Caffeine and Magix

writing-prompt-s:

A woman makes a deal with the devil… but before signing, she actually reads the contract. She is the first to do so.

She’s got a good head on her shoulders. That’s what Grandma said and Uncle said and Daddy said and Peter said. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.

So even though the brimstone in the air is making her eyes water, even though the ground is so hot it’s making the rubber of her soles soft, even though he’s looking at her with fire in his eyes, she’s not going to go throwing that away now. This deal is too important to lose her head now.

“It’s the standard contract,” the devil says. The pinstripes on his suit aren’t black like she’d first thought. They’re red and they shine in the red light of his eyes. “I get rid his cancer and then you give me your soul on your dying day. That’s a good deal isn’t it? You’ll have the rest of your lives together.”

She hunches over the paper and her shoulders shake. He thinks she’s crying right now, he thinks she’s trying to muster the courage to sign, but she’s not. She’s reading the fine print because it’s the only part of the paper that’s not red like the pinstripes of his suit. It’s black, blacker than anything she’s seen and she knows it’d be bad to let her eyes skip over it.

She bites her lip until blood wells. When it drops, it falls on one word. Just one. Her blood eats through the ink of this word, steaming and hissing. She breathes in the smoke and feels the word settle deep into her lungs.

Then, when she’s done, she stands tall and she looks the devil in the eye. His smile flickers when he sees that she’s got the same fire in her eyes as him, when he sees that there aren’t any tear tracks on her face. 

“Sure,” she says, heart a rampaging thing in her chest. “That’s a good deal.”

His smile returns full force when she signs it. He takes the paper lovingly into his jacket, presses his own bloodied finger to it to sign it, sweeps a bow, and promises she won’t see him until she’s on her death bed.

She knows she’ll be seeing him a lot sooner than that.

——— 

Peter’s cancer disappears like smoke between one doctor’s appointment and the next. They talk about equipment error and inconclusive biopsies before sending them on their way. Peter’s hand is sweaty in hers and his shoulders are shaking. He’s trying not to cry and he succeeds until they get in their car. She holds him and coos in his ear as he falls apart.

“It’s a miracle,” he says and breathes the first pain-free breath he’s taken in months. “A miracle.”

Her grandmother knows better. It’s just her and Grandma a few days later, sitting in the doctor’s office, waiting for her results.

“You made a deal,” her grandmother says. It’s not a question and there’s no judgement in her eyes at all. “You’ve got his cancer.”

She nods, calm and serene in the flimsy hospital gown. Her breath is short these days and she’s not going to waste it on statements with no questions.

“You’re a fool,” her grandmother says. “A love-struck fool.”

“Love-struck,” she says and meets her grandma’s eyes. “But not a fool.”

Her grandmother stares at her. After a long moment, relief breaks over her face like an ocean wave. “The devil made a deal with you.”

She notes the way her grandmother twists the phrase, the way it puts her in power. She knows her grandmother understands. She nods anyway, eyes sparking with fire.

“You know,” her grandmother says, “your grandpa was a fiddler. It’s no surprise he passed it on to you.”

——————————————

She’s not going to wait until she’s on her deathbed, lungs shuddering and heart straining. She won’t let Peter see her like that, won’t let him see the stakes of the game she’s playing. He’s pure and good and he doesn’t have the strength of her family’s lore behind him like she does.

She’s alone when she puts one bullet in the chamber, gives it a spin, locks it into place, and holds it to her head. One in six. Pretty good odds.

The devil arrives as she pulls the trigger, the smell of brimstone no longer making her eyes water. They stare at each other, fire to fire, as the gun clicks. Empty.

“Well,” he says, “I can’t say I expected you to kill yourself. You didn’t even manage to load the gun properly. here, if you insist, I’ll help you.” He reaches forward and his nails are such a deep red that they appear black.

She turns the gun on him and cocks back the hammer.

The devil blinks at her in confusion. Behind him his shadow writhes and hisses. He says, “Why, you know that won’t do a thing to me, my dear.”

“I do,” she agrees, “unless you’re in breach of contract. Then it’s a different story, isn’t it?”

The fire in his eyes swells until the room around them is consumed by it. The heat rises through the floor but she knows better now. It can’t touch her through her soles now, she’s got tough feet.

“I don’t go back on a deal,” the devil says, words hissing through his teeth. “Peter’s cancer is gone, isn’t it? I’d say that I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’m just waiting to collect on your end.” He eyes the gun and he grins ghoulishly. “Care to make that sooner than later?” He eyes her chest. “Though by the smell of it, I could take you now and there wouldn’t be a difference.”

“You take me and you’ll get a bullet between the eyes,” she says. Pauses. “Well, one out of five chance, anyway. You take me, Devil, and you’ll die one way or another.”

“And what makes you say that?” He’s coiled like a snake. “You can’t hurt me. I’m the devil. And you made a deal with me. There ain’t no stoppin’ the train you’re on, sweetheart. No stopping at all.” He takes an aggressive step forward, sinew and charm wrapped around danger.

She pulls the trigger. 

He freezes for a moment when the gun clicks, face falling into a blank mask. “What was that?”

“That was your odds getting smaller,” she tells him, voice hard. “One out of four now, Devil.”

“You can’t hurt me,” he reiterates, somewhere between enraged and frustrated. It’s not a place you want the devil to be. “You made a deal.” He takes another step, shadows swelling behind him.

She pulls the trigger again and clicks her tongue with the sounds of the gun. “One out of three. You might wanna check that contract before you keep playing with fire.”

With a swirl of fire and shadow, the contract appears in his hand. He sneers and looks down, red, red eyes flying over the words. She watches him slow down. Stop. Start again.

“And I, Satan, Lucifer the Morningstar, the Devil,” she quotes, “will allow the signer of this contract to spend, in happiness, the rest of life with Peter.”

“Rest of her life,” the Devil says. “Her life.” The paper crinkles in his hands, his nails piercing through where he grips too hard.

That’s what it used to say before she willed her blood to erase the word. One word. That’s all she needed.

The smile on her face is too sharp for comfort, too sharp for an ordinary woman. “You should have read the fine print, darlin’.” She cocks back the hammer. “Peter and I will be together, and happy, for the rest of Life. So the devil has promised.”

“No,” he says. “No, you don’t get to change the contract. I make the contract! Not YOU.” He bellows the last word and fire springs into existence around her. 

She stands tall in the flames and grits her teeth. “You signed second. That means you made a deal with me. And let me tell you, I’m not happy like you swore. Take the cancer, Devil, or we’re going to find out how many times I have to pull this trigger to see you dead.”

He seethes. The room around them grows unbearably hot, the wind outside howls, and there is hate in his eyes when he looks at her. She can see the second he decides what to do. He says, “You’re mistaken, little girl. I may have to let you and your beloved life until the End, but it says nothing about taking your cancer, only his.”

She meets his eyes evenly. “So you won’t take my cancer.”

“No,” he says and bares his teeth. “Not unless you want to make another deal.” His face sours. “This time with me.”

She nods thoughtfully, lets him think he’s won. When he steps forward, hips rolling, she waits until he’s halfway to her.

Then she pulls the trigger. The Devil freezes, eyes flying wide and he doesn’t have time to leave.

The gun clicks and she bares her teeth at him. “50/50 next time. You still want to play this game?”

The Devil snarls, everything charming sliding from him. “You! Fine, I’ll take your cancer, I’ll allow your happiness. You’ve won this round, girlie, but you can’t win them all. To the end of Life? Fine! That’s plenty of time for me to get even, just mark my words. You’ll have children and descendants and they’ll see me soon enough, I promise you that.”

Her hand is steady and she doesn’t lower the gun as she takes her first pain-free breath in days. When she manages to exhale without problem she opens her mouth and laughs in the devil’s face.

She says, “You’re going to hound me until the end of Life? Fine! I’ll take your challenge, Devil.”

She says, “I have a bullet with your name on it and a fifty percent chance of success.”

She says, “Any descendant of mine will be a fiddler, just like my grandpa, just like me. You take your chances, devil, and I’ll take mine. I know whose odds are better.”