The Price of a Soul [Chapter 3.2]

Last Line(s): Issac didn't look convinced.

“...Please?”

Issac let out a sigh. Running his fingers through his hair, he gave her – and the graveyard – one last cursory look before walking over to Nolan.

xXx

There was one unspoken rule to contracts that demons rarely broke: never make a deal with another demon. It wasn't that it couldn't be physically done. A connection could still be forged between souls. Demons, however, had a tendency to make deals with other demons to gain power and wealth. On the rare occasion, they would make deals to do something that benefited others, but such a step was rarely needed – as demons would normally handle issues like that using their own abilities. There was no reason to get into debt over something like that. Demon deals, furthermore, rarely dealt with the workings of the human world. Any kind of power climb was dangerous in Hell; it would be seen as a threat by the ruling class.

But there were always exceptions.

Azazel found himself looking at one of those exceptions right now.

Nolan Keene, short-lived actor and current owner of a haunted house. Azazel might have thought it was interesting seeing how the great fell, but Dirix hadn't ever been all that great. He had always suspected it was because Dirix had no drive for making deals. He just liked the luxury that came afterwards.

Still, Azazel would play his cards carefully. There was no point in revealing who he really was. Dirix seemed like just the type of man who would spread and profit off of rumors of his reappearance; it was too soon to make a gamble like that.

“Hello,” Azazel said, giving a small nod of his head.

Dirix puffed on the cigarette he had between his fingers. Something about the way Azazel spoke and held himself must have come across as familiar to the much younger demon, but Azazel knew he would never be able to put the pieces together. He hadn't made a deal with him because they were friends; he had made a deal with him because he knew Azazel always delivered.

“Hi,” Dirix said, tone wary. He puffed on his cigarette again. Azazel knew the ring of smoke that Dirix sent in his direction was intentional, but Azazel wasn't phased. He might have been, if he still had a working pair of lungs. Azazel could have simulated breathing well enough to pass as some other than metallic, but he didn't feel like pretending that the smoke had irritated his respiratory system.

“I'm here to collect,” Azazel said.

Dirix gave him a long, hard look. Azazel noted the signs of unease: the way he tightly gripped his cigarette, how his eyes nervously glanced around in search of someone who felt truly demonic, and of the way he finally lowered the cigarette from his mouth.

“I just paid off the mortgage,” Dirix said. “You can tell the bank they don't need to hassle me anymore-”

“I work for someone other than the bank.”

Dirix paled. “...But he always appears in person.”

“Times have changed,” Azazel said.

Dirix took a step back; Azazel didn't move.

“That doesn't make any sense,” Dirix argued. “Why would he suddenly change-”

His face suddenly relaxed. Azazel tilted his head ever so slightly to the side in confusion. Few people felt relief when he came to collect their end of his contracts. They may have afterwards, when they realize the deal wasn't nearly as bad as it had originally sounded, but never before.

Dirix lifted his cigarette to his lips again. “Prove it.”

“Prove...what?”

“Prove that you work for Azazel,” Dirix said. “He does everything alone. Before I fulfill my end of our contract, I want proof that you work for him.”

Azazel mulled over this request for a minute. It was something that was simple to prove in theory, considering that he was who he claimed to work for, but he quickly realized his lie would be harder to prove than expected. The longer it took for him to come to a conclusion, the more irritated Dirix looked. The robotic body masked his demonic aura. For all Dirix knew, this was a ploy to admit the details of their deal – or take advantage of it.

“Seventeen years ago,” Azazel said, “you made a deal with Azazel to secure a role in a minor film. He would contact someone he knew in the film industry; you would provide him with whatever he requested in the future because you had nothing of interest to him at the time.”

Dirix blew more smoke in his face.

“Anyone could have guessed that,” Dirix pointed out. “You'll have to tell me more than that if you want me to believe you actually work for him-” 

Azazel gestured in the direction of the woman Dirix had been talking to. It was hard to tell because of the heavy makeup she wore on her face, but she had her mother's eyes. From the way that Dirix paled again, he knew that his assumption had been right.

“You wanted to do more than act,” Azazel said. He gave Dirix a smile that didn't look quite right; Dirix didn't seem to notice. “You had fallen in love with a human. She had a young daughter from a previous relationship. It was never your intention to tell Azazel – or anyone, for that matter – but he had a chance encounter with the three of you in the park one day while completing his part of another deal. You could have asked for cash, but you wanted your fiance to think that you were trustworthy. You had already told her that you had participated in small performances in the past; she would never question a sudden role in a minor film.”

Dirix lowered his cigarette. His hands were shaking, but he didn't bother to hide how much he was trembling. Or maybe Dirix was – there was a reason why he had never gotten far in his acting career. His eyes frantically scanned the graveyard. He looked at his daughter first, but his gaze quickly shifted to where Quinn was talking with a man dressed as a zombie. Azazel couldn't explain why he did what he did next. He knew that Dirix would never harm Quinn.

But he still took a step forward and gave Dirix a cold, hard look.

Dirix faltered. He took a step back, let the cigarette drop to the ground, and somehow turned a shade even paler than before. “What does he want?”

“Information,” Azazel said.

“O-on what?”

Azazel cocked an eyebrow. “On the disappearances.” 

Dirix looked down at his smoldering cigarette. “I already told the police everything. Can't he make a deal with one of them to get their report?”

Azazel resisted the urge to sigh. He certainly hadn't missed this part of deal-making.

“The police know nothing of the supernatural,” he pointed out. “You would have avoided any references to the supernatural when talking with them. Adam Maxwell worked here as one of your employees. You must have had some inkling of what he was. If you give me your best guess and your records on all of your employees, Azazel will consider your deal complete.”

Dirix scratched the back of his head. “That would be a violation of their privacy-”

Azazel gave him another look.

The younger demon gulped and went back to staring at the ground.

“The information is all digital these days,” Dirix hurriedly said. “I'll email the files to you as soon as I can get up to my office. And as for what Adam was...”

He glanced up at Azazel.

“He was a demon,” he finally admitted. “But not from here or down there. I don't want to get on Azazel's bad side, but I doubt anything worthwhile is going to come out of him looking into Adam's disappearance. I don't think anyone really cares that he's gone.”