The Edifice

15. The Pact

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This is stupid.

As are all of my choices since Bob passed, from pursuing Lee to sneaking down into an occult basement. This truly has to be the most nonsensical one I've made tonight, however. Walking arm in arm with the demon who wants my soul as he leads me through some fairy tale mansion.

"You are a demon, aren't you?" I ask, following Otis up the grand marble staircase that dominates the foyer.

Otis glances sideways at me. He'd warned me not to speak until we were in the safety of our own company, not ducking and weaving between swarms of his peers. "You'll have to get more creative than that, love."

The house we're in is ultra-rich, light years away from the stock-standard, overpriced mcmansions favoured by retirees like my aunt and uncle. It's the same ostentatiously beige décor you glimpse in the background of Kardashian Snapchat stories, the jarringly minimalist furnishings of some tech-billionaire's home.

The pale halls of cold stone would feel cruel and lonesome in any other circumstance, but now they're aglow with flashing party lights and filled with drunken youth. I can't imagine the owners are home to watch their meticulously kept household descend into frat house hell.

Otis had claimed upon entry that this wasn't where he himself lived, rather the house of a guy he has some undetailed form of beef with. Nim's missing boyfriend. Nevertheless, everyone we pass seems to know him; their greetings almost deferential. Despite me being the only obvious human among the colourful array of creatures, Otis is the one most eyes follow.

"Are you a celebrity?" I try as a couple of giggling pixies cry his name from below, one filming our ascent from her phone.

"Emotionally? No." He replies, apparently bypassing his inability to lie by being as infuriatingly vague as possible. "Ah, here we are."

He leads me to a pair of engraved doors on the far end of the upper floor's hall. Pushing them open with a sweeping gesture, he reveals an extravagant bedroom beyond. A ring of scarlet light strips flare to life around the ceiling, illuminating the vast space into a hellish, sensual glow.

"Aw, for fuck's sake," Otis mutters, fiddling with the switch irritably. "What is it with him and red lighting? He thinks he's so fucking edgy. Give me a second."

After a failed moment of fiddling with the light switch, Otis thrusts his hands to the air. A harsh, guttural intonation leaves his lips and the air around his fingertips ripples. The same, acrid smell that infested Bob's basement returns to the air. The LEDs explode into a barrage of frenzied flickering before settling into a duller, pastel orange.

The doorknob creaks under my grip. "Otis... Was that...?"

"Magic? Yeah. Fucking prick knows I hate small spells like that." Otis mutters. The rippling spreads to his torso and he blurs from view, reappearing almost instantly at the walk-in closet across the room. "Come on. I'll get you some clothes. There's an en suite over there you can change in."

Whoever owns the room we're in has an eye for furnishings and clothes that comes from not just money but style. The closet is bigger than my bedroom and packed with clothing, an entire wall covered with just shoes. Yet another room branches off from it, secured behind a thick plate of glass and filled with low podiums draped in thick necklaces and watches.

Otis pulls out a pair of dark pants and a shirt, tossing them in my direction as I ogle my surroundings. A long, lavish jacket follows. I run my hands over the exquisite, foreign fabric. A translucent layer of glittering symbols glows over the surface, burning hot to the touch. It shimmers like a galaxy of embers beneath the dim lighting.