Page 14 of Reap & Sow
“I know a demon.”
The man’s smirk fell. He stared at her.
Eda rubbed the smooth handle of the penknife inside her jerkin pocket. She hoped not to use it.
The stranger said nothing. Stay calm. Stay in control. “You needn’t commit to anything here and now. But if you’re tired of wallowing in the muck, penniless, just know that one small trade could make it all go away. A few years for the life you want. Anything you want.”
The man’s lips formed a thin line. He looked around, but the street was dark and empty. “You with the Faithhood?”
Eda’s heart skipped. “I’m not trying to trick you.”
“Oh? What’s in it for you, then? I ain’t payin’ you nothing. Got piss all anyway, as you kindly pointed out.”
“I don’t want your coin. I stand to gain in other ways.”
The man shuffled closer. His voice dropped. “And if a person were interested in…that. What, er—what they need t’do?”
She bit back a grin. Hope was heady; Eda tried not to let it scatter her composure. “There’s a place in Crowgate near the Saint’s Waterway, between the marketplace crossroads and Riverplace Florists. A shop where history is sold.” Shaws’ Antiques was the obvious answer to anyone with much of a brain, but at least this way they had plausible deniability. Some silly riddle of a direction wasn’t much in the way of hard proof to any Blades that caught wind of it. “When you’re ready, you need only find this place and quote a certain phrase. It’s—”
“I don’t need that.” The man’s face hardened. “I’m ready now.”
She blinked. “You mean…”
“I want to do it. A Pact.” He whispered it like a curse, taboo to even speak aloud. She supposed it was. “Prove you’re not all talk. Take me there, here an’ now. I’m sick of livin’ like this. I want it done.”
Her mind raced. Eda looked hard at the man, unsteady with drink, and furiously tried to assess the risks. He seemed earnest. She’d witnessed him lose his remaining wealth herself.
He was drunk. He was poor. He was desperate.
He was perfect.
It was a strange walk back.
Eda glanced repeatedly at the man trailing her—Gregory, he said his name was—for fear he’d make off into the night. That he’d change his mind or call for someone to arrest her.
He did neither. Gregory seemed content to follow in silence, which suited Eda fine. What sort of small talk could one possibly make en route to barter with a demon, anyhow? Fair weather we’re having this autumn, no? Very temperate.
Where the walk into Gaffham had seemed to take an age, every passing minute bearing down on her like a millstone, the walk home hurried itself along. The thought of actually doing this filled her with as much apprehension as excitement, and in the way of all things dreaded, the point of no return seemed to positively hurtle closer. In no time at all they were at the doorway of Shaws’ Antiques.
Gregory observed the rich peeling green paint, the proud oriel windows, and gold lettering. “This it?”
“Keep your voice down,” she hissed, fumbling for the key. “Say nothing. If you wake anyone upstairs, this will be over before it’s begun.” She gently turned the lock, wincing when it clicked.
“What, they don’t know they’ve got a Gateway in their shop?”
“Lower. Your. Voice.”
He huffed, amused. Still a bit drunk.
Perhaps that’s for the best. He might not be here at all were he sober.
“Just askin’. Who is it, then? Ma and Pa?”
Eda paused. Turned to look at him. “Why?”
“Well, ’scuse me for bein’ friendly!”
She shook her head and eased open the door quickly as she dared, ushering Gregory in. The bell, she was pleased to note, remained silent as she followed him inside and shut the door.
