Chapter 2 The Devil Wears a Familiar Face
Cressida's POV
My father—or the thing pretending to be him—doesn't wait for an invitation. He walks past me into my apartment like he owns it, like he never died, like the last five years didn't happen.
"You've kept the place neat," he says, looking around. His voice is perfect. Exactly how I remember it. Warm and deep, the voice that used to read me bedtime stories. "You always were organized, even as a little girl."
I can't move. My hand still grips the doorknob. Every logical part of my brain screams that this is impossible, that I'm going crazy, that I hit my head too hard in that alley. But he smells right—Old Spice cologne and peppermint—and when he smiles at me, it's the same crooked smile from every photograph I've cried over.
"You're dead," I whisper. "I watched them bury you."
"I know this is confusing." He sits on my couch, patting the cushion beside him. "Come sit down, Cress. We need to talk, and you look like you're about to fall over."
The nickname breaks something inside me. Only he called me Cress. My legs carry me forward without permission. I sit, leaving two feet of space between us, my whole body shaking.
"What are you?" My voice cracks. "Ghosts aren't real."
"No, they're not." He tilts his head, studying me with those familiar brown eyes. "But I'm not a ghost. Think of me as... an opportunity. A chance to fix everything that's broken in your life."
"I don't understand."
"You made a wish tonight." He leans forward. "After that girl in the alley, after visiting Landry, after another day of Marcus Felding treating you like garbage. You wished you could be strong enough to matter. To help. To fix things." His smile widens. "I heard you."
My blood turns to ice. "How do you know about Marcus? About the girl?"
"I know everything about you, Cressida. I've been watching for a long time, waiting for the right moment." He reaches out like he's going to touch my face, then stops. "Do you know what you are? You're a good person trapped in a cruel world. You see injustice everywhere but you're too powerless to stop it. The bullies who hurt Landry walk free. Marcus steals and lies while you take the blame. That girl tonight will probably die because nobody had the strength to save her. And your brother..." His voice softens. "Your beautiful, brave brother lies in that hospital bed, wasting away while you drown in debt trying to keep him alive."
Tears stream down my face. "Stop."
"Why? Because the truth hurts?" He stands up, pacing. "You're twenty-three years old and you've spent your entire life being invisible. Being weak. Being the victim. Don't you want that to change?"
"Of course I do!" The words explode out of me. "Every single day I want it to change! But wishing doesn't make it real. I'm not strong. I'm not brave. I'm just... nothing."
"You're wrong." He crouches in front of me, taking my hands. They're warm and solid and real. "You ran into that alley tonight. Nobody else did. Just you. That's not nothing, Cressida. That's everything. You have more courage in your little finger than most people have in their entire bodies. You just lack the power to make it matter."
"Power," I repeat, my heart pounding. "You're talking about power."
"I'm talking about a gift." His thumbs stroke my knuckles. "Imagine learning anything instantly. Martial arts, languages, hacking, medicine. Imagine being strong enough to protect the people you love. Smart enough to expose corruption. Brave enough—no, powerful enough—to make the bad people pay for what they've done."
My mouth goes dry. "That's impossible."
"So is a dead man sitting in your living room, yet here I am." He squeezes my hands. "I can give you abilities beyond anything you've imagined. You'll excel at everything you attempt. You'll finally be able to help people, really help them. Save them. Maybe even..." He pauses. "Maybe even find a way to help Landry."
My heart stops. "What?"
"With power like this, who knows what you could learn? What treatments you could discover? What doctors you could convince?" His eyes gleam. "At the very least, you'd never have to worry about hospital bills again."
Hope flares in my chest, so bright it hurts. "You're serious."
"Completely." He stands, pulling me to my feet. "But gifts like this don't come free. Nothing ever does. I'll need something in return."
The hope flickers. "What?"
"Time." He says it simply, like he's asking to borrow a cup of sugar. "Half your remaining lifespan. You'll live the same quality of life, you'll just have less of it. Instead of dying at seventy, you'd die at forty-five. Instead of fifty years left, you'd have twenty-five. A fair trade for the power to reshape your entire world."
Twenty-five years. That's still longer than some people get. And what am I doing with my life now anyway? Working a job I hate, drowning in debt, visiting my comatose brother, being Marcus's punching bag. Is that really living?
"Why me?" I ask. "Why would you offer this to me?"
"Because you called to me." He touches my cheek, and I feel it like my real father's touch. "Your pain, your rage, your desperation—it sang across the void between worlds. You're special, Cressida. You just don't know it yet."
I should say no. Every horror movie, every fairy tale, every warning I've ever heard says don't make deals with mysterious strangers who offer impossible things. But when I close my eyes, I see Landry in that hospital bed. I see that girl in the alley. I see Marcus's sneering face. I see myself, small and weak and useless.
"If I say yes," I whisper, "what happens?"
"You wake up tomorrow as someone new. Someone powerful. Someone who matters." He holds out his hand. "All you have to do is shake on it. One handshake, and everything changes."
I stare at his outstretched hand. This is insane. Completely insane.
But what if it's real? What if I could finally protect people? Help people? Save Landry?
"Will it hurt?" I ask.
"The transformation? No. Using the power?" He smiles. "That depends on what you use it for."
My hand trembles as I reach toward his. Our fingers are an inch apart. Half an inch.
"Cressida," he says softly. "Before you decide, you should know my real name. The name I wear when I'm not borrowing your father's face."
I freeze. "What?"
His appearance flickers like a broken television. For just a second, I see something else underneath—something beautiful and terrible and ancient. Then he's my father again, smiling sadly.
"My name is Sable Morvaine," he says. "And I'm what your species calls a devil."
The word hangs in the air between us like poison.
Devil.
I should run. Scream. Slam the door. Call a priest.
Instead, I look him in the eye and ask the only question that matters: "Can you really help me save my brother?"
Sable's smile grows wider, showing just a few too many teeth.
"My dear girl," he purrs, "I can help you save the entire world."
He extends his hand again, and this time I don't hesitate.
I shake it.
The moment our palms touch, agony explodes through my body. I try to scream but no sound comes out. Fire races through my veins, rewriting everything I am at the cellular level. My vision goes white, then black, then colors I don't have names for.
Sable's voice echoes in my head: "Welcome to your new life, Cressida Halloway. Use it well."
Then the world disappears, and I'm falling into darkness that has teeth.