Chapter One
The following morning after the crossroads deal found Murron sitting at her kitchen nook, a tea service between her and the demon now sharing her home. Crowley spent a few moments while Murron prepared the tea, looking about himself at the rather cozy kitchen as if still surprised to find himself there. Murron, seemingly attached to her Celtic heritage, had numerous knick-knackery around the house, all bearing some form of Scottish symbolism. Truth be told, the sight of them made Crowley slightly less uncomfortable, despite swearing to have no lingering attachment to the land of his birth.
He'd taken the liberty of exploring the rest of the small cottage-esque house after Murron had gone to bed the night before. The deal had worn her out, apparently, and Crowley had been left to amuse himself. Had he not been hiding out from Lucifer's armies, he would never have been caught dead (or whatever term applied in a demon's case) staying in such a small, whimisically-decorated house with a human woman, witch or not. As it was, it was rather convenient that she'd made him the reward in her deal; no one would ever think to look for him here.
Still, he thought, jabbing a finger into one of the woolly lamb salt and pepper shakers and grimacing in mild disgust, he could've made a deal with someone with more taste. His grimace shifted quickly to a smile of simpering complaisance when Murron set a china cup and saucer in front of him. When he just stared down at it, she eyed him quizzically.
"You can eat and drink, obviously?"
Crowley shrugged his brows and rested his chin in his palm, still staring down at the pert teacup patterned in delicate roses. "I can, it's just...I'm not really a tea drinker," he ended the sentence with a little displeased whine. Murron blinked slowly at him.
"Should I just get the Craig, then?"
"Yes, that would be lovely, thank you," Crowley beamed over at her. He slid the cup and saucer from him with a finger while she got up and retrieved the bottle of scotch from the living room. He accepted it with a murmured thank you, upended the tea into the sink behind him, swished the remains out with a napkin, then filled it with the drink. Then, lifting the cup and saucer, he teasingly stuck out his pinkie finger and gave her a gracious nod before taking an exaggeratedly haughty sip.
Murron laughed despite herself. It was so comically undemonlike she couldn't help it. It seemed almost impossible that he'd been the smooth-talking demon from just the night before; what had changed?
"Something on your mind?" Crowley asked when she'd been silent for awhile.
"Yeah. Why are you so...nice? I mean, it doesn't seem likely. If that makes any sense."
"Demon deals change things sometimes. Or," he added with a one-sided shrug, "I don't see the point in being a crabby bastard while I'm here. You're giving up your soul after a year rather than ten; the least I can do is try to be agreeable. Just don't think you can take advantage of it, understand?"
"I couldn't think of how I'd do that, to be honest," Murron admitted, mirroring his shrug. "I wasn't lying when I said I just wanted the company. I know," she added when Crowley opened his mouth to speak, "I could've had a dog or wished for some pretty boy to be my love slave for a year, but..."
"But that wouldn't have been good enough?" Crowley offered. Murron shook her head, hiding her face in her teacup as she took a sip. "Can't blame you there. I am awfully interesting."
"Starting to realize that."
"You do know that I don't usually show up at a normal crossroads deal, yeah?" Crowley said after another silence passed between them. "Normally, there's this whole elaborate shebang to get me to go anywhere."
"Then why'd you bother at all?"
"Curiousity. Nothing tempts a demon more than curiousity. And souls, of course. The Craig didn't hurt, either," Crowley twirled the mostly-empty bottle in a lazy half-circle for emphasis. "How'd you know I liked this, though?"
"Like you said, I'd done my homework," Murron replied quietly, refusing to reveal more than that. Crowley squinted at her briefly. When she didn't rise to the challenge in his eyes, he shrugged again.
"Keep it to yourself, then, I don't care," he conceded, off-handedly. "Got me a free drink out of the deal. Who am I to complain." With that statement, he emptied the remainder of the bottle into his teacup, gave her another little salute with it, and polished if off. "You don't strike me as the typical, run-of-the-mill wannabe Hell's whore - if you'll pardon the expression; why get into it?"
Murron suspected he was making conversation, or he was still trying to weedle her reasoning behind asking specifically for him. Fine, she'd play along. "It's stupid, really. When I found out I was dying, I started looking up alternative methods. Herbalism, things like that. Well, one day, I was in the bookstore, browsing the new age section, and happened across a dictionary of magical herbs. When I was looking through it, another woman came up to me and started talking her head off about the benefits of color healing, crystal therapy, yadda yadda yadda. Having just been told I was going to die, I was too tired to really tell her to go away.
"Eventually, we drifted over to the little cafe all of these bookstores have nowadays and she continued to tell me about different methods of healing. It was pretty innocent at first, and maybe it was my own curiousity to find an easy way out that got me into the supposed 'dark stuff'. Long story short, before I knew it, I was summoning spirits and lesser demons. I'd gotten in touch with other witches, ones who were more experienced than I, and yes, that's how I found out about you. How if anyone was going to give me what I wanted, it would have to be you.
"I would have been content to ask for a perfect boytoy at first. Then I started to hear stories of your previous meetings. I heard things. Things that made me curious." Here Murron paused, suddenly aware of the heat in her cheeks as she recalled the real reasons behind wanting the Crossroads King and no one else. Crowley's piercing gaze bore into her, the barest hint of a smile on his face. He wanted the flattery, however extreme. She just wasn't sure she wanted to give it to him. Not yet.
Regaining what poise was left to her, Murron shifted in her chair and lifted her chin proudly. "Regardless. It was either you or nothing."
"Clearly," Crowley murmured, the smile reaching his eyes and making them appear almost kind. "And now that you have me, what did you plan on doing with me, then?"The smile turned teasing. Murron's return smile was wry.
"Clearly, I can't do whatever I want since you just said -" she started matter-of-factly, and not without a little sass, when he gestured for her to be still.
"You ruin the joke," Crowley said loftily and started up from the small table. Murron watched him move into the living room and disappear from her immediate line of sight as he passed further in. She remained in her seat, listening to him move about with the same kind of slow deliberation as someone in a museum.
She really had no idea what to do with him now that he was there. What if her coven sisters came calling? Would they recognise him? Would he pop in and out of the house whenever it suited him? Would she go to bed one night with him out of the house, only to be woken up by his sudden appearance in her bedroom? The thought made her instinctively clutch at her shirtfront modestly and make a small gasping noise.
Crowley's head appeared around the doorframe, eyes narrowed and searching the kitchen for what could've made her react like that. "Problems?" he inquired after a moment. Murron shook her head, perhaps a little too quickly. He didn't appear convinced, but said nothing, and ducked out of sight again.
"So what do you do when you're not making deals?" Murron called out when her heart and mind had stopped racing. She heard Crowley lift something from a shelf, make a wondering noise at it, then replied:
"Things of a varying nature. I will eventually have to leave here for awhile."
"Do you have a...home?"
"I have a house, yes. It's well-guarded, so it's not like I have to be there every second of every day."
"But you'll have to go back eventually?"
Crowley appeared in the doorway again, this time rolling his back casually against the frame until he was in the kitchen again. He had his hands in his trouser pockets and was looking down at her with the same squinty curiousity he'd leveled at her at the crossroads. "For someone who asked for me specifically, you're certainly in a hurry to get rid of me."
Murron gave him an exasperated look. "That's not what I meant. I was just sitting here thinking about how I hadn't entirely considered what it would be like living with a demon for a year. Will you be popping in and out all the time, sneaking up on me for your own amusement, just to watch me jump out of my skin?" She didn't want to mention the bit about her bedroom; better to not give him any ideas.
"Common pranks aren't really my thing," Crowley assured her mildly. "You'll know when I'm around. Haven't you picked up on it yet?"
"I don't think so...?"
In response, Crowley drew his suit jacket off and dropped it across her shoulders. Immediately, a wave of sulfur swept over her, coupled with the curious scent of good cigars and smooth scotch. Yes, the Crossroad King's scent was unmistakeable. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, though the sulfur did slightly overpower the other smells.
"Yes. That is a little hard to miss," Murron conceded as she handed his jacket back to him. He accepted it and draped it over one arm. Without it, he appeared rather small, as though it had added a couple inches to his shoulders. Looking at him now, she realized he was just an average-sized man, narrow in the shoulders, with the barest sugesttion of a trim waist. Any weight he possessed he carried in the front, leaving his overall silhouette rather svelte. His legs were harder to discern through his trousers, however well-tailored they were. Though from the cut, and if she absolutely had to guess, they appeared fairly slim. All in all, he was a fine-looking man. Or his meat-suit was.
"Where did you get that body?" Murron asked without thinking. Crowley grinned, taking the question the only way he cared to. Murron closed her eyes and sighed inwardly. "You know what I mean."
"Moderately successful literary agent from New York," Crowley's response was practiced, rolling off his tongue with careless precision. "I've had it for awhile."
"What's 'awhile' to a demon?"
"Couple decades." Crowley spread his arms slightly and looked down at himself. "I think he was someone in the sixties or seventies."
"Did he make a demon deal, too?"
"No, I had him killed so I could take the body. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone with this accent in America and not have it be some uneducated bastard? Quite hard."
"Can't say I've ever noticed. Why would that be important?"
"All in good time, darling, all in good time," Crowley replied mysteriously. "You've got a year with me; no sense in spoiling things so early in the game."
"No, perhaps not," Murron agreed with a small half-smile, oddly comforted by the unspoken promise he'd share more with her someday. Crowley echoed the expression as the first genuinely comfortable silence passed between them.