I pulled my trench coat tight before stepping through a flaming rift into a south Chicago suburb. An autumn gale stormed through the city, the rain pelting against a crumbling sidewalk and hissing as it splashed against my skin. I'd come for the brothel, but not in the normal sort of way. I didn't have the patience for insincerity or the kind of collective lie shared by patron and purveyor.
       My interests sat with the madam, and a soul that belonged to me.
       The novelty of the location spoke to the caliber of the clientele. I wondered if the mayor, police chief, or both traded a blind eye for a blind date. In the end, I couldn't decide what I liked least: a corrupt politician, a thief, or a cliché. The House of the Rising Sun left that decision for another day.
       The red brick Victorian bared the full figure of her form with lines and curves in all the right places. The painted trim, lace window dressings and a few suggestive shadows made her look younger than the many years she spent on the corner. A chimney puffed enticing bits of smoke into the evening air, its cloying scent promising a seductive warmth against the early evening storm. The other houses looked drab by comparison. They modeled conformity with standard proportion, flat color, mowed lawns, two cars, two kids, a dog, a cat, no imagination and no future. The Victorian heaved with a sultry sigh; the rest of the houses marked life's passage as coldly as a tomb.
       I pushed open the front door and found myself in a large foyer with a sweeping staircase following the contours of a rounded wall. A grand piano sat under the stair with a stunning woman in a red cocktail dress gently playing the keys. In the center of the room, a mosaic set into a marble floor showed a blazing orange sun rising over a hilltop. Its fractal rays emanated from a central point, reaching toward a statue of Venus in a marble fountain. Decorative wrought iron rails traced the lines of an upper balcony where young woman wearing suggestive clothes watched me with varying degrees of interest. I had neither the time nor the inclination.
       "I'll speak with your madam," I growled to no one in particular. My tone suggested trouble; the balcony emptied and the music stopped. Only the trickling splash of water kept me company, its echo replaying a thousand times like a distant memory that fades but never fails. I thought of my own memories, smoldering like cold fire in the back of my head. Shame and anger fueled them; a lifetime of mistakes kept them lit.
       I heard Lilith before I saw her. The measured gait of a confident woman pattered along the marble floor. She always wore flats, each footfall quietly murmuring like a whispered promise against a pillow. A promise she'd never keep, I reminded myself. Lilith could bring men to their knees, but her whispered nothings were worth just that. How many years had we been together? How many years had we been apart?
       When she finally stepped into view, I forgot my anger for one beautiful moment. Lilith stood just shy of my six feet, her red hair flowing in a fiery cascade. She wore a white cotton shirt, buttoned in front. It hung loosely, suggesting more than promising. Her jeans looked new and well made without any of the rips and scuffs that currently passed for fashion. A pair of emerald eyes regarded me above high cheekbones set in a perfectly oval face. She wore no makeup save for a splash of red at her lips. Those lips had once been mine, or so I thought. It's never wise to claim ownership where ownership cannot be claimed: yet another hard lesson in a life with too many to count.
       "Bill," she purred. "How long has it been?"
       "It's Belial to you," I barked back, my anger returning. "I've told you before, Lilith, only my friends call me Bill."
       "You'll always be my Bill. I liked our little pet names."
       "So what's that make Abaddon? Your little Donny?"
       She laughed, a musical sound that barely concealed the hard edge of spite. "Still jealous? You thought you wanted a strong woman, but you couldn't handle my independence. The one comes with the other."
       I scowled. "There's a difference between independent and indiscreet. I never wanted to control you. I just wanted you to control yourself."
       She rolled her eyes, "Ever the prude. Why are you here, Belial? You're bad for business. You always were."
       I fished around in my trench coat for a soft pack of Marlboros. I shook loose a cigarette and stuck it in my mouth. With a thought, I set the end to burning. "You know why I'm here, Lilith."
       She frowned, "That's a disgusting habit. Have some self-respect."
       "You first."
       She crossed the room with grace and fury, like a ballerina dancing on a thundercloud. I knew what she intended and let it happen. Her hand slapped me across the face with all the force of her demonic strength. I accepted my punishment and met her eyes, each of us seething with defiance that hadn't subsided in centuries. "I'd like you to leave."
       I filled my lungs with smoke and let it out in a tired breath. A toxic haze hung in the air between us. We could see each other, but not clearly. Nothing new there.
       "I can't."
       "Can't or won't?"
       "Won't then. Not until you give me James."
       "James?" she asked with too much lilt in her voice.
       "Armstrong. Tall guy with wiry black hair. Mid-forties and carries himself with the usual arrogance of a business executive. I've been working on his soul all month. He keeps negotiating concessions. We finally arrived at a deal. Let me collect his signature, and I'll be happy to walk out of your life again."
       "I'm sorry Belial, but there's no one here by that description."
       "I know when you're lying, Lilith."
       "If that was true, we wouldn't have stayed together for as long as we did."
       I looked up at the now empty balcony and flicked some ash on the marble floor. "I checked with the boss. He's been here for ten minutes. Your lot ought to be finished with him by now."
       "My girls take their time. The comforts we confer require talent."
       "I'll bet."
       "Your clients might make more money, Belial, but they never make anyone happy. There's an openness and an honesty to what we do. You never could see that."
       "What room, Lilith? I have a quota to fill."
       "You're not going up there. He's my client now."
       I pulled on my cigarette and blew more smoke. The air between us grew denser. "Say that again."
       "You heard me. James Armstrong came in here and wanted to trade his soul for an evening with my best girl."
       "And. . ." I said.
       "And what?"
       "And what else did he want? There's always another clause with James. When I first talked to him, he wanted to run his own business. Then he wanted a house in Pine Lake. Then it was a Corvette and a private plane. The man is collecting trophies. Sorry, Lilith, but a used-up whore doesn't meet his standards."
       The slap surprised me this time and turned my jaw numb. I held onto my cigarette, but only just. My vision swam, and I could feel pain sear across my face.
       "That's the problem with specializing in pride," she scolded me. "You don't see the value in anyone but yourself."
       "Is that any worse than specializing in lust? You see value in everyone but yourself."
       She poked me in the chest as she spoke, punctuating each sentence as surely as a comma. "Your clients all think they're better than any deal they agree to. Desire is simple. Scratch an itch or two and you get anything you want." She spared me a snide little smile. "It worked with you."
       "Did it now?" I laughed. "Just what did I ever give you?"
       "Your heart," she said. "And from the looks of it, I still have it."
       "I walked out on you, Lilith, or don't you remember? I didn't love you then, and I don't love you now."
       She threw my words back at me, "I know when you're lying, Belial."
       I wanted to stomp and yell and make a proper scene, but they would all be empty gestures. We both knew that she was right. I contented myself by flicking the cigarette into the fountain. Venus seemed about as amused as Lilith at the gesture. "If desire is so simple, has he signed over his soul?"
       She hesitated for a moment and glanced upstairs. "Not strictly speaking, no. He will."
       I chuckled softly, "We'll see about that."
       "He'll pay."
       "Don't count on it. My clients aren't like yours. I don't know what he wants with one of your girls, but I can guarantee it's not business as usual."
       As if by some perverse twist of fate, a gun shot rang out.
       All the color left Lilith's face, and I saw her as I had before the fall: honest, innocent, vulnerable. The revolt changed us, and not for the better. I traded my wings for a cigarette and a bum job. Lilith traded hers for me. It didn't take much to figure out who got the worse deal.
       She forgot about our argument and ran toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.
       I followed her, my heart heavy. I had my suspicions. I hoped I'd be wrong, but certainty pulled at me with undercurrents of truth and inevitability.
       Lilith rushed down a long hallway into a garishly furnished room with a canopy bed. Red velvet drapes hung from a decorative frame, but the red blood on the sheets painted a darker picture.
       "Amber!" Lilith cried. She ran straight to the bed, cradling the girl's head in her lap. Amber’s name, likely an alias, would have suited her in life. Long strands of strawberry blond hair and a light tan reinforced a message of inviting warmth that any upscale prostitute would want to foster. Scarlett might be a better name for her now. Blood pooled beneath her in the bed, a deep red stain that bordered on black. Her gown had an angry welt in the chest. For my money, the gunshot wound is the foremost authority on death. Its disinterested violence dismisses life as surely as the wealthy do the poor.
       James stood by a dresser, casually putting on a tie and adjusting his cuff links. He didn't seem distraught at the dead woman bleeding all over the mattress. If anything, he seemed thoughtful, as if lost in a moment of introspection. The .38 on the night stand -- and powder marks on his right hand -- left little to the imagination.
       I walked over to James and gave him a friendly clap on the back. He broke from his reverie. "Bill," he said pleasantly. "I didn't expect to see you here."
       "I was a little worried you intended to skip out of my contract in favor of another." I nodded toward Lilith who now sobbed quietly, wrapping her arms around the recently departed.
       "What, Lilith? No. I suggested a possible arrangement but we never signed anything. Frankly, I don't see the need. Yours is clearly the better offer."
       I smiled warmly. "I'm glad to hear it. I hope you managed to get some benefit out of your negotiations with Lilith."
       James glanced at Amber for a moment, the quizzical look returning to his face. "Yes, she let me do what I wanted with one of her girls. So I did. I shot her. It's an interesting experience. All of the bits and baubles that you and I have discussed -- the money, the cars, the planes -- it's ultimately about power. I wanted to find out if power over life itself had a greater appeal."
       "And what did you discover?"
       He stood silently for a moment, considering. "Yes," he finally said with a nod. "Yes, I think I enjoyed that. Her begging was particularly nice. We should add that into our deal. I'd like to get away with this one and line up protections for future killings."
       "You've negotiated a lot already." I didn't hide the edge in my voice.
       James waved his hand dismissively, "I know, I know. You're getting impatient. Just this one last concession." I heard the angry cry of a prowl car in the distance, its siren screaming urgency and injustice in equal measure. Someone had already called it in. James smiled and adjusted his wire frame glasses, "As you can hear, I have a bit of motivation."
       I laughed and extended my hand. "So you do." We shook heartily, entering in an unspoken covenant. I reached into my trench coat and produced a weathered parchment, rolled up like an old scroll. I fished out a pen and walked over to a ball and claw desk in the corner. Lilith now watched me through velvet curtains and tear-soaked eyes. Hints of hurt and betrayal haunted her face. How little she knew me.
       I sat at the desk and added the terms that James requested. The ink crept across the page like black tendrils of oil spilled on pristine waters. Both spread their poison with swift surety. I worked quickly, listening intently to the approach of the squad car. Thunder boomed behind it. The rain poured its tears in time to Lilith's.
       I walked the parchment over to James. "Take a look and see what you think."
       James adjusted his glasses and scanned the additions to the document. He held a law degree and appreciated my concise language. "This does seem to capture it. Yes. I'd be happy to sign this. We have a deal, Bill."
       "Bill. . ." Lilith squeaked.
       I scowled at her. "It's Belial." I shifted my attention back to James. "It's been nice dealing with you." With a thought, I lit the parchment on fire.
       James futilely tried to put out the flame, but blowing on the embers just made it spread. He watched hopelessly as all of his provisions were consumed. When the fire reached his fingers he dropped the contract. It floated to the floor where it expired in a pile of ash.
       Two dark eyes met my own, their piercing gaze alight with passion. "What's the meaning of this?" he said in a dangerous tone, half threat and half fury. "Bring back that contract or I'll sign with another of your forsaken brood. I don't like games, Bill. Don't start with me now."
       "I wasn't talking to her," I said coldly.
       He hadn't expected that, "I don't understand."
       "I wasn't talking to her. I was talking to you. It's Belial. Only my friends call me Bill."
       "Bill. . . Belial. . . whatever you want to be called. Frankly, I don't care. We had a deal. A few little provisions for me and my soul goes to your boss."
       I stepped away from James, shaking my head. "You don't get it, do you?" By now, Lilith did. She crawled out of the bed and stood by my side. Her white cotton shirt, now stained in blood, clung to her lithe form.
       "Get what?" James sounded indignant. "I negotiated in good faith. We had a deal and I expect you to honor it. Draw up another contract and make it quick. The police will be here shortly."
       I shook my head. "I'll do no such thing. You broke the first rule of business, James Armstrong."
       His face turned crimson, anger mixing with pride in an age-old folly that haunted man for millennia. "You're going to lecture me on business? You, a cut-rate demon that can't even negotiate to a proper timescale. How long did I string you along? How many concessions did I steal? You may have cornered the market on supernatural evil, but business is what I do. You should be taking notes, not handing out misguided advice. But of course you must have your say. Go ahead Professor Belial. Do tell. What mysterious rule did I break?"
       "The first rule of business," I said, "is to stay in business. You no longer have anything that I need. You killed in cold blood with no remorse."
       "So?"
       "So," Lilith said, her voice as sensuous as a broken vow. "Your soul's already going to the boss. Why should we pay for it?"
       James looked a little uneasy, uncertainly taking the edge off his anger. "Belial. Lilith. My friends. I'm sure we can work something out."
       I let my mortal form slip, just a bit. My eyes turned red, and I didn't need a cigarette to spill smoke from my lungs. I could feel Lilith's form slip as well, her tail wrapping me in a warm embrace. When I spoke, my voice echoed. "We were never your friends, James. We were your destruction. You're nothing more to us than grist for the devil's mill."
       The color in James' face drained and he backed away, suddenly aware of his own mortality.
       "Run," I said darkly, the word an echoing command. "Run if you can. Keep running. And when you can't run anymore, we'll be waiting. He'll be waiting."
       James fled, stumbling down the stairs, stumbling out the door, and stumbling over his own pride and ambition.
       Lilith and I reverted to our mortal forms. I looked into her eyes, drowning in an emerald sea. "How long?" I asked her.
       "How long?"
       "How long have you been in love with Amber?"
       "How did you know?"
       "Your reaction to my insult, your fear at the gunshot and your despair at her death. The response outweighed the situation."
       "Always the detective." She smiled. "We've been together for a few years, maybe. It's hard to track time with these mortals. They live and die in a heartbeat."
       "I sometimes wonder if it isn't better that way. Look at the mess we've made of things. Every time I see you I make it worse."
       She put the palm of her hand over my heart. "Not every time."
       I put my hand on hers as if pledging allegiance to some damn flag -- or maybe not a flag at all. I could feel her quickening pulse match my racing heart. "Why did you love her?" I asked.
       "Amber loved life. The depth of her innocence was only matched by the depth of her passion. That's as a rare as a good man in a bad world. I've always been drawn to both."
       I wrapped my arms around her and stood there for a moment. Time stood still and I remembered what my scarred heart forgot: a stolen glance, a whispered pleasure, a warm embrace. I wanted to find my way back to that place, but pride is a curious and unforgiving thing. It keeps score. It holds grudges. It would rather be right than happy. "Lily. My beautiful Lily." I held her for one more precious moment, trying to make the seconds last for an eternity.
       "Bill, what if we tried again?"
       I wanted to, but I knew that I couldn't. "We're both too stubborn to change. We wear our failures like a badge, stapled to exposed flesh by the same fatalism that makes men like James Armstrong push for more. If he's the grist in the devil's mill, we're the grindstones. We'll toil until we fail."
       She held me close. "I'll catch you when you fall."