The Rider studied her, watching as she shifted. He could feel her anxiety in the air between them, could practically taste it. She thought she deserved Hell. It was a commonality around the company Robbie kept, a strange string that tied them all together. He remembered observing it in Daisy Johnson, when she knew she was in a vulnerable position, when she understood he could end her without trying, when sheâd begged him to do it. And this woman had that same look in her eye, that same fear that wasnât quite a fear, that same dread that was so intertwined with hope that the two couldnât be separated.
She was looking at him, and Robbie was more vocal than usual in the back of his mind, in the small space that he was confined to when he wasnât the one in control. His words were a strange mixture of two languages that the Rider had learned upon their conception, two languages that were not more ancient than he was, and the message was one of desperation. The Rider didnât know if the boy was genuinely afraid for his friendâs life or if he was simply worried sheâd look at him differently when the flames died down. He suspected the latter. The Rider never hid his judgement from Robbie when they came across someone in need of vengeance.Â
The woman was sharp, and the Rider nodded slowly at her question. He wasnât much of a talker. Most people failed to come to that realization in any kind of timely manner, wasted so much time speaking to him in a way that was irritating and never as amusing as they thought it was. He liked this one, he decided. Robbie, for all of his faults, had a decent taste in friends.Â
See? Robbieâs consciousness cut through his thoughts when the woman spoke again. She doesnât wanna talk to you, anyways. And weâre finished here. Heâs dead, asshole, and that means itâs my turn. The words were brash and full of false confidence and the Rider might have rolled his eyes if it were possible in any kind of way. Largely ignoring Robbieâs yammering, he chose to respond to Jessica instead, giving her another nod. No sooner had the motion ended than the flames began to die down, bone giving way to flesh as the Rider retreated and gave Robbie control again.
The transformation from Devil to man wasnât quite as painful as the one in the opposite direction, but it still wasnât pleasant. Robbie was accustomed to it enough to only wince a little as the flames died down, scrunching up his nose in an attempt to chase the familiar smell of burning flesh from his nostrils. âSorry,â he said, a little hoarse. âHe, uh⊠Heâs a lot. Gone for the night now, I think.âÂ
Okay. This was definitely one of the weirder things that had ever happened to her. Jessica could now add âgreat communication skills with hell demonsâ to her resume. At least, it seemed to be working out pretty well. He didnât smite her out of annoyance, and he was responding to what she asked.
And then the flames were dying down, fading into smoke. Flesh grew over the bones and sewed itself together over his face, going through every scar and stage of burning before Robbieâs features shone out. Jessicaâs stomach flipped twice, worse than any hangover or any morning sickness, but she managed to keep it together.Â
âHe was not as bad as watching him leave,â Jessica said, deadpan. She shook her head and let out a breathe. âIâm the one who should apologize. Iâm guessing you donât usually have an audience when thatâs going down.â No one who lived anyway. No one except Robbie. Did he see everything? Experience it all? Was coming back like prying fungus from a window, could he think? Now her stomach was definitely tying itself in knots.Â
God, she wanted a drink. âCoffee?â she asked. It wasnât what she wanted, but it was the only acceptable poison at the moment. âI need a coffee. Daniâs up all night, I get zero sleep,â she muttered. Her eyes flicked back to meet his. âYouâre, uh, good, right? Youâre okay?âÂ