The Sinner by Emma Scott

Eight

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, I took Casziel all over Manhattan. We stored our purchases in Grand Central Station, then strolled the paths at Central Park, took in the garish lights of Times Square, and watched the sun set from the top of the Empire State Building. I’d lived in NYC for years, yet this excursion felt like the first time I really appreciated the city. As if Cas were reacquainting me with an old friend.

After a dinner of Korean Barbeque, a dessert of ice cream sundaes, and—because he was a bottomless pit—a second dinner of pizza for the demon—we grabbed our bags and headed back to my neighborhood in Hell’s Kitchen.

The night was warm and soft, and I felt content in a way I hadn’t in a long time. I’d been out in the world, talking easily with Cas about my studies at NYU and an idea I had to repurpose plastic scrubbed from the oceans to make athletic shoes. Somehow, being with Cas tore down the barrier between me and my feelings and my shyness about sharing them. Maybe it was because he’d scared my demons away for the time being, but I didn’t feel foolish or silly. Hearing my idea out loud, it didn’t sound stupid either. It sounded workable. Necessary, even.

“Perhaps it’s time you shared your ideas with the people at your job,” he mused as we strolled through my neighborhood. “They’re all like-minded humans, desperate to save the oceans, are they not?”

“Yes.” I glanced up at him. “And I know what you’re going to say next—my big ideas can’t go anywhere if no one hears them.”

“Actually, I was going to say ocean preservation is a waste of time. In five years, a meteor is going to hit the earth and humans will share the fate of the dinosaurs.”

I gaped. “What…?”

“I’m kidding.” His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

I laughed and nudged his arm with my elbow. Cas almost smiled when something across the street caught his eye. I looked in time to see two shadows fleeing from the yellow cone of a streetlight.

“Let’s go there,” Cas said, nodding at Mulligan’s, an Irish pub just up the block.

“Something wrong?”

“I feel like having a drink. It’s a well-populated establishment, therefore, it must be good.”

I looked away. “I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s ten steps from your home. You’ve never been?”

“Never.”

I braced myself for his cutting remarks. Instead, he cast a final glance across the empty street and steered me toward the pub. I wasn’t a big drinker, to say the least, but after the events of the last two days, getting a little tipsy seemed like a very good idea.

Mulligan’s interior was dark with a few neon signs for Guinness and Murphy’s glowing over the faces of the many patrons on a Saturday night. A TV blared from a corner, showing World Cup highlights, and competed with music from the jukebox. Even the toughest men gave the demon a wide berth, while women eyed him up and down. One caught my eye and mouthed well done.

Every barstool was taken. Two guys at the end were in deep conversation but froze at our arrival. Cas’s eyes flashed to black-on-black again, and I felt the dread pour out. Without a word, the guys grabbed their pints and scurried away.

“Oh my God.” I elbowed Cas and glanced around to see if anyone else had noticed. “You did not just do that.”

He shrugged and pulled one stool out for me. “I don’t like waiting.”

I started to scold him when “Devil Inside” by INXS began to play.

“You?”

His lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“Now I really need a drink,” I said, laughing. “And stop doing stuff like that.”

The bartender came around and I ordered an Irish Old Fashioned. Casziel asked for a glass of red wine.

“Only wine?” I teased. “I figured you’d have one of everything and I’d have to take out a loan to cover the tab.”

“Wine has been one of my few constants over the changing centuries on This Side.”

“Centuries.” The bartender set our drinks down, and I took a deep pull. My eyes watered as the whiskey hit the back of my throat, but it settled warmly in my stomach, making me pleasantly loose. “I can’t imagine all you’ve seen over the years. You’re a time-traveler, Cas. Which is easy to forget until you speak.”

“How do I speak?”

“Like you’re in the wrong era. You’re a walking anachronism. No guy I know has the kind of polish and refinement you do.”

Because he’s not a guy. He’s a man.

“You’re an outlander,” I continued, grateful that the dimness of the pub hid my blush. “Like the book, except if Jamie did the time-traveling and Claire stayed put.”

“The book being a romance novel, I presume.”

“Well…yes.”

I toyed with my cocktail napkin, expecting his ridicule, but Cas looked thoughtful.

“Outlander,” he mused. “A fitting title. I am out of my land—my home—and no longer belong anywhere.”

“Were you always…what you are?”

“A demon, Lucy Dennings?”

The bartender gave us a funny look and moved to the other side of the bar.

“I was born a human.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “I keep forgetting, since you act like humans are beneath you.”

“The internet makes a strong case.”

I laughed. “You also didn’t look very human when I found you.”

“You discovered me in my true form.” Cas gestured at himself, handsome in all black. “This was my human body. I must wear this ugly, tight-fitting suit to blend in on This Side.”

“Ugly?” I snorted, already a little buzzed. “Have you seen you?”

He frowned, a perplexed little smile touching his lips.

I cleared my throat. “I mean, this is who you were in life.”

“In life.” He spat the words as if they tasted foul. “In life, this body is fragile and easily broken. The form I was born into after death is powerful. Invincible.”

“And demonic,” I said carefully. “I thought you were trying to change. Doesn’t that mean becoming human again?”

“No.”

“An angel?”

“I am not, nor will I ever be, an angel.”

Maybe it was the whiskey already going to my head, but his words sent a little shiver of heat dancing over my skin. But he clearly didn’t want to discuss his post-redemption fate, so I changed the subject with all the grace of a tipsy person.

“Where were you born?” I blurted.

“Sumer. What you once called Mesopotamia.”

My eyes widened. “The land between two rivers.The Cradle of Civilization.”

Casziel’s eyes flared almost imperceptibly. “How do you know of it?”

“I took an anthropology class at NYU. I don’t know why; it wasn’t part of my curriculum, but something about that time period fascinates me.”

“Is that so?” he said into his wine glass.

“Absolutely, but no textbook can compete with someone who lived it. What was it like? Where did you grow up?”

“Larsa. A city-state in the southern region, near the gulf. I was born there in the year 1721, before the Common Era.”

My eyes widened. “Holy crap. So that makes you—”

“Sumerian.”

“I was going to say old.”

Cas laughed a little, low and gruff, but his smile was beautiful. And short-lived.

“I am considered old by human standards, but I died in 1699 BCE at the age of twenty-two.”

“How did you die?” I waved my hand. “Sorry, that’s a personal question. At least, I think it’s a personal question. I’ve never been able to ask someone how they died before.”

“King Hammurabi of Babylon waged war on Southern Mesopotamia,” he said. “He sought to absorb Larsa into his empire. I fought for my king, Rim-Sin the First, leading his army in many battles, but eventually we were overwhelmed. Rim-Sin fled.” Casziel’s eyes hardened. “I stayed.”

“You were a warrior,” I said, remembering one of our first conversations.

Cas nodded. “I defended my homeland to the bitter end, but it was useless. Hammurabi cut off the city, burning crops, starving the people. Women and children were dying. I had no choice but to surrender. I was captured and put to death.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” I said, my fingers toying with a fresh cocktail I didn’t remember ordering. “But you died defending your homeland from invasion. That doesn’t sound like a bad thing. Certainly not bad enough to…”

“Condemn my soul to eternal damnation?”

“Yes…um. That. How did that happen? If you want to tell me.”

He twisted the stem of his wine glass and became lost in the deep red depths.

“Hammurabi’s hatred for me ran deep,” he said. “We’d been at war for four years. I fended off his attacks and had led successful raids into Babylon. He blamed me for Larsa’s defiance more than he did Rim-Sin.”

I stared, wide-eyed, that Casziel lived through events I only studied in history books.

“Upon my capture, Hammurabi dragged me into the bowels of the ziggurat—our temple to Utu, the sun god. There, I was tortured and brought to the brink of death again and again. To punish me for my rebellion.” His voice stiffened, his eyes full of memories. “He defiled our temple and Utu himself, soiling the walls of the god’s house with my blood. But Hammurabi wasn’t satisfied. He ordered his generals to round up my parents, my sister…” He took a long pull from his wine. “And my wife.”

I remembered the strange vision I’d had when I first found Cas. His memories, I guessed, from the last night in the temple. A stab of jealousy knifed me in the chest. “You had a wife?”

He nodded. “It was an arranged marriage, as was custom. Hardly two months after our wedding, Hammurabi mounted his final, victorious attack, and Larsa was defeated. My wife was slaughtered with the rest of my family and her father, the high priest. One after the other, they were murdered right before my eyes.” He inhaled through his nose, steeling himself. “Only when their blood ceased to flow was I allowed to die.”

His pain slammed into me like a hammer. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t sound stupid and weak.

“The helpless rage and grief came with me as I Crossed Over,” Casziel continued. “And Ashtaroth, drawn by that pain, was waiting for me on the Other Side.”

“Ashtar—?”

Casziel’s finger flew to my lips. “Don’t say his name. You don’t want him in your world, Lucy.” He released me. “He must remain in mine.”

“Who is he?”

“My commanding officer, so to speak. I am his servitor. His soldier.” His mouth drew down in a grim line. “Stoked by Ashtaroth, my wrath worked fast to corrupt me. Under his guidance, I grew very powerful. There are few demons mightier—or more infernal—than he.” He raised his gaze to meet mine. “Or me.”

I sat back. “Oh.”

“Ashtaroth welcomed me into a realm in which the rage and horror of my fate could be channeled. I stoked it in humans until it became something outside of me. I didn’t have to suffer it; I reveled in it. My grief was no longer weakness but power.”

“Grief isn’t weakness,” I said quietly. “It’s a sign of love. It’s love that endures—”

“And what of the love that is murdered before your eyes?” he demanded with sudden fire. “What is love when it screams your name on bloodstained lips, calling for help that you cannot give? Tell me that isn’t weakness, Lucy Dennings. The ultimate weakness. To be unable to save them. I couldn’t save them…” He shook his head with finality, his voice hard again. “Grief is not love. Grief is penance for living after love has died.”

I swallowed hard. “What happened to you and your family is unimaginable, Cas. But the fact that you’re here—”

“Is nothing heroic. I merely grow tired of feeding the fire of rage and pain. I’m tired of the endless hunger. The death.”

My gaze dropped to the gash on his arm, hidden by a sleeve. “If we succeed, will Ash…will your commander let you go?”

“We have an agreement. Eleven days. No more.”

It wasn’t an answer to the question, but my head was already murky, and Cas was hailing the bartender again. A third round of drinks was set before us.

I took a deep pull of mine, letting the whiskey fortify me.

“I’m sorry about your family, Cas,” I said. “My mother died when I was too little to remember her but losing my father… It’s been the hardest thing. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said into his wine.

“Your wife…” I cleared my throat. The unwarranted little pang of jealousy seemed to be attached to that word. “Do you remember loving her?”

He whipped his head to me. “Why do you ask me this?”

“You said there was no love left in you. But if you loved her once, maybe it’s still there. Maybe—”

“There is none left,” he gritted out, as if each word cut him like knives. “Because I refuse to allow it to infest me like a sickness ever again.”

“Love’s not sickness. It’s—”

“Lucy,” he snapped. “Leave it. I have no patience for greeting card sentiment.”

“I know you’re angry,” I said after a moment. “God knows when I’m really missing my dad or thinking about how he suffered in the last weeks of his illness, I don’t want any grace or trite sentiment either. I’d burn it all to the ground to have him back.”

Cas wasn’t looking at me but seemed to be listening with his entire being.

“But sometimes, not very often, the grief kind of mellows,” I said. “The sharp edges soften for a little bit, and I feel real beauty in it. I know that might sound crazy, but it’s true. Beauty in his life, who he was, and who we were to each other. How much I loved him. In those times, the grief still hurts, but instead of getting angry or mad or scared, I feel grateful.”

“Grateful?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Yes. Grateful that I had the privilege of knowing him. That this pain I’m feeling is strong because I loved him. I wouldn’t trade it if it meant not having him. The bad stuff…it hurts. Sometimes, it hurts so much, it’s almost impossible to see the beauty in life. But if we just take a deep breath and get really quiet, we can feel how alive we are. We’re here, experiencing it all, and the good stuff is all the more precious if we understand it might not stay as long as we want it to. My loss is not the same as yours, but that’s how I think about it, and it makes me feel better. Maybe it would make you feel better too.”

Holy moly, I didn’t know what it was, but something about Cas got me talking more than my shyness usually allowed. He was watching me with a strange expression on his face. Maybe later I’d blame it on the booze, but I reached to take his hand. A scar sliced across the back that I hadn’t noticed before. He stiffened at my touch, then softened into it. His fingers—a warrior’s fingers, rough and calloused—curled around mine. Light at first, then tighter. He was pure power—masculine and hard and dangerous but not to me.

My hand belongs in his.

My thoughts, greased by whiskey, skidded off into slippery territory. How it would feel to have more of his skin touching mine. How other parts of us might fit together as perfectly. How there might be a kind of bliss waiting when the size and shape of every scar on his body was no longer a mystery to me.

For long moments, we sat together in that crowded, noisy pub, an oasis of silence. Then he gave my hand a final squeeze and let go.

“Your capacity for love is bottomless, Lucy Dennings,” he said in a low voice. “I know what might help me.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “Earlier today, I wasn’t moved to offer that homeless man money or clothing, and it wouldn’t have occurred to me that he needed human contact. But it occurred to you. You saw that man’s plight and felt…what do you call it?”

My lips quirked. “Empathy?”

“Yes, that. And empathy cannot be taught. Neither can charity or compassion. Not to someone who has lived in darkness for centuries—and certainly not in the few days I have left.

“This puts us in a bit of a tough spot, Cas,” I said, taking another pull of my whiskey.

“Indeed. Helping me is a waste of time. The key to my redemption lies in helping you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said. “But love has to factor in somehow.”

The alcohol was hitting me hard; my head felt like it was floating off my neck.

I giggled as a stray thought skittered across my boozy mind. “A fake relationship.”

“Come again?”

“The ‘fake relationship’ is a trope in romance books where two people pretend to be together in order to achieve separate goals, like earn an inheritance or make someone jealous.”

I didn’t add that in the books, the fake relationship always turned out to be real in the end. Because that was impossible. Aside from the fact he was a demon, Cas was only on This Side for a handful of days. The fake relationship idea was too silly anyway, but he was rubbing his chin, wearing a thoughtful expression.

“Go on.”

“Well…there’s this guy at my work. I started to tell you about him earlier. I’ve had a major crush on him since forever, but he doesn’t know I exist.”

“Why not?”

“Well, look at me, for starters.”

“I am looking at you.”

He was. Cas’s guarded, hard expression softened in the dim light of the pub, and his gaze roamed my face, drinking me in like wine, devouring me like the food he ate with bottomless hunger…

Silly Lucy, you’re just drunk.

“I’m not exactly a super model.”

“No, your body is fuller than the images in your magazines.”

I hunched over my drink. “Gee, thanks. As if I’m not bombarded with that fact every day of my life.”

“I have offended?” He frowned. “You are healthy and strong. Is that not valued now as it was in Sumer?”

“Yes and no,” I said blushing up to the roots of my hair. “I don’t know what they thought in Larsa, circa 17th century BCE, but in this era, the standard of beauty is not me.”

“Then it has no standards,” he spat.

I blinked, warmth flooding my chest. No one had ever said something like that to me before.

“Does this guy at your work subscribe to the same shallow perceptions?”

“Um, no, he’s not shallow or superficial,” I said. “To him, I’m just the quiet girl in the corner. But if you showed me attention, it might make him curious.”

“He’ll want what he can’t have, you mean,” Cas said sourly. “I may not have read your romance novels, but I’m familiar enough with male pride.”

“Guy isn’t like that,” I said. “He’s not a possessive jerk, but I think if he got to know me, he might see we have a lot in common.”

“He is a good man?”

“Very. He works tirelessly on ocean preservation and always has good ideas. He’s very popular around the office. He loves dogs…”

I dove back into my drink to stop rambling.

“And you believe if he sees you as the object of another man’s interest, he’ll grow interested himself.”

“Maybe.” I let my hair fall over my face. “Maybe not. No, definitely not. It’s too risky and not monumental enough. We need something else—”

“How does this work, then? I pretend to woo you in front of this man…what’s his name?”

“Guy.”

“His name is Guy?”

“Yes…”

“Rather redundant.” The demon smirked. “Is his last name Human?”

I giggled. “Guy is a real name. It’s cute and it suits him. He’s fun, easy-going…has a great laugh.”

“Thank the gods for that.” Cas rolled his eyes. “Very well, what do I do? Show up at your place of work and shower you with affection? Drop to my knees and beg you to stop toying with my heart and choose me to be your one true love?”

That didn’t sound bad, honestly. I imagined the looks on everyone’s faces, especially Abby Taylor, who always seemed as if she’d just finished talking about me behind my back.

“Nothing so dramatic but in that ballpark.” I glanced down at my drink. “I haven’t told anyone about my crush on Guy except for Cole and he’s too far away to make me do something about it.”

“But now we are doing something about it.” Cas’s voice turned low. “Will it make you happy, Lucy Dennings? To have the love of this man?”

I plucked my napkin. “Well…yes. Being in love and being loved by another in return is what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

“I’m here for you. This plan will benefit us both,” he added quickly.

“But demons can’t make anyone do anything,” I said. “You told me that and I wouldn’t want anything that wasn’t real, anyway.”

“I can’t make Guy fall in love with you,” Cas agreed, gritting out each word. Then his voice softened, turned gruff. “But if we guide him to you, I don’t see how he could help it.”

The words hit me hard and then sank in softly. The most romantic thing anyone had ever said to me. I basked in the feeling. A moment that could’ve been pulled from one of my romance novels.

Get real. This is real life, not a story with a guaranteed happy ending.

Still, it felt nice. For a little while.

I turned to the demon with a soft smile. “Thank you, Cas.”

“For what?”

“It’s been fun fantasizing about this, even if it’s all make-believe.”

He frowned. “Make-believe?”

“Well, yeah.” I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “Nothing is going to come of Guy and me, but what you said felt good. Like having someone on my side. To have someone pretend that I’m…”

“Worthy of this man’s love?” Casziel’s expression was serious and grim—like what I imagine he must’ve looked like before going into battle. “I am on your side. And there is no pretending.”

I shook my head, wishing I hadn’t drunk so much. “No, no. This is not a Big Idea. It’s not enough to save you.”

“Probably not, given the depth of my sins. But it’s the best hope we have.”

I stared. “No, Cas. It won’t work. It’s…”

“Silly?” Casziel shook his head, his eyes like molten gold in the dimness of the pub. “Drawing a man to your light is a worthy cause, Lucy Dennings. Your happiness is a worthy cause. I can think of nothing worthier.”

At those words, my heart beat hard, as if for the first time.

As if it’d been still and gathering dust in my chest until that night. With Cas.