Deals with the Devil (PA #1)

Chapter 5

Guinevere (Envy), Age Nine

Everyone thinks that I'm such a bitch.

I mean, I'm not stupid. I hear the things that people say about me and see the way they react as soon as I enter a room. To be honest, I don't really care. I don't need people to like me. What I crave in every waking moment is for people to notice me. I want their attention, and if being a bitch is the best way to get it, then that's fine. I'll play ball.

Once I get older, I'll be able to use my physical appearance as a way to get the things that I want from people, especially men. Just like my mother does, except I'll do it better than her, obviously.

One thing that I've noticed? If you're beautiful, men want to be with you, even in non-romantic capacities. And if men want to be with you, then women want to be you. At the end of the day, what's better than a little envy?

The woman I was named after, Queen Guinevere of the Arthurian legend, did envy better than anyone else. She envied those around her, particularly women who were actually able to make decisions about their own lives.

At the same time, she inspired envy in others. Men, like Sir Lancelot, envied King Arthur just for being the one to have Guinevere. No matter what version of the story you encountered, two details remained the same. Guinevere was beautiful, and people either loved or hated her for it. Regardless, she held their attention.

In that light, maybe all of my actions make more sense. Perhaps my hatred for Willow makes more sense. The mortal who shouldn't even be in Hell, who isn't half as smart or pretty as I am, who is truly unremarkable in every way.

Yet, somehow she is able to inspire such loyalty in people. Other than Alexander, my siblings prefer her over me. My parents give her more attention. Even the bloody guards treat her differently! Whenever she's around, I'm nothing more than an afterthought. I hate that. I hate her.

When those archangels showed up two years ago, I thought that we might finally be rid of her. However, my father was somehow able to convince them to let the human stay. To this day, he refuses to tell anyone what he offered the angels in return for their change of heart. That really was not a good day for me, but Alexander did his best to cheer me up.

As if my thoughts summon him, Alexander enters the open-air courtyard I'm stationed in. With the sunlight shining behind him, his white-blond hair is nearly impossible to see.

We both have the same hair color, though he keeps his cropped close to his head while mine nearly reaches my waist. Due to our light-colored hair, Ragnar sometimes refers to us as "corn children" or something like that. Apparently, it's a reference to a human horror movie; I assume that it isn't a compliment.

As Alexander approaches me on nearly silent steps, I can see that he recently stole something by the mischievous glint in his eyes. Much like his namesake, Alexander the Great, my brother has two different colored eyes—one blue and one brown. My eyes are the same shade as his blue one, except mine are a matching set.

"What are you up to, Gwen? I thought you hated the outdoors," he astutely remarks as he draws closer to me.

"Normally, yes. But Tutor Marie is making me paint flowers as part of my lessons. She says they need to be as realistic looking as possible."

At my side now, he and I both turn our attention to my canvas. Despite tracing out the shape of the poppy beforehand, and sitting as close to the real plant as possible in order to see the most minor of details, I can admit that they look nothing alike.

Alexander, being the supportive brother that he is, says, "Well, art is supposed to be subjective, anyway. This could be an abstract version of a poppy, with the red paint running down the edges meant to symbolize how deadly it can truly be."

When he puts it like that, then my mistakes seem more like flashes of unintentional genius. This is why he is my favorite sibling. Well, that and he hates Willow, too. Just not as much as me.

"Thanks, Xan. I'll keep that in mind. Now, what have you been up to? I could tell from a mile away that you did something Mom will yell at you for." Not that it would really bother anyone else.

At this, he smiles. "I took one of Wrath's favorite knives. You know, the one made out of dragonglass that Dad gave him when he made his first kill? For once, Wrath didn't have it on his person, so I swiped it. I'm sure he'll notice it missing soon enough, but he won't be able to find it."

Alexander chuckles, as if right on cue, we both hear loud yelling booming through somewhere in the castle. Knowing that the deep voice can only belong to Ragnar, whose twelve-year-old body has been going through a lot of recent changes, I decide to pack up my art supplies and head out of here before I get caught in the middle of a fight. As much as I love Alexander, I won't risk my face for him.

Not fast enough, I can only stand and watch as Ragnar stomps through the grass with his fists and jaw both tightly clenched. I swear I see a vein in his temple throb as those black eyes narrow onto their intended target. Alexander keeps his cool, having no visible expression on his face. For several moments, my two oldest siblings just stare at one another.

Ragnar is the first to break the silent staring contest. "Where the fuck did you put my knife, Greed? And get that fake ass confused look off of your ugly face. We both know you're the one who took it."

"Pretty sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Wrath. Lost your precious knife, did you? Maybe this will teach you to take better care of your things."

Ragnar's nostrils flare in response, which is really not a good sign. Sometimes I think that Alexander must have a death wish. I mean, we are mostly immortal, but I'm sure Ragnar would find a way around that if given the proper motivation.

Before Ragnar can punch the answers out of Alexander, as I'm sure he's about to do, my least favorite person comes running into the courtyard. I sigh as I wonder if my afternoon can possibly get any worse.

Willow slows to a stop in between the two boys, placing her hands on her knobby knees as she bends over to catch her breath. Straightening back up, she pushes her light brown hair out of her face before speaking.

"Stop. Please, don't fight. Ragnar, I found your knife on the floor of the combat arena, so you must have just dropped it while you were training. Alexander had nothing to do with it, so there's no need to hurt him."

I have to admit, I'm kind of impressed with her acting abilities. Even knowing that she's lying, I almost believe the story that Willow has come up with. Since Alexander took the knife and hid it in a spot he thought would keep it from being found, I wonder how Willow was able to locate it so quickly.

Alexander seems to be both confused and annoyed by the idea that Willow was able to outsmart him. Meanwhile, Ragnar appears to find her explanation vaguely suspect, but he shrugs his suspicions and anger off after she hands his knife back to him. Once it's in his possession, he places it in the holster on his left thigh and promptly pivots to walk back inside.

After Ragnar is no longer in sight, Alexander asks, "How did you manage to get that knife, Willow? That should have been impossible."

The right corner of her lips lifts into a smirk. "I have a few tricks up my sleeve, Xander. Besides, you're more predictable than you think."

With this, the seven-year-old also leaves the courtyard. Alexander and I just stand there in silence like two statues, trying to figure out what she means. Once again, she stole the spotlight and took up everyone's attention. I really hate this girl.