The Sinner by Emma Scott

Six

“Well, I guess we should get busy,” I said, giving my head a shake. “You need a big, redemptive idea, and I need a dress for a work function this weekend. We can walk over to the Macy’s at Herald’s Square and brainstorm along the way.”

Because who doesn’t take their demon shopping?

The surreal nature of this whole situation swooped on me, as if I were trapped in a strange dream. But I was wide awake, sunlight was streaming in through the window, and there was a beautiful man in my kitchen eating Pop-Tarts and asking me to help save his soul.

“I’ll just go get showered and dressed.” I gathered some clothes to take with me in the bathroom. “You can watch TV or…do that.”

Casziel had found a head of iceberg lettuce in my fridge and bit into it, crunching noisily.

I showered, changed into a T-shirt dress with a navy blue top and a patchwork of different patterns along the bottom. It was shapeless and loose—my preferred style—to hide my small pooch of a belly and thighs that definitely touched.

I made Casziel wait while I cleaned up the lettuce bits and Pop-Tart crumbs from my kitchen counter. Apparently, there were no table manners—or roaches—on the Other Side. Then we headed out into the April sunshine on a stunning Saturday morning.

I hated to admit it, but the demon—and Cole—were right. Left to my own devices, I would’ve probably stayed indoors on this beautiful day, reading and continuing to put off finding something to wear for my boss’s wedding that I was nervous about attending in the first place.

Casziel walked beside me looking darkly beautiful. Pedestrians parted around us, giving him a wide berth, as if they unconsciously picked up on the subtle aura of danger emanating off of him. I, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring now that he no longer looked like a subway flasher in a trench coat.

He felt me watching him and glanced down at me. “Yes?”

“You don’t sparkle.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m teasing.”  Or going crazy. “Just thinking about one of my favorite books, a romance about vampires.”

“I am not a vampire.”

“I think you meant to say, There’s no such thing as vampires, Lucy.”

His gaze slid to me then back to the street.

I gaped. “They’re real?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Actually, no. My sanity will last longer if I pace myself. But…”

“You have questions.”

“Only one or two…thousand.”

“Ask.”

“I thought you were sick of my interrogation.”

“I may have failed to take into account the novelty of our situation.”

I smirked. “You think?”

“You can’t blame me. Your entertainment creates a multitude of films and television shows on the subject, yet humanity has such puny capacity for the supernatural.”

“We’re trying. We even have a show called Supernatural.” I grinned. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s about demon hunters.”

Casziel snorted. “A comedy, I presume.”

I laughed. “And anyway, I think I’m doing pretty well dealing with our situation. For instance, I haven’t freaked out over the whole anicorpus thing.”

“There is nothing to freak out over. I told you, all demons have an animal form on This Side to facilitate transportation without drawing unwanted attention.”

I nodded and wondered—aside from possessing a guy and stealing his clothes—where Casziel had gone last night. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear the answer.

“How many times have you been on This Side?”

He glanced down at me, one brow arched. “Are you asking if I come here often?”

My face went hot all over. “You know what I mean.”

“Many times, over the centuries.”

“Why? What for?”

“Personal business,” he said stiffly.

“Have you been to New York City before?”

“I have. Many of my kind are drawn to cities; they’re riper for corruption. It helps that in New York everyone’s already in a bad mood.” He noticed my dubious smirk. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe. I’m still half-sure I’m dreaming. Speaking of which, have you ever been to Japan or Russia on your journeys to This Side?”

He kept his eyes on the street. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing, I’m sure. It’s just that I’ve had very lucid dreams that feel like…”

“Like what?”

“Real. In one dream, I was in Japan, hundreds of years ago. There was a young woman pulling a heavy wheelbarrow of supplies through the woods toward her village. I watched her from afar, but she was me. Like an out-of-body experience. I’d been warned the way was dangerous and the woods filled with bandits, but I didn’t have a choice. My family needed the supplies to make it through the winter. I was nearly home when three bandits attacked me. They were going to hurt me…if you know what I mean.”

Casziel nodded grimly. “I do.”

“But a warrior came out of nowhere, wearing a mask over his face. A samurai, I think. He slaughtered the bandits, cutting them down with his sword, then pulled my cart to the village for me. He never said a word—I think there were rules about men being around unwed women back then. But I felt so safe. When we got to my village, the samurai set down the cart, bowed, and left.”

“Rōnin,” Casziel said.

“What?”

“A wandering samurai with no lord or master is a rōnin.”

“Oh. Okay. How do you know that’s what he was?”

Casziel shrugged. “A guess. And the other dream?”

“Okay…well, I lived in a city by the ocean during World War II. Saint Petersburg, Russia, but it had a different name back then.”

“Leningrad.”

“Right, Leningrad.” I smiled. “You’re like a walking history book.”

He smiled thinly and waited for me to continue.

“I was about the same age I am now, and the bombs were dropping. So many bombs, I could feel the earth shake. Grit and smoke burned my eyes and everywhere there were explosions and people screaming. I ran through streets strewn with rubble, not knowing where I was going. Then a Russian soldier grabbed me and hurried me into a burned-out building just as another explosion rocked the street where I’d been standing a second before. The soldier saved my life. I didn’t even know his name, but I clung to him, and he pressed me against the wall, shielding me from the blasts. As if whatever was about to happen, he wanted it to happen to him instead of me.”

Casziel nodded, his face expressionless.

“The bombing seemed to go on forever and I was so scared,” I continued. “But in that soldier’s embrace, I knew I was going to be okay. When the attack was over, he asked if I were hurt—I wasn’t, thanks to him—and then he just…left. Ran back into the smoke and disappeared.”

“What do you think the dreams mean?”

“I don’t know. Romance novels playing out in my subconscious, maybe. The Russian dream for sure. I must’ve read The Bronze Horseman one too many times.” I grinned sheepishly. “I even think of the soldier as my Shura.”

Casziel wasn’t smiling.

“Or maybe they do mean something,” I said, slowly. “My romantic heart is yearning for something real and every time I meet that man, he’s always just out of reach. He never stays.”

The demon inhaled through his nose. “As fascinating as your subconscious emanations are, this is no dream, and I’m still awaiting your plan for my redemption. One that you won’t let Deb and K sabotage.”

“Why would you say that?” I asked, feeling a little slapped by his sudden derision.

“I hear their chatter. Silly Lucy and her silly little life?”

I hunched my shoulders, letting my hair fall over my face. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

“My fate lies in your hands, Lucy Dennings. If you’ve ever had ‘big ideas,’ I see no evidence that you took them to fruition.”

“I do have big ideas,” I said. “Notebooks full of them. But I’m already up to my eyeballs in student loan debt—”

“And Deb and K have convinced you it’s a waste of time anyway. That you’re not good enough. That someone else will do it better…”

I hugged my elbows, wishing I could fold into myself. Or run back home, curl up in bed and dive into a book.

Be brave.

“You know, it’s not cool to take someone’s worst insecurities and fling them in my—their face.”

Casziel shrugged. “Deb and K—”

“I don’t care what you call them. That whispering doesn’t sound like demons. It sounds like sneering inner voices I’ve been hearing my whole life.”

“That’s why we’re successful,” Casziel said. “Most humans let their brains chatter away all day, every day. A symphony of garbage into which we lace our insinuations so that they become indistinguishable.”

I frowned. “It’s not just chatter. We all have thoughts—”

“There is thinking and then there are thoughts,” he said. “Deciding what to eat for dinner or working out a mathematical equation is thinking. Most thoughts are just noise and generally useless.”

“So how does someone get rid of their demons?”

Casziel glanced down at me, his gaze suddenly intense. His tone commanding. “Stop listening to them, Lucy. Starve them with inattention.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Deb hungers for your shame. K is ravenous for your fear. They feed on it.”

I glanced up at him. “And what do you feed on?”

He looked away. “The pain of having something precious ripped from you. Rage at the injustice of it. Grief for what has been lost.”

The hurt weighed his voice down and I again recalled the vision of the temple and the deep, black chasm of anguish that had seemed ready to swallow me whole. A strong urge to take Casziel’s hand in mine came over me. I even let the back of my hand brush his, a small, soft touch. Letting him know it was there if he wanted to take hold…

He flinched and shoved his hands into the pockets of his borrowed jeans.

“To the present matter,” he said brusquely. “Any plan for my salvation needs to be a good one, Lucy Dennings. Nothing ‘little’ about it.”

He doesn’t want your comfort, Silly Lucy. He’s here for him. Not you.

God, I was tired of how small those voices made me feel. I swallowed down my anxiety and steeled my courage to do what Casziel suggested—stop feeding my demons.

“If we’re going to have a partnership, or whatever this is, then you need to act like a partner,” I blurted, as we took a right from 49th Street to 7th Avenue. A few blocks away, the bells of St Patrick’s Cathedral tolled noon.

“Partner,” Casziel said. “Is that what I am?”

“Not if you keep talking like Deb and K. Not if you keep telling me I hole up in my place too much or that I substitute romance novels for living.”

“Don’t you?”

“No. I don’t go out a lot because I’m introverted,” I said. “Which isn’t a crime, last I checked. And there is nothing wrong with enjoying those books. They’re about love, which is the strongest force on earth. In them, you can experience different kinds of romance: enemies to lovers, second chances… And the men—the heroes—might be billionaires, mafia mobsters, or motorcycle club members, but they all have one thing in common. They would die for their woman.”

“And that is what you want, Lucy Dennings? A man who would die for you?”

I thought he was joking but when I glanced up, his gaze was deadly serious.

“I don’t need anything that extreme,” I said with a small laugh, ignoring how my heart was beating a little bit faster. “But the intensity of that kind of love, the kind of love where you feel lost without the other person. Where your strengths bolster each other’s weaknesses. Where you grow and are made better by loving them and being loved… Yes, I want that. And now that I’m saying it out loud, I realize I’m drawn to love stories because there’s something in them that I recognize or connect to, despite never having been in love myself.”

Holy moly, I hadn’t spoken that much in a long time…and especially not my innermost feelings. I glanced up, expecting Casziel to be annoyed with my girlish musings, but he was hanging on every word. My pulse thudded even louder.

“My point is, in those books,you feel all the emotions and you fall in love along with the characters. And yes, you hope that kind of soul-deep romance happens to you too. That’s part of the fantasy—that anything’s possible. But until then, what’s wrong with living in someone else’s happiness for a little while?”

Casziel had nothing to say to that as we approached the department store. Maybe I’d gotten through to him after all. I inhaled slowly and let it out. My face didn’t feel so hot anymore, and my shoulders came down from my ears.

So that’s what standing up for myself feels like.

I liked it. I liked it a lot.

“What about you?” Casziel asked after a minute.

“What about me?”

“Where is your happiness, Lucy? Where is your billionaire mobster? The man on the phone this morning? Is he your hero?”

“Cole is only a friend. My best friend.”

“You told him you loved him,” he said stiffly.

“Because I do,” I said. “But it’s not a romantic kind of love. He’s an artist studying on the other side of the world.” I shot the demon a hard glance. “And he’s gay.”

“What is that death glare for?”

“You know what for.”

He laid a hand to his chest, affronted. “Don’t look at me. Stoking certain prejudices is Nadroc’s domain and he’s considered a tremendous asshole, even among my kind.”

“Good. Because, honestly, I don’t think I could help you find redemption if you have a hand in things like homophobia or racism.”

He smirked. “But inciting humans to war is forgivable?”

“There are hundreds of reasons humans fight each other,” I said. “Are you responsible for all of them?”

“Well…no.”

“Sometimes war is necessary to stop evil. And besides, it’s not up to me if you’re worthy of forgiveness,” I said as we waited for the light to change at the corner. “But the fact you’re here, seeking it in the first place, means something. It means a lot.”

A short silence fell, and the current or strange connection running between us hummed louder.

“I find it difficult to believe you have never been in love, Lucy Dennings,” Casziel said finally. “Given your obvious capacity for it.”

“Not yet.” I glanced down at my shoes, my cheeks warming. “But I like to think I have a potential office romance situation, like in the books. There’s a guy at my job. I’ve had a crush on him forever…”

I glanced up and recoiled at Casziel’s expression. He was no longer hanging on my every word but looked almost angry.

“Anyway, never mind. We should be focusing on you, not me.” I arched a brow at him. “Hate to break it to you, but you need a lot of work.”

He sniffed a grudging laugh.

“I don’t know where to start,” I said, “but it has to be something monumental. Powerful. And there is only one thing powerful enough to redeem you in the ten days you have left.”

“And that is?”

“Love. It’s the only answer.”

Casziel looked grim. “If love is the answer, Lucy Dennings, then we’ve lost already.”

“Why?”

“Because there is no love left in me.”