" Shh ," Lucifer hissed, holding up a hand.
He tutted softly. "That's a boring wish, Samantha.
Come on." He smiled, and it was eerie how it transformed his face, made him look sweet and almost boyish.
"I could make you the wealthiest woman on the planet. I could make you a queen. Sam, I could even bring your grandfather back."
She shook her head, adamant. This was what she wanted. "No. I wish that Daphne was free of her contract so that she can be happy—with or without me."
His nostrils flared and for a moment she could have sworn they billowed smoke.
"That is a waste of a wish," he bit out from between clenched teeth.
"See, how it works is that when you make your sixth wish, Daphne collects her thousandth soul for me, thereby ending her contract. To wish her free from her contract would be redundant. I dislike redundancy, Samantha."
"Well, tough."
His eyes widened, and Eithrig, already pale, went shock white. Daphne whimpered behind her lips.
Lucifer laughed. "You've got guts, I'll give you that."
"Oh, buddy," she said, so beyond over the mind games and the tricks and bullshit.
She was tired. She just wanted to go home and sleep knowing Daphne would be there when she woke up.
"I worked for Coco Duquette. You don't scare me.
You're just a puffed-up three-piece. Go to FiDi and you're a dime a dozen. "
Eithrig made a sound like she was choking.
Twin splotches of pink appeared on Lucifer's alabaster cheeks. "You are a clever girl. I'll grant you that."
"Are you going to grant me my wish?"
His jaw clenched. "Am I?"
She huffed. "You tell me."
His eyes narrowed into slits. "You read your contract."
A pinch of dread stabbed her between the ribs, momentarily rendering her breathless. "Um. Not the whole thing, no."
Don't tell her there was some fine print hidden in the pages that was about to screw her over.
"Page 777, article 12, section 2, subsection 9, paragraph 4." Fire danced in his eyes, and this time Sam wasn't imagining the smoke that escaped his nose, his lips.
"The hold harmless clause states that benevolent wishes release the damned from liability. See also charitable , humanitarian , self-sacrificing ."
Her breath stuttered inside her chest. "Wait. Are you saying—"
"I'm saying this is why we don't make deals with good people.
Generous people. Do you really think no one's ever desperately pleaded for world peace?
" he ranted, pacing the path. "To end a war on some continent far away? No, of course they have. People as a whole are notoriously awful, but there are a few who are good, and we don't make deals with them.
Damn it, Daphne. What were you thinking? "
Even with her lips sewn shut, tears streaking through the soot and blood on her face, Daphne managed to radiate smug satisfaction.
"So I don't have to give you my soul?" Sam asked cautiously, unwilling to get her hopes up until she knew for certain.
"No." He sounded bitter about it. Clearly this was not playing out the way he had expected.
"And Daphne's free of her contract?" she checked.
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering curses beneath his breath in languages Sam couldn't begin to understand.
"Yes. Daphne is relinquished from her indenture." With a flick of his wrist, Daphne sagged forward into Sam's arms, the invisible barrier between them gone; the threads sewing her lips shut disappeared, too.
"Congratulations, Daphne. You are the greatest disappointment of my long life." He glowered hotly at Sam.
"You got lucky, Samantha Cooper. Mark my words, next time, if there ever is one, you won't be. "
He snapped his fingers, and in the blink of an eye, he and Eithrig both were gone.
Sam stared at the space where he had stood for a moment before tugging on Daphne's shoulders so that she could look at her. Daphne stared back, speechless, lips parted, looking as dumbstruck as Sam felt.
"Holy shit." A giddy laugh escaped Sam. "I didn't—I had no—Oh my God."
Sam leaned in, breathed in the scent of vanilla that clung to Daphne's skin, there even beneath the smell of burnt sugar and gunpowder that lingered in the air.
Her lips landed softly, gently, pressing against the pillowed swells of Daphne's, holding, savoring this, the first kiss of the rest of their lives unencumbered by wishes or deals or ticking clocks.
Daphne trembled under her touch and Sam knew without her having to say a word how she felt. Like this was all a dream come true, or maybe too good to be true. She pulled back to reassure her that this was all real and frowned at the sight of scarlet streaking her lips.
Blood.
Now that Sam saw it, she could taste it on the back of her tongue, the cloying metallic tang of copper and iron.
Sam opened her mouth, terrified and confused, words dying on her tongue as Daphne's lips quivered like she was about to speak. She covered her mouth quickly and coughed weakly into her fist.
Sam stopped breathing altogether when she saw the crimson coating her hand.
"Daphne!" Panic gripped her heart when Daphne slumped like someone had cut her strings. "Hey, hey, no. Talk to me. What's happening? What is this?"
She was small but solid, and Sam wasn't weak, but her arms trembled with the effort it took to keep them both upright.
"Here, let's—let's sit you down over—" They didn't make it to the park bench. Daphne's knees gave out altogether and Sam cushioned her fall, easing her down to the ground.
"I can feel it," were the first words out of Daphne's mouth, whispered through her bloodstained lips. "I can."
"You can feel what?" Sam asked, voice cracking. "Are you hurt? Where? Did Lucifer do—"
Daphne cut her off with a jerk of her chin. Her blue eyes were wet. "My soul." She winced and Sam got the feeling that the reason she pressed her lips together was to stifle a gasp. A sob, maybe.
Sam swallowed thickly. "What do you mean you can—"
"I'm mortal now, Sam." Her lips quivered, pale where they weren't stained red. All of her was pale and cold and—"I fell, remember?"
"You fell? When? I don't remember—"
Her stomach plummeted as the realization dawned on her.
"What did you do?"
"Oh, you know." Daphne gave an effortless shrug and set the empty glass down on the floor. "Threw myself off the top of the Delian Temple of Apollo."
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. "You—threw yourself? Off the top of the temple?"
Daphne turned and finally looked at Sam. Her eyes were grave, her smile a touch wry. "Dramatic, I'll admit. But I was young and stupid and in love and I couldn't fathom a life without Calliope."
Okay—"But— the top?"
Daphne snorted. "If you're asking whether I lived?" She shook her head and Sam's stomach kept finding new depths to which to sink. "No, I didn't."
"We can fix this," she muttered, staring down at Daphne like she was a problem to be solved. She just wished she knew where to touch, where to put her hands. They always said to apply pressure to wounds, but this wasn't a wound—or it was, but not one she could see, an internal injury and—
"Hey. Sam. Sam, look at me. Please?" Daphne squeezed Sam's hand and tried to smile encouragingly, but the blood on her lips and her teeth undermined her efforts. "It's okay."
"No. Mm-mm." Sam shook her head. She knew what Daphne was saying, and she refused to accept that after everything, this was how it ended.
Their love story snuffed out before they'd had a chance to live any of it.
Ending, not with a bang but with a whimper, as Daphne lay dying from a more-than-two-thousand-year-old injury she never should have had in the first place. "Not now."
She didn't know how to fix this, but there were people who would. Doctors. Daphne needed a doctor. Hands trembling, Sam dug inside her pocket for her phone and swore. She'd left it in the apartment, forgotten on the kitchen floor.
On the path, a jogger approached, and Sam flapped her arms.
"We need help over here!" she shouted.
The jogger got on the phone with 911, who assured her help was on the way and would be there in less than four minutes.
Four minutes. Daphne could hold on that long. They, the paramedics, whoever, would stabilize her until they got her to the hospital.
"Sam," Daphne whispered, teeth chattering like she was cold. "If I don't get another chance to say it, I just really want you to know—"
" No. " She shook her head, tears escaping and blurring her vision. Sirens wailed and Sam had never heard a sound so sweet. She clenched her teeth together until her molars creaked. "You tell me later, okay? Daphne?"
The hand on her wrist had slackened, Daphne's fingers releasing her.
" Daphne? " When Sam got no response, she shook her gently. "Daphne?"
Sam bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and checked her for a pulse. Thready and weak, but it was there.
"Yeah, she's over here," Sam heard someone say, and the EMTs were there then, asking her to please step aside and give them room and did she know what happened?
Did she know the cause of the injuries or how recently they had been sustained and was the patient on any medications that she was aware of? Did she have any allergies?
Sam shook her head at all the questions, questions she didn't have answers to, questions she couldn't answer truthfully.
I found her like this , she lied, she told me her name is Daphne , and no one asked her any more questions. It also meant Sam couldn't ask to ride with her to the emergency room.
"Which hospital are you taking her to?"
"Mount Sinai," one of the EMTs replied as they loaded Daphne into the ambulance. "Morningside Heights."
They sped off, the wail of the sirens fading into the distance.
One foot after the other, Sam followed.