Chapter Three

"Butler training?" Jon repeated slowly.

The maid, an especially stern-looking one with silvery hair tied into elaborate braids, nodded curtly. "The young lady expressed her interest in bringing you with her to Japan. I discussed the idea with Lord Gremory, and he insisted you serve the young lady. I would agree."

Jon nodded. "Okay. I don't mind helping out. Better than being a freeloader. Umm… I didn't get your name?"

"It is Grayfia, sir."

"Right. Grayfia. Ma'am. Not that I mind helping, but," he gestured to himself wearing a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt, "are you sure you can make me a butler?"

"I'm sure I can manage," she said. It was difficult for Jon to take her seriously when she wore a wide, frilly maid uniform. Without a word, other maids marched into the room he was staying at with military discipline. Jon blinked. Four maids lined up along the wall behind Grayfia, waiting for orders. "We will take your measurements to tailor you an appropriate uniform. In the meantime, my subordinates will train you in your duties. They will drill you until you can perform sufficiently as the young lady's personal butler. Any questions?"

Jon eyed the maids along the wall. One offered a polite smile. He wasn't even a little fooled.

This was going to be horrible.

"I'm guessing Rias put you up to this."

"She did. The young Lady was worried you would return to the States to try and convince your former significant other of your identity."

Jon blinked. "Why would I do that? Sam tried to kill me."

"That failed to stop you last time."

"I didn't think she'd hunt me down. Or that Carlos would rat me out."

The maid nodded. "Either way, Rias wishes that you will go through training so you may be at her side."

"I understand. I will do my best."

"Good." Grayfia bowed politely and, somehow, triumphantly. "I will return later."

She left rather gracefully. The remaining maids moved as one, producing tape measures. He stood awkwardly as they handled him, recording their findings on spreadsheets. Another maid, one not as severe-looking as Grayfia but still sharp, fixed her rounded glasses as she flipped through sheets on a clipboard. For some reason, her presence made a chill crawl down his spine.

"Mr. Smith," she said. "My name is Karia. As the one in charge of your training, I expect your utmost dedication and diligence in becoming a wonderful butler for the young Lady.

"The course takes six months to complete at the minimum, followed by at least three years of practical experience. However, due to your circumstances, we will cover this knowledge in the span of one week."

Jon paled. "Wait, four years in one week? That's impossible. Don't I―"

"Silence!" the maid interrupted. "Lady Rias's wish shall be our command. We will make you into a suitable, nay, the perfect butler for the young Lady in this week. Do you understand?" Jon swallowed, then nodded. "Very well. Measurements, now! When that is done, you will learn how to handle yourself in the Lady's presence, how to handle yourself in the presence of your superiors, and how to handle yourself as a representative of the Lady's wishes. And I expect perfection. Do you understand?"

Jon nodded as the other maids swarmed him with their measuring tools.

No one would blame him for the unmanly scream that soon followed, for the maids assigned to the task were known to be rather handsy.

Afterwards, Karia led Jon on a tour through the Gremory estate to familiarize him with his working environment.

As the same time, she lectured Jon on his duties―to care for the young Lady's needs, to protect her, to maintain her dignity and noble upbringing. And, as a Pawn, to serve in her Peerage.

Jon's initial impressions of the Gremory estate proved correct: it was large. With almost a hundred personnel working on the staff, and nearly two hundred rooms, the estate was more like a very impressive hotel rather than a single family house. The front yard was more like a large park, or the front of City Hall. The array of fountains only made the similarity stick.

"And this wing is for important guests," Karia said as she led Jon to a wide corridor on the top-most floor of the mansion. The reincarnated devil glanced about in exasperation―the red carpet and linoleum walls were the same everywhere. "There are eight suites, each equipped with a full bathroom. Peerage quarters are also provided should they wish to stay in the same floor as their masters." Karia opened one of the doors, revealing another spacious room with a neat four-poster bed, rug, couches and tables. The suite alone was the size of his apartment. "Should they not have their own servants to care for them, one of our staff may be assigned to their care. As the exclusive butler for the young Lady, you will be spared from this."

"Spared? Are these guests... that bad?"

"I cannot say," Karia answered neutrally. "Many are pleasant, such as Lord Phenex. Others can be... demanding, such as young Master Phenex."

"Ah."

"That concludes the tour. Do you have any questions?"

"No ma'am."

"You are unsettled," Karia said, observing Jon's shoulders. "Know that it is important for you to understand your setting completely. Speak your mind."

Jon, caught off guard, cleared his throat.

"I mean no disrespect when I say this, ma'am, but..." He licked his lips nervously. "You are kind of scary."

Karia raised an eyebrow. Her apparent stoicism was betrayed by her slight smirk. "'Kind of scary', Mr. Smith?" she repeated in a firm tone. "Is that something one should say to a lady?"

"I was taught that honesty is as important as flattery."

Karia nodded. "And why am I so frightening to you, Mr. Smith?"

He thought for a moment. The reason why he felt so anxious around her was not because of her appearance. Stern or not, Karia was dressed in a maid uniform. She was more charming than threatening. Her personality was reasonable as well. He realized his fear was instinctual. "I think it's the devil inside of me," he answered at last. "It's telling me you're a threat. That you could kill me, if you wanted to. I get that feeling from... Mrs. Grayfia even more so. I suppose even the maids of high-class devils should be suitably dangerous."

Karia studied him like he was an interesting science experiment before nodding in approval. "I admit; I did not expect much from you. But to have figured it out so quickly only means you are more than what your appearance suggests.

"As you say, the maids in Lord Gremory's employ are trained by Mrs. Grayfia herself to defend the Gremory family should the need arise. We are not powerful, but we are deadly."

Great―bodyguard-ninja-maid devils. I suppose I should get used to being surprised.

"As a reincarnated devil, you must be aware of this issue," Karia continued. "As a reincarnated devil working for the young Lady, you will often meet devils with powers that far exceed your comprehension. Their very presence will alarm you. And for the young Lady's sake, you must maintain yourself."

"To maintain an image."

Karia's smirk grew to a full smile. "Yes, the image. Devil society is far more peaceful than it once was. Posturing the main form of competition between high-class devil families, the other being Rating games. Although the young Lady is far too inexperienced to participate in the Rating games, she still represents the Gremory family in society's eyes. And, from now on, you as well."

"Great power, great responsibility. I understand. I will do my best not to disappoint."

"Good." Suddenly, the charge in the air dispersed. Jon relaxed. "Now, the day is still young. If you are ready, we will begin your training."

Mercedes felt a breeze against her skin, and, as she tucked her hair behind her ear, listened to it.

Empty. Blood. Evil.

The wind spirit her father loaned her passed on its discovery before returning to the currents. All those findings told her was that, once again, she had been too late to intercept the stray. Frustration bubbled in her stomach as she left the alley. A thousand misfortunes on that damned devil!

Cars drove down the street, headlights sweeping over her. She kept her head down as her shadow grew behind her.

Once she reached her bike that was parked at the curb, her phone rang. Grumbling, she drew it from her pocket. The name on the screen elicited more profanity.

"Hello, dear father," she answered.

Mercedes could hear the sounds of Washington on the other side. Her father's voice spoke over it. "My little girl," he began, as he always did, "I hope you are well."

"I am, dear father."

"I have heard word about an incident at the school you attend."

"There was an incident. I was not involved."

"Good." A pause. "Have you considered a time when you will return?"

"No, I have not."

"I have heard word about a creature you are hunting in the white man's world." Mercedes felt herself tense. "It has eluded you, thus far. It is not your duty to care for their problems. The Churches there will handle it."

"You have been watching me."

"Yes. You worry me."

"Father, I have told you: I want to see the world with my own eyes."

"And I agree. However, I do not agree with your incentive to risk your life for those whites."

"That is for myself to decide, dear father."

"It is." Another pause. Mercedes could sense the anxiety coming from him. Worry. Despite her desire for independence, Mercedes knew Charles Wind Talk was a good father. "Have you been eating well?"

"Yes, father," she answered. Not quite a lie: she was eating well. She managed the salary from her part-time job well enough to pay for rent, food, supplies, and other needs. Her father did not need to know about her romance with fast food. "I take it everyone else is healthy as well."

"They are. Your sister wishes to join you."

Mercedes pursed her lips. Neither her nor her father wanted that. "Please send her my regards."

"I will. Be careful, out there."

"I will."

"I will call again, soon."

Mercedes hung up. A flicker of homesickness lit in her chest, but she shook it off. Missing home was natural. Shutting oneself in it was not.

Pocketing her phone, she considered her next move as she pulled her bike into the street.

Finding the stray devil was a non-issue. The wind was her eyes and ears. The wind, unfortunately, could not help her catch the devil. Even on her bike, she was always too late . If she had assistance, or at least information on the devil's next target, she could set up an ambush and deal with the problem.

"I should have had him stay," she said aloud to herself.

That survivor. He would have been good bait. The stray had showed interest in finishing the job, after all. But she had made the short-term decision to send him off, and that was that.

―Or was it?

That survivor had been in her campus, had he not?

His name was unknown to her, but he was a devil. By that reasoning, his presence on campus would not have gone unnoticed. Contacting the appropriate people could shed light on his identity... and perhaps, give her a means to contact him. The plan seemed plausible in her mind. And maybe having a devil give her a hand would rouse the local exorcists to do something to avoid having their sworn enemy prove better.

"It is worth a shot."

A harsh ringing startled her awake.

Samantha rolled in her chair, her eyes feeling swollen and heavy. Blindly, she grabbed her phone before glancing at the screen. It wasn't the number she hoped for.

She considered ignoring the call―she didn't owe her attention to anyone right now―but the Native girl never called her before.

With a voice far hoarser than she expected, Sam answered. "Hello?"

"Exorcist Wilders."

"Sam's fine. You're Mercedes, right?"

Against the background noise―the honking of cars, the roar of a motorbike―Sam strained to hear a response. "I am. I have a request for you, if I may. The devil that recently visited campus. Do you know of it?"

Jon. A snake unwound from her belly. "What about him?"

"I did not mean to offend you," Mercedes answered. "I only wished to ask if you knew about the role it played in the recent shooting."

Jealousy was an ugly beast, especially now that there should have been nothing to be jealous of. Jon was dead, and a devil walked in his body. Wiping her eyes, Sam sighed. "No, I'm sorry about that. Things have been… upsetting for me. Yes, I know about the devil that visited campus. I tried to confront it not long ago, actually. Unfortunately, it gave me the slip. What's the problem?"

"You confronted the shooter?"

"The shooter? … No, I wasn't on campus that night."

"... I see. Let me clarify, then. A stray devil entered campus this past Tuesday with a gun. With that gun, he injured three students and killed one. Were you not aware?"

No, she had not been. Between her boyfriend's death and said boyfriend's body being worn by a devil, she had little time to consider recent events. But the revelation almost knocked her from her chair. Not from shock, but fury. A stray devil had killed Jon.

Her Jon. "The shooter was a stray?"

"Yes, it was."

"Then… wait, you weren't talking about the devil that came by on Wednesday?"

"No, although I do wish to ask you about him. You see, I have an interest in killing that stray devil. Is that not your duty, as well?"

Sam didn't miss the subtle barb. "It is. I've been distracted, but it is."

"I have been tracking that stray since it entered the campus during the shooting. I have not been able to corner it, let alone kill it. I would like your help in doing so."

"That's good and all, but do you have any idea what it's doing now?"

"It is hunting for the ones it failed to kill."

Sam's thoughts drifted to Jon―or the devil wearing his body. "You want bait."

"If I recall correctly, you mentioned another devil you tried to confront on Wednesday. Am I to believe you are on bad terms with him?"

"It's a devil."

"I think the stray would be interested in finding him."

Sam bit her lip. A conflict arose within her. On the one hand, this could be a chance to kill a pair of devils in one fell swoop―a devil that killed her boyfriend, and the devil wearing her dead boyfriend's body. On the other hand, she had no idea how she would react around that thing in Jon's skin. That first night was almost impossible for her, and the second wasn't much of an improvement. Fear wormed its way into her heart.

"I… think you're right," Sam said. "I'll give you his number."

"Is there a reason you cannot contact him yourself."

"Yes. And it's none of your business." Sam told Mercedes the number, then bid goodbye after arranging meeting details.

Her phone slipped from her hands to her desk.

The mess of papers scattered across her work space showed articles and printouts of the shooting: interviews, news reports, testimonies. Then there were articles about the nature of devils, and ways to overcome their temptations. And as a last bastion of her resolution, a black book sat on the corner of the desk, always within reach.

For one could not spell devil without evil.

"Devils," she spat. "Fucking devils."