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“Because Curse Keeping is a serious business. It is not a job for coxcombs and dilettantes.” “I’m not a comb, Dimitri.” Maggie shook her head. Laszlo really was an idiot.
“Look, I’m not an idiot,” admitted Laszlo. “I know I didn’t exactly deserve the job, but I assumed Dad pulled a few strings. What’s wrong with a little nepotism?” “A great deal,” Dimitri grumbled.
“You know so much more about these things than Laszlo. I wish you were our Curse Keeper.” Laszlo found these comments rather rude and hurtful and said as much, but no one paid him any mind.
How she wished Dimitri were their Keeper! If he were managing things, they wouldn’t be in such a mess. He would have realized the ritus was missing ages ago and gotten to the bottom of it. Dimitri was not only knowledgeable but also courteous and kind. Maggie wondered if he was the exception or if demons had been painted with too broad a brush. Laszlo came up short in every category but height and arrogance. She watched him as he strolled along, carefree, eyes alert and mischievous, mouth set in a permanent smirk. His human form might have been handsome—no point pretending otherwise—but she
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“What size is this?” “Medium.” The demon’s face curdled. “Medium? Oh, for fuck’s sake. Here’s a life lesson, Maggie: Mediums are for indecisive pussies. Go big or go home.”
Maggie blinked in surprise. “Hell has paperwork?” “Hell is paperwork.”
Maggie shifted uncomfortably. “You make us sound like animals.” “You are,” said Laszlo cheerfully. “But you’ve also got souls, which is why my kind finds you so irresistible. And really, being an animal isn’t a bad thing. The trouble starts when humans pretend they’re something else.” Maggie spoke up as the song changed to something with a heavy bass. “What do you mean?” The demon shrugged. “Laws punishing natural instincts; governments and churches forcing people to be things they’re not. It’s hilarious, really. Billions of self-hating fools trudging through life believing their very
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“Time you got out a little. What’s the point of breaking a curse only to lead the most boring life this side of Winnipeg? C’mon, girlie. Show some spunk.”
Lump was riveted. “Hell sounds kind of fascinating.” “If you like soap operas,” Laszlo said dryly. “Hell’s pretty much just Dynasty with a lot of murder and magic.” “What’s Dynasty?” asked Maggie. “A soap opera from the eighties. Just picture a bunch of rich people in ridiculous outfits having affairs and wrestling in koi ponds.” She cracked a smile. “I’d watch that.”
“Is that a movie?” said Maggie. Laszlo scoffed. “A film, my dear. A classic film. The premiere was a hoot. Some guy challenged the director to a duel.” “Why?” asked Lump. “For making something entertaining, I guess.” “But why is that bad?” The demon looked amused. “Because people work themselves into a tizzy over anything new or fun. Humans have this kick-ass world, and all you want to do is flog yourselves silly. Pure insanity. Don’t ever be a flogger, Lump.”
When Laszlo found he couldn’t recognize a single one, he added get library card to his mental to-do list. He’d never follow through, of course, but the idea that he intended to educate himself on mystic symbols had to count for something.
“They’re all the same. Every church, big or small. And the people who run ’em? They act like they’ve got all the answers. And if you don’t toe the line or fit the mold, then it’s ‘Fuck you, sinner. You’re gonna burn . . .’”
Laszlo slipped them on and methodically laced them up, just like Mr. Rogers used to. The man was one of the few people he admired. Making a career out of putting on cardigans while speaking in a nonthreatening manner? Brilliant.
