24.4

 

Roisin looks at Steve, who is trying to act nonchalant but is completely failing to hide his fear of the newcomer. “That answers a lot of questions. Were you born as Christopher Marlowe, or was that just an identity you took at the time? How old are you, really? Are you even human?”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t let this old Nick turn you against me the moment he shows up. He’s not called the Father of Lies for nothing, you know. I’m still Steve, just as you’re still… whoever you were before you were Roisin. Yes, I’m perfectly human, I’m just a lot older than I look, and I change my identity every twenty years or so, usually moving away from everyone who knows me and starting an entirely new life. It gets harder every time, actually, especially when they started computerising  records. In the old days you’d just make a note of any babies who didn’t survive and assume their identity without any being any the wiser, but these days it gets harder and harder, especially if I try to keep any assets I had between one pseudonym and the next.”

“And this house?”

“Belongs to me, yes. I am the landlord I pretended was my father. I bought this house when it was built in sixty-eight, thinking to sell it on and stash some of the profits for use in my next incarnation, but there was a bit of a legal mess with the paperwork, so I pretended to be my own son to keep control of it. Normally I can make a killing on a bit of property if I just hang on to it for a century or two and then I move to a new country and a new life.”

“Hence your knowledge of languages.”

“Quite.”

Astaroth leans forward. “Are you still human, though, Christopher? You’ve had a lot of advantages over your peers since we concluded out last piece of business.”

“Of course I’m human.” Steve adopted a hunched pose with both his hands outstretched, palm upward. “If thou doth prick us, do we not bleed?”

“Merchant of Venice.” Paul laughed with delight. “I remember that one. Wait! Are you Shakespeare as well?”

“Ha!” Astaroth leaned back again, placing one foot on top of the other knee in the epitome of manspreading everywhere. “That was when he first called on me for aid.”

Steve looked at the Nephilim towering over them both. “We got into an argument, Will and me, over the little matter of who got to put their play on at the King’s theatre. He was still an up-and-coming in those days, less talented than you’d think and a country bumpkin to boot. We were drinking in Deptford one night to decide over which of us should present  when our presence was reported to a certain servant of His Majesty King Henry the third who burst into the room intent upon killing me.  It was a complete shambles, of course. All he knew was that he was looking for an actor and a playwright so what was I supposed to do? I acted, of course, and told him Will was his quarry and he ran him through faster than I could call for help.”

“So dear little Christopher summoned me using Shakespeare’s blood and promised me the soul of his firstborn if I could get him out of the mess.” Astaroth laughed mirthlessly. “Of course, I accepted and he took on the mantle of the Bard of Stratford, neatly persuading the King of France that Marlowe was, indeed, dead and ensuring many more prosperous years as the Queens favourite theatremeister.”

Roisin looks from Astaroth to Steve and back again. “And the immortality?”

“Ah!” Astaroth smiles. “He almost had me there. He’s fastidiously never become a father, so I’ve constantly had to extend his lifespan until such time as he slips up.”

Paul stepped forward. “Is that why you’re gay? It is, isn’t it? Can’t father a child if you’re gay.”

“And that was a handy little loophole, too.” Astaroth shook his head. “Shame you cocked it all up by summoning me again. Now your soul is forfeit instead.”

Roisin covered her small ’oh’ of dismay with one hand. “Why would you do that?”

“It was the only way to stop you taking the mantle.” Steve shook his head, sadly. “Better one single soul than the whole world, I thought, and if the price be my soul, then so shall it be. Time to pay the piper for the dance hath been so very merry.”