Page 199 of Brimstone

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That means that when you asked me in the forge if I wanted to strike the same bargain with you that I struck with Malcolm and I said yes, the details of my deal with the old vampire king became the details of our arrangement, too. The fine print of the deal I made with Malcolm stated that I could observe him, not his court.Him.It is irrelevant whether the Blood Court exists, Saeris. It isyouwho I observe. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you have given me permission to follow and witness alongside you.”

Gods fucking damn it.

Again! I’d walked into another terrible bargainagain! If I made it out of this nightmare and life somehow found some level of normalcy, I was going to make sure I had someone on hand at all times to vet the agreements I made. The sneaky,underhanded, vile piece of shit! “Why? Why do you care about what I’m doing? This hasnothingto do with you!”

The Hazrax’s slitted nostrils flared. “Naive child,” he said in a piteous tone. “Of course it does. I have a hand in everything, but you will learn that soon enough, I suspect.”

“Wait! The—the favor! You said I could call it in at any time.”

The Hazrax made a hiccupping sound, but it nodded. “Yes. That is true.”

“Then I want to use my favor now. Can you bring Fisher back to me?”

The Hazrax shook its head. “That is not within my power, I’m afraid. There are accords that prevent it.”

“Then tell me where he is!”

“I’m sorry. I cannot do that, either.” The Hazrax didn’t sound apologetic. It sounded amused by the situation I found myself in and pleased that it couldn’t help. I’d had enough of it. “Fine,” I snarled. “I’ll use my favor for this, then. I want you to go away andnotobserve me for the rest of the term of our one-year agreement. And when you come back to renegotiate the deal for another year likeIstipulated, you should know ahead of time that I will not be interested in renewing.”

“Becareful, Saeris,” the Hazrax warned.

“What, don’t lie to me and say that you can’t do that. I’m literally asking you to leave me the fuck alone. That isdefinitelyin your power.”

“It is,” the Hazrax said, laughing its strange, stilted laugh.

“Then don’t bother threatening me—”

“I’m notthreateningyou, silly child,” it snapped, its humor suddenly gone. “I’m suggesting you err on the side of caution because, per our agreement, you only get to ask me foronefavor. And you desperately need that favor right now, Saeris Fane.”

“Of course you’d say that! Just honor the request!”

The Hazrax shivered, as though the magic that bound our agreement were trying to force it to comply. I’d never seen anything like it: a being capable of denying a bargain, even for a moment. “First, answer me this. Why did you come here, child?” the Hazrax demanded.

“I came here forhim!”

It shook its head. “No.”

“I came . . .” I remembered, then. The realization I’d had on the steps in Inishtar. The piece of information that had come back to me as Carrion had addressed the satyrs.

“I will allow you to change your mind,” the Hazrax said. “You have one minute to fulfill the task you came here to complete and request adifferentfavor. I suggest youmove.”

One minute. In exactly sixty seconds, the Hazrax would disappear, and I wouldn’t see it again for a year. And that would be bliss. But . . . what if it was right? What if I needed my favor for something else?

Another shudder rippled through the Hazrax’s body. “You’re wasting time!” it hissed.

I let go of Fisher’s hand and sprinted across the room. The nightstand by the bed was cluttered with books. So many books. There were pencils, and an empty water glass that I knocked over. It shattered on the ground, but I ignored the broken glass. String. A length of leather cord . . .Where the fuck is it?

I put it here, IknowI did.

“Forty seconds . . .”

“Shutup! That’s not helping!” I vaulted over the bed and picked through the sparse items on Fisher’s nightstand. I hadn’t put it there, but maybe it had been moved? Fisher was tidier than me. A single book. An ivory-toothed comb . . . no, no, it wasn’t here.

Shit! Where else could it be? Where else? Whereelse! Fisher’s desk was bare. The windowsill, choked with black veins of rot, was empty. The shelves . . .

“Twenty-five seconds.”