Tristan-Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Something about the way she looked at him made him uneasy. Something in those wide, innocent eyes and the gentle curve of her plump lips made him want to run screaming back the way he had come. But his feet were rooted to terra firma. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to how delicate pure evil could look.

She hugged her teddy bear close to her chest, batting her long lashes as she tugged at his sleeve. “Why don’t you ever tell me your name, mister?” she asked, her voice filled with childlike curiosity.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, snatching his arm from her grasp. “My name isn’t any of your business, Demon, because you are none of mine.”

The little girl pouted and hissed softly, her lips parting just slightly enough to reveal shark-like points that capped each tooth. His name was Tristan Gabriel, and there was officially no way he was going to tell her that now.

“Where’s your master?” he demanded.

The miniature Demon refused to answer, instead holding out an expectant hand. He always hated dealing with the little ones. They’d whine and moan until they were paid off, and Tristan was strapped for cash. He grudgingly dropped fifty dollars into her tiny palm.

“So where is he?”

“You gave me sixty last time,” the child said, crossing her arms and pouting her lips once more. Darkness crawled along the veins of her face, and her pale eyes flashed red for the briefest of moments.

“Last time, I wasn’t armed.” Tristan brushed back his leather jacket to display the revolver at his hip. “Now, about my question?”

The Demon rolled her eyes and huffed, but she turned, and with a glance over her shoulder, she exited the grimy alley. Tristan quickly caught step with her, laying a father-like hand on her shoulder as they entered the bustling city street of Iskariot.

He hated touching them. Her skin was so cold that it bit at his fingertips even through his glove and her jacket. Whoever had come up with the idea that Hell was hot had obviously never met a Demon before.

The childlike Demon led Tristan down three more streets before turning off into a dim, ramshackle neighborhood. She came to a stop two blocks later in front of a large brick building. Police tape crawled its way across every possible entrance, and a giant banner had been stretched across the double doors, capital red letters proclaiming, “CONDEMNED.”

“No penthouse suite this time?” Tristan surveyed the area, frowning.

He knew this neighborhood. Years ago, it had been a bustling part of Iskariot. That was before some rogue Demons had decided to have a little fun. Now it sat in squalor, slowly decaying around the hobos and orphans who called it home. He found himself wondering if the Demon at his side had once been one of those poor, young souls.

“There’s a cellar door around the side,” the child instructed, shaking Tristan from his thoughts as she walked away. “And next time, you better have seventy dollars for me, or you’ll find yourself missing a few fingers.” She flashed a very spiky smile and vanished into the shadows across the street.

A thick metal chain hung around the handles of the cellar doors, but it was all for show. Even a sumo wrestler could have squeezed his way through the gap between the doors that the chain allowed. Tristan took a deep breath and braced himself as he descended, revolver grasped tightly in one hand and his badge in the other.

A low growl greeted him as his foot found level ground, followed by the glint of inhuman eyes in the black. He froze as the beast slunk forward—a dog easily five feet tall on all four paws.

“This is Agent Tristan Gabriel: Department of Human and Demon Relations!” Tristan shouted down the hallway ahead of him, grimacing as the great dog sniffed him. “Call your Hellhound off!”

“Cerberus, heel.” The words drifted lazily down the hallway, accompanied by a bored yawn. “One of these days, Gabriel, I’m going to let you figure your own way around him.”

“Could you think of a less cliché name for him first?” Tristan said, edging past the now motionless beast. “And by the way, Craven, you do that and you’ll have a host of problems to add to your already extensive list.”

Tristan rounded the corner at the end of the hall to find a tall, lean man standing beside a large fireplace that danced with ice-blue flames.

“Damn it, James!” Tristan swore as he uncapped a large vial of holy water and doused the flames. “How many times do I need to write you up for that? No Hellfire in unauthorized areas!”

The Demon laughed, waving away the threat as though it was nothing more than one of the numerous cobwebs hanging from the low ceiling. “I’m in a condemned building. Who’s around to see it?”

“That’s not the point. And I’m not having this discussion with you right now. Do you have the girl’s paperwork?” Tristan didn’t have time to play games. He was already far enough behind schedule.

Yeah, yeah. It’s right here. Quit your nagging.” Craven shoved a stack of papers into Tristan’s waiting hand.

The Agent flipped through the stack quickly before looking back up to the Demon and tossing the papers into the air in frustration.

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t read through that, Craven? Those are duplicates of your Hellhound Adoption docs. Quit messing around!” he shouted as the paperwork seesawed lazily down around him.

“Easy there, friend. I’ve still got Cerb in the hall, you know.” The Demon seemed genuinely alarmed by the Agent’s outburst. “Look, I don’t have the paperwork yet. Haven’t had the chance to—”

“Find the chance,” Tristan growled, grabbing Craven by the collar. “It’ll be your last. You’ve got three days before I’m sending her tiny ass and your larger, uglier one back to Hell. Permanently. You know I can’t be letting unauthorized Demons stroll around up here. And by the way, you owe me fifty bucks.”

“You take your job far too seriously,” the Demon said, unable to mask his displeasure as he forked over the cash. “Three days? You got it. Now, get out of my house.”

Tristan folded the bill neatly into the pocket of his badge, holstered his revolver, and gave Craven a curt nod before showing himself out.

There were some days he really hated his job, and as he checked his watch, he decided that this was undoubtedly one of them. Midnight…Persie is going to kill me. He jogged back to the busier city streets and attempted to hail a cab. Three passed before his whistling and arm flailing finally proved successful.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, his voice gruff from too much cigarette smoke in what was supposed to be a smoke free vehicle.

To the nearest bar, is what Tristan wanted to say. He sighed heavily and decided on his apartment’s address instead. He settled back into the worn fabric seat and rubbed his temples, attempting to mentally prepare himself for the angry girlfriend who would be waiting for him to get home.

***

Tristan handed the fifty dollar bill Craven had paid him to the cabbie, muttering a quick, “keep the change.” He turned toward his building, his shoulders sagging as he checked his watch again. “12:45…damn it. Persie’s going to have my head this time,” he said to nothing but the chill air.

He thudded his weary way up the rickety staircase in the rundown apartment high-rise, silently cursing his girlfriend for letting the landlord talk her into leasing the “penthouse.” Thirteen stories up to floor “14,” because it was bad luck to have a building with a level 13. The only bad luck about a building with thirteen levels was having an elevator that never worked.

Tristan unlocked the deadbolt to his apartment door only to find the chain lock barring his way from the other side.

“Damn it, Persephone!” he hissed. Then, louder, he said, “Persie, lemme in. Come on. Wake up!”

A yawn floated through the crack in the door, followed by the creek of the couch and sleepy footfalls slapping hardwood floor. His girlfriend of four years and roommate of six months was awake enough to send a glare more terrifying than the meanest Demon through the space between door and frame.

“Hi,” he said, giving her his best apologetic smile.

“If I expected you to come home, I wouldn’t have chained the door, Tristan.” Her brown eyes vanished from the gap.

He mentally followed her footsteps into the kitchen. Cue refrigerator door opening and a bottle of…what? Milk? Maybe juice? Liquid of some sort poured into the nearest available glass. Muttered swears as she spilled on the floor.

“Persie…you wouldn’t have been sleeping on the couch if you hadn’t expected me to come home.”

She stomped her way back to the front door. Tristan stepped back as she unchained the door and flung it wide open, arms crossed over a skimpy, silk nightgown. He hated that look.

“1 A.M., Tristan? Really? IT’s a Friday night!”

He pushed past her and slumped onto the couch, scowling at the unopened bottle of wine and extinguished candles on the coffee table. “I couldn’t help it, Pers…” He squeezed the bridge of his nose in a heavy mix of agitation and exhaustion. He was too tired to have this argument. Again.

“So what’s the reason this time?” Persephone snatched the wine bottle off the table and returned to the kitchen, the entire refrigerator shuddering as she deposited the bottle and slammed the door. “Some girl locked away for years with no human contact? Psychologist parents trying to teach their kids that the sky is purple again? What?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Tristan was also too tired to fabricate a likely case that the Department of Human Development and Research would handle…the cover organization for which Persephone thought he worked. The general public couldn’t know about the Department of Human and Demon Relations, after all. The Government didn’t pay him enough for this job.

“I’m so sick of this, Tristan!” She was shouting now.

Cue waterworks. He felt bad that her tears didn’t make him feel bad anymore.

“You were the one who wanted this!” The words were out of Tristan’s mouth before he could stop them.

Silence fell as Persephone turned to ice.

“What?” she hissed, her eyes wide with outrage.

“Nothing about me, my habits, or my job has changed, Persie. Not a single thing has changed since we moved in together six months ago! Late nights come with the territory!” He was on his feet now, pacing angrily back and forth behind the coffee table. “You know I can’t talk about it. I told you not to expect it to change before we signed the Goddamn lease! It’s been like this since we started dating! It was like this long before you walked into my life.”

“Yeah?” Tears were trickling again. “Well, it’s going to be like this long after I walk out of your life then, too.”

The explosion rocked the entire building, but Persephone didn’t seem to notice. Tristan was at the window in an instant, hand resting on the butt of his revolver. He parted the curtains a fraction of an inch and regretted his decision immediately. Hellfire was licking its way up the side of the building, and fast. All the while, Persephone was oblivious, angrily putting on a baggy pair of sweats under her silk nightgown while tossing every insult in the book Tristan’s way.

He had tried to warn her in the beginning. He just wasn’t the relationship type…not the long-term type, anyway. The DHDR saw to that. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her. It was more like he couldn’t. And as the Hellfire inched closer with his every panicking breath, he regretted letting her get close to him all the more.

“Persie, we need to go,” Tristan said lowly.

“What are you talking about? The only person going anywhere right now, Tristan, is y—”

“The building’s on fire, Persephone! We gotta go! Didn’t you hear that explosion?” He had her by the shoulders, gripping her tightly as she attempted to shrug away from his touch.

“That was just some car backfiring or something. You’re overreacting like you always do! Just get out! Get out! I never want to see you again, Tristan Gabriel!”

“Persie…” he cupped her cheek gently. The pure loathing in her eyes as she froze at his touch made his decision so much easier.

With one swift movement, the butt of his revolver collided with her temple. Persephone collapsed in his arms. She would never know that he had struck her at all.