“What’s your need, Quicksilver?” she said, sitting down across from him at a little round, ice-cream-style glass table with white wrought-iron chairs featuring backs in the shape of hearts. She had extremely eclectic taste.
“I need to capture a female demon and persuade her to accept me as mate.”
Shelejiah stared for a few seconds before bursting into raucous laughter. She guffawed as she beat the glass tabletop with the palm of her hand, the fingers of which featured long, thick, yellowish nails.
After pretending to wipe a tear away, she said, “No. Really.”
“I know it sounds unlikely,” Quicksilver said smoothly. “Perhaps even impossible. But it’s true and I’m holding you to your commitment to confidentiality by the way. If this news gets out, I’ll know where to look.”
“Woo. Woo. I’m so scared,” she said with the most bored-sounding tone possible.
“Should I say sarcasm is beneath your station?”
“Say what you want. Sarcasm is my middle name. I don’t mind saying I’m flattered that you think I can help you capture a female demon. But you have to know that can’t be done.”
“Under normal circumstances, you’re right.”
“You call an unmated female demon ‘normal circumstances’?”
“No. Of course not. This isn’t your usual female demon.”
“Usual female demon,” she repeated drily, as if there was such a thing.
“She wasn’t born. She was made. Recently. So recently that she has no understanding of her nature, much less her power. She reached maturity as a human and is only twenty-odd years old.”
Shelejiah’s head jerked at that. “She’s twenty-something years old?”
“Yes.”
“Total?”
“Yes.”
“How in the names of all gods did she become a demon?”
“A human fraternity found out that, if humans are injected with even trace amounts of elemental blood, they can travel passes.”
“Fuck it all to shitting hel!”
“That’s not all. They used demon blood. And it turned humans into demons.”
She slumped back. “No.”
“That’s the word in the passes.”
“Fucking humans.”
“Right?” Of course, he didn’t want to say that humans might be responsible for the boon of his life. A female demon.
She tapped her nails on the table for a bit, looking preoccupied. “So you’re saying she doesn’t know how to be a demon, much less a female.”
“Yes.”
“That would mean she’s as defenseless as a human.”
“Correct.”
“Still. You know that scenario is unpredictable. It’s anybody’s guess when she might figure out how to rearrange reality to her liking. And, if you’re on her wrong side which let’s assume you would be, as her captor and all, you might find that, when the new reality settles, you’re not in it. Poof goes the shapeshifter.”
Quicksilver couldn’t help but wince at that visual. “I get that there’s a risk.”
With a dark chuckle, she said, “Your imprudent lack of caution flies in the face of logic. Do you get that, too?”
He shrugged as casually as false bravado would allow. “You know what they say. The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward.”
“I thought it was the bigger the gamble, the deeper the gutting.”
“Funny.”
“I thought so. I’m finished with my self-destructive, good deed for the eon. If you want to go bye bye at the hands of a female demon, it’s your black abyss.”
“Does that mean you have something useful for me?”
With a nod, she said, “Let’s talk terms.”
“What do you want?”
“Youth.”
“A youth?”
“No. My youth. I want to be a heartbreaker again.”
Quicksilver stared at her for a few beats trying to picture the sort of creature whose heart could be broken by Shelejiah at any age.
“No. Too steep. That would deplete my energy and put me out of commission for… I don’t even know how long. A while.”
“Okay.” She got to her feet. “Was nice seeing you. I’m going to feed my orchids. Let yourself out.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, not yet ready to believe that she might be.
“Got my heart set on young.”
“Deal,” he didn’t sound happy, but the contract didn’t include an enthusiasm stipulation.
She headed toward the far end of her workspace where shelves of things in glass jars rose sixteen feet in the air. She had a set of rolling steps so that she could access anything at any height.
How she kept track of items in inventory and their location appeared to be an unsolvable mystery, but whatever the system, it seemed to work for her. He was glad when the rolling ladder came to a stop because the obnoxious squeaking of wheels was getting on his nerves.
She looked upward, scanning shelves with hands on hips, then pushed the steps another three inches away. Seeming satisfied with that slight adjustment, she began the climb. Given