She knew this was coming, so she shouldn’t have been afraid. Sherefusedto be afraid, even as she began to shake. “What would I have to give you?”
“I don’t deal in toes or fingers,” it said.
The words felt like a physical punch; she was knocked off balance, and she swayed. A foot, she thought. It wanted a foot—or a leg. Could she do it? Could she trade part of herself away if it meant her future was secured?
“What, then?” she said.
The demon turned to face her fully, angling so that the line of its shoulders was parallel to hers. The pressure of its gaze squeezed at her insides. But she stood her ground, even as it answered her question.
“Your heart.”
EIGHT
Magic did exist.
Dee felt it in that basement. It hung aroundthose two strange boys, around that smudge on the ceiling, clinging to the otherness that was the demon.
Real magic, Dee thought, and wished she could tell her eight-year-old self. But it wasn’t princesses and fairies, knights and vows. It was that darker flavor of magic, spools of stolen gold and promised firstborn children. It was the huntsman cutting out Snow White’s—
“Heart,” she said.
It took a moment to register. And then her heart was racing, thumping so hard it felt like the demon was already trying to take it from her. She pressed a fist to her breastbone.
This hadn’t been on any of the websites—they said it was always alimb, not avital organ. Or in this case, the most vital of vital organs.
“But I—” she started to say, and then stopped. “I’ll die.”
It sighed and held up a pale hand. “You’ll live. A twenty-four-month lease is my usual price. I take your heart for two years, and during that time you do my bidding.”
A laugh snaked up her throat. “You want to lease my heart?”
“Yes,” said the demon, inclining his head. Because it was ahe, no matter how much Dee tried to think of it as alien. It was a beautiful, courteous, absolutely terrifyinghe.
“How will I live without my heart?” she asked.
“Your body will be in a sort of stasis. You won’t age or change physically. You will simply… be.”
“Be what?” said Dee.
He smiled, and the expression was cool and impenetrable. “That’s entirely up to you.”
She suddenly felt keenly aware of her own heartbeat, her pulse in her throat, in her wrists, even in her fingertips. Dee glanced over her shoulder, taking in that smudge on the ceiling, the smell of dust, and the rats skirting the room’s edges. And the two boys, just out of earshot, conversing quietly.
Something in the roomshifted.
It was the air pressure—similar to the sensation of someone opening a window, of fresh air spilling into a room. Dee inhaled, smelled hot metal and sand.
“We need to do this now,” said Cal, his voice rising in pitch.
Dee forced herself to breathe through her mouth. “What they’re doing—is it dangerous?”
The look the demon gave her was almost approving. “Yes.”
“Could I die?”
That approval warmed further. “It’s a possibility.”
She wasn’t stupid.
