Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
These people aren’t human. They have skin tones that range from a rosy pink to a deep crimson that edges into black. Their horns are different shapes and sizes. Some of them have wings tucked politely against their backs, some have dual sets of horns like Ramanu, and some even have scales like the dragon-man who attended the auction. They’re tall and short, fat and skinny and brawny, and everything in between. Some of them are clothed similarly to me. Some are wearing dresses. Others are wearing pants or kilts and little else.
And there are humans mixed in among them.
I try not to stare as Ramanu leads me down a cobblestone street that seems designated for foot traffic only. I see a willowy Black human with short curls and warm dark-brown skin. There’s a short white human with pale pink skin, a long blond hair, and the kind of curves that make my mouth water. And more. So many more.
And the children. I don’t know why it shocks me to see them walking side by side with people who may be parents or guardians. Or the small group in an open courtyard we walk past, darting about and laughing wildly as they play some game I don’t recognize with two balls. The sound rolls through me, easing something tight in my stomach. These children are happy. They’re safe. Safe enough to be comfortable being loud and rambunctious.
I’m not naive. I understand all too well that this is a small sliver of the population. Surely abuse and neglect exist here just like they do in my world . . . but it’s hard not to slow, wanting to linger in this moment of peace.
“I would like an explanation,” I say softly. “Not for what Azazel did—for how this works. Because it sure seems like your people take advantage of mine.”
Ramanu snorts. “There was a time when that might have been true, but Azazel put a stop to it. We only offer bargains to those who want them, and they’re fair enough deals when all is said and done. Anything within our power to grant in exchange for seven years in this realm with safeguards in place to ensure no one is forced to do anything.”
“The power dynamics—”
They stop short, stopping me alongside them. “In the human world, you would be right. There are power dynamics at play, and they can be abused readily. Not here. The contract is sacred, Eve. I don’t mean that as a metaphor. Both parties sign it, and it’s binding. To violate it is to nullify it.”
Nullify.
I tuck that knowledge away to examine later. If I can force Azazel into breaking the contract, that will nullify the terms and force him to take me home . . . hopefully. Ramanu mentioned something about this when we spoke earlier, but I wasn’t willing to listen then. I am now.
“Seven years is a long time,” I finally say.
“Yes and no.” Ramanu shrugs. “Time moves differently from realm to realm. It’s not an exact science, more like two rivers running next to each other at different speeds. You can jump from one to the other, and it feels like you haven’t moved at all. We bargainers have a little control over where we land, which means we can return our humans to a place and time not too distant from where they left. The magic in this realm also slows aging, so you’re not actually losing time at all. It’s more as if you’ve gained the years—and what you’ve gained, you’ve spent here. Then you return home, none the worse for wear and with whatever you wanted enough to bargain for in the first place. Win-win.”
I suspect they’re intentionally simplifying things and leaving a few key details out. Like the fact that someone would have to be in a desperate situation to think that making a deal with a demon is a legitimate strategy.
Ramanu seems to know everyone, smiling and calling folks by name as I meander the aisles. This, at least, is familiar. I love shopping. Gaining new clothes or necessities was always a burden as a foster kid. I was with a handful of families growing up, and while none of them were the stuff of horror stories, there was never enough to go around. Once I started making the kind of money I do now, I went a little wild with the spending. At least until Pope found out I was getting myself into trouble and sat me down with a financial advisor. The impulse to spend and spend and spend, to surround myself with expensive and beautiful things, never quite went away, but I have better control now.
And a wicked investment portfolio.
Not that any of that matters here.
“Would you like it?”
I jolt and glance at Ramanu. They nod to the bracelet I’ve been fondling. I shake my head and set it back down. “I don’t have money.”