Chapter 5
Five
AMAZRA
“She’s coming this wa-ay.” Dauphine sings the last word while leaning into the kitchen through the archway.
Deceit is not in my nature. Nor would Dauphine believe me if I attempted to deny knowledge of her reference. I have thought of little else but Lilah since meeting her yesterday.
“Maz.” Dauphine huffs out the shortened, single-syllable version of my name that only she uses. One of many gestures of familiarity and friendship. “The next batch of muffins can wait. You probably have sixty seconds to get out here before she’s at the door.”
“A box of scones is set aside, as I promised, and you are here. My presence is not required.” Though not meeting her gaze directly, the shift in her facial features is unmistakable.
Her eyebrows rise, and her mouth forms a compact smile. “You’re nervous to be around Lilah.”
“I was forged in the hell realm and have experienced things you cannot even imagine, all without a moment of the emotion you describe.”
“So…you’d be totally fine to have Lilah standing in front of you again, her cheeks turning all rosy while she blinks her pretty brown eyes at you?”
“Physical traits are of no consequence when I serve customers.”
“In that case, I’m sure you won’t mind taking over while I use the restroom.” Without hesitation, she removes her apron and hangs it from a nearby hook, smiling wider as she passes. “Say hi to Lilah for me.”
Across the kitchen, my helper laughs under his breath. The sound reaches its strangled death when I stare at him. Silently, he lowers his head and focuses on prepping hand pies.
Out front, the bell above the door chimes.
Even if Dauphine had not alerted me, I would know the customer is Lilah.
Breathing is unnecessary, yet her presence compels me to inhale.
I permit myself only a brief, partial sample of her scent.
Anything more would reveal private details.
Physical condition. Physiological responses.
Such information is beneficial when demons are in service to their liege in hell.
Exercising restraint does not stop me from wanting to know everything about her. A desire I have never experienced until she walked into my bakery.
The restroom door remains firmly closed, even when Lilah’s soft “Hello?” drifts in from the front of the bakery.
Dauphine is not going to rescue me, as she described it yesterday when she intervened with my kitchen helper. Today she has done the opposite.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I step through the archway. I have always believed that as a demon in this realm, I am solid yet empty. Shallow, superficial. A soulless immortal creature existing among the living.
The sensations I first experienced when Lilah crossed the boundary, which have grown steadily since—awareness, depth, possibility—ripple through me when I meet her gaze. As described, her brown eyes open wide, and pale pink rises to the surface of her lovely face.
One deep breath would tell me the reason for her instinctive reaction to my presence. Fear, uncertainty, curiosity, shyness, embarrassment… Whatever the reason, it will remain unknown to me unless she chooses to share it. I will not use my nature to take advantage of her.
“Hi. You told me to come, so I came.” The color in her cheeks deepens after the last word leaves her full lips.
“Not that I expected you to be waiting for me. Or to remember I was going to stop in to check if you had any of the cinnamon scones available. But I see that you do,” she says, lightly tapping on the display case glass.
“I’ll take one, please. Oh, and thank you again for the treats yesterday.
They were wonderful. I probably shouldn’t have eaten them all last night, but I couldn’t resist. Good thing I’ll be staying at Holly’s cabin for the foreseeable future; walking to and from the veterinary clinic will burn some of the calories.
Unfortunately, it’ll probably take a lot more exercise than that to compensate for my addiction to baked goods. ”
My gaze follows her hand downward as she pats below her waist. The same gesture as yesterday, when she made a similar remark.
I do not understand many of the nuances that humans and other emotionally driven species engage in during conversation.
Nor do I comprehend their preference for this method of communication when directly stated facts are more efficient.
Guessing, or caring to, is not in my nature.
Yet I find myself doing so with every word Lilah speaks.
It is…frustrating. Another new sensation.
Keeping my eyes locked with hers, I reach under the counter for the box of cinnamon scones I set aside. “The word ‘unfortunately’ suggests you do not enjoy exercising.”
“Honestly, I hate it. Not walking and other outdoorsy, leisurely activities—I like those. But the hardcore kind of intense exercise necessary to slim down? Hate it. Obviously.”
“I do not understand how it is obvious,” I say, sliding the bakery box toward her.
“Because I’m…not thin.” The deep pink that had receded once again blooms on her skin.
Beginning on the highest curve of her cheeks, it spreads down her neck and across the swell of her rapidly rising and falling breasts, visible in the low, scooping neckline of her top.
The light garment makes it easy to see the fullness of her body.
If she welcomed it, I would worship every lush curve. But she is human and I am demon. She emanates goodness, and I spent immeasurable time serving malevolence. No amount of penance would make me worthy.
It is not my place to tell her any of those things.
“You do not need to exercise,” I say instead.
Long dark hair worn loose today, it falls over one side of her face when she tucks her chin downward. “That’s a kind thing to say.”
“I did not say it to be kind.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders jerk, her posture stiffening.
My understanding of human body language is not extensive, but adequate to interpret hers as a negative response.
“I spoke honestly, not to soothe any discontent you feel about your form.” My words elicit no change in her position, indicating failure to correct my unintentional offense.
“Your form requires no alteration to be pleasing.”
At that, she looks up at me from beneath dark, fluttering lashes. Tucking the curtain of shimmering hair behind her ear reveals more of her lovely rosy skin. “Thank you.”
“If my manner of speaking or selection of words caused you distress, it was an unfortunate side effect of my inexperience with social communication.”
“No, you didn’t say anything wrong. It’s me.” Averting her gaze, she focuses on the box, steadying it with one hand and tracing the logo with one slender finger from the other. “I’ve been told I’m too sensitive.”
I resist the urge to reach out and tip her chin up. This response, this longing, should not be possible, yet it burns inside me. Because of her. For her. Is this the experience of mortals? Need that threatens to overwhelm? Desire to protect and provide? It is chaos. Yet I do not want it to end.
Terminating her sadness will require more than staring. More than silence. “I would like to give you assurance that your level of sensitivity is within normal range. However, being a hell demon, I am unqualified to assess the quantity of sensitivity you possess.”
A small smile curves her lips as she raises her head enough to meet my eyes again. “Sensitivity isn’t something that can be measured. It’s a judgement thing. A matter of opinion.”
“I do not understand the choice to assign value to such untrustworthy, illogical things, especially when they affect you negatively.” Again, my words cause the light to dim in her eyes and her smile to fall away.
“I have upset you. I will limit my conversation to bakery topics and casual pleasantries appropriate for business.”
“Please don’t,” she says, leaning forward in a manner that causes the counter to push her breasts higher. “I was hoping…” A fresh wave of pink blooms on her cheeks. “I’d like to get to know you.”
“There is not much to know. Demons are simple creatures.”
“I highly doubt that.” Even in its briefness, her subsequent laughter floats on the air like a sweet song.
“As for your not-quite-a-question, sometimes it’s not a choice to give value to another person’s opinion, especially if they’re an important figure in your life.
Even if what they’re saying is negative.
Being told something repeatedly, it can seep into you, rewire your brain.
Become your personal lore. Then it’s hard to unbelieve it. ”
“This person who told you that you are too sensitive, they are an important figure in your life?”
“He used to be,” she says, more quietly than the previous words. “Or I thought he was. But he’s not anymore. Not important and not in my life.”
Inside my chest, there is a sensation of weight lifting. Of space being created. Unusual, but pleasant. “Yours is the only opinion that should matter.”
“I agree with your opinion.” Light returns to her eyes, along with a smile to her lips. “But I wish I hadn’t unloaded so much of my hot mess. I should probably stay away until I’ve got myself sorted out enough to converse like a cool cucumber.”
“I prefer you do not stay away. I enjoy hearing all of your words and feelings, regardless of temperature.”
Again, she laughs. A sound which holds no actual magic, yet seems to make the air sparkle. “Okay, then I’ll be back tomorrow for another scone, and if you’re here, more conversation.”
“I will be here.”
“Great,” she says, smiling and reaching into the small bag hanging from one shoulder. “How much do I owe you today?”
“I do not require payment.”
She tilts her head to one side. “And I don’t require pity, even though I might’ve made it sound that way.”
“Hell-born demons are incapable of feeling pity. To experience such an emotion would interfere with the duties for which we were created.”
Her lips part briefly, then close and curve downward. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“No, not in the literal sense. I meant it as, I’m sorry you lived that way, having to do whatever things you were created to do, which must have been horrible things if feeling pity for another would’ve been a hindrance.”
I have never revealed my purpose in the hell realm to a mortal. Lilah would recoil. There would be no more conversations. That is how it should be.
Tightness in my chest and throat, sensations that should not be physically possible, prevent me from divulging details that would undoubtedly send her away. “I am here now, and my duties are peaceful.”
No sooner have the words left my mouth, then a cacophony of metal against metal and tile erupts from the kitchen, followed by the familiar pained groan of my kitchen helper.
“I think you spoke too soon,” Lilah says, her momentary wide-eyed expression settling.
“I’ve got it! Everything’s under control!” Dauphine calls from the kitchen.
My desire to remain close to Lilah holds me in place, but my jaw clenches with every additional clatter in the adjoining room.
“I better go, so you can take care of that.” All signs of previous dismay are gone from her expression and posture.
A hint of pink remains in her cheeks, and her eyes glitter like dark gems as she smiles up at me.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, and I’ll think of you when I’m enjoying this later,” she says, gently shaking the bakery box in her hands while stepping back from the counter.
And I will think of her every minute until she returns.