The hell

5

Ishmael observes me calmly, while I'm on the verge of fainting. It's too close, far too close, for me to even consider grabbing my blade. Especially since, if I'm right, he'll manage to melt my dagger before I throw myself at him. I've never been burned enough to leave marks before, and I don't want to start today. However, it may be my only alternative if I intend to get out of this trap. For a moment, I consider calling Adele, but what can a Shadow of the Between Worlds do in the face of such a Creature? Creature who takes a deep breath and widens his smile without ceasing to stare at me, with his slightly glowing eyes.

- So, little half-breed, we go for a walk?

My interbreeding does not go back far enough to hide my Indian features. In another situation, I would send him to hell before moving on. In my current case, I choose to lay low. My way.

- I'm visiting the museum, I inform him, managing to control the trembling of my voice.

- Oh... Vacation?

- Non.

- Hum... Londoner, I presume then?

I nod my head, straightening it slightly. I may be a good meter seventy-eight, the Other is well ten centimeters more. And that it overlooks me like that gives me a very clear image of vultures circling around their future prey. The idea does not appeal to me, nor does its purpose. When he raises a hand in my direction, I begin a sideways movement, refusing to back down. And since I can't stand his proximity, I walk like a crab. Especially since the heat of his body gives me fumes, and that has nothing to do with his plastic. Although very pleasant, I remain focused on his disturbing look, and by his long fingers, which are sure to tear me apart if I show the slightest weakness.

- What am I going to do with you? he sighs without taking his eyes off me.

- Let me continue my visit? I suggested without trembling.

A soft laugh escapes him as his hands disappear into the front pockets of his black jeans.

- Tempting, but no.

- The conversation I overheard was not very compromising, I tried to argue without daring to play the card of deaf ears.

- Certainly. But I'm not meant to be seen by people like you.

I bite my cheek, but can't stop the pike.

- Making a scandal in the middle of the museum was not the idea of ​​the century.

As I expect to receive a blow for my insolence, or a burst of flame, a chuckle rings out between us, as Ishmael finally withdraws from my comfort zone.

- You score a point. Unfortunately for you, Irene likes to cause trouble, and I had to get her out of there before she and the boss came to blows. It would have necessarily ended badly, this story, he adds for himself.

His gaze lingers on me again, and he stares at me, a gleam of lust deep in his bronze eyes. It's not the first time that I've been looked at like this. However, the fact that it is an Other... makes me uneasy.

- Do you know what I am? he asks more softly.

I know how to lie, but obviously not well enough. I hardly sketched a movement of the head that this same head is catapulted against the wall. The shock shakes every bone in me as the Efreet's grip tightens around my throat. Its eyes are now two balls of magma and its wings, huge wings similar to those of a bat, flutter behind its back. His t-shirt falls to shreds at his feet, his face approaches mine, and one of his horns, resembling those of a bighorn sheep, brushes my cheek in a particularly unpleasant caress. Her hair, strawberry blond, is blown by a violent wind as each of my limbs is pressed against the hard stone wall.

- It would appear that you are too intelligent for your own interest, mestizo, informs me Ishmael nonchalantly while I start to run out of air. Too bad, but your potential will drag you to the grave.

I've had to fight Creatures before. But against a being of his caliber, never. And fortunately ! It seems that my first confrontation will also be my last. As his grip increases, as the world blurs around me, my instinct pushes me to my limits. I understood that it was useless to fight. Not against such power. However, if I still have one card left to play...

"The...station..." I gurgled, half choking.

The Fire Djinn raises an eyebrow, surprised, before loosening his fingers ever so slightly around my neck. I take a deep breath, and only manage to cough a dozen times. At the end of the third, Ishmael releases me completely, having no more desire to be spat on, and I fall heavily to the ground. I landed myself without too much difficulty, and mass without waiting for my damaged trachea, trying to find my voice.

- The... post, I repeated, more clearly. I... I want it.

- Which post ?

- Barmaid.

I cough again, but manage to get up to face the Efreet. He watches me, his tricks entirely gone. Say goodbye to molten horns, wings and eyes. The man in front of me could almost pass for a human, if he didn't have that sparkle in his eyes. And this heat escaping from his body.

- Wait until I understand... Did you hear me say that I was looking for a new bartender?

I nod my head and hold his gaze for a few minutes before continuing.

- The Nymph is...fired, if I understand correctly.

- Temporarily.

- You need someone else. I am someone else.

A slight smile reappears on his face as he continues to observe me, without betraying his thoughts.

- And you imagine to be the best option?

His tone becomes mocking, but no longer any flame of annoyance or threat tints his eyes. So, cautiously, I throw myself into the water.

- Killing me is useless if you hire me. You'll be able to keep an eye on me, and given my ability to lie, it won't take you long to figure out if I've told anyone else about you. Also, I'm not looking for thrills. I just want to live. If for that, I have to work for you...

- Here then... The Indian wants to play in the big leagues?

I wince at this nickname, but don't answer anything. Nothing to do with that nickname, in this case.

- I play in the big leagues for a few years now, I announce, pursing my lips slightly, irritated. A trifle for Creatures that can exceed millennia, but ten years in the Underworld is an ordeal in itself for a being like me.

He raises an eyebrow again, before scratching his chin, where a fine stubble of beard grows.

- Still, I'm not the boss. And that it will take a little more than what you just told me to convince him.

- You already seem almost to agree with me, it's a good start.

I dare to smile and his disappears for a brief moment, before returning, pest.

- After all, it can be fun.

I blink, not sure I understand.

- Really ?

In return, Ishmael shrugs nonchalantly without losing his grin.

- Why not ? But you have to meet the big boss for that. Because my agreement is not worth his.

I nod slowly, knowing I'm on a tightrope. Any clue to that? Despite his blatant sympathy, he nearly suffocated me two minutes earlier. And I don't forget his speed or his strength. One misstep on my part, and I'm screwed. While the Djinn urges me to follow him with a wave of my hand, I have a strong thought for Adele. When she returns, it's obvious that she's going to blame me for my reckless actions. Of course, none of this is my fault. I was just there at the wrong time. Like so many humans before me.

Only, taking this job is, for sure, a choice that my sister will totally contest. Not really that she has a say... but her opinion counts, whether she's in the Betweenworld or with me. Even if, at the time, I did not find other alternatives to get out of it. Behind the Djinn, I have time to replay the scene a dozen times. And when we pass behind a door reserved for museum staff, I always come to the same conclusion: it was the only solution.

- Do you work at the museum, too? I asked, watching my guide carefully.

The Efreet glances at me briefly over his still bare shoulder. The downside of giving up Glamor is the loss of clothes. Most species have this slight drawback when they return to their original appearance. And despite the obvious omnipotence of my interlocutor, he is no exception to this rule.

- Was it the “no entry” sign that tipped you off or my simple presence between these walls?

I prefer not to answer anything, at the risk of becoming disagreeable. Fortunately, my scratchy throat helps me remember what an Efreet can do. And even if he seems inclined to accept the deal I offered him, he still has to convince the boss. Boss I dread, perhaps much more than the creature guiding me to him. Having a Fire Djinn under his command... is an aberration. Beyond their rarity, these beings are incredibly fickle and rarely land. So obey... I don't know what his employer offered him as a pact, or what debt he contracted towards him, but none of that means anything to me. If the man is more powerful than an Efreet, I have reason to tremble. The different corridors, created to facilitate the movement of employees, seem endless and I

Considering the legends weighing on his species, it could very well be his kind. And yelling won't help me. A good human is a dead human , as the supporters of the Others who oppose the sharing of the lands and wealth of our world say. However, when Ishmael pushes yet another door, I find myself the first surprise and mark a time in the huge room. The museum is no more and has been replaced by a huge dancing bar, as they do more for humans. Smells of old wood and alcohol permeate the air, bringing me back to two very distinct memories. The first, the orphanage and its sordid rooms, where the mold gnawed at the beams. The second, our crazy evenings of debauchery where Adele and I scoured the rare brasseries allowing access to our species.

Although the second memory substitutes the first by far, I walk without smiling towards the dance floor, equipped with a small stage. My gaze sweeps the room, and I observe the large mirrors covering the walls. The subdued light, escaping from large chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, gives a strange atmosphere to the empty space. Several tables with upturned chairs and stools clearly indicate to me that the premises are closed. My eye drifts up the large spiral staircase, set in one corner, leading to a balustrade and, I easily guess, at least one floor. Everything is overwhelmed with luxury and idleness, all in gold and black.

- You'll visit later, suddenly announces Ishmael. Here we have to talk business.

I turn in his direction and discover him several meters from me, behind a counter several meters long. Huge shelves are in his back, and support dozens and dozens of bottles of alcohol of all kinds. My steps naturally guide me towards the Djinn, who hasn't stopped staring at me. I knowingly ignore him, preferring not to dwell on his gaze and jump on a stool. Then, my attention turned to the closed door at the end of the counter, I gather my courage and open my mouth.

- You brought me here to meet your boss, didn't you?

Two glowing eyes answer me, and I swallow, definitely uncomfortable. Ishmael leans over the counter and puts his forearms not far from my hands. I run with a hurried eye over his muscular arms with visible veins and skin texture slightly darker than mine. North African, possibly. Then my attention shifts to his face and I find him gazing at me thoughtfully. He tilts his head to the side and his hair slides down his face, making him look almost human. Almost. But again, this idea only comes from Glamour, the magic surrounding them and allowing them to blend in with the teeming mass of humanity. And if Glamor didn't exist, her physique would obviously give me a clue. Undressed as he is, I can't miss his willful torso, and his apparent abs. In another life, maybe I could have let myself be tempted by someone like him. Only, I know what it costs to place one's trust in another.

- Be patient, the Indian, when you see him, you won't be so eager to meet him...

A slight twitch twitches in my right cheek at the mention of that stupid nickname. From where he is, less than fifty centimeters from my face, Ishmael notices him without difficulty and his smile returns to the charge.

- A problem ?

- Absolutely not.

- That's good, a voice resounds behind me. Personally, I have one.

Jumping hard enough to knock my every bone together, I swivel the stool in the direction of the intruder. Although I don't like to find myself with my back to the Efreet, I congratulate myself on this reflex when I see the man coming towards me. And when I recognize him, my face takes on a whitish hue, while my stomach rebels violently. The man, hardly taller than me, is not unknown to me. On the contrary, even. It is not unknown to anyone, because it is part of the Pentacle of Solomon. I press myself against the counter watching him take another step forward, while the information in my possession jostles in my skull. And today I face one of the most frightening and enigmatic personalities in the Pentacle.

Daegan Avgerinós .

Daegan approaches, crumbling with confidence and charisma. If I didn't know his identity, I might find him... superb. Beyond his well-defined muscles, which I can see under his white shirt, I know he is endowed with an unfailing force of persuasion and a natural authority, which one could compare to the princes of yesteryear. Her hair, a chocolate brown, falls in thick locks on her forehead. His masculine features are partly masked by a beard of a few days. And his eyes... are as surprising as they say. Her pupils are like a stormy sky in the middle of a sunset, an alliance between an almost translucent blue, an orange verging on bronze red and a violet reminiscent of amethyst.

Having already seen him on television, I know that each of his public appearances arouses fear and admiration. Daegan is one of the Others capable of transforming Glamor and molding it to their liking. Also, all are unaware of its true form, or its species. The most complete mystery hovers over its existence, and unleashes the crowds. Apart from the rare meetings of Cicerone rebroadcast, it is little present on the media scene. We know almost nothing about him, starting with his country of origin and life. And obviously, he is currently staying in London.

- So that's why you sent for me... Was there really a need to disturb me? he let go coldly, crossing his arms over his chest, larger than that of his interlocutor.

The Efreet, whom I feel move behind my back, joins us on the same side of the counter before leaning against him, while observing me with a mocking air.

- At least she didn't run away. You can recognize that.

- It's not the desire that he lacks, the creature mutters in return, inhaling deeply. His fear envelops me like a spring breeze.1

The two are now staring at me in a funny way. A way I absolutely do not like, because it reminds me far too much of the animal documentaries I watch, on sleepless evenings. Wolves stare at their prey in the same way. And the cops earlier had the same gleam when inveighing against the poor human. Nervously, I get up from my seat and raise my head, while making sure to shift, not back. Backing down would mean the start of a hunt that I don't want to see begin.

- Meeting you often has the same effect, Ishmael finally resumes. You can't really rely on that to make your judgment.

The conversation takes another turn when the Djinn turns more frankly towards his interlocutor. The latter is still staring at me, but the glow has disappeared, a sign that my gestures were the right ones. I know he can't miss my white fists. However, he seems inclined to ignore it.

- It's still no, Ishmael, brutally announces Daegan without moving an iota. Find yourself another occupation.

The Efreet then steps forward, hands in pockets and completely relaxed.

- I was going to kill her, just imagine.

- I am aware of the facts, retorts the Creature, finally paying attention to his interlocutor. But you know perfectly well that she will not make the weight. Not here. Not with the clients we have.

His icy tone brings out his accent, which no one has ever been able to correctly identify. As we don't know its species, and as it took good care to inform the population, it could just as well come from another millennium. Its original language could have disappeared that it would not be astonishing. Terrifying, most likely. I lift my chin and frown slightly, feeling almost ready to intervene. However, a brief look from him makes me lose all courage. Her lips curl up in response to my change in attitude, revealing incredibly white teeth, giving her a surreal quality. And questionable.

- They'll make short work of it.

- Maybe, but we don't have anyone to replace Irene.

An evil hiss escapes the ultimate predator's mouth and almost sends me flying to the ceiling. In response, Ishmael shrugs his shoulders unmoved.

- It is the strict truth.

- Don't tell me about that stupid Nymph, Daegan growls, gold blazing in his incredibly disturbing pupils.

- I don't talk about it anymore, but it's obvious that the problems she caused us last night cannot happen again with...

He stops, then turns back to me.

- What's your name, by the way?

- You have a point, intervenes the owner of the place, without waiting for my answer. If she unleashes the same kind of uproar as Irene, she'll be devoured before you can lift a finger.

- And how his death would serve us...

Ishmael's words give me shivers, which I manage to hide in a burst of survival. The second following the Djinn's sentence, a piercing gaze falls on me, while my entire existence flashes before my wide eyes. I know exactly what Daegan's refusal would trigger. My assassination. Feeling the balance tilted to my disadvantage, I refuse to close my eyes before seeing Adele one last time. So, repeating her advice to me, dating from this very morning, I think of her, begging her to appear at my side. I repeat the process a first time, then a second time and...

- Stop that.

The voice crackles in the empty room and I stop immediately, my attention turned to the fifth member of Solomon's Pentacle. He relaxes his arms along his body, while staring at me hostilely.1

- The one you are trying to call cannot penetrate between the walls of the Sanctuary.

- The sanctuary ? I repeat, forgetting myself for a moment.

When I realize I've spoken, I hold my breath, imagining myself completely lost. However, the death knell does not fall and Ishmael agrees to enlighten me.

- The Sanctuary is the name of this place. Many of our people meet here to chat and spend an evening without risking it being interrupted by any dispute. Daegan cast a powerful spell to make sure. Everyone's powers are diminished, invocations canceled and... certain species are forbidden to stay.

"Whoever you're calling won't be of any use to you," Daegan concluded, crossing his arms over his chest again.

- You mean that each being finds himself with the strength of a human between these four walls?

My question freezes them for a brief moment before Ishmael's burst of laughter catches me off guard, breaking the silence that has settled.

- Saying such a thing without shaking your knees... you have to do it!

His sidekick doesn't smile and stares at me darkly.

- One word like that, tonight, and you'll be reduced to a heap of ashes.

Of his words, I retain only the main thing.

- Does that mean I'm taken?

Ishmael nods as Daegan already turns away, the conversation seeming to be over for him. The Efreet advances towards me, all smiles.

- Give me your address, and you will receive the contract in the afternoon.

He then describes the job for which I intend to sign, and, once again, only reaches me the most important information. With a salary like that, my apartment is safe. As for leftovers, I can handle it. It is, after all, far from being the worst job I have ever had.

- Here, concludes Ishmael lightly, you know the main thing. I'll be expecting you at midnight sharp at the entrance to the museum. For your first time, I'll show you where to go to get here. The party usually ends around seven in the morning. Questions ?

I shake my head and he reaches out his hand. One moment, I see myself refusing it and losing my mind in the next second. So, I resign myself to extending my paw towards the enemy and squeezing his burning palm.

- If you don't know yet, he tells me, giving me a wink, my name is Ishmael. In the contract, you will also find a paragraph imposing the utmost discretion on you. Silence is the key word here, and you should not repeat any of the events that you may experience. And that counts for my mere presence, or Daegan's. A single word from you to a living being and you will join your ancestors. Seen ?

- See.

- Perfect.

He releases me and I refrain from rubbing my palm against the thickness of my pants. His touch leaves my hand moist and frozen, despite his heat. Going back behind the counter, he hands me a piece of paper and a pen, on which I resolutely write my address, as well as my identity. When I put everything back on the bar, Ishmael glances over the sheet before raising his head in my direction.

- Satine Walker?

- Herself.

- We are colleagues. 

Then he points to the door through which we entered, showing me the path to follow to leave the establishment. I withdraw without delay, but still manage to hear his whisper, whispered behind my back.

- Well, if you want at least tonight.