That’s when I see it.
I don’t know how I know it’s where the whispers are coming from. I just do.
The staff stands alone, with nothing holding it up even though the heavy-looking top of it should make it fall. Twin horns curl outward from a knobby pointed tip. In its slim base, I make out the rough shapes of runes carved into the black wood.
It looks like something an evil wizard would use. Like it could belong to Saruman. Like it belongs in a place like Middle Earth. Or you know…Hell.
The whispers seem to be trying to tell me something, but I don’t know what.
“I—I don’t understand,” I croak, my voice breaking. The whispers do not change or cease. I can’t understand them. But the more they whisper, the more I am drawn to it.
My mind wanders into a fog.
A weight on my chest quickly grows into a crushing pressure that steals the breath from my lungs and leaves me gasping. Sweat beads at my hairline.
I know this feeling, I realize. I’ve felt it before.
My fingers reach out. I need to touch it.
I need to…
All at once, the whispers stop.
The pressure is lifted and a breath so deep and sharp it sends my body into a convulsion fills my lungs.
Strong hands come around my arms from behind, and I scream, lashing out, trying to get free.
“Na’vazēm!”
I stop struggling, distantly recognizing that it’s Kincaid. When he releases me, I fall back, off-balance and breathless into his chest. The sharp scents of hickory and musk snap me out of the daze.
Kincaid awkwardly shuffles me away from the warmth of his body, holding me steady with one hand until I can regain my footing. I am grateful and eager to move away from him.
As soon as the black spots in my vision dissipate, I do.
“Na’vazēm, what happened?” he demands in a growl.
Tori appears at his side and emits an exclamation when she sees me. I wonder if I look as bad as I feel.
“Is she ill?” Tori asks.
“I—I’ll get her a tonic,” she adds before Kincaid can answer and vanishes back through the maze of oddities.
“I said what happened?”
I can’t stop staring at the staff. My mouth is dry, and my throat feels like it’s full of sand. The whispers…
They’re all gone.
I hear nothing save for the raucous bleating of my own heart fighting to find the dregs of oxygen still in my system and pump them to my brain.
“It whispered,” I hear myself say, barely recognizing my own voice.
Kincaid follows my line of sight to the horned staff and his grip on my arm tightens.
“Tori,” he bellows.
I recoil from the fury in his tone, even though it isn’t directed at me. He lets me jerk my arm free of his grasp, and I stumble two steps back until I knock into a table, gripping the edge of it to steady myself.
She appears only a couple seconds later, a clay mug in her hands. She looks at Kincaid askance as she holds out the mug to me. “Drink,” she orders. “You’re depleted, this will replenish—”
“Where did you get this?” Kincaid hisses at her.
I take the mug from Tori, if only so she’ll stop holding it so close to my face and sniff the fizzing liquid inside. It smells like sweet wine.
Lifting it to my lips, I take a tiny sip, wetting my tongue with the sweet, slightly-acrid nectar. It tastes nothing like it smells, but it isn’t awful. I gulp another small mouthful.
“A seller brought it in about a week ago,” Tori explains, her ashen skin seeming to pale even more. “Said it was forged in the fires of Hell.”
Kincaid is staring at the staff like he might recognize it. I notice how his fists are clenched at his sides. And how the skin of his fingers seems to be blackening. The inky tone slowly creeping up his fingers to claim his knuckles.
I’d only half believed the thing in the park that night was Kincaid. That dark-skinned thing with the tail and horns. It really was him, though. A ball forms in my throat and a cool sweat pricks at my chest. I take another step away from him, trying to be sly about it.
Please don’t turn into a monster. Please don’t turn into a monster.
“Seems the seller was right,” Tori says with a smirk when Kincaid doesn’t reply, some color returning to her cheeks. “How about that…”
Kincaid cuts his yellow gaze to me and my teeth clench. Then he looks back to the staff, a knot forming between his brows.
“We’ll take the staff,” he tells Tori, but doesn’t make any move to grab hold of it. I certainly wouldn’t want to touch the thing, either, and I’m not too happy with the idea of it coming home with us.
“I didn’t say it was for sale.”
Kincaid glares at her, his nostrils flaring.
She lifts her hands in a placating gesture and grins. “Okay, okay. Calm down, oh powerful one. I suppose it can be sold. For the right price.”
“What do you want for it?”
Tori seems to consider, tapping two fingers against her chin.
I sip more of the weird drink, feeling less sluggish and more alert with each sip.
“A lord’s pardon,” she finally decides. “Should I ever end up…you know where…I think I’d like a way out.”
“You know I can’t do that,” Kincaid growls at her.
She merely grins in reply. “Yes,” she says, a challenge in her tone. “You can.”
I swear I can almost hear his teeth grinding with each flare of his cheekbones.
“I could just take it, you know,” Kincaid warns, pivoting a step toward the gravity defying staff.
Tori crosses her arms. Clucks her tongue. “But you won’t.”
I like her.
Visibly deflating, Kincaid sneers at her. “Twenty thousand,” he offers her.
She shakes her head.
“Twenty-five thousand,” he amends.
“Nope,” she replies with an audible pop of her lips.
“Fine,” Kincaid all but shouts. “Pack it up.”
“I want you to say it.”
Kincaid closes the small gap between himself and Tori, his massive frame hulking over her, but she is not cowed. Somehow, she doesn’t even seem afraid. “I, Asmodeus, Lord of Hell, hereby grant you a way out of Hell should you ever find yourself in need of one. There. Satisfied?”
No.
No, no, no.
Nope.
I stare incredulously at Kincaid. Or should I call him Asmodeus?
Lord of fucking Hell?
What even is that?
I’ve never heard of such a thing. This is so bad. This is so much worse than I ever thought it could be.
I made a bargain with a lord of Hell?
Tori’s bright white teeth flash in a full smile, offset by the rich tone of her skin. “Very satisfied.”
“Now,” Kincaid hisses. “Pack. It. Up.”
“With pleasure, Mr. Kincaid.”
Tori does a little curtsey that I think is more a mockery than anything and rushes away. She returns with something that looks like a blanket only a few seconds later. It’s a stiff, dark gray material. She sets to wrapping the staff with it, and I don’t miss how she is cautious not to touch it.
“You said it whispered,” Kincaid says, his attention turned back to me, and even though he hasn’t edged the words in a question, I can tell he expects an answer.