“Because your plans always work so well.” He followed me inside and up the stairs.

“That’s not fair.”

“Dutch, I’m not kidding. Dealers are not what you think.”

“Dealers?” I stopped on the stairs and gaped at him. “You knew about him? You knew he was here?”

“No, not exactly, but I do know they exist. And if he really is a Dealer, he’s very, very clever. He could convince a mother to sell her children into slavery for a dime.”

“I can’t believe a being like that actually exists. So it really is possible to sell your soul to the devil?”

He nodded. “And you don’t even have to go to the crossroads to do it.”

“Holy cow. How do I not know these things?” I continued up the stairs while foraging in my bag for my keys.

“It’s not really what you think,” Reyes added. “There’s a lot you don’t know, and there’s a lot you don’t need to know, like how to handle a Dealer.”

“So, what are they, exactly?”

“They are demons. The Fallen.”

“Like Hedeshi?”

“Very much like Hedeshi, only they’ve gone rogue.”

“Rogue?” I stopped on the landing. “What does that mean?”

“It means they’re demons who’ve escaped from hell and are living on earth as humans. They owe no allegiance to my father. They simply live here, feeding off the souls of others.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Wish I could, but they have to eat just like you and I do.”

“You mean to tell me souls are their sustenance?”

“Exactly, but they can only get a soul if the donor willingly gives it up.”

“Why would someone willingly give up their soul?”

He shrugged. “Power. Money. Health.”

“I just— I’m so floored by this.” I slid my key into the lock, but stopped again, trying to absorb this new turn of events. “Is there a contract? Like in the movies?”

“No. No contract. That’s Hollywood’s version of a Dealer. In real life, they are much cleverer than that.”

“Then how is the bargain sealed?”

“Upon the human’s word, the Dealer marks the soul. Then, when he’s hungry, he calls it forth. Believe it or not, a person can live without their soul. Not very long, but it can be done.”

“What about Mr. Joyce? Did he still have his soul?”

“No. He was right. His soul was gone and probably has been for at least a couple of months. He won’t last much longer. He’s been so absorbed in his daughter that he didn’t realize what he was feeling was the illness that happens when the soul is gone. The body withers away.”

Damn. I hated to hear that. “Okay, answer me this: Is it possible to get one back after the demon has fed off it?”

“It depends on how long he’s had it, if it still has any energy left. They can live off one soul for months if they have to.” He stepped closer to emphasize his next point. “And yours,” he said, his tone warning, “he could live off for hundreds of years. A millennium, even. Getting your soul would be like winning the lottery of feasts, which is why you aren’t going anywhere near him. He has to trick you out of it, and trust me, a Dealer can do exactly that. They are often called Tricksters in your mythology for good reason.”

“Thanks for your faith in me.”

“Dutch, it’s not my lack of faith in you. It’s my certainty that you would do anything to get this man’s soul back. I’ve seen it a hundred times. You risk everything, every part of yourself, for complete strangers. It’s … disturbing.”

He had a point.

I opened my door and stepped in. “Again, I ask, how do I not know these things?”

Reyes crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against my doorframe as I tossed my bag onto my kitchen table and headed for Mr. Coffee. “Because you’re you,” he said, teasing me.

“Don’t you have to get back to work?” I asked, nodding in the general direction of the bar.

“Son of a bitch.” He gritted his teeth. “I do, actually, but I won’t be long. Don’t do anything without me.”

“Okay,” I said, hiding my crossed fingers behind my back.

He stepped to me. “Dutch, I mean it. Don’t you dare go try to find this guy.”

“I won’t. Pinkie swear.” I held up my pinkie. He didn’t hold his up so we could entwine them and swear our allegiance. Left hanging for the second time that day. “But,” I added, pointing said pinkie at him as menacingly as I could, “I am going to that game tonight.”

He bit down, the muscles in his jaw contracting with the movement. “Then we need more of a plan than your usual fare.”

“What’s my usual fare?”

“Rush headlong into any situation that could get you killed, consequences be damned.”

“That plan has worked beautifully for me in the past,” I reminded him, frowning in reprimand.

“I apologize,” he said, but the insincerity cut to my core. He totally didn’t mean it. “I tend to forget how beautifully your plans work when each and every one goes awry, including the one that left you stranded on a deserted bridge with a man who had every intention of burning you alive.”

He did not just bring that up. “You’re still mad at me about that?” When he only glared at me, his eyes shimmering in the low light, I crossed my arms over my chest defensively. “That wasn’t a plan. That was a surprise attack. And I told you, I tried to summon you. I couldn’t. I was concussed.” I pointed to my head to demonstrate. Not with my pinkie, though.