“You track down people who’ve struck a bargain with Emerazel, people who’ve traded their soul for fame and wealth. You need them to sign the contract to bind their soul to the goddess when they die. Very rarely, you might meet another such as yourself who has carved Emerazel’s mark in their body. But there aren’t many around with these.” He unbuttoned his shirt collar, and her eyes landed on the familiar scar in the center of his athletic chest. “Emerazel’s strength can only be granted through one of her blades, and there aren’t many in the world.” He buttoned his shirt again, and she tried not to think about his body.

“I don’t even know how I got my scar,” she said.

“You really have no idea?”

“Nope.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “What happens when someone signs their soul away?”

“Each god has their own hell. Emerazel’s is the inferno. The debtor’s soul will go there once they die.”

Suddenly, she was no longer hungry. “And the soul burns forever? Does it hurt?”

“I assume so. That’s why I’ve been keen to avoid it.”

She stared down at the lump of meat on her plate, fighting a growing sense of nausea. “I can’t do that to people. I can’t send them to hell.”

“My darling, you don’t have a choice. It’s you or them. You won’t win in a fight against Emerazel. You’ll come to understand that over time. Anyway, the debtors agreed to the bargain. It was their choice.”

She rubbed a knot in her forehead. “How do I know where to find them?”

“Emerazel will tell you.” He leaned closer. “You know the symbol we travel through?”

“It’s familiar, yes, since it burned me to a crisp a half hour ago.”

Kester ran his fingers over the rim of his wine glass. “A sigil of fire can also be used to contain demons. Even gods. We can summon Emerazel within it.”

“I light the symbol, and Emerazel appears with instructions?”

“Precisely.”

Whatever Emerazel was like, it couldn’t be much worse than working for Rufus. “And I suppose I need to find a new flat?”

“This apartment is your new home.”

Her jaw dropped. “There’s no possible way I could afford to live here.”

He shook his head. “This apartment is paid for. You don’t have to worry about rent. And of course Emerazel pays an annual stipend of ten ingots of gold.”

She stared at him. “Gold what?”

“Gold ingots are 400 ounces each, and the price of gold is about $1,500 an ounce.” He looked at the ceiling, muttering calculations. “That’s six million dollars a year, or about four million pounds. Give or take.” He dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin.