entered, she was recognized by one of the not-so legitimate workers who couldn’t help her own gasp, before she flickered into the back to find Sybil.

Krisidi, so known as Kristine, had heard of the demise of the Savidge family not long ago, two bodies found. The third, the daughter, was missing and assumed dead. Which meant that Krisidi had failed in her job, and now she was bound to this place for no good reason! She had been in a deep, silent mourning of it since she heard, but then – wonder of all wonders – the girl walked in!

And Krisidi was quick to make her way to where she knew Sybil had been, and rap her knuckles excitedly on the door. “Sybil! There’s—the Savidge girl! She’s here! With…with someone strange.” Actually, was it a someone, or a something? She hadn’t gotten a good look at them, but she hadn’t needed one to know they stood out beautifully.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe it wasn’t.

 

[Syntra]

Cruel? But it was humans who were cruel, Esmeray wanted to say. Humans, with their silly little pretend games and impossible wishes and all those things that were just filthy fucking lies, wrapped in a package pretty enough that you almost believed them.

That you had believed them, back when you'd still had your wings.

And, yes, 'you' might have been just 'her.'

She wanted to say all of that, but then she didn't. What would be the point in that? Eden wouldn't understand. Esmeray didn't really need her to understand, but she also didn't like wasting her breath.

"We demons aren't cruel, though," she pointed out, "With us, you always know what you are getting into. You may misunderstand from time to time, but I'd say that's hardly our fault. Isn't that better a deal than the one God offers? Kinder?" Though, fine, if the girl didn't want to be playing at courtesies, Esmeray would oblige. It didn't at all matter to her. Ever the faithful servant, the demon nodded her head, "But no, I don't have to offer my sympathies. If you'd so prefer, I can stay silent throughout the entirety of our contract." That would be annoying as well, but Esmeray had already accepted her fate, with annoyances both big and small. "There is no need for us to grow close, though my past masters... happened such things."

Of course, those were all dead now. Lost to the flow of time. Age would have taken them long ago had she not been the one to do it, and wasn't that the best argument in favor of these deals?

Humans were like moths, living their pointless little moth lives. Before you so much as blinked, they crumbled away. So, instead of succumbing to it -- why not fly a little closer to the sun? And get what they truly wanted.

Eden didn't really explain what she was meant to drive, but Esmeray at least grasped that her answer didn't really fill her with confidence. Hm! So it's not a carriage, then? It had to be something like it though, and the demon had to admit she was... curious. Not terribly so, but more than enough for her to--

"Oh! What a splendid vehicle," she explained, admiring the steely... structure? Yes, structure, that was the word, "Can it really move on its own, though?"

The look that the driver gave her in response was not kind, "Look here, mate, if you got a fuckin' problem with me car, you can walk!"

Is everyone so terribly rude in this era? Quite possibly, the answer to that question was 'yes.' "A problem? But I was admiring it. I rather like the... ah, metallic quality."

"...A fucking looney," the man muttered under his breath, but chose not to elaborate, probably not wanting to risk getting dragged any deeper into a conversation than necessary.

So, off to Sybil's place they went -- and to say that it did not impress her would be quite the understatement. "I see that some things never change, my lady," Esmeray smirked, "Crime may pay off, but it cannot buy taste." The mounted trophies on the well? The opposite of decorative! The demon supposed she could understand having your dead enemies on display, though doing so with defenseless animals was just pathetic. The paintings also struck her as cheap, but-- ooo, what was that? A statuette? Esmeray had, of course, seen statues before, but ones that were much bigger and much less detailed. Much less colorful, too. This one appeared to portray a girl with long, blonde hair in pigtails, holding a... what was it? A potent magic wand? It had to be, given the lunar symbolism.

Meanwhile, Sybil was totally working, and not at all installing the newest Skyrim mods into her already modded-as-hell game. What? You had to be well-rested to actually stay productive! And if you joined the equivalent of mafia just so you could imitate the nine-to-five office hell cycle, then congratulations on being a sucker but she was not at all about that life.

And, lately, her life had been pretty good!

Mostly thanks to the Savidge family getting caught up in that killing spree. Yeah, yeah -- so sad, too bad. Very tragic! Sybil was sure that they didn't actually deserve it, mostly because few people did. She suspected that Donahue kind of might have, if half the rumors that were circulating about him had been true, but his wife had likely been decent, and that clueless as fuck girl had been... well, just that. Hopelessly clueless. All in all, evil had probably won out?

But she had, as well! No more dealing with the supernatural bullshit! And, since nobody but Sybil ever looked out for Sybil's interests, she felt obliged to throw herself a small celebratory party, as a treat.

Okay, fine. Kristine did look out for her interests as well, and Sybil had to - begrudgingly - admit that she rather liked the girl.

Nobody understood her half as well as Kristine did!

She, too, despised all the supernatural bullshit. Sybil just knew, mostly because you couldn't fake the kind of panic that crossed her features whenever they had to deal with nonsense like that. Finally, a kindred soul!

And, speaking of Kristine? She... was actually bringing news.

Sybil looked up from the screen, the expression in her eyes well and truly dead. "The Savidge girl?" God dammit, no! No, no, no! "Are you sure it's her, and not just someone who looks like her? Maybe an evil twin?" But, the second she said it, it dawned on her that it was 100% Eden Savidge in the flesh, because of course it was. Just her fucking luck!

Again, Sybil didn't resent her for being alive; she wasn't that much of a monster, and actually had quite a bit of conscience left. She just... wanted her to be alive somewhere else. Preferably far away from her!

But no, Eden couldn't even do that for her. How inconsiderate was she? "But what do you mean, strange? Normal strange, or... strange strange?" Somehow, Sybil got the impression she wasn't going to like the answer. "Ugh, this is going to be a headache. Okay, Kristine, let's just... check it out."

After all, how bad could it be?

Pretty bad, as it turned out, the second Sybil got her ass downstairs and saw the obvious fucking supernatural fiddling around with her Sailor Moon figurine.

Oh, and also the Savidge girl. That seemed pretty secondary at the moment, though!

"Okay, can someone please, please explain what's going on?" she asked, with her usual tact, "I mean, good that news of your death have been exaggerated, Miss Eden, but... can you maybe fill me in?"

 

[Lucyfer]

Esmeray was not silent. Quite the opposite, not that Eden had wished for it, she did reconsider as Esmeray made a bit of a fuss over the car, astonished by its ability to move and upsetting the driver. Thank goodness she’d had the funds to pay him or that might have ruined any chance of good fortune and mercy! Though, maybe not if she showed the bloody dress. Even within Sybil’s front, Esmeray was not silent, nor still, although Eden was when she did notice someone running off.

No point in making a fuss, and she didn’t have the energy.

That seemed like it was going away from her rapidly. What she wouldn’t give to curl up on a couch and go to sleep!

That wasn’t in the cards, of course…if she could ever sleep again. Of course, bodily needs would overcome her eventually, she was only human, but she doubted sleep would ever be a peaceful affair. It hadn’t been while she was captive, after all.

Sybil came into the room, looking agitated with her flighty woman behind, looking more agitated, but less angry. If Eden squinted – which she did – and canted her head, she’d recognize something…off with the woman. Inhuman.

A problem for later.

Hopefully.

“I was hoping you could fill me in, Sybil,” Eden said, removing the too-heavy coat at last. The room wasn’t cold enough to warrant it, and the blood made enough of a statement on its own, as evidenced by the gasp from the woman behind Sybil. “You understand the operations of those in the crime syndicates better than I do, and you heard the rumor of my death,” so she wasn't ill-informed.

Eden supposed it was probably a scandal.

Two nobles killed, one missing, presumed dead. Headline news! Except, of course, she hadn’t seen any of the papers, so she didn’t know. Perhaps it was also hushed up. The Messengers did that sometimes when their own died to keep the news of it…well, quiet.

A reason to trust and mistrust them. Of course, they were next on the list to try and gather information from.

“What do you mean? We had nothing to do with this, Miss Eden!” Like that didn’t sound suspicious to any normal person.

Perhaps it was to her good fortune that Eden wasn’t normal, and had all but written off Sybil as having a hand in this. All but, of course, being key. There was that chance. Eden…didn’t fully understand the working relationship she had with her parents.

That was likely something else, “My father trusted you with much, Sybil. Please…can we sit and talk?” Maybe it would be true Sybil knew nothing about this particular incident, but what she knew of her own father might help.

 

[Syntra]

Fill her in... about what? Sybil glanced at Kristine, as if she hoped that she could somehow give her a better summary of the situation than 'what the fuck, man.' In reality, that wasn't at all what Sybil was expecting; in her heart of hearts, she had long abandoned silly concepts like literally anything Savidge-related making sense, and something told her that this would follow all the usual trends.

If anything, it was likely to be worse!

The biggest bullshit to ever bullshit!

So, what she actually wanted from Kristine in the wake of that was emotional support. A friendly presence! Perhaps even a shoulder to cry on, if shit got really bad?

All of those were sorely needed, and became even moreso, when Eden saw it fit to elaborate. "Uhhh..." Okay, yeah, not her most eloquent reaction, but so fucking what? Did she look like a Shakespeare? Sybil thought she was much hotter than Shakespeare, which... admittedly wasn't all that hard, given that he was a skeleton by now. Not much competition there! "Miss Eden," Sybil finally found her words, "You do know I don't share a hivemind with every psycho out there, right? I run a respectable business," respectable, as in, respected by her, "We don't actually do things like that." And, well, they really didn't. Nobody could deny that there had been a few killings on the side, but that could happen to anyone! People often got territorial over their things, and Sybil could hardly tell her men not to defend themselves for the sake of... what, some weird idealism? Not making Eden Savidge sad? Miss her with that shit.

The point was, they didn't kill for profit. They stole for profit, which was a time-honored tradition that went way back to Robin Hood! The noblest of noble deeds!

So, no, she didn't know a whole lot about murders, kidnappings, and kidnappings that led to murders, solely because it wasn't her turf. If there was a Murder Newsletter, Sybil hadn't subscribed!

Kristine's reaction didn't at all make that clear, and she gave her a side eye for that ('How can one person be so clueless?') but it seemed that Eden's weirdness radar hadn't really picked up on it. No wonder, given that she'd likely spent the past few days... doing what, exactly?

Nothing pleasant, if the blood on her dress was any indication.

Siiigh. Yeah, not like she could turn her away now! There was the debt, but also the matter of her stupid, stupid conscience. "Fine," Sybil waved her hand, "I am not sure how you expect me to help, but I guess there's no harm in trying. Why don't you tell us what happened? Maybe I'll be able to... connect it to something. Kristine, dear, will you go make us some tea? I feel like this conversation will need a lot of tea," or several shots of vodka, "We can also get you some fresh clothes, if you'd prefer something less bloodstained."

Though, before the talks could get any deeper: "And, oh. Who is that?" Sybil's eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to the silver-haired woman again. To her credit, she at least had the decency to set the figurine down; unfortunately for her, the gesture didn't make her look any more normal, so Sybil still found it hard to trust her. Yep, supernatural bullshit alert!

"Esmeray," the stranger said, as if that explained anything, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Esme... what?" Sybil tilted her head aside. "Is that a name, or like... a description?"

It was Esmeray's turn not to understand, "A description?"

"I mean, I was wondering if 'Esmeray' is something like 'leprechaun.' That sort of thing."

Leprechaun! If looks could kill, Sybil would have been heavily wounded by now. The murderous intent wasn't at all subtle, which was likely what made the woman in question take a step back and sort of yelp. Not that she was in any real danger; where Cantareia might have acted, Esmeray needed a permission.

Ugh!

"I suppose you are free to think whatever you want," Esmeray finally said. After all, it was Eden's right to disclose her identity, not hers, "I will not stop you."

 

[Lucyfer]

Tea.

The thought of it almost made Eden’s stomach rumble, but instead, there was just this terrible twisting sensation of hunger and nausea. Tea would be good. It might be one of the few things she’d be able to keep down while she still recovered from everything, so she didn’t stop Kristine from going to fetch tea. The woman seemed quite happy to get out of there to attend to this minor request, which Eden also could not blame her for. Although she didn’t quite have a true appreciation for what she’d just thrown into Sybil’s lap, she understood from her own perspective that everything was terrible, and she could not be making anyone’s life easier, no matter how glad Sybil was that she wasn’t just dead.

“Fresh clothes would be…nice. I don’t know how long I’ve been in these.”

That…was actually a good question. What day was it? One she could follow up with, after answering about Esmeray, “It’s a title,” Eden said, “and the less you know, the better for you with regards to the rest of the Messengers, Sybil.” Because they would kill Eden, no questions asked, over a demon. They would probably kill anyone who knew and didn’t report it, as well. Ignorance would be bliss.

Which was another conversation for later. “You only need to know she got me out of the hell I was in for…however long,” she sighed, “What day is it? How long have I been presumed dead?” It had been December 12th when she returned home, and when it all went to hell.

She idly wondered if she had already missed Christmas.

She wondered if she’d be smote for celebrating it, not that she had anything to celebrate. Would she even be allowed to enjoy the twinkling lights anymore? ‘Allowed. Can you?’ No, probably not. There was little point in wondering whether it was right to do something, if she couldn’t even do it in the first place.

Odds were, she wouldn’t even enjoy the tea.

“I know you might not be able to provide much right now, but I am hopeful you will start to hear things, or find things out,” with that, she did dig the phone out of the pocket in the coat she’d taken off, “and that this phone might help.” To Esmeray, she added, “These devices often contain plenty of personal contact information. They will be important. You will get one.” Then, back to Sybil, “I can’t unlock it, but I assume you have contacts who can,” she offered it out, “it was on one of those who kept me hostage.”

She didn’t get his name.

Or anything else, really.

She should have reconsidered having them all questioned, but getting free had been so much more important, and Esmeray hadn’t stopped to ask questions when the souls were on the menu like an all-you-can-eat buffet! Eden could hardly blame her for that.

Kristine popped back in, “I have a room set up, the tea’s still steeping but it, um, should work. I can go find some clothes,” she gave Eden a twice-over, “Um. Size?”

It was another one of those almost-ridiculously-normal things that could have snapped Eden into another fit of laughter. That it didn’t was a small miracle of her growing exhaustion. So, she managed to flatly answer a size larger because, well, she didn’t need the frustration of something that actually fit right then when she’d rather just…throw something on.

 

[Syntra]

Esmeray stopped listening halfway through the meeting, mainly because her threshold for tolerating nonsense had been crossed at least three times by then. The girl receiving fresh clothes? Alright, fine. A net positive, given how susceptible to infections humans were. The strange device thing? Possibly useful, even if she didn’t understand how right now. A problem for later. Focusing on the date (December 20th) was pushing it, though she supposed it could still be helpful in some way. Sybil going on and on about tea, though? (“It’s the best tea in the entire England, Miss Eden! I’ve had to do unspeakable things to obtain it, and I cannot tell you what they were because then you’d have to kill me. But really, totally worth it. It’s so delicious that it could—”) Over the line. So far over the line that Esmeray couldn’t even see it anymore, especially since it didn’t look like they were going to start discussing something actually relevant any time soon!

What’s all the commotion about, anyway? Esmeray’s cup remained untouched, and she eyed it with something that most of all resembled suspicion. That was exactly what it was, too; she knew what tea was, of course, but hadn’t tasted it before, on account of not really wanting to. It technically wouldn’t hurt her, but why do that? Humans ate all kinds of strange things, and what they drank tended to be even worse. She would have said that destroying their livers with literal poison was these people’s national sport, except that they all did it, nations and ethnicities be damned! But, okay. The demon was bored enough; she would be stuck on Earth for a while, too. Might as well get a little bit more familiar with the human world?

Starting now would be as good a time as any.

So, Esmeray lifted her cup and took a careful sip. “It tastes like nothing,” she said afterwards, “Just… mildly flavored water. Grass-flavored water.”

One might have guessed that she’d just insulted Sybil’s entire bloodline, because the woman gasped. “See? It’s shit like that that makes it obvious she’s not human! Grass-flavored water! Mamma mia, I am going to faint.” Oh, yeah. They’d been discussing that for a while – the issue of her apparently being all too striking in her inhumanity. Well, of course. I am a wolf, not a sheep. Why would you expect me to look like one? But all the smart wolves knew how to don sheep’s clothing, and even Esmeray understood how her nature might get Eden Savidge into trouble.

Few liked it when their fellow humans worked with a demon.

Those who understood what a demon actually was liked it even less.

So, it would have been good had this Sybil been able to provide some pointers – except that all she did was citing her looking ‘weird’ and ‘obviously not human.’ “That’s circular logic,” Esmeray pointed out, “You can’t say I look like something because I look like something.”

“Yeah? Well, I just did so fuckin’ sue me!”

The glare she received in response did pacify her a bit, and Sybil seemed to drop her apparent need to be as unhelpful as humanly possible in response. “I think it’s the context, Miss Eden. I mean, you are… you…,” a Savidge, affiliated with all the supernatural bullshit, “And then you mysteriously show up,” despite supposedly being dead, “With this weird stranger? People are going to assume things.”

And rightly so, for once. Esmeray didn’t say that, much like she didn’t say that Sybil had a point. In the short amount of time she’d known her, the demon had already come to the conclusion that she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of being right.

There wasn’t much else to discuss after that, aside from Sybil’s promise to break into the phone and find out more. (“Oh, I can do that on my own! It’s… something of a hobby. Really takes me back!”) Seeing no reason in staying for longer than necessary, Eden and Esmeray departed. They travelled in one of those strange, metallic carriages again – likely, that meant they were common? Something to get used to, then. At least they don’t freak out like horses do. An immediate point in their favor, and Esmeray decided right then that she liked them.

Not that it mattered what she did or didn’t like. She was there for the girl’s soul, not to enjoy things.

Although, staying in her mansion probably would be somewhat enjoyable. As far as human dwellings went, this one really wasn’t too bad – not that Esmeray could really complain about any accommodations, given her… recent status. Oh well.

‘Oh well’ was her reaction to most things, such as the girl refusing to rest. Are you trying to kill yourself? Esmeray couldn’t help but wonder about that, even if she kept her mouth shut. It was an old truth that a good servant was silent. The next day she chose to speak, though – and did so, as they both sat in what the demon assumed to be the living room. “If we absolutely have to meet those Messengers today,” there was a tinge of disapproval in her voice, though she wouldn’t elaborate, “Then you should give me advice on how to present myself. Sybil… wasn’t entirely incorrect yesterday. How do you intend to justify my presence to those people, my lady?”

Meanwhile, in a rare fit of productivity, Sybil decided to start working on the phone right away. It wasn’t because she was afraid of the obvious fucking supernatural, of course! She just… wanted to do right by the girl. Yup, that was it. As always, her intentions were pure. That the results of her intentions tended to be less than pure was a series of tragic coincidences, and blaming her wouldn’t help anything. Hmm… This shouldn’t be too difficult. It rarely was. Most people’s idea of security was setting up a screen lock, which… was the equivalent of almost closing the door, but not really. One would have thought her generation would be smarter, but, no! The suckers still fell for chain mails, of all things.

As someone who had authored a few of them, Sybil knew that better than most.

Ah, bingo! And, as prophesied, she was inside. Sadly, the phone was a phone, and that meant it mostly contained pointless bullshit. Inane messages about where to get the best pizza; the person’s girlfriend’s (?) movie recommendations; a browsing history that would have made for great blackmail material, had the fucker likely not been dead. The contacts list was one of the things that Sybil did copy, because that could be useful. No untangling a conspiracy without getting to know the individual threads, after all!

And, well, she did also find something better.

“Kristine! Kristine, I struck a goldmine!” she called her right hand, “Look.”

All the stylish bitches had projectors, and Sybil, of course, was a stylish bitch. So, she utilized the one she had to great effect, and pointed towards the picture of a tired-looking, forty-something year old man she’d projected on the wall, “This guy is called Mitch O’Connel. One of the members of the lovely group we’re investigating! Or,” Sybil stood dramatically, “Is he? Maybe that’s what he’d like for you to think, Kristine!” okay, fine, she was chewing the scenery a bit, but so what? “Well, not you specifically, but everyone else. The messages I found in the phone kinda make it look like they suspect him of something fishy, aaaand given that I actually found him in my personal cop database, they’ve got it just about right. You think you can help him find me if I give you those contacts? Before they skin him alive.”

No, Sybil wasn’t fond of cops; there were few kinds of people she liked less, and one or two dying would do wonders for the ecosystem.

Still, the guy had been investigating the fuckers for a while. He had to know something, right? And it wasn’t like her to let valuable sources of information kick the bucket!

Unless he died already.

 

[Lucyfer]

If the tea was indeed as great as Sybil claimed, Eden couldn’t taste it. Then again, she suspected quite a bit of herself was numb from everything, and that likely included tastebuds. Resuming her job with chocolate was going to be a nightmare. Still, the tea was warm, and flavorful – not just grass-water – so that was something, even if opinions refused to be formed about whether or not it was actually good.

Esmeray’s dislike of tea was rather…well, American.

Apparently, inhuman to Sybil, although Sybil couldn’t point to what it was. That was frustrating, because the odds were fairly good the Messengers would, and then it’d be all over for Eden. She could keep Esmeray hidden, but that wouldn’t let her serve the necessary purpose.

For all Eden knew, one of the Messengers was behind this.

She suspected them more than Sybil.

She suspected many people, and had no leads at all. Not even from Sybil, who after hearing the story, really didn’t have much to say. ‘I suppose we do need a story.’ Such a thing hadn’t crossed Eden’s mind, but then again, she had only cared about making sure that terrible group didn’t get what they wanted, and she had her revenge. Nothing else had really mattered.

Sadly, reality had its way of creeping back in. Eden had no problems letting Sybil know she had a point.

And so, Eden did think of it on the way back to her…home.

A home she didn’t have a key to, so she broke a window with a rock to climb in. A home devoid of servants that used to mill about, a home darkened, with Christmas decorations put up and not taken down. A home without a speck of dust due to all the recent police searches. Eden didn’t waste time in going to the phone – because of course, they still had a business landline! – and calling the police.

In minutes, her house was flooded by the red-and-blue lights outside, as well as by officers who came to ask her question after question of what happened, before they were all interrupted by Noel – the leader of the Dominions, who worked with the police more directly than the other guilds. He dismissed the police to do his own questioning, speaking of things the police shouldn’t necessarily know about.

For the time being, Eden played it as if she was still in shock and not recalling much, which seemed to work. Noel promised to check on her later, as night turned to day, and she had to arrange the meeting with the Messengers for that day, which she did – calling out to the Queen (though of course, she didn’t have a direct line, just nearly direct – the secretary still pushed her up to the Queen so she could hear all the sobbing gratitude that she was alive). The meeting would be arranged, and Eden got a call not long after her own, about when that would be.

That afternoon, of course.

By then, Eden had called someone to fix her window.

With that settled, it seemed it was indeed time to address the Demon in the Room and resolve it, which Esmeray brought up while expressing disapproval that Eden didn’t recognize as anything other than annoyance with, well, existence in the state of servitude. “I have been mulling it over,” Eden said, confirming her agreement with this line of thought as she took a seat on the couch in the living room, with the well-lit Christmas tree in the corner.

All the presents underneath.

For her.

For her parents.

“Admittedly, everything I think of seems suspicious. It is going to be obvious you are supernatural to some degree, so we must agree on a supernatural that you can reasonably pretend to be. Demons are…strictly forbidden. I will be executed if they figure out what you are,” she folded her hands on her lap, “Fae is too easy to test. Just a bit of iron, and you’ll be known. Vampires and werewolves, as well,” sunlight and silver. “A djinn, cambion, rakshasa, or jorogumo seem like they could fit, if you are familiar with any of these sorts of creatures.” If not, likely cambion would be easiest.

They were the offspring of a demon and a human. Disliked, certainly, but not condemned for their blood. Merlin was rumored to have been one, so their capabilities were clouded in mystery and magic, which left plenty of room for Esmeray.

~***~

Krisidi was still in a bit of a panic after Eden and Esmeray left. They hadn’t ratted her out, but certainly, that was in the future, right? Eden seemed to like Sybil, so she’d want Sybil to know what was up. Somehow, Kristine would have to plead with them to keep her secret, and maybe help her unravel the weird situation she had found herself stuck in. Not that she disliked Sybil, but no one really liked to be chained up by conventions and traditions.

Which, Krisidi was.

So she answered to Kristine and came into Sybils room to see the progress she had made at unlocking the phone and digging into the details of it by projecting up a man named Mitch – maybe? Maybe he was someone else entirely using a false name, from the sounds of things that Sybil said, he might be a cop.

That caused Krisidi’s nose to wrinkle, because no, she also didn’t like cops. Noisy bastards with laws that couldn’t apply to the likes of her! It seemed that Sybil wanted her to go find this guy, which didn’t seem like too hard of a task.

“Mmm! I probably can. Can we not just…message him from this phone and ask him to meet us somewhere? I mean…would he know this person is dead already?” Krisidi really wasn’t sure how fast this sort of information traveled. Or how well the contact and maybe-cop knew each other. If the likely-dead contact had suspicions, they must have known each other a little bit, right?

So he should answer a friendly summons?

Maybe?

Humans seemed weird about how they communicated, in many instances. Not that Kristine was better, only her games were different than humans ones. Still vague, but a vague she understood. Not like…human vagueness and noncommittal commentary. Their vagueness was so rude!

“Is what happened with Lady Savidge already in the papers and known?”

 

[Syntra]

Executed. How were they this jealous of the little lady having a demon at her disposal? Couldn't they get one of their own and be done with that? No, of course not, especially since this wasn't actually about jealousy at all. "Such an overreaction," Esmeray sighed, massaging her temples, "But I understand. Historically, the reactions to our presence have been... mixed." To put it mildly. Some worshiped them; some blamed them for everything under the sun, ranging from famines to their cows' milk being sour that morning. Unsurprisingly, most fell into the latter category. Esmeray... supposed that humans always needed a target?

And there was a convenient one on their backs, painted by God himself.

Of course, the soul-devouring thing might have contributed as well. Even Esmeray could admit that that was likely a good reason to hate a demon, provided you had a soul and wanted to keep it.

Then again, nobody forced anyone into a contract. How was it her fault that some people couldn't resist a good business proposition?

"I can be a convincing cambion," Esmeray agreed easily, "Though we'll still need an excuse as to why I'm here in the first place, my lady." After all, supernaturals didn't just appear out of thin air for no reason! Well, alright -- some did, but those kinds usually weren't good news. Nobody that a lady from a respectable family would want to keep around, for sure. "I propose that we stick as close to the truth as we can," easier to lie that way. Fewer details to keep track of, and fewer potential mistakes to make. What had happened between them wasn't even bad per se, as long as you ignored the soul-selling component. Why not use it, then? "Let's say that your family helped me once, and I just so happened to be around this time of the year. So, when I sensed your distress, how could I not save you? Of course, now I am very distressed myself -- it is such a terrible thing, to know what fate has befallen the daughter of my dear friends. How will I ever be able to sleep soundly if there is no justice for her? This," Esmeray offered a small smile, before putting one leg over another, "Is why I am staying around, and making sure that she gets it. How does that sound?"

A moving little story, to go with the girl's own tragedy. The heroine's parents had been slain, but never fear! The knight in shining armor had arrived to make things right again! No way they wouldn't eat that shit up -- not when drama was humanity's drug of choice.

Well, and also delusions. A lot of them.

"That said," Esmeray tilted her head aside, "Is there anything else I should know of these Messengers? Notable foes, friends? Rules that ought to be followed, aside from not speaking about... my nature?"

Annoying as this was, Esmeray did want to make it work. The soul was too delicious to give it up because of, what, having to invest some effort into getting it? Pfft, come on.

~***~

"Oooh," Sybil clapped, "And this is why you are the best, Kristine! Not even lying, I keep telling that to everyone I meet." Well, fine, maybe not everyone, because Sybil met a lot of people on a daily basis and doing that would take the sort of time she didn't have, but the amount of occasions she had mentioned this? Statistically not insignificant!

Which, yeah, Sybil might not have known much about fancy stuff like 'statistics' but she was pretty fucking sure that was the case. Why else would Lars be so annoyed with the topic, and tell her to 'go marry her, then' every time it came up? There was no better indicator than Lars! In his eternal mediocrity, the guy showcased what the average opinion was more reliably than, say, an exit poll did.

"A brilliant idea. And, I mean, even if he knows this person is dead, wouldn't he want to investigate?" Ostensibly, cops did that. Sybil was actually convinced they spent most of their time trying their hardest to overlook obvious crime for that sweet, sweet bribe money, but hey! Maybe this one would be different? And, yeah, maybe she was slightly bitter about this, because the bribes got more expensive each fucking year and it was hard to keep up with the inflation as it was. Couldn't they, like, offer some kinda discount to her? No? Apparently not. "Can't resist the siren's call of a new case, after all!"

Sybil took the mobile and stared at the screen for a bit, before finally handing it to Kristine. "Wanna take care of it? You're the resident people convincer here." She, herself, wasn't a bad negotiator, though Kristine was on a whole another level. Sure, maybe Sybil could talk a bald man into buying a comb and con him out of his life savings in the process, but Kristine? Kristine could make him believe that it was the best investment of his life and give her the savings voluntarily!

Sometimes, it almost seemed like magic.

A silly comparison, right?

Because magic fucking sucked, and Kristine didn't! One plus one equaled two! There was no mental distortion there, Sybil was sure.

"I don't really know what to say to him," she admitted, "The texts are all too vague." Without knowing what they were referring to exactly, it was... kind of hard to re-create the kind of vagueness that would point towards the same thing? Yeah, that was it! And with her not-magic, Kristine could possibly side-step that.

 

[Lucyfer]

Cambion it was, and with that role decided, it would be easier to determine just how, precisely, Esmeray got involved. The supernatural entity impacted what was realistic, so Eden hadn’t gone so far as to make suggestions. That, and she was still working through some. Esmeray offered an idea as she relaxed into her seat.

The typical ‘your family helped me, so….’.

The same narrative Sybil was bound to, but wasn’t it so true, that her family had helped so many, and so had many debts outstanding? Even so, the thought felt…insubstantial. Looking at it, she thought she was looking at broken glass. A lie. Such gratitude could not last for long when it was not directly linked to Eden.

Then again, everything felt broken and fragile and untrue.

People believed these things. The Messengers would believe these things, because they also worked on promises and deals bartered on the edge of a knife. “It will work,” Eden answered, “coincidence and life debts are not uncommon. My parents put many people in such positions,” from the good of their hearts? Maybe not. Not that Eden doubted they were good people, but her views of everything was skewed.

Her parents loved her, of course – but were they that good to other people just to be good? How could they be, when they were shot down like that? No, no, they’d bartered deals and ended up on the wrong side of the knife at last. She just didn’t know what. Perhaps the other Messengers could point her towards common enemies and common threads of problems, but that remained to be seen.

The Messengers hadn’t found her in time, after all.

As Esmeray’s query, Eden just sighed, “I wish I knew more myself. My parents kept me…out of much. It was always for when I was older, which would be when I finished my time at University. I don’t know as much as I need to know about the Messengers,” she knew their names, she knew their faces. She liked most of them, and assumed they liked her…once. Now it was only too easy to imagine how annoyed they were going to get with her, because she knew so little, and because her name gave her the rights to step straight up into leadership.

It wasn’t where she belonged and she knew it. Especially considering she wanted nothing to do with the Messengers beyond how they could help her get revenge, something she’d have to put on the backburner around them, because there were likely other, far more important, duties to tend to.

“Just…be formal and polite. Most are ‘Lord’ or ‘Lady’ so use surnames in addressing them, unless given permission otherwise.” Actually, she was certain all of them were noble. Not as true with the other guilds, but with this one? Oh, certainly. Many supernaturals required rank in order to deal with a human, after all.

“We should be on our way soon.”

Meeting here would have been preferable, but simply not possible given all that was still going on. So they would be going to the home of the one who had taken up the mantle in the absence of her parents, one likely not to be too thrilled to be handing it back over so soon.

~***~

Krisidi couldn’t help the flush that came onto her cheeks at the praise, flustered as she was by it given the awkward nature of their relationship. There wouldn’t be any praise if Sybil knew what she was, after all. “Uh—y-yeah, I can try to take care of it.” She considered texting, but texting, as far as she could tell, didn’t really carry the power with it.

Human runes just didn’t carry things the way fae ones did, which was unfortunate. Maybe other human systems of writing did, that Kristine didn’t know, but so far, English definitely did not. Of course, English was far less structured than her own language, and she was willing to blame that on why it wasn’t as magically potent.

Freeform only got you so far – things were so much less binding and open to interpretation!

It also made speaking it difficult, but still, Krisidi called the number of this Mitch without stepping out of the room and put it to her ear, listening to the chime of the ringing as she waited for an answer, hoping for an answer, because a voicemail was awkward, and also, didn’t seem to work.

Live, active, conversation. These were the rules, because everyone was allowed to counter. Few knew how, which was good for Krisidi.

There was an answer.

“Hello~ I go by Kristine. Not who you were expecting, probably,” she knew that much, even if she didn’t know if the owner of the phone had been male or female, she assumed her voice and name would not be a match. “Is Mitch what you answer to? If so, then please do be true.” There, a small honesty charm. Sure, she had to flub the pronunciation a little to make the rhyme work, but it would still be understandable. “I think you may be in danger from those you are around, and would like to help you.”

Hopefully, he wasn’t around any of those people right now.

Whoops!

 

[Syntra]

It took all self-control Esmeray had, and it wasn't an insignificant amount of it, for her not to roll her eyes. So, what you are saying is that you are just a spoiled little heiress? 'Annoying' was about to become her mantra, she could fucking feel it.

In another world, Esmeray might have laughed. She might have asked Eden if she'd spent her entire life just... waiting for power to fall into her lap, without once considering what it truly meant. How old was she, anyway? Surely old enough to start assuming some sort of responsibility? To the demon, she looked a woman grown; young enough to perhaps be somewhat sheltered still, but definitely not a child. Not an innocent, either.

But, in that hypothetical different world, she wouldn't have been called Esmeray. Those were Cantareia's thoughts, and Cantareia's reactions, and Cantareia's modus operandi, and, for all intents and purposes, Cantareia was dead. What remained was her shell, and the obedience she'd promised. Wasn't it just fun, to be a hapless human's little lapdog?

Fucking sigh.

"I see," she heard herself saying instead, "Politeness should work well enough, then." Lords and Ladies often insisted on it, even if they, themselves, happened to be some of the rudest humans Esmeray had ever met. All those little rules that they loved so? Always in effect for you, but never for them!

A bunch of hypocrites.

Hypocrites who had been told they were better than everyone else since the moment they'd taken their first breath, and so believed it wholeheartedly. Was this Eden the same? Was she?

Hush. Not like what she is or isn't actually matters, does it?

What did matter was that the annoyance factor was all but skyrocketing, and it was more than a little depressing that Esmeray hadn't yet gotten an inch closer to solving the damn mystery. But, since feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to change it: "Shall we go, then?"

And go they did. Esmeray hadn't asked who, exactly, they were about to visit, but it turned out that she didn't have to; the big sign announcing to the world that they were entering the 'Lindenwick Estate' spoke eloquently enough even without that. Good to see that some things haven't changed, I suppose? Namely, estates always being a) absurdly large, and b) absurdly pointless. Back in simpler times, Esmeray remembered those being full of kitzschy statues and dead-eyed servants; now, they were... 100% the same, apparently. Living monuments to human hubris!

One of the dead-eyed servants proceeded to approach them, and took Eden's coat. "Lady Savidge! I never thought that..." What? That he'd see her again? That she wasn't actually rotting in the ground? It occurred to him in the last possible nanosecond that saying that probably wasn't too polite, and that seemed to throw him off a bit. Of course, 'a bit' only really translated into a few seconds. "It is good to have you back," the man said quickly, "Come now, Lord Lindenwick and the others are expecting you."

If he wondered who Esmeray was, he didn't let that show in any way, most likely (correctly) judging that it wasn't his place to ask.

Unfortunately, not everyone would be as wise.

The hallways seemed endless, with portraits of what Esmeray could only guess to be Lindenwick's ancestors lining each step, but, in the end, they did reach their destination. And as for what it was? A big, oval-shaped room, with a round table in between, straight out of an Arthurian legend. Perhaps the people sitting behind it fancied themselves to be knights as well; at least half of them were dressed like clowns, but Esmeray supposed that sort of came with the territory.

One of them - an ashy-haired young man, with dark circles under his eyes and an expression that said 'fuck you in particular' stood up. Esmeray wouldn't know it, of course -- but he was Frederick Lindenwick in the flesh, the one chosen to lead the guild in Eden's absence.

"Lady Savidge," he bowed, "Welcome back. We were all saddened to learn of your loss, but also glad to hear you're safe and sound. Are you certain you want to be holding a meeting so soon, though? You... look like you could use some rest."

Friendly concern? Perhaps, if not for the fact that nothing about his demeanor was friendly.

~***~

Oh, man. I can't wait to see what tale se manages to spin this time! Watching Kristine work was one of Sybil's few... okay, many guilty pleasures, and she wasn't even sorry. Like, hello? She was a total badass? If the woman hadn't stumbled her way into her syndicate, Sybil was reasonably sure she would be taking over the world just about now!

Or making the most convincing commercials in the universe, which was, in this day and age, pretty much the same thing. Because the one who ruled people's minds also ruled their wallets!

Meanwhile, Mitch wasn't exactly having a great day. He hadn't had one for a while now, and he could pinpoint when the trend had started decently well -- namely, somewhere between Noel's "we have to talk in private" and his own "alright, boss." How could he have said anything but alright, though?! That was literally his job! He wasn't getting paid for refusing to follow his higher-ups' - or Noel's - orders!

(As bullshit as that was. What the guild had done to deserve that level of authority over the entire police force, Mitch would never understand.)

Not the point, though!

It had been a few weeks since his life had been turned upside down, which... truly was saying something, considering it had never been upright in the first place. But at least he'd finally get to show them what he was made of? Sure, he was kind of living on the knife's edge here, but the investigation was going well enough, and he'd collected enough evidence to have some big names locked up. Nasty bastards, all of them!

This was the last piece of the puzzle, though. The grand finale. All he had to do was record his mates as they confirmed that--

Beep! Beep!

Automatically, Mitch reached for his phone.

"Dude, can't that wait?" Elise, ever-impatient, rolled her eyes. "We're in the middle of something here!"

At that point, Mitch had no idea just how much he'd regret not agreeing with in just about, what, five seconds? Yeah. Instead, he offered her a small, apologetic smile, and answered the call.

"Kristine?" he arched an eyebrow, "Yeah, it's me. Any reason you're calling from Luke's phone?" The voice did put him at ease, though -- perhaps more than it ought to. "Help? But I don't need any help. The suckers have no idea I'm a cop."

Yeah, 'whoops' didn't even begin to describe it.

 

[Lucyfer]

The trip to the Lindenwick Estate took entirely too long. Eden wanted to slip into sleep, but she continued to hold off on that. The pleasant lie of a smile returned to her face as the servant greeted her, and she pretended not to notice the almost-words. “Thank you, it is good to be back,” as if she had only gone on vacation, or perhaps, a business trip. Nothing as dire as almost dying. The path she was escorted through was a familiar one, even if she had never paid it much mind before. The table, and the faces, were also all familiar. Even Frederick’s expression, though she just assumed he was tired and put little extra thought into why he’d appear so disgruntled.

‘Should I be asking you that instead?’ Eden shook her head at the concern. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Lindenwick,” Eden greeted, “I am capable enough to partake in a briefing of what is going on, and where we are heading. I would also like to know if anything was found in the search for what occurred to me and my family.” Eden knew it was quite possible little was found, or they would hide their answers if they weren’t certain.

Or if they were protecting their own contacts in the supernatural world.

They were all supposed to work together, but Eden knew that wasn’t always the case. She likely still had a rosy view of it than she ought, of course. After all, what was a contact compared to the health of the guild, in the end?

“I’m afraid we did not discover much before your return, Lady Savidge,” a red haired man answered, before gesturing, “though certainly you’ve something to share. Who is this you’ve invited to hear our discussion?”

“Esmeray,” Eden answered, “a family friend who is looking after me in this time as I get my bearings,” they didn’t need to know more, and it followed well with the little lie they’d concocted about what Esmeray was doing there.

“Be that as it may, Lady Savidge,” Lord Ruffalo continued, “she is not a part of the guild and has little to do with our work.”

‘It’s Lady Eden.’ She wanted to scream it, but of course, did not. With her parents dead, it was indeed Lady Savidge now. Like it or not. And she did not like it. “As I recall, I have the authority to decide who outside of the guild may or may not be present, Lord Rufus,” she did not have her parent’s strength of tone, nor even that edge her father could set in his voice, but she did have the technicality of being a Savidge.

That meant, the technicality of being in charge, something that Lord Ruffalo, apparently, didn’t think she’d call on. He flushed almost as red as his hair, before lowering his gaze, “You are…correct, Lady Savidge. I meant no offense, only to note it is…rare.”

“I understand,” and she didn’t care. She discarded his commentary without addressing it further. “Shall we continue?”

“Of course,” he consented. “As I noted, we discovered precious little, but we continue to look into it. Anything you could shed light on would be of use.”

“When you went missing,” it was Lady Une that interrupted, “the old crones of Westwick did become a bit more difficult to manage. I am not sure if it is related, but it may be worth a look,” her weight shifted, “there are other leads, other groups who decided to begin…misbehaving.”

“Mm, yeah, because groups never start to fall apart and misbehave when the leadership is gone, right?” What sounded like a comment of a younger man, came from perhaps the oldest gentleman in the room who looked perpetually tired and annoyed. “Lady Savidge, enlighten us to what happened, that’ll narrow it down more than going through a host of hopeful misfits who saw a power vacuum Lord Lindenwick couldn’t fill.”

“I do not recall much of use,” all the same, she relayed the story again, which truly didn’t have much, save that it certainly seemed she’d been saved for something that required that night she was being moved to another location. Occult, or something of the sort – and what a shame they all almost knew too much occult and occultists.

~***~

‘Oh, I really hope you’re alone.’

Kristine realized her mistake as soon as this Mitch so casually dropped ‘Luke’s phone’ into the conversation. Right, of course he was going to be brutally honest and have absolutely no filter about his thoughts! She couldn’t help but wince when he went on to declare himself a cop.

The silence was so deafening, a pin drop would have been welcomed.

“Um. You’re not alone, are you?”

She was pretty sure he realized what he’d just done. “Maybe you want to let me know where you’re at since these people definitely know you’re a cop now and I’ll help you out of this mess?” They wouldn’t just kill him, would they? No, they’d torture him or something first, right?

Either way, she sent a panicked look towards Sybil, put her hand over the phone so she was somewhat muffled, as she whisper-screamed, “He just announced he was a cop, Sybil!” So they might…need to track him, or something, if he wasn’t able to get out some details real quick before they forced him off the line.

Hopefully, Sybil could do that kind of thing. She did a lot of strange things with technology.