Page 52 of Problematic

People did that a lot. They picked the story about me they liked best and hoped reality would cooperate.

I stepped through the gate.

“What brings you to my home?” she asked, her voice still polished, still confident.

“I heard what happened in the coffee shop today,” I said.

That was all it took. Relief softened her posture immediately. “Oh,” she said, stepping down from the porch. “That situation.”

She approached slowly, arms folding loosely as if we were about to discuss policy, not engage in the last conversation she would ever have.

“Well,” she continued, warming to the subject, “someone had to say it.”

I stayed quiet.

Silence was encouragement to people like her.

“The entire scene was ridiculous,” she went on. “That girl behind the counter has no place in a city like this. No power. No presence. No lineage worth mentioning.”

My jaw clicked softly.

Pop.

She didn’t notice.

“In a place like New Abaddon,” she continued, voice gaining momentum now that she believed she had an audience, “weak bloodlines drag everyone down. Humans pretending they belong here. Demons who never manifest. Dead weight clinging to spaces they didn’t earn.” She smiled widely. “Someone needs to start addressing the problem,” she said. “Cullings are unpleasant but necessary. Evolution requires pressure.”

My mouth twitched slightly. There it was again.

Cull.

“Strength should be rewarded,” she continued. “Weakness should be removed.” She gestured lightly toward the houses lining the street.

“This city understands that. It was built on it.” She tilted her head slightly, almost conversational now. “New Abaddon was named for Prince Abaddon after all. I think the South is doing something right in that aspect.”

I said nothing. She smiled faintly, assuming I appreciated the reference.

“The image of strength,” she went on. “Next in line for the throne of Hell. The prince who understood that weakness poisons a kingdom if you allow it to spread.”

Her voice carried a note of admiration.

“He believed in culling.”

A quiet beat passed between us. Then I nodded slightly.

“Yes,” I said.

My voice was soft. Almost thoughtful.

“Yes, he does.”

She frowned faintly. Something in my tone finally tipped off her instincts.

Too late.

“You suggested someone be culled today,” I said.

Her smile returned immediately.