Chapter 15

Only Hugo seemed immune to Zee’s spell. Over a pale green cocktail, he narrowed his eyes. Up close, his features were less plastic than they appeared in the music videos, and his dark blue irises glittered in the dim club’s lights.

The model twirled the stem of her Manhattan glass. “Please. Join us, Zemfira.”

Zee scooted in next to the model, while Ursula took a spot next to Hugo. Yanking a thin straw from his drink, he flicked tiny droplets over the table. “I was in the middle of a story.”

Zee took a sip of her cocktail. “Don’t let us stop you, Hugo.”

Hugo shifted in his seat, looking around the table. “I was explaining why I had to dump Madison. I’m sure you saw it in the papers.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “So my PR guy sent me Virginie here. We’re supposed to go to the opera tomorrow. Like, to be seen together.”

Virginie smiled.

“Oh?” Zee cocked her head, feigning sympathy. “What happened with Madison?”

Hugo frowned. “She bought a one-piece for our vacation in Saint Kitts. And there were going to be paparazzi there, obviously.” His clipped accent and soft Rs suggested he had some history in a British boarding school, but also that he’d lived in the US long enough to give his voice a nasal quality. He sounded a bit like a 1920s radio announcer. Hugo turned to Ursula, dark eyebrows raised. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would date a girl with a one-piece?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“A one-piece bathing suit. A swimming costume.” He spoke slowly, like she might have a head injury. “Like, not a bikini.”

“Yeah, I get the bathing suit concept. I just didn’t know there was a recognizable type of man whose girlfriend?—”

Zee kicked her hard under the table and Hugo glared at her. Shit. I’m supposed to be charming.

She smiled, widening her eyes. “But of course I never wear swimming costumes—I mean bathing suits.”

“You don’t swim?

She licked her lips in what she hoped was a seductive gesture. “I only swim au naturel.”

Hugo shifted toward her, suddenly interested. “What else do you do au naturel?” His gaze rested firmly on her breasts before moving to her face.

“Oh, you know. Things.” She said it softly, gently placing a hand on Hugo’s knee where Virginie couldn’t see. Hopefully the knee-touching would distract him from the fact that she’d just tried to say “things” seductively.

Hugo stared into her eyes, and little smirk played around the corner of his mouth, before he abruptly looked away, slapping his hands on the table. “I need to go for a slash.”

He pushed his leg against Ursula’s, indicating that he wanted to get up from the table. Ursula scooted out, watching as Hugo and the bodyguard disappeared into the crowd. She took a sip of her champagne cocktail. Charm him and isolate him. One point for Ursula.

Her cell phone vibrated in her purse and she pulled it out. Zee’s name popped up.

“r u going to follow him????”

“should I?”

“He wants u 2. Now is ur chance.”

Virginie was gushing to Zee about her upcoming opera date—as if the Russian ice princess were the warmest, friendliest person in the world. Definitely magic of some sort. Ursula would have to ask Zee about that later.

Straightening her short dress, Ursula stood and strode toward the bathrooms. She’d read somewhere that British soldiers were given a rum ration before they went over the trenches. She downed the rest of her cocktail. In Club Lalique, champagne would have to do.

She glanced down at the wyrm-skin purse tucked under her arm. It held a credit card, 250 American dollars, a tube of red lipstick, her lucky stone, and her cellphone. But most importantly, it contained a small parchment pact and a bone-colored pen with a razor-sharp nib. All she had to do was remind Hugo of his contract, jab his palm, and get him to sign in his blood. Simple.

The dance floor had begun to fill, and Ursula wove her way through the crowd of lithe, glittering women and besuited men. She tried not to think about the pen’s second function. Kester had shown her a button hidden in its side that, when clicked, extended the nib into a small blade. That was the soul-reaping blade.

But she wasn’t going to use that. Even by the Headsman’s standards, that was a worst-case scenario. No one would agree to these bargains if word got round that Emerazel’s hellhounds murdered everyone on their eighteenth birthdays. In order for the system to work, they needed signatures, not corpses.

In one of the corners, a gold-plated letter M hung above a dark alcove. Hugo’s bodyguard stood just next to the entrance. As Ursula approached, the bodyguard gave her a wink. Good. Hugo’s definitely expecting me.

She pushed open the door and slipped inside. There was a short, curly-haired man by the sinks with a white towel in his hand. A silver tray of cologne, Club Lalique matchbooks, and breath mints were arranged on the counter behind him. “Miss, this is the men’s—” he started to say, but he fell silent when he glimpsed the one-hundred-dollar bill in Ursula’s outstretched hand.

“Can you give us a few minutes?” she whispered.

He nodded silently, pointing to the end of a row of black stall doors.

Ursula’s heels clacked over the tiles. Steel urinals lined the left wall under tall windows that granted a view of Manhattan. Any man taking a piss in Club Lalique could imagine that he was urinating on all the poor sods below. Ugh. If the revolution came, I’d be on the wrong side of the palace walls.

As she took a deep breath, she tapped the last door. “Hugo?” Seductive. Sound seductive. “It’s Ursula,” she breathed.

He cracked the door open, and she slipped inside, gripping her purse in anticipation. A window filled one entire wall, with only a thin black curtain covering the lower half for discretion. She could only hope no one was spending their evening scanning the Lalique bathrooms with a pair of binoculars.

Hugo pressed himself flat against the window, loosening his shirt collar. “Who are you?”

Ursula tried tossing her hair, but with the awkward jerk of her head it probably came off more like an involuntary twitch. “I’m Ursula. Zee’s friend.”

A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. “But I don’t know who Zee is, or why my date seemed to know her. When I asked my bodyguard, he couldn’t remember where he knew her from either.”

Zee had definitely used some sort of spell on them. Time to dispense with the pleasantries. “You’ve just turned eighteen. I’m here about your pact with Emerazel.”

He wiped a hand across his mouth, staring into her eyes. Emerazel’s fire now blazed behind his indigo irises. “No one came on my birthday. I thought I’d gotten away with it.”

She exhaled. So he knew the drill and this wasn’t too much of a shock. “Sorry, no. You didn’t get away. And now it’s time to sign the papers.” She stepped closer, pulling the pen from her bag and popping off the cap.

“And after I sign… I’m just a little fuzzy on what I’m agreeing to.”

“When you die, Emerazel will take your soul to burn in the inferno for eternity.” Bollocks. I might need to work on my pitch a little.

Hugo’s blue eyes bulged. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Of course you don’t. It’s awful—” Ursula sputtered. “—Not ideal, but you don’t have a choice. The deal was, you gave your soul in exchange for—” She pulled the parchment out of her purse. “What was it you asked for? Fame?”

He swallowed hard, eyes open wide. “For people to hear my music and think it’s amazing.”

She thrust the contract toward him. “Hmmm… Well I guess it only works on a portion of the population. Anyway, you made the deal verbally. And now you get all the French models, Grammys, and green cocktails you can consume until you die. Considering most of the world has to live on $6 a day, you’re getting quite lot. I mean sure, the eternal torment?—”

“It’s the soul part that concerns me.” The pink had vanished from his cheeks. “It was just a lark with my mates. I thought it was a fairy story.”

Was she going to have to act as a therapist with all the supplicants? She wasn’t very good at this hand-holding stuff. How was she supposed to convince him this was a good idea? This was an awful idea. And even if he was a knob, she didn’t want him to burn until the end of time. Bloody hell, she wasn’t a psychopath—she definitely wasn’t cut out for this gig. Still, she’d have to put forth the effort if she didn’t want to face slaughter at Emerazel’s hands—or perhaps Kester’s.

She squared her shoulders. “Well, chin up, and all that. Here’s the pen.” She forced a smile onto her face. “Please sign, and everything will be fine… for a while.” She couldn’t bring herself to outright lie about it. She was a terrible liar.

“I’ll have to spend eternity burning in the inferno,” he sputtered.

This tidbit would likely be a bit of a sticking point in these negotiations. “From what I understand, the other option is starting your sentence now, and I’m sure you can see that’s worse. You’re young. Death is a long way off. Unless you refuse to sign, and then it’s a very short way off.”

Hugo’s shoulders hunched. “What do you mean?”

Ursula gazed into his indigo eyes, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. “If you don’t sign, I have to reap your soul now, and then it’s straight to the fires. The torment can start now, or later.” God I don’t want to be doing this.

Hugo swallowed hard, his body trembling.

She depressed the button on the knife and the blade popped out with a snapping noise. She pressed the button again, retracting the blade. Hugo’s eyes bulged.

“Of course, Emerazel doesn’t want me to reap your soul now. It’s bad for business if you guys don’t get anything in return for eternity. She needs to keep the bargains coming, you know?”

Hugo tightened his lips, reaching for the pen with a resigned look on his face. But just as he was about to take it, he swung an elbow at her head.