Gerald reached for the ashtray, pulling it closer, then delved a hand into his left suit pocket for matches—an affectation, I was certain—to light a Treasurer cigarette, one of the most expensive in the world. Private clubs don’t worry about smoking laws—especially private gambling casinos, like this one. Appearances were everything to Gerald, which is why I now sat across the table from him. His determination to rise above common folk would fail him.
“You know,” I said, gesturing to bum a smoke, “every time you strike a match, a devil gets its wings.”
Gerald smirked and pushed the aluminum package toward me, then struck the match anyway, almost defiant. I felt a welcome tingle on my spine, a ripple between my shoulder blades, almost a burn—would it finally happen this time? I’ve been closer than this before, had pursued many clients with more vigor than I had Gerald. Should I have left it all to chance? The irony of sitting in a gambling hall suddenly struck me as humorous. I couldn’t hold back a chuckle, and Gerald offered me a condescending grin. He hadn’t caught on—yet.
He thought I was crazy—or worse—though he couldn’t imagine anything worse than crazy. But I didn’t need to be a mind reader to know that. Waste of my skills.
He lit the end of his cigarette with the same insouciance as the match, and maybe a tad more defiance.
I lifted the bummed cigarette to my lips. “Mine, too?”
He raised an eyebrow, but struck the match anyway. “Did you promise someone you wouldn’t light up?” he asked. I got a clear picture in my mind of what he imagined—some gorgeous, red-lipped brunette tangled in silk sheets.
Lust. I love it! Not as good as pride, as far as sins go, but still good. “Hardly,” I replied. “I’m not accustomed to conjuring flames.” It wasn’t quite a lie; my phrasing could have been better. Gerald’s eyes narrowed slightly…
The truth is that there are no laws about smoking where I come from—only matches. And lighters. We’re not allowed to play with fire. I could have broken that law, but I didn’t like the consequences.
He held the flame to my cigarette, and I inhaled deeply.
For a moment, we both enjoyed the sweet, rich smoke and took in the view from the hundred-and-forty-second floor. I’ve never been this high before, and it felt a bit like I thought flying might. I could almost believe I was soaring above all these buildings, watching the people—ants—go about their daily business.
“Gorgeous watch,” he said, nodding toward my wrist. The diamonds sparkled in the light.
He made this so easy, I thought, hearing the envy in his mind as clearly as if he’d said it. But even a dullard would have caught the admiration in his glance. Contract notwithstanding, he’d wind up in my neck of the woods sooner or later. Today, I’m banking on sooner.
I bent for my briefcase on the floor and felt my shirt tear in the back. At last. It was a given: the match, you know.
“Place your bets,” I heard softly from the roulette table in the back of the room. The croupier waited only a moment before spinning the wheel and tossing the ball onto it. The rat-a-tat of the gamboling ball emphasized our situation.
Gerald was a gambler: that’s why we met here; why I was certain he’d sign the contract. High stakes, big win. Millions of dollars and immediate fame, in exchange for his immortal soul—and the opportunity to win it back in a few years’ time if the contract failed to meet his expectations.
I pushed the contract across the table and let him read it before he signed. As he read, he gave some thought to his soul. He wasn’t quite sure such a thing existed. But if it did, how could he get it back in a few years? That kind of thought would stop the deal in its tracks. I couldn’t let it happen.
I pointed out the win-back-your-soul-clause. “What if you don’t live that long?” I asked.
“I’m reasonably fit.”
“What if you have an accident?”
Gerald chuckled. “I’m willing to take that gamble.”
“You could be murdered.”
“What?” He was angry—not that I suggested murder, but because I was delaying the transaction. He’d made his decision, and he was ready to act. “Are you deliberately trying to foul this deal?”
“Actually, yes.” I must provide three chances for the signatory to change his mind. Three. It’s a law.”
“Statistically, murder is less probable than an accident. Give me the papers.” Gerald pulled a pen from his breast pocket and scrawled his signature above his typewritten name.
I, on the other hand, pulled out a wickedly sharp blade and slashed the pad of my thumb. Once the blood welled up, I pressed it within one of two small boxes drawn at the bottom of the last page. A small sizzle and puff of smoke, and the contract was binding.
“My turn?” he asked shakily.
I’d finally rattled him. Who saw that coming? “You don’t like blood?”
He gathered himself together. “Signing contracts in blood is so passé.”
I laughed.
He signed, but I didn’t feel the rush I thought I might. Too easy. Next time, I’ll ask for more of a challenge. Maybe a church pastor or a Sunday School teacher. The mother of a very young child.
I stood. “Shall we take in the view?”
Outside, the glass-bottomed balcony let us see all the way to the ground. I took a quick look around to make certain no one watched, and then I dumped Gerald over the edge.
“What about my millions? My fame?” he asked, before I let him go.
“Your widow will inherit,” I said. His anger flared, but I didn’t rub it in.
He fell silently.
I bent for my briefcase, felt the tear in my suit jacket, and knew I was ready. I leaped over the wall, my new, glorious, black wings spreading. I used them to propel me down to Gerald.
“You will be famous,” I said, gliding near.
He reached for my lapels, but I swooped away. I could have let him grab on, given him some hope, but it wouldn’t have done any good. It seemed cruel to lead him on, though I did use my power to slow his descent. I enjoyed it too much to be over in a flash.
“How?” he screamed, clearly resigned to his death. (It wouldn’t be long.)
“When you hit the pavement,” I said, “and they find out who you are. No one will believe such a successful man would leap from the balcony of his private gambling club. It will be in the papers for weeks.”
“Save me,” he begged. “Take it all back—I’ll give you my millions.”
I shook my head. “I can’t.” I turned my right palm upward and with a swinging motion gestured to the area around us. “Gravity.”
He nodded.
It’s a law that can’t be broken.
She is an award-winning journalist and author, and a member of Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America. A Baltimore native, she writes the Charm City Darkness series, which includes the novels Stoned in Charm City, A Favor for a Fiend, A Blue Collar Proposition, and In the Eye of the Beholder. Her science fiction and fantasy stories can be found in many anthologies, including Triangulation: Dark Glass; Occult Detective Quarterly, and Gallery of Curiosities. To learn more, visit her at https://kellyaharmon.com/
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