The Rider studied her, watching as she shifted. He could feel her anxiety in the air between them, could practically taste it. She thought she deserved Hell. It was a commonality around the company Robbie kept, a strange string that tied them all together. He remembered observing it in Daisy Johnson, when she knew she was in a vulnerable position, when she understood he could end her without trying, when she’d begged him to do it. And this woman had that same look in her eye, that same fear that wasn’t quite a fear, that same dread that was so intertwined with hope that the two couldn’t be separated.
She was looking at him, and Robbie was more vocal than usual in the back of his mind, in the small space that he was confined to when he wasn’t the one in control. His words were a strange mixture of two languages that the Rider had learned upon their conception, two languages that were not more ancient than he was, and the message was one of desperation. The Rider didn’t know if the boy was genuinely afraid for his friend’s life or if he was simply worried she’d look at him differently when the flames died down. He suspected the latter. The Rider never hid his judgement from Robbie when they came across someone in need of vengeance.
The woman was sharp, and the Rider nodded slowly at her question. He wasn’t much of a talker. Most people failed to come to that realization in any kind of timely manner, wasted so much time speaking to him in a way that was irritating and never as amusing as they thought it was. He liked this one, he decided. Robbie, for all of his faults, had a decent taste in friends.
See? Robbie’s consciousness cut through his thoughts when the woman spoke again. She doesn’t wanna talk to you, anyways. And we’re finished here. He’s dead, asshole, and that means it’s my turn. The words were brash and full of false confidence and the Rider might have rolled his eyes if it were possible in any kind of way. Largely ignoring Robbie’s yammering, he chose to respond to Jessica instead, giving her another nod. No sooner had the motion ended than the flames began to die down, bone giving way to flesh as the Rider retreated and gave Robbie control again.
The transformation from Devil to man wasn’t quite as painful as the one in the opposite direction, but it still wasn’t pleasant. Robbie was accustomed to it enough to only wince a little as the flames died down, scrunching up his nose in an attempt to chase the familiar smell of burning flesh from his nostrils. “Sorry,” he said, a little hoarse. “He, uh… He’s a lot. Gone for the night now, I think.”
Okay. This was definitely one of the weirder things that had ever happened to her. Jessica could now add ‘great communication skills with hell demons’ to her resume. At least, it seemed to be working out pretty well. He didn’t smite her out of annoyance, and he was responding to what she asked.
And then the flames were dying down, fading into smoke. Flesh grew over the bones and sewed itself together over his face, going through every scar and stage of burning before Robbie’s features shone out. Jessica’s stomach flipped twice, worse than any hangover or any morning sickness, but she managed to keep it together.
“He was not as bad as watching him leave,” Jessica said, deadpan. She shook her head and let out a breathe. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m guessing you don’t usually have an audience when that’s going down.” No one who lived anyway. No one except Robbie. Did he see everything? Experience it all? Was coming back like prying fungus from a window, could he think? Now her stomach was definitely tying itself in knots.
God, she wanted a drink. “Coffee?” she asked. It wasn’t what she wanted, but it was the only acceptable poison at the moment. “I need a coffee. Dani’s up all night, I get zero sleep,” she muttered. Her eyes flicked back to meet his. “You’re, uh, good, right? You’re okay?”
