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This, thinks Erin, is probably the stupidest thing that she’ll ever do in what’s likely to be a very short life.
The unspoken rule among the hunter community is that no matter how desperate the situation, you don’t stoop low enough to make a deal with a demon. You don’t give the black-eyed sons of bitches the satisfaction.
But Erin is alone and beyond desperate. She’s heard the rumors, spread by kids of hunters behind the backs of their parents. Whispers of a particular demon that doesn’t make deals but makes trades instead, that barters not with souls but with sacrifice and grit and will, whose eyes are black and not red. A demon that only appears to children and only if they call. Only if they truly need help.
At this point, short of selling herself at the crossroads, Erin can’t think of a better alternative.
It takes her a while with a splinted leg, but she finally manages to gather together the few things she owns from their scattered bags: a few marbles, the brilliant scarlet feather that she found in Ohio, the stamp book from her grandmother that she’s been dutifully filling ever since hitting the road. She gently places them all inside a roughly-hewed wooden box and carves the letters “DW” onto the box lid with her knife, just as the rumors say. Lacking a patch of dirt, she does the best she can and buries the box deep under the sheets of one of the motel beds before piling on pillows and comforters.
Then she hauls herself over to the window and carefully drags a finger through the salt line at the window.
Barely half a minute passes before Erin feels a prickle at the back of her neck that’s a sign that there’s someone watching her. She holds her breath when he steps out from the shadows.
The demon’s pitch-black eyes melt into a bright green when he speaks. “Erin Phelps.”
“I want to make a trade,” says Erin, and she’s proud that her voice doesn’t waver at all. She points to the splint. “My leg’s broken. Can you fix it?”
The demon stares at her for a few seconds too long before his eyes drop to her leg. “No one’s gonna take you hunting with a busted leg. You’ll be out of the game for a few weeks at least. Might be safer.”
“But I can’t just sit here!” The words are out of her mouth before Erin even realizes it. The demon’s too-bright gaze snap up to her face. “My mother went after a wendigo that got my brother. They should’ve been back last night, but they’re not, and I know that sometimes hunts take longer than they should but I,” and Erin knows that she’s babbling at this point, “I broke my leg when my brother got caught and I can’t just sit here, I need to find them. Please, I need to find them.”
She knows that she’s practically begging. But the demon doesn’t make snide comments, doesn’t twist the metaphorical knife. His face is blank when he asks “How old are you, kid?”
“Thirteen.”
He nods, and she thinks he almost looks tired. “What are you gonna trade?”
She takes off the two thin gold bracelets from her wrist and holds them up. “My dad gave these to me two weeks before he died. They’re all I have of him.”
He narrows his eyes at the bracelets, considering. “They’ll do.” He crosses the room and stops three feet in front of her.
Erin tries very hard to control the trembling in her hands. Here comes the part that she was dreading the most. “You’ll want to seal the deal,” she says, as bravely as she can.
The demon seems to read her mind, because he gives her half a smile and holds out his hand. “I’m not your standard crossroads demon, sweetheart. Besides, you’re a little young for me, don’t you think?”
She lets out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, blinking against the sudden relief that rushes through her. “Yeah,” she says, and gives his hand a firm shake.
He plucks the bracelets from her fingers. At that exact moment, a lightning bolt of agony blazes through her broken leg and she doubles over. The pain dissipates just as quickly. With shaking fingers, she undoes the bandages and bends her leg experimentally, rotating her ankle. Her leg is completely healed.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” and the words come out more heartfelt than she expected. She grabs her brother’s duffle and looks around for other weapons scattered in the room, keeping the demon in her peripheral vision.
“You’re welcome,” he says.
He makes a small gesture with one hand. She’s suddenly swept against the wall by an invisible force, slamming it hard enough that she bounces off and lands two feet away. The last thing she sees before everything goes black is the demon crouching by her head. It’s probably a trick of her fading consciousness, but his green eyes almost look kind.
- - -
The door bangs open. Then someone is shouting her name and shaking her. Erin opens her bleary eyes to see the ceiling and her mother’s face two inches away, white with worry. She’s instantly on alert, jerking up to a sitting position. “Mom!”
Her stomach drops as the memories rush back. The demon tricked her. Fulfilled the technicalities of the bargain, then knocked her out. He fucking played her.
Her family could've died, and Erin wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.
“Erin, what happened?” Mom’s concerned tone cuts through the bubbling anger and shame like a knife. “Are you alright?”
But Erin doesn’t answer, having caught sight of Carter crouching at her side just behind Mom. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his face is streaked with dried blood. But he’s here, not hanging in a dark cave for a wendigo. He’s alive.
She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she reaches for her family. They hug her tight, her mother petting her hair just like she used to before the ghost killed Dad and life was still normal. “We’re okay, we’re okay,” murmurs Carter. Just a string of reassurance that covers her like a blanket, warm and soothing.
“What took you so long?” Erin doesn’t mean to sound like a child, but she can’t help the plaintive note in the words that get muffled against Carter’s shoulder.
“Never mind us,” says Mom, pulling away a little to look at her properly. “What happened to you? You were passed out on the floor.”
Erin ducks her head. “I’m fine, Mom. Just hit my head.”
Mom’s eyes narrow at the flimsy excuse. “And your leg? Where’s your splint?”
There’s no way that Erin will tell her the truth, and she’s never been able to lie to her mother. So she looks Mom in the eye evenly and doesn’t say anything. There’s a moment during which a stare-down takes place, Erin silently begging for the matter to be dropped and Mom’s eyes boring a hole into her skull.
“Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid.” Mom’s eyes are tight.
“Nothing that’s going to come after us in the future,” says Erin carefully.
Her mom heaves a sigh. “Guess that’s the best I can ask for.” But the look she gives Erin lets her know that this conversation is not over and only shelved for the time being.
Carter pulls them up from the floor. “What happened with the wendigo?” asks Erin as they dust themselves off.
Mom grimaces. “It caught me right outside the cave and strung me up too. The flamethrower got lost in the tussle.” She moves to pack away their weapons, moving with brisk efficiency.
“Second one this week,” jokes Carter weakly, but his eyes betray his exhaustion.
“Luckily for us, there was another hunter after the wendigo,” continues her mom. “He finally killed the thing and freed us.”
Erin feels under the bed sheets surreptitiously. “Who was he?” The wooden box is gone.
“Didn’t say,” says Carter. “He was kinda—off. We’re not exactly in the most social of professions, but this guy was giving off vibes that screamed ‘look at me and die.’”
“Oh, but he did find something of yours, Erin.” Mom rummages in her pocket for a second. “You must’ve dropped them in that scuffle with the wendigo earlier.”
Erin looks at the two thin gold bracelets in Mom’s hand. And suddenly feels tears rolling down her cheeks.