The Devil You Know by Mike Carey

tensed. I sensed the exact moment Morgana lowered her hand. I sensed Emily taking her leave from the room. Emily feels like a cold, cutting winter wind, the kind that can kill on contact.
    Slowly—very slowly—I climbed to my feet.
    “Don’t ever do that to me again, Nick,” Morgana warned, rubbing her throat. Her eyes had lightened to their usual bright wintery grey color. “And do not ask me to teach Vivian magic. I will not.”
    “Fine,” I told her before leaving the room. “I’ll teach her myself.”

    “Is everything all right?” Vivian asked me as I climbed into the car beside her.
    I lit a cigarette. It helped calm me somewhat. “Everything’s fine,” I lied.
    We sat in the delivery alleyway behind the shop. The road here was narrow and still dim, even at this hour of the morning. Next door, Mr. Fernstermacher, who ran the antique shop, was dragging his empty trash cans back in. It occurred to me that I had forgotten trash day. Another reason Morgana was likely to lay into me when I got back to the shop.
    I was feeling especially peevish. There’s something about being called down by some dead, seven-year-old bitch that’s very bruising to the ego. I hated Emily even more than I hated Shelley Preston. At least, with Shelley, I knew where I stood. I knew she was a deceptive bitch who would rip my balls off, given the chance. Emily was an enigma. If she’d been alive today, she’d have been the type of girl who played with My Little Pony at age eighteen instead of screwing a long string of boyfriends like a normal teenage girl. The fact that that gave her power over me pissed me off to no end.
    It also made me worry. I’ve noticed over the years that those who wield innocence and piety seemed to be gaining a stronger hold over me. I figured that was probably a bad sign, but I was frankly at a loss as to what to do about it. The one time I mentioned it to Morgana, she suggested I turn to a god—any god—for an answer. She thought it was possible I might still be saved, but I doubted that. For one thing, I had no desire to turn to a deity with the intention of begging for help. That was being a fair-weather friend, and I just didn’t do that shit. Plus, my father, who has lied to billions but never to me, has told me it makes no difference what spiritual path I follow. I could be a priest or an atheist for all he cared. I was still going to the same place when I died. He said human beings and demons have free will. I was neither, so I was shit out of luck in that department. Those are his exact words, by the way.
    “Nick…”
    I looked over at Vivian. She sat hunched in the passenger seat, one of our plastic shopping bags in her lap with the Curiosities logo on it. I had given her a list of things for her to gather from the shop if she wanted to learn to control the craft. Novice stuff. She had done so, and I’d made note of those things in the ledger so I could cover them with my wages. At least Morgana couldn’t accuse me of ripping off the shop.
    I eased back in my seat. “I’m sorry,” I said to her.
    She looked very pretty sitting there. After she’d washed up, all her makeup had come off and she still looked amazing. She looked like a young Audrey Hepburn with red hair, the glowing innocence and the mysterious, almost Oriental cat eyes that worked so well together. Her lashes were long and dark, like a leopardess’s. She must have known what I was thinking, because she set the bag down on the floor of the car and scooted into my lap. She slid her arms around me, up under my arms, and brushed her mouth against mine, inviting me to kiss her. I cupped the back of her head and plunged my tongue deep into her mouth. Vivian could be sweet as well as sexy. She kissed me while hugging me against her. It felt good to be held that way, like she needed me to protect her.
    Finally, she said against my mouth, “Is your girlfriend angry with me, Nick?”
    “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my