Candy Kisses
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,044
Reviews:
54
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
16
Views:
3,044
Reviews:
54
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Chapter Seven
Candy Kisses
Chapter Seven
“Oh, El Diablo, El Diablo
Won’t You Sell Me Back My Soul?”
-- Arcadia
“I won’t do it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Raedeman regarded the young man who stood before him. The young man’s hands were curled into fists, and he’d scrunched his face into an expression of fierce defiance, as if he was the first person in the entire world who’d ever balked at the terms of a demonic pact. Raedeman repressed a sigh. Really, after all the hundreds and thousands of years, this was becoming far too predictable. Trying to keep the weariness from his voice, Raedeman inquired “You won’t do what?”
“I won’t do it. Not any of it. I love Pepper, and when two people are in love, there shouldn’t be any secrets between them.”
Behind the lenses of his dark glasses, Raedeman rolled his eyes. How old was this whelp? Twenty? And yet, after devouring a single handful of candy kisses, he suddenly thought he was an expert on love. Typical human. They glimpsed a tiny, distorted fragment of something, and then imagined they could comprehend the whole of it. Raedeman had fallen from heaven because of his feelings for another, and he could tell the young man things about love that would make him become a monk. But humans never listened. Or if they did, they never understood. So Raedeman merely offered a reminder.
“We had a deal, Nicholas Foster. And I’ve already given you part of what I promised.”
“Well, take it back!” The young man gestured at the air, as if his improved voice could be plucked from its invisible currents. “I don’t care about that anymore. Change my singing back to the way it was and release me from our contract,”
“Change it back?” This, Raedeman decided, had gone on long enough. He’d whispered in the ears of angels, until they not only fell, but were grateful for the descent -- he wasn’t going to waste his words on some pup too foolish to know he was beaten. Rising from behind the table, Raedeman let his human disguise melt away. “What do you think I am? A common merchant, to haggle and bargain with? I am a Duke of Hell!”
The young man stumbled back, his eyes full of fear. But despite the way his body trembled, his fists remained tightly clenched, and the defiance remained on his face. “Change it back,” he repeated.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” The young man shook his head, his expression incredulous. “But you did this! You cast the spell that fixed my voice. Why can’t you undo it?”
Instead of answering, Raedeman spread his wings, until they blocked all light from the room’s single bulb, leaving the young man in the embrace of shadows. Humans. They always thought it was simple. They were like perpetual children, willfully oblivious to the intricacies of their brief lives. Well, perhaps this one would learn something, however distasteful he found the lesson.
“This isn’t a fairy tale,” Raedeman informed, “and I didn’t enchant you. I promised to give you what you needed to become a great singer. And you, in your infinite wisdom, never thought to ask me what that was. Would you like to know?”
Slowly, the young man nodded. So Raedeman continued.
“You’ve spent your whole life studying, and practicing, and perfecting your technical skill. But there are some things they can’t teach in school. They can’t teach you love. They can’t teach you pain. Those are things you have to experience for yourself. And those are what you need to be great.”
Raedeman watched as understanding ebbed across the young man’s face. And yet, even with understanding, there still wasn’t acceptance. “But you could still… There must be a way…”
“No. I’ve given you love, and I’ll give you pain, and as long as you live, no demon or angel can take those things from you.” As he spoke, Raedeman felt a pang of sympathy -- for the young man, and for all of humanity, whose creator had made them weak and blind, and then seemed surprised when they ended up as pawns in the games played by their superiors. “You’re trapped, Nicholas Foster. Just as many better and wiser men have been trapped before you.”
The young man didn’t acknowledge his defeat. But he didn’t deny it, either. Satisfied that his point had been made, Raedeman sat back down, and resumed his human guise. “Now, I understand that you’re getting together with Marzipan Penicandey tomorrow night?”
“Yes.” The young man seemed to be numb with shock, his voice empty and toneless. “We’re going to meet at his place to talk.”
“Good.” Raedeman lifted a small vial from the table and offered it to the young man. “When he’s not looking, put a little of that into his drink. Then open the apartment door. After that, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve fulfilled the terms of our deal.”
Hesitantly, the young man accepted the vial. “It won’t hurt him, will it?”
“A few drops is only enough to knock him out. If anything, by preventing Marzi from putting up a fight, you’ll be helping to keep him from getting hurt.”
“And Pepper?” The young man spoke her name like a prayer, as if she was the one thing that could still save his soul. “She won’t come to any harm?”
Raedeman wondered if it would even be possible to harm someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost. But he’d been expecting some version of the young man’s question, and he had an easy answer prepared. “Neither I, nor anyone following my orders, will lay a hand on her body.” Which is, if I know Kale, probably resting at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
For a moment, the young man rolled the vial between his fingers. “L’amore vincera.”
“What?”
But the young man just shook his head, and stood up, shoving the vial into his pocket. “Nothing. A lie. A stupid, silly lie.”
Chapter Seven
“Oh, El Diablo, El Diablo
Won’t You Sell Me Back My Soul?”
-- Arcadia
“I won’t do it.”
Leaning back in his chair, Raedeman regarded the young man who stood before him. The young man’s hands were curled into fists, and he’d scrunched his face into an expression of fierce defiance, as if he was the first person in the entire world who’d ever balked at the terms of a demonic pact. Raedeman repressed a sigh. Really, after all the hundreds and thousands of years, this was becoming far too predictable. Trying to keep the weariness from his voice, Raedeman inquired “You won’t do what?”
“I won’t do it. Not any of it. I love Pepper, and when two people are in love, there shouldn’t be any secrets between them.”
Behind the lenses of his dark glasses, Raedeman rolled his eyes. How old was this whelp? Twenty? And yet, after devouring a single handful of candy kisses, he suddenly thought he was an expert on love. Typical human. They glimpsed a tiny, distorted fragment of something, and then imagined they could comprehend the whole of it. Raedeman had fallen from heaven because of his feelings for another, and he could tell the young man things about love that would make him become a monk. But humans never listened. Or if they did, they never understood. So Raedeman merely offered a reminder.
“We had a deal, Nicholas Foster. And I’ve already given you part of what I promised.”
“Well, take it back!” The young man gestured at the air, as if his improved voice could be plucked from its invisible currents. “I don’t care about that anymore. Change my singing back to the way it was and release me from our contract,”
“Change it back?” This, Raedeman decided, had gone on long enough. He’d whispered in the ears of angels, until they not only fell, but were grateful for the descent -- he wasn’t going to waste his words on some pup too foolish to know he was beaten. Rising from behind the table, Raedeman let his human disguise melt away. “What do you think I am? A common merchant, to haggle and bargain with? I am a Duke of Hell!”
The young man stumbled back, his eyes full of fear. But despite the way his body trembled, his fists remained tightly clenched, and the defiance remained on his face. “Change it back,” he repeated.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” The young man shook his head, his expression incredulous. “But you did this! You cast the spell that fixed my voice. Why can’t you undo it?”
Instead of answering, Raedeman spread his wings, until they blocked all light from the room’s single bulb, leaving the young man in the embrace of shadows. Humans. They always thought it was simple. They were like perpetual children, willfully oblivious to the intricacies of their brief lives. Well, perhaps this one would learn something, however distasteful he found the lesson.
“This isn’t a fairy tale,” Raedeman informed, “and I didn’t enchant you. I promised to give you what you needed to become a great singer. And you, in your infinite wisdom, never thought to ask me what that was. Would you like to know?”
Slowly, the young man nodded. So Raedeman continued.
“You’ve spent your whole life studying, and practicing, and perfecting your technical skill. But there are some things they can’t teach in school. They can’t teach you love. They can’t teach you pain. Those are things you have to experience for yourself. And those are what you need to be great.”
Raedeman watched as understanding ebbed across the young man’s face. And yet, even with understanding, there still wasn’t acceptance. “But you could still… There must be a way…”
“No. I’ve given you love, and I’ll give you pain, and as long as you live, no demon or angel can take those things from you.” As he spoke, Raedeman felt a pang of sympathy -- for the young man, and for all of humanity, whose creator had made them weak and blind, and then seemed surprised when they ended up as pawns in the games played by their superiors. “You’re trapped, Nicholas Foster. Just as many better and wiser men have been trapped before you.”
The young man didn’t acknowledge his defeat. But he didn’t deny it, either. Satisfied that his point had been made, Raedeman sat back down, and resumed his human guise. “Now, I understand that you’re getting together with Marzipan Penicandey tomorrow night?”
“Yes.” The young man seemed to be numb with shock, his voice empty and toneless. “We’re going to meet at his place to talk.”
“Good.” Raedeman lifted a small vial from the table and offered it to the young man. “When he’s not looking, put a little of that into his drink. Then open the apartment door. After that, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve fulfilled the terms of our deal.”
Hesitantly, the young man accepted the vial. “It won’t hurt him, will it?”
“A few drops is only enough to knock him out. If anything, by preventing Marzi from putting up a fight, you’ll be helping to keep him from getting hurt.”
“And Pepper?” The young man spoke her name like a prayer, as if she was the one thing that could still save his soul. “She won’t come to any harm?”
Raedeman wondered if it would even be possible to harm someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a ghost. But he’d been expecting some version of the young man’s question, and he had an easy answer prepared. “Neither I, nor anyone following my orders, will lay a hand on her body.” Which is, if I know Kale, probably resting at the bottom of Lake Michigan.
For a moment, the young man rolled the vial between his fingers. “L’amore vincera.”
“What?”
But the young man just shook his head, and stood up, shoving the vial into his pocket. “Nothing. A lie. A stupid, silly lie.”