A lil something about my favorite devil trio

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There were rules that needed to be followed, if she wanted not to be caught.

She didn’t get attached; her services were free, but conditional.

As much as some people might have claimed otherwise, Isolde wasn’t at all bad at being a devil.

It was just that art and science – two sides of the same coin, really – were the perfect path to a person’s soul, better even than money or power, than love or jealousy. It was the combination of arrogance and selflessness found in even the strongest of people that made them perfect victims to people like Isolde, and she had no ulterior motive beyond that.

Granted, she didn’t actually deal in souls. That was above her rank – no, she just prepared the ground. Less recognition, but also less responsibility – of all the people she monitored, maybe one out of twenty would ever be considered for a contract.

Isolde had room for mistake that the contractors didn’t.

Miss Fletcher, no matter how ironically angelic her voice was, was just one of many.

It wasn’t supposed to matter – not that, and not Tristan’s disappearance. She’d managed fine before meeting him. So what if he was gone?

Except Tristan’s marks had been dropping dead, too, and frankly, the whole situation was turning out to be above her paygrade, and the reasonable thing would have been to report to someone higher up and have them take care of it.

Instead, she made soup and ate meatballs prepared by Mark and worried.

“Five of my guys died last month,” Mark mentioned thoughtfully, stuffing his face with the meatballs. “D’you figure… Tristan had gone rogue?”

A devil? Rogue? They would be hunted and obliterated immediately, Isolde wanted to say.

But she looked around the home the three of them had made. It was cozy, in a slightly human way, each of them bringing in the items they liked from the locals. They were eating human food, because it tasted nice, and she’d found that set of plates at the flea market, and Tristan had chosen the tablecloth.

None of that was, technically, within regulations.

It wasn’t so far outside them that they couldn’t argue in favour of each individual decision, but it let Isolde know the underworld’s arms didn’t reach as far as they’d like everyone to believe.

She didn’t miss Tristan, no, but she wished he were here to help them figure out that mess.

She didn’t miss Mary – no, Miss Fletcher – she was just irritated so much hard work had gone to waste.

Earthly attachments were a sign of weakness, weakness Isolde couldn’t afford, so she had none. As a devil, she had to always operate within the rules, no matter how bent they became, and the rules were clear on that.

“Do you think he could be dead?” she asked Mark, her eyes glued to the embroidered throw pillow – another of Tristan’s acquisitions. “Like, dead-dead. When he was going away, he said it was for something important – could it have been dangerous, too.”

Mark didn’t answer at first. Of the three of them, he was the one who reveled in fighting and death the most, making his targets war generals and ambitious soldiers, fueling conflict to encourage humans’ descent into sin. His head had no place for silly sentimentality.

He took her empty plate and dropped it into the sink. “If he did, we’ll never know. So don’t think about it,” he finally said. “It won’t do you any good.”

If Isolde didn’t know better, she would have thought his tone tender.