Prologue

So, this was it. The final straw.

Murron Guthrie gripped the rough wooden box between her shaking hands, her eyes staring dumbly down at the center of the old dirt crossroads beneath her bare feet. The balmy summer breeze flapped the hem of her light cotton skirt around her ankles, snapping like a flag at sea. Her copper-colored hair struggled to unbind itself from the messy bun she'd hastily put it in. With an intensity she'd never have imagined a year prior, she felt these simple things as though it were for the last time. Perhaps it was. Instinctively, she pressed a hand to her chest where the unseen tumor had settled deep inside her flesh. Inoperable. Stage four. These facts rattled around in her head as she continued to stare at the ground.

This was the only way left to her. She had to do it. If she had to spend the final year of her life dreading the end, she wasn't going to do it alone.

Crouching, Murron dug at the pebbly dirt with both hands, having set the box to the side to do so. When she'd managed a deep enough crevice, she tucked the box into the hole and swept the soil over it, patting it securely. She knew she was attempting to catch an awfully big fish, but for what she wanted, she needed the biggest one available. The box contained all of the necessary ingredients for summoning a crossroads demon, plus one more: a vial of Glencraig scotch, aged thirty years. Ideal for catching a king.

Murron rose to her feet again, just as the shuffle of gravel sounded behind her. She turned on the spot, a small, self-congratulatory smile flickering on her lips. "Crowley, I presume?" she offered by way of greeting.

"You've done your homework, witch," Crowley remarked in turn, the vial of scotch appearing in his hand. "I normally only come to those with major deals, not commoners like yourself. However, I couldn't resist a free drink, now could I?" He tipped the vial towards her in salute, uncorked it, and upended the contents into his mouth. His eyes closed in pleasure as he swallowed the amber liquid, and Murron knew she'd done the right thing by including it. Smoothing a demon's feathers at the beginning of any deal was simple wisdom, yet she knew it was one her craft sisters and brothers often neglected. Fortunately, her arrogance only went so far; any further and this entire thing could easily turn on her in an instant.

Crowley gestured and the vial disappeared into thin air. He turned his green eyes to her, a salesman's smile on his thin lips. "What can I do for you, then?" he asked conversationally. "Aside from the obvious."

"Yes, aside from that," Murron agreed, taking a small step closer to him. "I don't know how appealing this deal will seem to you, but I trust you'll hear me out regardless?"

"I wouldn't suggest using that word lightly," Crowley advised. "But yes, I will hear you out."

"I'm dying."

"My sympathies."

"This isn't about saving my life for ten years; it's about making my last year on Earth less miserable."

"All right. How?"

Murron took a deep breath, steadying herself for the next words. "I want you to stay with me for a year."

"I'm sorry?" Crowley narrowed his eyes at her dubiously. Murron repeated herself. The demon's incredulous expression turned genuinely bemused. "Look," he began after a moment's consideration, "I know I'm desperately charming and fantastic to look at to boot, but I'm not on the table. Ever."

"Even if I'm offering my soul after only one tiny year instead of ten?" Murron pressed. Crowley's brows arched dramatically in response. "I'm not asking you to do anything beyond gracing me with your presence once in awhile. I'm looking for the company, nothing more."

"Get a dog, then."

"I'm dying in a year, with or without this deal. At least at the end, I'll know where I'm going and I won't have left anything behind."

"No family? Boyfriend? Girlfriend? Fuck buddy?"

"None of the above."

"Why me, then?"

"Because I want you."

Crowley shook his head somewhat haltingly, expression contorting into one of impatience. "I just said I'm not for the having; what part of that are you not grasping?"

"I suppose all of it because I'm not changing my mind. You can either mark me down as one of yours a year from now, or not take the deal at all. I obviously can't force you. The longer we debate it, the more ridiculous it'll sound. I can't give you any other reason than that I want your company and no one else's." Murron shrugged carelessly, suddenly indifferent to the situation. "Really, what's one year to someone who lives forever?"

"You'd be surprised," Crowley remarked mildly, fingering the cuffs of his wool coat methodically. He threw his hands out, then let them fall back against his thighs with a muffled clap. "Fine. This could be interesting. Your soul, after one year, for the pleasure of my esteemed company. Not the strangest deal I've made, but it's definitely up there."

Murron couldn't help smiling. She'd gone out on a huge limb here, and a shaky, about-to-snap limb at that. But it had worked. She'd worry about the rest of it later. All good things, all in good time.

These thoughts moved through her mind as Crowley drew near, one hand extended to capture the back of her head and bring her face in for the sealing kiss. It tingled against her lips, the tingle turning into a kind of cold burn that extended from her face to her toes. She held the kiss as long as he did, surprised at the pleasure the intimate contact provided. Had it really been so long for her that she was getting lightheaded from a demon's touch?

The sensation disappeared when Crowley drew away and favored her with a smug grin. "Enjoyed that, did you?" he teased. Murron self-consciously slid her fingers across her lips, mutely hating herself a little for still feeling it. Crowley chuckled, a husky sound heavy with his accent. "It's all right, darling," the demon crooned, "everyone always does."

Murron chose to ignore the jab. "What happens now?" she asked. Crowley shrugged.

"That's up to you, I think," he replied casually. "This is your deal. For the times I'm not preoccupied buying and selling human souls, I'll be with you. I do have to warn you, though: I'm an expensive date."

"Starting to realize that," Murron couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her lips. "If you're interested, the rest of the scotch is at my place."

"Fast piece, aren't you?" Crowley returned cheekily, eyeing her with a mischievous glance. "But if you're offering." He extended his hand to her with remarkable grace. She accepted it, his fingers closing over hers. He winked briefly, snapped the fingers of his free hand, and the crossroads scene vanished from sight.