There was a restless shifting in the courtroom, an undercurrent of excitement. Demons loved deals and bargains.
“Go on,” said Roman.
“I’m willing to dismiss the case without a jury vote and grant that Letha’s contract wasn’t honored. I’m willing to give her all of the restorations outlined in article 8.2.0.”
Gasps surrounded us. My eyes widened, and I turned to Roman questioningly. Was it as easy as that? I didn’t know all the details of 8.2.0, but by my understanding, if the contract was invalidated, I could return to Earth and live out the rest of my days as a human. In possession of my soul. It seemed too good to be true.
“However,” continued Hannibal, “I don’t see enough evidence to support the releasing of this second soul. Your argument for it will be thrown out for being groundless.”
“But it isn’t!” I cried.
“If we don’t accept, then what?” asked Roman.
Hannibal shrugged. “Then the jury can vote on the question of both contracts.”
Roman nodded thoughtfully. “Can I have a moment to confer with my, um, client?”
“Sure.” Hannibal banged the gavel. “Five-minute recess.”
The spectators didn’t need to be told twice. This was huge. A soul getting released was not something that happened every day, nor was a deal like we were being offered.
“What’s the catch here?” I asked Roman softly.
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, I think Hannibal thinks he’s in danger of losing two souls and is trying cut his losses. Your evidence is pretty solid. Seth’s is too, though not quite as good—especially without Seth actually here. Still, Hannibal would rather let you go easily and ensure that he still keeps one soul in this mess.”
“But if the evidence is there, then we should let it go to the jury. You just said it’s solid for Seth too.”
“It is,” agreed Roman. “But here’s the thing that Hugh told me about these juries. All contract disputes are judged by half angels and half demons—for the sake of fairness. The angels will honestly vote with what they feel to be right. If the evidence was flimsy, they’d vote against you. It’s not worth it to them to get a soul free if the conditions aren’t honorable. The demons have no such morals. Jerome and Niphon could both openly confess to a conspiracy of conflicting contracts, and every demon on that jury would still vote against you.”
“That’s not fair,” I said.
“Georgina,” he said simply. “We’re in Hell.”
“So what happens if it’s split? Do they go by the same hung jury procedures we know?”
“A tie-breaking vote is produced. A thirteenth angel or demon is called at random, who then casts the deciding vote. If it comes down to that, then your chances simply fall to a 50-50 luck of the draw.”
“Hence the bargain,” I murmured. “If I abandon Seth’s soul, I’m guaranteed my freedom.”
Roman nodded. “And if you don’t, you may be consigning both of you to Hell.”
Chapter 20
I thought about it for half a heartbeat, and even that was too long. There was no question what my decision could be. Seth and I were bound together. Even if it had been for Jerome’s convenience, Seth had found my soul across the incredible reaches of the dream world. Seth and I had found each other, life after life, and continually fallen in love. Even if we didn’t consciously remember each other, some inner part of ourselves had connected. I remembered Roman’s words.
Over and over, you find each other and lose each other, you bicker and fight, throw it all away on mistrust and lack of communication. Are you going to let that continue?
No, the cycle was going to end. On my terms. These lives we’d lived . . . the pain we’d suffered . . . it wouldn’t be for nothing. It didn’t matter if Seth hated me and never wanted to see me again. I wouldn’t abandon him—not now, not ever.
“No deal,” I said to Roman. “Seth and I are doing this together, whether he knows it or not.”
Roman didn’t try to talk me out of it. He simply said, “You understand what’s at stake?”
“I do.” If we failed here, I wouldn’t just lose my soul. I would also be looking forward to an eternity in Hell’s service, with superiors none-too-pleased that I’d shaken up the status quo. I didn’t doubt that there was some article or clause somewhere that said I couldn’t be penalized for this, but as I’d noted before, Hell had plenty of ways of punishing people off the record. The Las Vegas position would probably no longer exist, forcing me to relocate to some truly terrible location.
Hannibal called the court back to order, and Roman relayed my decision.
Hannibal clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Risking it all for the new car, eh? Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it falls in your hands now. You’ve heard the evidence—and lack thereof. Do you believe there is enough ‘proof’ to support the petitioner’s case? Should both contracts—that these individuals willingly signed—be invalidated?” So much for justice being blind.
The jury cast votes anonymously, which I found interesting. It was a small nod toward impartiality, theoretically providing protection to those who voted against their side’s best interests. From what both Roman and Marcel had told me, I could see it happening among the angels. But did it ever happen with demons? Even if they knew the right or wrong of a situation, their ultimate goal was to accrue souls for Hell. Would any of them be moved by a case enough to go with their conscience? Was it possible that some spark of goodness could still endure in the darkness of this place? Judging from the quick way everyone scrawled their responses on the pieces of paper given, it didn’t look like it. There was no hesitation. The demons wore cocky, self-assured expressions. Angels and demons came from the same stock, but I’d been told that once they spent enough time in Hell, that angelic nature was eroded away. These demons weren’t going to lose any sleep about what became of my soul.
The votes were collected by the bailiff. He sorted them into two suspiciously similarly sized piles and handed them to the judge. Hannibal did a quick count and nodded to himself before addressing us. A new stillness fell over the room.
“Here we go,” murmured Roman.
“The jury has spoken,” said Hannibal. “Six to six. We have a tie.”
There was a collective exhalation in the room, and then the tension ramped back up as everyone waited for the next step. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the tie, but some part of me had been hoping maybe, just maybe, a wayward demon would’ve voted in my favor. I had my answer. There was no spark of goodness here. It couldn’t survive in Hell.
“In accordance with article . . . fuck, I don’t know . . . article something-or-other, we’ll be going to a tiebreaker vote,” said Hannibal. The bailiff returned with an ornate vase, which he handed to the judge. Hannibal dumped out the contents, revealing a white marble and a black marble. “In this case, it really is as simple as black and white. If the black one’s drawn, a demon casts the deciding vote. If it’s white, an angel will.” He paused, looking bemused. “That’s so clichéd. I don’t suppose we could switch the colors around? Just this once? No? Okay, let’s get on with it.” He scanned the jury and pointed to an angel with curly red hair and long-lashed blue eyes. “You. You’ll do the draw.”
She nodded her acceptance and approached the bench gracefully. Again, another attempt at justice. If Hannibal had drawn the marbles, I would have been suspicious of the outcome. The fairness of the matter was future solidified when he made her swear to draw fairly, without using her powers to advantage.
“I swear,” she said, placing the marbles in the vase. She shook them up and reached her hand in, casting a brief and—unless I was mistaken—sympathetic look at me. Her hand emerged, closed in a fist. When she opened it, no one could see the marble right away, but her face told the story.
“Shit,” said Roman.