Dead Ever After

tell, it’s being concealed by a friend of my daughter’s,” Copley Carmichael said. “I know you can find it.”
    “Fascinating,” the devil said, quite sincerely. “And what do you want it for? After I find it?”
    “I want my daughter back,” Carmichael said. His intensity was almost palpable. “I want the power to change her life. So I know what I’ll wish for when you track it down for me. The woman who knows where it is . . . she’s not likely to give it up. It was a legacy from her grandmother, and she’s not a big fan of mine.”
    The devil turned his face to the morning sun, and his eyes glowed red briefly. “Imagine that. I’ll set things in motion. The name of your daughter’s friend, the one who may know the whereabouts of the cluviel dor?”
    “She’s in Bon Temps. It’s up north, not too far from Shreveport. Sookie Stackhouse.”
    The devil nodded slowly. “I’ve heard the name.”
    JULY
    The next time the devil met with Copley Carmichael, three days after their conversation at Café du Monde, he dropped by Carmichael’s table at Commander’s Palace. Carmichael was waiting for his dinner and busy on his cell phone with a contractor who wanted to extend his credit line. Carmichael was unwilling, and he explained why in no uncertain terms. When he looked up, the devil was standing there in the same suit he’d worn when they’d met the first time. He looked cool and impeccable.
    As Carmichael put the phone down, the devil slid into the chair across from his.
    Carmichael had jumped when he recognized the devil. And since he hated being surprised, he was unwise. He snarled, “What the hell do you mean coming here? I didn’t ask you to visit!”
    “What the hell, indeed,” said the devil, who didn’t seem to take offense. He ordered a single malt whiskey from the waiter who’d materialized at his elbow. “I assumed you’d want to hear the news of your cluviel dor.”
    Carmichael’s expression changed instantly. “You found it! You have it!”
    “Sadly, Mr. Carmichael, I do not,” said the devil. (He did not sound sad.) “Something rather unexpected has thwarted our plans.” The waiter deposited the whiskey with some ceremony, and the devil took a sip and nodded.
    “What?” Carmichael said, almost unable to speak for anger.
    “Miss Stackhouse used the cluviel dor, and its magic has been expended.”
    There was a moment of silence fraught with all the emotions the devil enjoyed.
    “I’ll see her ruined,” said Copley Carmichael venomously, keeping his voice down with a supreme effort. “You’ll help me. That’s what I’ll take instead of the cluviel dor.”
    “Oh my goodness. You’ve used your signing bonus, Mr. Carmichael. Mustn’t get greedy.”
    “But you didn’t get me the cluviel dor!” Even though he was an experienced businessman, Carmichael was astonished and outraged.
    “I found it and was ready to take it from her pocket,” said the devil.
    “I entered the body of someone standing behind her. But she used it before I could extract it. Finding it was the favor you requested. You used those words twice, and ‘track it down’ once. Our dealings are concluded.” He tossed back his drink.
    “At least help me get back at her,” Carmichael said, his face red with rage. “She crossed us both.”
    “Not me,” said the devil. “I’ve seen Miss Stackhouse up close and talked to many people who know her. She seems like an interesting woman. I have no cause to do her harm.” He stood up. “In fact, if I may advise you, walk away from this. She has some powerful friends, among them your daughter.”
    “My daughter is a woman who runs around with witches,” Carmichael said. “She’s never been able to make her own living, not completely. I’ve been researching her ‘friends,’ very discreetly.” He sighed, sounding both angry and exasperated. “I understand their powers exist. I believe that now. Reluctantly. But what have they done with those powers? The strongest among them lives in a shack .” Carmichael’s knuckles rapped against the table. “My daughter could be a force in society in this town. She could work for me and do all kinds of charity stuff, but instead she lives in her own little world with her loser boyfriend. Like her friend Sookie. But I’ll even the score there. How many powerful friends could a waitress have?”
    The devil glanced over to his left. Two tables away sat a very round man with dark hair, who was by