For long moments he just sat with his head hanging, waiting for the dizziness to fade enough for him to get to his feet. His stomach roiled as he heaved himself up and he had no sooner regained his feet than he had to fall back to his knees to vomit into the water rushing past in the gutter. His belly was so empty of anything but alcohol that he brought up little more than beer-tinged bile, but he felt better after, enough to stumble to the mouth of the alley. Even with the hangover beating inside his skull and his gut still twisting, he could feel the urge to drink himself back into oblivion already beginning to gnaw at him again.
He stood just inside the entrance to the alley, mostly hidden by shadows, and watched people scurry past, heads down against the rain. Fog hung heavy across the city, hugging the curves and angles of the buildings and drifting in cold grey tendrils along the streets. He could smell the tang of the distant sea on the breeze.
Forcing himself to hold his back straight, he walked carefully out into the street, concentrating just on putting one foot in front of the other and not swaying into the paths of the business people hurrying past him. He kept his head down and didn’t risk making eye contact with anyone, already well aware of the looks he would receive—disgusted, pitying, and afraid. He was still a big man, broad across the shoulders, though he’d dropped most of his weight on a steady diet of little food and too much beer. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d shaved, or had a shower, or changed his clothes. The smell of beer clung to him, enveloping him in a boozy cloud, and his blue-grey eyes were constantly bloodshot.
His first stop of the morning was a nearby soup kitchen, where he picked at a bowl of porridge and a dry piece of toast. The helper who served him tried to engage him in conversation, but he gave her nothing more than noncommittal grunts and eventually she left to find better company. He left behind most of the porridge and half of the toast, but what little he’d managed to choke down helped settle his stomach. It didn’t help the craving, which only grew and grew until he satisfied it with enough booze to knock himself out; enough booze that he could drown out the grief.
The rain eased off to a drizzle shortly after he left the soup kitchen and the sun began to break through the clouds. He paused a moment and turned his face up to the warmth of its rays before continuing on. The craving pounded in his head harder than his hangover but he fought it, forcing himself to go to the park first. He sat on his usual bench by the duck pond and watched the ducks squabble over pieces of bread, trying to blank his mind. Every day it got harder and harder to do, until he took his first drink.
He only lasted until noon, leaving the park while the sun was blazing high in the sky. It hurt his eyes and made sweat roll down his back under his layers of clothing; it was a relief to duck into the cool, dark interior of his usual bar. He fumbled a wad of bills out from the pocket of his filthy jeans and slapped it down on top of the bar, accepting his usual pint from the bartender. As long as he kept money on the bartop in plain sight, and as long as he was quiet as he drank, no one bothered him, though other customers always gave him a wide berth. He swallowed half the pint in one long draught and settled himself in to drink until he forgot his own name.
When he left the bar he staggered with each step and saw everything in doubles. Weaving along the sidewalk in search of a place to pass out, he bumped into someone, muttered an apology, and carefully tried to move past them. Instead he found himself yanked back and shoved so hard that he tripped over his own feet and sat down hard on the pavement. Dull surprise infiltrated the drunken haze, then a sudden sharp flash of anger. He looked up and narrowed his eyes in an attempt to focus on the swaggering young man in front of him, peripherally aware that he was being surrounded.
“I’m going to sleep it off,” he managed, enunciating carefully to combat the thickness of his tongue.
The young man just smirked at him. Trying not to weave he pushed himself to his feet and glanced back, trying to gauge how far away the bar was. Its lights blazed and music filtered out into the night, but there was no one close enough to see him trapped in the middle of this circle. He took a deep breath, eyes half-closed, and waited for the first punch. When it came he caught it with one hand and kicked out, slamming his heel as hard as he could into the side of his attacker’s knee. The young man crumpled with a yelp, but the movement threw him off-balance and a blow from behind caught him in the kidneys.
He went down on his knees and threw an arm up to protect his head, grunting as a baseball bat connected with his forearm with a loud crack. Sick pain shot up and down his arm from wrist to shoulder but he was already up and moving, ducking in under another swing and using all his momentum to drive his fist into the man’s belly. He twisted even as the man doubled over, narrowly avoiding a blow from someone else, and nearly broke free, only to have his feet tangle and spill him to the ground.
He was still struggling to get up when the baseball bat smashed him across the face. He heard the snap of his nose breaking and felt blood gush down across his mouth. The bat caught him again across the temple and he slumped down, black starbursts exploding across his vision. It was all he could do to curl up, trying to protect his head with his arms as the blows rained down on him, until darkness swept him away.
He came back to consciousness slowly, rising up through a cottony white cloud. AS he became more aware, bright lines of pain cut through the white; his entire body ached, though not nearly as much as his head. Groaning, he tried to open his eyes and immediately regretted it as bright morning sunlight sent a spike of pain through his skull. His groan brought footsteps into the room and someone laid a cool hand across his forehead before the footsteps moved away and he heard the sound of the curtains being drawn. The light faded and he risked opening his eyes again.
The room he lay in was decorated in shades of blue; the walls were the colour of the summer sky and what little carpet he could see was only slightly darker. He was lying under a pile of blankets on a large featherbed, and by turning his head with some effort on the pillow, he could see a woman standing by the drawn curtains, smiling slightly. He thought at first she was a nurse but as his vision cleared he saw the delicate black horns set in her red curls, and the long, whip-thin tail curving behind her.
He closed his eyes again, then forced them back open. His voice was hoarse and the movement made his jaw sting, but he managed to ask, “What does a demoness want with me?”
“Well, for one I picked you up out of the gutter,” she said, her smile curving up higher. “They worked you over pretty good, Jones.”
He grunted and didn’t bother to ask how she knew his name. “I held my own.”
“Not as well as you used to. You used to be great, Jones. Now you’re just a drunk.”
“I’m grateful for your help, but if you brought me here to lecture me, save it. You’re a demoness. Isn’t debauchery your thing?” He managed to push himself up to a sitting position, swallowing against rising nausea and the dizziness that made the room spin around him.
“You can debauch yourself all you like when I no longer need you. I have a job that needs doing, and even as pathetic as you are, you’re still my best bet.”
“I’m retired. Go find someone else to do your dirty work for you.” He took inventory of himself and found that his ribs were neatly bandaged—from the pain when he breathed he judged at least one was cracked. His face felt swollen and he could taste blood in the back of his throat. Already the visible skin of his arms and torso was black and blue, tattooed with bruises and scrapes.
“You might want to hear me out,” she said mildly.
“I don’t want to hear you out. What I want is to get out of here and go get—”
“I have information about your daughter.”
“—drunk so I can—” His tongue tangled and he stumbled to a stop, turning wide eyes on the demoness. When he spoke again his voice was little more than a whisper. “Emily?”
“I just need you to do one thing for me.” She held up a hand, finger and thumb barely an inch apart. “Just a teensy one.”
He bit back the urge to tell her he would do anything. “What is it?”
“I need you to steal the world for me.”
He snorted a bitter, angry laugh. “Is that all? Maybe you’d like me to steal the heart of a god as well? How about bringing you the moon?”
“Maybe next time. You’re thinking too small, or rather, too big. You don’t understand how anyone can steal an entire world. Well, it’s very simple. You’re in the between places, and from here your world is no bigger than the palm of my hand.” She held her cupped hand out to him. “You could stick it in your pocket.”
“Where… I don’t understand how.” He licked dry lips, wishing for a drink. “It’s an entire planet, six billion people.”
“And there are plenty out there. I know you humans think you’re completely unique but you’re not.” She came over to him and offered a slim hand. “Can you get up? I’ll show you.”
After a moment’s hesitation he took her hand and let her help him onto his feet. She put an arm around his waist and helped him limp out into the hallway, then down to a room across from the stairs. The room had no windows, but the darkness was lit by the gentle glow of what he first thought was a child’s mobile suspended from the ceiling. He moved closer and saw that the glow came from dozens of coloured sphere, each one attached by a slim golden chain to bars in the ceiling. They hung at varying heights and twisted gently as the air moved around them.
“Each one of these is a world.” The demoness left him leaning against the doorframe and walked over to the nearest sphere, cupping it in one hand. Its glow brightened in response then faded when she released it. “The empty chain is where yours will go.”
“Then what? What happens when you attach it?”
“Well it won’t have this big empty hole in it. Your world will be fine. No one will even know any different, and you’ll have your daughter back. It seems win-win to me.”
“You’re a demon,” he said, but absently, his eyes on the dangling spheres. “Why are you asking me? You said yourself I’m a drunk, I’m beat to shit, and I’m human besides. Why can’t you get it yourself?”
“I’ve tried. It’s in a collection and kept under close guard by its owner, The Collector. The entire building is warded against me and anyone like me. But a human? He’d never think a human could get in and steal it.”
“So what exactly makes you think I can?”
“You’re the best of the best, Jonesy.” She clapped him on the back, making him wince. “You’re also expendable.”
He was silent for long moments, watching the spheres glow and spin. “All right,” he said finally. “How do I get in, how do I get it, and how do I get out?”
“Good boy. First things first, you’re sober from this point on. Take a single drink and our deal is off. You can stay here until you’ve healed up a bit.”
“I can go now.”
“You can barely stand straight.” She snorted derisively. “You’d just pass out halfway there and then where would your daughter be? You’ll rest here for a few days then I’ll tell you how to get in. How you get out is your problem.” She held out her hand. “Deal?”
He eyed her fingers for a moment then took her hand. “Deal. You have a name?”
She smiled, showing long canines. “You can call me Elle.”
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