4. Chapter 4
We arrive at an unmarked office building. Inside, Sofia leads us down the hall to an unnumbered office, no name on the door. There’s no truer hallmark of a demon-owned property than that there is no signage or indicators of who owns the place.
“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she says, exhaling a nervous breath, hesitating at the door.
I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I trust you, mi esposa.” Yes, I am repeating her words back to her. It’s a useful trick in so many scenarios, but especially now when I want my wife to know that no matter what happens, we’re in this together. Whatever this demon has promised her, it can’t be enough to save us, but she’s not ready to give up. I respect that. As long as she has fight left in her, we’ll keep chasing salvation.
“He said we could go right in,” she says with a darting glance at me.
“Then we should,” I say, and because I want her to feel more confident, I decide to be bold. I grab both handles of the French doors, swing them open, and stride through, making a grand entrance.
“Magleon?” I come to an abrupt halt, surprise rooting me in place. He can’t be the demon we’ve come to see. We’re in the wrong place. My pulse spikes even as my head spins with confusion.
“Samite.” Magleon rises from a plush leather chair behind a stately desk, large as ever. His horns rise over his head with the majesty and menace of flying buttresses on a Gothic cathedral. My mouth goes dry.
It’s been a long time. He looks different, heavier set, and better dressed, yet the same. The back of his eyes light up in a swirl of yellow that I’d almost mistake for a welcome, but I know better than to expect that from him.
“Come in. I’m so pleased you’re here. Thank you, Sofia, for facilitating this overdue reunion.” He turns to my wife and, pressing a hand to his chest, he bows his head to her.
This can’t be happening. I’m hallucinating.
“Won’t you have a seat?” He gestures to the matching armchairs in front of his desk, a polite smile stretched wide over his sharp teeth. He always had really good teeth. I was so jealous that at one point, I nearly filed mine to match. “May I offer you a drink?”
Sofia answers for us, I think in the negative. Their exchange is drowned out by the sound of questions pinging around inside my head like a pinball machine. When did Sofia meet Magleon? Did he really invite us here? If so, for what purpose? Why would he willingly choose to see me again? He can’t have forgiven me.
Sofia’s hand on my elbow tugs me forward. My feet thud over a plush rug that, even in my daze, I register as a paisley pattern in black and gold. It’s opulent and splendid. He always had very good taste.
“May I belatedly congratulate you on your nuptials?” he asks, raising a glass to us. He’s poured himself a Brimstone Bourbon, still his spirit of choice, I see. Two empty glasses sit untouched on a mirror tray, and I regret that I wasn’t quick enough to take him up on the offer. I could use a stiff drink. He returns to his seat, swirling his glass slowly over the black-stained mahogany with opal inlay.
“I have to admit, it hurt not being invited,” Magleon says, and his brow pinches.
I don’t know what to say to that. I didn’t even consider inviting him to our wedding. If our roles had been reversed, and he’d sent me an invitation, I would have burned it on sight.
“It’s been a decade and a half,” I say, as if that’s the reason and not that I’d assumed he’d never want to see me again.
“What’s fifteen years between childhood friends and old business partners?” He smiles, but there’s a twitch echoing back and forth between his lip and his eye. Whatever he’s holding back worries me. I still don’t know why we’re here. “You were my first, Samite, and I was yours. That’s a bond for life. At least, I always thought it would be. You should have invited me.”
“First what?” Sofia whispers at my side.
“Co-signer,” I whisper back. She pinches my arm, wanting more. I try to ignore her, but she keeps pinching, so I turn to her. “Magleon and I opened the bar together,” I say. She knows the one I’m talking about. I’ve told her the story of the craft cocktail lounge that collapsed under the weight of its own pretentiousness. Even I can see that now, and I’ve never understood the negative connotation associated with the word pretentious.
“I convinced him to invest all of his money. I did the same. We lost everything and went bankrupt,” I add. Back then, same as now, it was my fault the business failed. I should have stuck to the boring but safe investment portfolios favored by my father and brothers. It’s made them very rich, far richer than myself, and they’ve never bankrupted their best friend or killed their wife’s dream. There’s something to be said for the stability of soulless capitalism.
“Yes. We did go bankrupt. I’d forgotten that part!” He laughs, and his shoulders shake with mirth. “Another first we shared.” I give him a curious look. How could he have possibly forgotten that part? He has to be lying. “As you said, Samite, that was a decade and a half ago, or fourteen years and seven months, if anyone wanted to be precise. Water under the bridge. We’ve both made our money back, haven’t we? Besides, Peritorum Sacellum was a beautiful place and an exciting venture.” I cringe at the reminder of the pompous name. I’d originally picked Connoisseur’s Sanctum before I was struck with the brilliant idea of translating it into Latin. Sweet Mother Below, I was a monster.
“I’ll never regret a moment it existed,” Magleon continues. “And watching it fail so spectacularly taught me a few valuable lessons that have served me well, the most valuable being never go into business with someone in their twenties. It’s like strapping your money onto a firework. They shoot up with a flash, dazzle for a heartbeat, and then go out with a fizzle,” he chuckles.
I don’t laugh. I was the twenty-year-old who taught him that lesson, and the shame of it still stings. To be fair, he was also in his twenties. We were both fireworks.
No one says anything, and an uneasy silence settles on us. I glance at Sofia. She looks at me and then at Magleon, and my eyes are drawn to him as well.
“Has Sofia shared my offer with you?” he asks, sipping from his glass, but his casual facade can’t hide the flair of his nostrils or the excited flicker behind his eyes. We’re down to business.
“No,” I reply. “She thought it best I hear it directly from you.”
He nods. “I’ll be blunt then. Ollas Encendidas is an extraordinary restaurant, and I want to help you save it,” he says. “I can fix the problem you’re having with the ‘halo,’ and all I want in return is a small favor. She’s negotiated an excellent deal on your behalf. You could say ‘yes’ now. We’ll shake on it, and I’ll fill you in on the details upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?” Sofia asks.
“My personal residence,” Magleon says with a smile. “Shall we?” he asks, rising from his chair.
“Not so fast.” I motion for him to take his seat. The hairs along my arms tingle, standing on end. Despite our shared history (or maybe because of it), I don’t trust a word he just said. And more than that, no demon worth a dash of brimstone would shake on a deal before the particulars had been hammered out. Does he really think so little of me? “Before we go anywhere, I’ll need to hear more.”
“Samite, come now,” he shakes his head but takes his seat. “This isn’t business. It’s an informal quid-pro-quo amongst friends. Do we really need to make a fuss?”
“I’m afraid so,” I say.
He leans forward, and with a heavy sigh, he rests his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands together. “You know, some might say you owe me this. You bankrupted me, broke off our friendship, and broke my heart in the process. All without a word of apology. After all this time, I assumed you’d welcome the chance to set things right between us.”
My stomach twists, and I can’t hide my grimace. “I do owe you an apology.” Over the years, I’ve imagined this moment many times, what I would say if I ever worked up the courage to face him. “I’m sorry, Magleon, for—for everything.” It’s not exactly the poetics I’d rehearsed in my head, but he smiles and rises from his chair again.
“Apology accepted!” His arms spread graciously. “Come, friends, let’s take this upstairs.”
“No,” I say firmly. Guilt squeezes my chest, imploring me to give him whatever he wants, but I can’t. “Any deal that involves my wife and our livelihood will be spelled out in very specific language. If you’re serious about your offer, have a seat and call in your contract attorney. I’m sure you’ve got one on standby.”
Magleon snorts in irritation, but there’s still a dancing spark in his eyes. “Alette!” he shouts and not a heartbeat later, the door swings open and a petite fairy in a pencil skirt trots in with a slimline briefcase clutched in her spidery fingers. “It looks like we’ll be needing you tonight after all. Would you mind joining us, pet?” Magleon says.
“Of course, Magleon. At your service.” The fairy dips, giving the faint impression of a curtsy, and takes a seat in what I’m guessing is her usual chair. She whips out a laptop and, without waiting for us, starts typing. “Ready when you are,” she says without looking up.
“Alette, please outline a quid-pro-quo contract, service for service exchange, between myself and Ollas Encendidas, LLC,” Magleon says. “What else would you like to add?” he asks, gesturing to me like I’m a child he’s placating.
“You said you had five fans that would fit inside the halo and a technician who could install them before dinner service tomorrow,” Sofia says, jumping in. “You agreed to cover the cost, and you assured me that if we had any problems with them over the next five years, you’d see to the repairs as well.”
I turn to stare at her. We’re going to have to have a talk after this about what it means to leave operations to me. “He lied to you,” I say, and I turn back to glare at Magleon. “I designed the halo. The components are custom. You don’t have five fans.”
Magleon’s nose wrinkles, and he sucks his teeth, eyeing me for a moment before he speaks again. “When I heard you were looking to get back into the hospitality game, I was certain my oldest friend would come to see me. I even selected a few of our flagship properties to show you, knowing a demon of your tastes would want only the best. But somehow, despite your lengthy search, you avoided any property with my name on it. That was rude.” He scowls. “Even so, I was curious to know what you were getting yourself into. Your property manager is a friend of a friend, and I called in a favor. The halo was the first thing that caught my eye when she gave me the tour.”
I don’t like the sound of this, him poking around our place of business behind our backs. My skin prickles uncomfortably, but I listen without interrupting.
“It really is a beautiful design, one small mechanical issue notwithstanding. My interest was piqued. I did a little digging and bribed your manufacturer to send me my own halo. When it arrived, the potential was so obvious. Every demon-run resort in the world is going to want one of these, and not just in their restaurants. Entryways, ballrooms, wedding venues. There are so many applications for an artful, open-flame centerpiece of such impressive proportions,” he says, and another prickling wave raises the hairs on my arms. With effort, I keep my expression passive, hiding my irritation that he’s not only been poking around behind my back, he’s engaged with my contractors and purchased a product I never authorized for sale.
“I reverse-engineered it, correcting the small issue that was disrupting the electrical supply to the fan motor, and registered my new product with the patent office. Shortly after, I sent your original manufacturer a cease and desist order. They’re fighting me, of course,” he waves his hand dismissively, “but they didn’t design the halo and the person who did never filed a patent. My claim is the only one that will hold up in court.” He leans forward, making purposeful eye contact. “When I said I had five fans, I was being too modest. I should have said I’m the only person on the entire planet who can help you fix your precious halo. Call me a liar again and our negotiations are over.” He grins, baring his sharp teeth.
My blood runs hot.
“?Hijo de puta!You stole his design!” Sofia leaps from her chair.
“I saw an opportunity lying on the table and I took it. That’s business. But I like your fire,” Magleon chuckles. “You picked a good one, Samite.”
“?Come mierda, cabrón!”She tells him to eat shit, and I try not to laugh as I leap up to grab her before she can go over his desk.
“Sofia, Sofia!” When her attention finally snaps to me, there’s a flicker of red in her eyes that startles me. It’s gone in a blink, and I explain it away as a trick of the light or a reflection because now’s not the time to get lost in wondering about my wife’s anomalous traits. “Sit, please. We’re not done negotiating.” It takes a moment for her to do as I ask, and even when she sits, she’s shooting daggers at Magleon. I have to smother a smile. Sweet Mother Darkness, I love this woman, but she’s glaring at the wrong person.
Magleon is not to blame. I did leave an opportunity on the table. That’s on me. I didn’t see the potential in the halo beyond its use in our restaurant, and Magleon did. Demon to demon, I respect that. But he just made a huge mistake. He showed his cards, and now that I know what he’s holding, negotiations are about to get more interesting.
“What do you want from us?” I ask coolly. He said service for service, so I know he’s not after money. What does he want, and more importantly, how much does he want it?
“He wants us to fuck his wife,” Sofia spits out the words. “It’s not going to happen.”
“That’s really all you want?” I turn to Magleon. That’s not what I expected, and I’m a little disappointed. Though, if I’m honest, I’m also a little titillated knowing my wife brought us here with that request on the table.
“I would like to present you as Delira’s Gift,” he corrects, and I straighten up in my chair. Now that’s a lot more interesting.
“That’s what I said, a gift for Delira, his wife.” Sofia is seething and not understanding the terms at play here.
“Delira is not his wife,” I say. She’s misunderstood this bargain.
“No,” he says. “I’m not married. Not in the traditional sense, but I have three partners I care for deeply. We recently declared before Mother Darkness our endless bond, and now I wish to present them with the most intimate gift a lover can bestow.” There’s a quiet reverence in his tone that both surprises and intrigues me. This is important to him.
“Who is Delira then?” Sofia asks. She doesn’t like being out of the loop. It’s irritating her, and if I don’t put her at ease, she’s likely to go off again.
I turn to her and explain the term Delira’s Gifts. “In the demon pantheon of gods, Delira is the goddess of erotic love and the giver of erotic dreams. Giving a gift in her name to a lover is a sacred custom, and as Magleon said, it’s an incredibly intimate act, reserved for those you trust with your innermost thoughts and desires.” Her mouth twitches, but she nods her understanding, and I keep going.
“Typically, these gifts are performed by troupes of professionals who specialize in erotic theater. The giver,” he makes a half gesture towards Magleon, “will describe in detail the fantasy he wishes to give, but not just any fantasy. It should be one that has a grip on his soul, one that tantalizes him in a way he can’t explain. Or it can be one that shames him. Either of those are worthy of gifting because they have the power to render the giver truly naked in front of his loved one, or loved ones in this case.” Sofia shifts uncomfortably in her chair, but she says nothing, so I continue.
“The performers act out the fantasy while the giver and recipients are under the influence of some mix of hallucinogenic or amplification fire magic. In that way, the fantasy becomes a shared experience.” I don’t add that this is more or less where I got the idea of adding a little fire magic to our own Valentine’s celebration. The stuff needed for it is rare and not easy to come by. I only just managed to secure our supply in time, but Magleon’s pockets are deeper than mine. I’m sure he’s had no trouble. “The true gift isn’t the sexual fantasy itself, but the bond that is forged when the giver opens himself up to those he loves and exposes a private and vulnerable part of himself. Does this all make sense?” I ask. Demon culture can be hard to understand from the outside.
“No,” she shakes her head, and crossing her arms, she turns to Magleon. “What would make sense is hiring a troupe of professionals. Why are we here?” she asks. It’s a good question, and I turn to him as well.
He looks at me for a long moment, and it should be impossible to see given his nearly purple complexion, but Magleon blushes, the color deepening all the way from his throat to his horns. His eyes dart sideways. “Alette, will you give us a few minutes, dear?”
The fairy rises from her chair and slips out the door, no questions asked.
Magleon rubs at his chin and clears his throat. “It’s a relatively simple performance, all things considered. A troupe could technically act it out, sure, but that wouldn’t capture the true spirit of the fantasy. I’ve never been shy about showing my lovers what pleases me, and I’m not ashamed of my appetites. Unfortunately, that leaves me with only one fantasy worthy of the gift, and it involves you.” He meets my eye, and I know my expression must be stunned.
“What’s the fantasy?” Sofia asks, and there’s an edge in her voice that I don’t quite know how to interpret.
Magleon’s composure slips a little further. He fidgets and runs his hands through his hair. Sofia must feel it too, the vulnerability of the moment, because she doesn’t press. We both keep quiet and wait. “Are you at least considering taking the contract?” he asks, looking at Sofia instead of me.
She hesitates, and for a moment, I’m sure her answer will be no. “No promises, but we’ll at least consider it. Right?” She turns to me.
I nod, hiding my surprise that she seems at all open to this.
“When Samite and I decided to go into business, we also moved in together. Did he ever tell you that?” Magleon asks Sofia. She shakes her head, no, but she’s not surprised. She knows me. I don’t share any private details without cause.
“We shared an apartment to save on expenses. We’d already been friends for years at that point, and even though I was a couple of years older than him, I’d come to look up to him. He had charm, a magnetic presence, a way of carrying himself that elevated him in my eyes far above anyone else I knew. I worshiped him, my best friend.” He sits quietly for a moment before he shifts in his chair and continues.
“Not long after moving in together, Samite brought someone home, and that night, I learned something about myself and my roommate. The noises they made traveled through the paper-thin walls, hardly dampened at all. It was like the walls weren’t even there, like I was in the room with them. A seed of a fantasy was planted, and each of his subsequent visitors watered it.
“I would lay awake listening to the sounds of their shared pleasure and fantasize about the wall suddenly disappearing. From there, it grew to Samite coming to my room, taking me by the hand, and leading me to a chair he’d set out just for me. I’d sit, and he’d talk me through everything, explaining every touch, showing me every detail he admired in his partner, and I’d learn his secrets of how he drew those wonderful noises from them. In my dreams, it went even further. His thoughts were open to me, and if I tried hard enough, I could influence them and watch him perform on request.”
He finally turns from Sofia back to me. “This is the fantasy, the only one that tantalizes me in a way I cannot explain, an echo from my obsessive youth. A troupe will not suffice—it has to be you.”
Silence falls again. I have no words. I glance at Sofia, and her mouth has popped open. She looks as stunned as I feel.
“If you decide to do this,” he says, clearing his throat and rising from his desk, “you can take the elevator to the twelfth floor. Otherwise, please show yourselves out.” He circles around the desk, heading to the door.
Sofia grabs my arm, and the look on her face tells me everything I need to know.
“We can’t help you, Magleon. I’m sorry. We’ll be going,” I say.
He pauses, hand on the door. “I bought your building.” He doesn’t turn around.
“What?” I ask.
“The space you’re leasing for the restaurant. When Sofia mentioned you didn’t own it, I decided to purchase it myself. I’ll cut your rent in half for one year.”
“You’ll give us the patent,” Sofia says, voice sharpening into a steely command. It’s an aggressive counteroffer, and there’s a sudden tightness in my pants. My wife never ceases to impress me.
Magleon turns around, a snarl on his face. “That’s too much!”
“And you’ll sell us the building,” I add. “For ten percent under fair market value.”
He scoffs and curses under his breath. “In that case, I will insist on a ‘gratification clause’.”
I shake my head ‘no.’
“What’s that?” Sofia asks.
“An escape-hatch loophole,” I say, not bothering to hide my disdain.
“I’m not paying through the nose for an unenthusiastic thrust job. If your performance doesn’t meet my expectations, you get nothing. That’s fair!” Magleon shouts.
“Then your expectations need to be clearly spelled out in writing,” I say, rising from my chair. A gratification clause would allow him to declare himself dissatisfied and void the contract with no explanation required. I would never agree to that.
“Fine. We can discuss the details upstairs,” he says through gritted teeth, then gestures to the door with a jab of pent-up frustration. “I’ll have Alette join us.”
“Give us a few minutes. We’ll be right behind you,” I say, and he departs with a stomp.
I turn to Sofia as soon as the door is closed. “We don’t have to do this.”
“No. We don’t have to,” she says, sliding her hand into mine. “No one can make us do anything. Not Magleon, not anyone. I don’t care what anyone wants but you. If you think this is worth it, then I do, too.” She meets my eye and, squeezing my hand, she waits for me to decide.
Do I think keeping our dream restaurant open and securing our financial future is worth it? It should be an easy question, but it’s not. I won’t know the details until we’re upstairs, but this much is clear: Magleon is going to ask me to shed every layer of privacy I’ve ever wrapped around myself and invite him into my innermost thoughts while I bed my most beloved and precious wife. My skin is prickling like an electric storm, and there’s a clammy sweat trickling down the back of my neck. I pull at my collar.
“You’re worth it,” I say. She’s the only thing that is.