Originally posted September 23, 2011
He wished he had never picked up the card at the coffee shop. The Gothic lettering offered a song from local band he liked in exchange for his soul. The offer made him giggle at first, clearly a publicity stunt cooked up by Nightlite Harlequin. He entered the code on the card into his web browser, scrolled through the EULA, checked the box, then downloaded the song.
Tristan took the first call to his unlisted number from David Samiel, Esq. as a joke. The haunted looks of once lively friends and fellow fans started to play on his nerves. The calls continued. Mr. Samiel began to relate unknown details of Tristan's personal life. The young college student began a new study in fear; true, mind numbing, stomach devouring, fear.
His landlord, Mr. Laffrey, loved to tell stories about the witch who had purged the building's garden of evil. Not interested in seeking guidance from his church, Tristan sought out the one person he heard of who might have experience in the matter. Meeting his hired mystic on the steps of Mr. Samiel's office did nothing to dispel the fear.
The seams of her worn, leather jacket hung low over her slumped shoulders. Sallow, sunken eyes looked up at him as he approached. Wrinkles spread from the corners of those sockets. Brilliant in the light of a television, her hair lacked luster. Tristan puzzled over how someone could look both older and younger than from the first time they met, not but 12 hours ago.
"M'Lady Warwick?"
"Aye," she answered listlessly.
"Are you ready?"
"Aye."
"Uhhh. Errrrr," Tristan sputtered. "What is our plan?"
A brilliant smile restored his confidence. "Win your soul, lad." She followed him as he stepped up into the brownstone, shoulders returning to their slump, the lights in her eyes turned back off.
Tristan did not expect to look down on the Devil, well, a devil. David Samiel, Esq. stood no more than 5'2", looking up at the young man through thick framed, black glasses from under a shiny, bald head. The lawyer smelled of nightshade and wore a cheap, houndstooth jacket. Loose legal pads and ancient tomes decorated the office and conveyed an impression of a occult ambulance chaser. "Ah, Mr. D'accord," Mr Samiel pumped his hand voraciously, "I look forward to working with you."
"Thanks," offered Tristan, unsure. "This is,..." he looked back to the shrunken woman at his side. "is Siobhan." The devil assessed her, a human tongue licking his lips. "What a lovely treasure." Mr. Samiel took her hand as it rested at her side and kissed it with all the grace of a reptile. The creature gestured towards two chairs on one side of his desk. "Please sit down."
Mr. Samiel positioned himself behind his desk as the two settled into the hard, wooden chairs. "Mr. D'accord," he pulled a legal pad from the table, "we are her to discuss your recent contract, a download of Nightlite Harlequin's 'I Would Give Anything for This' in exchange for your soul. This contract places you under certain oblig...."
"I didn't do it," burst from Tristan. Mr. Samiel raised an eyebrow. "You didn't download the song?"
"No. I did."
"You didn't accept the end user license agreement that explained the arrangement?"
"Yes,... But, no. Nobody reads those things!" Tristan stumbled over the words. "No one believes you can sell your soul!"
"Did you not, on," Mr. Samiel looked over his glasses as he flipped though his legal pad, "December 28, seek absolution from one Father Castle at Holy Name Cathedral for the sin of lust described as 'feeling up' Amanda Conners as she lay on your couch, passed out from excessive alcohol intake? Seeking to purge such venal acts do not speak of a man not believing of a soul, Tristan. Indeed, why go to confession at all but to ensure your soul proceeds to the Heaven promised by your religion? And in this case, does it not carry that you possess a soul and, as a possession, your soul is as transferable as say, a pair of your shoes?"
The devilish attorney raised his eyebrows above his heavy, black framed glasses. "That you didn't believe the contract enforceable does not weigh on its validity." Mr. Samiel pulled off his glasses, jabbing one dark arm in the young man's direction. "Mr. Tristan D'accord, you soul is mine." The eyeglasses shifted in his hands as he breathed on the lenses before cleaning them with a handkerchief pulled from his pocket. His eyes shifted and fell on Siobhan, slouched on the chair next to her client. "Unless you can offer me something else."
"My soul," Siobhan offered weakly, her voice hardly a whisper. "What would you give for my soul?"
"What!?" Tristan lept from his chair. "No. Wait! I didn't want it to go down like this!"
"Sit down, Mr. D'Accord," Mr. Samiel stated with quiet menace. "These are separate negotiations. You, sir, should have done your due diligence." The lawyer turned his attentions back to the woman in the chair. Siobhan could feel his eyes upon here, peering at bright, glittering avatar he would see their; a soul laced with pulsing veins of green magic. To his credit, the devil kept a stoic visage. "What would you like in exchange for your soul, young lady?"
Siobhan shifted forward in her chair, placing her elbows on her knees. Her head lifted slowly, as if under a great weight. "'is soul," she nodded slowly in Tristan's direction. The young man sunk into his chair, unable to speak. "Release the souls gathered in this scheme and you can pluck mae own immediately from mae chest."
The devil's eyes narrowed. He stroked his bare chin as he weighed the value of the shining prize. He pulled a sheaf of papers from a desk drawer. "These are the markers for the souls traded for the download." He pulled a lighter from a jacket pocket. Siobhan extended one arm, reaching for the stack. The devil handed it to her, and her to Tristan. "Di ye recognize the names lad? Bae sure."
Tristan took his time, looking at each name on each individual contract. He did not know most of these people. The names of a few friends stood out to him. His own lay on the top of the stack. "This looks like everyone." He swallowed before handing the files back to Mr. Samiel. The lawyer flicked his lighter, igniting a corner of the sheets before dropping them all into a garbage can to watch them burn. "Your soul, Mr. D'Accord," he said quietly, "is yours again."
Siobhan's head nodded once. Tristan would not remember Mr. Samiel moving. One moment the lawyer sat behind his desk. The next found him perched on the armrests of Siobhan's wooden chair, his fingers plunged into her chest to the third knuckle, the witch's head thrown back in extasy or pain. The sound of snapping bone filled the room as the devil tore through the woman's torso with all the enthusiasm of a child searching for a prize in the bottom of a cereal box. Blood trailed down her limp arm to pool on the faded, wooden floor. His motions grew more frantic as Siobhan lifted her head. "Oh. Ah dinnae seem tae 'ave mae soul on mae."
Mr. Samiel returned to a position behind his desk as quickly as he had crossed it a moment before. "An illusion!" he challenged. The room darkened. Tristan could see his breath in the chilling air.
The archmage stood, taller, her lithely muscled form filling her leather jacket, her red hair a torch agains the gathering darkness. She tucked a rib back into place with all the casualness of returning a watch to its pocket."Ye shuid 'ave done yer due diligence, Mr. Samiel." Her gaze shifted towards Tristan. "We're done 'ere lad." Siobhan took a step towards the door.
"You negotiated in bad faith!" Mr. Samiel yelled, his voice shrill. "I'll sue!" Siobhan stopped, turned and took a step back towards the creature. The devil retreated, propelled by the witch's renewed presence. "Di ye really really wantae face mae in court?" She stood there, waiting, until Mr. Samiel shook his head.
Siobhan led Tristan out of the room, uttering quietly. "Brings all new meaning tae 'held harmless' ah ken."
"Did all that really happen?" Tristan asked as they walked away along the sidewalk. Siobhan looked back over her shoulder as she used both hands to tie her mane back into a ponytail. Her t-shirt hand repaired itself, along with her shattered chest. All that blood had disappeared as easily as a distant memory. "Aye. 'e wounnae tae bright, ah ken. Ah wounae sure 'e wuid go fer it. 'e'll bae more cautious next tiem."
"Next time?"
"Devils live a long tiem." She turned to him and grinned. "An 'ow di it feel tae 'ave yer soul back, lad?"
Tristan stopped and looked around. "I don't know."
"Tis yers tae make a kirk or a mill of it," the witch cautioned, stopping to turn towards him. "An there bae this question of service." Tristan nodded as Sioibhan's smile grew. "Meet me at Griffin's, tomorrow at eight. Yer life's about tae git interesting."
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