Chapter 20: Chapter 19: Leviticus

Vahl had been waiting on Tomlin's roof for nearly two hours, invisible, patient, watching for the right moment, no, the perfect moment. He had shadowed Tomlin all day, slipping unseen through the streets of Bethaven to keep tabs on the man. As he trailed Tomlin, Vahl confirmed that his soon-to-be associate hadn’t changed.

The rain began to pepper his skin as a cold drizzle with the smell of the mountain snow almost caused him to shiver as he watched the short man light a pipe.

Tomlin’s day was a performance, an intricate act for the city’s benefit. Vahl observed as Tomlin visited carpenters, walked the cobbled streets to speak with shopkeepers, and even made a stop at the home of a widow named Sharon. Sharon was a young woman with a son, Joshua, a boy of about four years old clinging to her leg. The widow was not a Ranker however, but supposedly was Tomlin’s new fiance.

“What rubbish.”

To an outsider, Tomlin seemed an upstanding, productive man—a paragon of mortal life. But Vahl saw past the façade. He knew exactly who Tomlin was and what he was. The whole day had been Tomlin in full performance mode, every word and move calculated, shrouding himself in the guise of an upstanding, productive man. It was a near-perfect mask of innocence, a role he played with the skill of a veteran showman. But Vahl was not waiting for a moment of weakness, nor for the façade to slip. No, what he watched for was that rare, brief pause—the moment Tomlin felt he could relax.

Vahl waited for one precise moment—not a lapse or a mistake but a small breath of peace, a single instant to catch Tomlin off guard. This would tilt the power of their first meeting in his favor, a necessary edge when dealing with someone as meticulous and inscrutable as Tomlin. So when Tomlin finally sank into the solitude of his back porch, a pipe of vestra weed alight in his hand, Vahl allowed his invisibility to drop.

Descending from the rooftop, Vahl landed with the silence of a specter. The pipe smoke curled around them, its scent a mix of damp earth and something vaguely sweet. Vestra weed, though addictive to some races, was also a mild painkiller favored for the comfort it brought—comfort that Tomlin, with his clubbed left foot, probably craved.

As Tomlin’s shoulders slumped against the porch rail, staring up at the stars, Vahl broke the silence like a hatchet. “I never took you for a smoker, Tomlin," he said. "It’s a bit obvious of a vice, don’t you think?"

The words dropped, like stones falling from a clifftop and crashing to a valley far below, breaking the calm. Tomlin didn’t turn, but Vahl could hear the sharp intake of breath, could almost feel the man’s heartbeat spike. Tomlin didn’t flinch, though; he maintained his composure, his voice level. “Mock me all you like, Vahl, but I doubt you’ve ever tried it. Not exactly one for relaxation, are you? Forever darting about, one task after another, carrying out someone’s bidding.” He took a slow, deliberate drag from his pipe. “Let me guess—the Baron sent you to try and prod me along again?”

Vahl chuckled, a low, predatory sound. “Ah, but no, dear Tomlin. I’m here of my own accord. Tonight, I’m nobody’s errand boy.” He leaned against the railing, his crimson skin catching the fading light. “Tonight, I’ve got a deal to offer you.”

At this, Tomlin finally turned. He was short and unassuming, with brown hair cropped in a rough, utilitarian bowl cut. A small scar trailed from his lip to his nose, a hairlip, giving him an unintended sneer. He looked up at Vahl’s towering, nearly seven-foot frame without a hint of surprise. It wasn’t the first time he’d locked eyes with a devil, and in the years since their last contract, he’d grown accustomed to the devil’s imposing presence.

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Tomlin wet his dry lips with his tongue, smacking slightly. His gaze sharpened with interest. “A devil offering a deal? Never heard of a devil offering a deal of their own volition before. What could you have to offer that’s worth my time, Vahl?” Tomlin said, putting his pipe down on the railing.

Vahl’s grin widened, sharp and dangerous, a smile that could cause men to weep. “Oh, just—a small favor, if you will.” His voice dropped to a purr, each word a calculated step forward. “I need information. The whereabouts of all scions and princes within Merrim’s domain. Every one of them.”

Tomlin’s expression slipped, just for an instant, before he scoffed. “Merrim? Are you mad, Vahl? If I were caught poking around her network, I’d be dead by morning. Who would send you on a death mission like this?” Tomlin limped back to his pipe he had set on the veranda’s ledge.

Vahl’s grin took on a deeper edge, his eyes narrowing. “You misunderstand. This isn’t treason—it is the genesis of a whole new order. I have plans for you, Tomlin, far beyond what you’ve imagined.” He paused, letting the words sink in, watching the shifting calculations play across Tomlin’s face. “When this is done, I’ll see you on the Baron’s throne. I only require a modicum of loyalty and a bit of useful information.”

He delivered each word with the precision of a master sculptor, chiseling the proposal into a form that would most appeal to Tomlin’s ambitions. This was the craft, the art of devils: the quiet seduction of the mind, the offer that was just barely tempting enough to sway reason.

Tomlin’s eyes gleamed, hunger flashing there briefly, unmistakably. Ambition was a potent thing, a fire that consumed mortal caution with terrifying ease, and Vahl recognized its spark in Tomlin’s gaze.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Tomlin’s brow furrowed, a finger tracing over his scar in thought. “You want Merrim unseated, and you want her contacts—every scion, every prince, her whole support structure.”

“No. Merrim is just a start.” Vahl replied, his grin widening, knowing he’d hit the mark. “Scions, princes, any Abyssal apertures—every channel of her power must be severed. When I’m ready to make my next move, I need them gone. You’re the only one I trust to handle this.”

Vahl teased the man. Wiggling a little prize in front of his nose. Offering everything he wanted. Power, respect, and authority.

“You’re mad, Vahl. Merrim is a Fourth. You are a Third, one word from her mouth and you will gladly cut your own neck and mine!”

Vahl oozed confidence. No longer was he bound by Obsequity. No longer was he to be a toy of the upper ranks. Vahl ran his hands down his lithe torso. “You let me worry about that. I will handle Merrim and the Baron. I simply need you to perform a tiny little rite and I will handle the rest.”

Tomlin held his gaze, thoughts racing behind his steady expression. After a beat, he produced a small pen and paper from his coat, scribbling quickly on the paper, a dark smile forming. “If we’re going to do this, we’ll need specifics, terms. It needs to be binding and we need to get into the exact details. Time, who I replace, when you act. How I will not be implicated.” The lawyering began as Tomlin’s greed won out against his better judgment.

It was exactly the response Vahl had wanted.

Vahl watched, satisfaction stirring beneath his composed exterior. He knew Tomlin’s type well—driven, detail oriented, perfectionists with a penchant for reckless ambition, one of those rare few who would take a blade and sharpen it even if it was pointed at himself. He could see that ambition unfurling now, like a coiled serpent taking down his prey. A true snake in the grass. Like Vahl himself.

Tomlin took a step forward, his voice steady and laced with iron. “You promise a throne, but you’ll need to offer more than words, Vahl.”

“A throne, yes. And a legacy, Tomlin,” Vahl replied, crossing his arms and leaning in, his voice carrying the weight of his ancient malice. “A name whispered in dark corners. I’ll make you a power that won’t be forgotten.”

For a moment, they held each other’s gaze, a silent, dangerous pact forming between them. Tomlin’s greed was palpable now, an entity all its own, something Vahl could practically taste in the air. He’d seen it a hundred times before, this hunger that marked mortals who sought greatness but lacked the means to achieve it. These were the ones devils flocked to, their ambition the wick and flame.

“Then we’re agreed,” Tomlin said finally, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “I’ll get you what you need, but when this is over, I expect every word of that promise kept. I want that throne.”

Tomlin’s grin sharpened, teeth flashing like a predator’s. “Then let’s make it official.”

Vahl opened the locked door of the man’s house with a thought, the door swinging out. “Then why don’t we review the details?” Vahl stepped into Tomlin’s home and took the first step towards his own ends.