Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Mal was deeply invested in a contestant's attempt to save a collapsing chocolate structure when the apartment door flew open. His head snapped around as Ethan burst in, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with excitement.
"How did things go at the library?" Mal asked, hiding the fact that he'd spent some time watching the human's awkward attempts at socializing through a scrying mirror. Sadly, he wasn't very good at scrying magic, so he hadn't been able to do it for long, and what he'd seen… had been painful.
But in spite of this, Ethan seemed… happy?
His soul seemed to glow even brighter than usual, pulsing with an energy that made Mal want to claim him even more than when he'd first seen him.
"Can't talk!" Ethan tossed his bag aside and disappeared into his bedroom. "Got a date!"
Mal's tail went rigid in surprise. "A date? With the library human? Already?" He corrected himself. "I mean, of course you do. I worked powerful magic on you."
"Yes! With Kyle!" Ethan's voice carried through the open door, accompanied by the sound of clothes being frantically shuffled. He emerged wearing a burgundy sweater that made him look positively huggable. "Your magic didn't work, but I still got a date!"
"Didn't work?" Mal didn't understand. He'd seen it work. "That's not possible. My spell should have?—"
"No time to explain!" Ethan grabbed his keys, practically bouncing with nervous energy. "Meeting him for coffee in thirty minutes!"
"Wait, Ethan!" Mal reached out, but too late.
The door slammed shut, leaving Mal alone with the fading echo of Ethan's excitement. He sniffed the air where Ethan had stood, catching the scent of anticipation and a trace of cologne the human must have hastily applied.
Without even thinking, he switched off the TV and straightened his tie.
He had something more interesting than Netflix to observe.
Ethan arrived at The Daily Grind a little too early for his date, notebook clutched to his chest like armor. He hadn't had a moment to think in between his dash home and getting here, but now that he was here…
He felt a little uneasy.
The coffee shop buzzed with the usual afternoon crowd. Students sprawled across mismatched armchairs, young professionals huddled over laptops, clinging to the last dregs in their cups. A pair of professors graded papers by the window.
In short, there were lots of witnesses… or targets… in case his demon-enhanced... whatever this was... got out of hand again.
No, Ethan told himself.
It was going to be fine.
This date was going to go perfect.
He took a deep breath and chose a corner table, positioning himself so he could watch for Kyle's approach while reviewing his hastily scribbled notes on The Nightless Sky . He’d collected these via Google because his own personal opinion was still that he would have liked to fling the book across the room.
"Excuse me?"
Ethan looked up to find a student hovering by his table, laptop clutched to her chest, pink creeping across her cheeks. "Is anyone sitting here?"
Oh, this again.
"Actually, I'm waiting for someone." Ethan tried a smile to soften the blow.
"Oh! I could keep you company until they arrive?" She tucked her hair behind her ear. "I make great conversation."
"That's... I’m kind of busy." He gestured at his notes.
The girl retreated, but two women at the next table kept sneaking glances between sips of their lattes. The barista nearly overfilled a cup because she was staring in his direction.
Ethan's skin prickled. This was even worse than the library. There he'd had his familiar surroundings to boost his confidence—and his best friend. Here he felt alone and exposed, like a book someone had left open on display.
The bell above the door chimed.
Ethan’s eyebrows shot up when he saw who came in.
Was that Mal ?
The demon looked deceptively human in his slightly singed navy suit. He wasn’t sporting his tail, and there were no signs of horns hiding in his dark hair.
He scanned the room with the air of someone trying very hard to look like they belonged in a coffee shop.
Their eyes met. Mal's lips curved into a smile that was probably meant to be mysterious and demonic but looked more relieved than anything else.
"What are you doing here?" Ethan asked as Mal approached the table.
"I thought I'd check how you were doing. Since you claimed my spell didn't work. But you're actually drawing a lot of attention." He glanced around while a woman nearby walked into a chair because she was too busy watching their table.
"Well, yeah." Ethan let out an exasperated breath. "Everyone but Kyle is affected."
"Oh? And where is Kyle now?"
"He's not here yet."
"I see." Mal slid into the chair opposite Ethan.
"So what is going on?" Ethan asked.
"Um." Mal scratched the back of his neck. "You see, the spell is… calibrated for maximum efficacy through... inverse supernatural attraction matrices, and those can be very finnicky."
Ethan blinked at the demon. Were those words supposed to mean anything, or was Mal just desperately trying to cover up his failure? "You're making that up," he ventured.
"I most certainly am not! It's very complex demonic magic. Very technical. The... the thaumaturgical resonance frequencies need to harmonize with the target’s aura."
Ethan crossed his arms. "You have no idea why it didn't work, do you?"
"I am a highly qualified demon!" A wisp of smoke curled from Mal's collar before he hastily patted it out. "With extensive experience in..."
Ethan stopped listening when he noticed someone trying to take his picture.
He groaned.
This made Mal notice the nerd with the camera as well.
The next moment, the camera burst into flames. A whisper of shocked gasps swept through the coffee shop, along with a cry of outrage from the poor man seeing his expensive equipment burn away to nothing. "I just bought this last month!"
Ethan’s gaze snapped to Mal. "What was that?"
"Nothing," the demon claimed. "The human was annoying me."
"So you broke his toy? What are you, five?"
"I’m a little older than five centuries," Mal said with clear indignation.
Five centuries???
Ethan shook his head. "Well then, act your age… I guess?" How was someone supposed to act when they were that old?
Mal watched the human with the broken camera leave the shop, and then he turned his attention back to Ethan. "You know," he started, "if you could see how brightly your soul shines, you wouldn’t be surprised by all this attention."
Ethan didn’t know what to make of that.
He had a bright soul?
Was the demon mocking him?
No, it didn’t seem that way. Mal looked very serious, almost too serious. There was something intense in his gaze that made a shiver run down Ethan's spine, but not in the uncomfortable way that all the unwanted attention from the coffee shop patrons had.
This was a warmer sensation.
A smile tugged at Mal’s lips. "If you could see it, you would know why people are drawn to you. That’s really all I wanted my spell to do. To reveal your natural shine."
"My natural shine?"
"Your soul is bright like a sunrise breaking through storm clouds. Like starlight on new snow. Pure and warm and…" He caught himself, clearing his throat. "This is from a demon’s perspective, of course. I just opened other people’s eyes to it."
Heat crept up Ethan's neck. No one had ever described him like that before. Like he was truly special instead of just... awkward. "If that’s what your spell did," he made himself ask, "why can’t Kyle see it?"
"I don’t know," Mal admitted. "Not everyone is susceptible to the light of an innocent soul, I suppose."
"Innocent?" Ethan asked. "Wait, is that what it’s about? I’m not special, I’m just a virgin?" His cheeks flamed as he spoke.
How fucking embarrassing.
"No!" Mal said quickly. "I mean, that helps, but it’s not…" He fumbled with his words. "No one glows like that just because they haven’t lain with another. Your light comes from your soul, and the soul isn’t touched by carnal pleasures."
Ethan tried to process what Mal was trying to tell him and found that he couldn’t.
Too much had happened in the last 24 hours, and he really needed a break from things that made no sense. "You know what?" he asked, getting up. "This is a coffee shop. Let’s get some coffee."
"Coffee?" Mal glanced toward the counter.
"You said there was no decent coffee in hell, so we’ll get you some decent coffee. Come on."
Mal stood, and they approached the counter together. Ethan ordered his usual: large dark roast, black. Simple. Reliable. A drink that matched the serious, literary discussion he was supposed to be preparing for.
Mal, on the other hand, stared at the menu board like he'd discovered a new language.
"What's a... caramel mac-chiato?"
"Sweet espresso and steamed milk with caramel drizzle," Ethan explained. "Very sweet."
Mal's eyes lit up like a child discovering candy existed. "I'll try that. And... what's a 'white chocolate macadamia cream cold brew'?"
"That’s diabetes served in a tall glass. Do demons get diabetes?"
"No."
Ethan grinned. "Then definitely have one."
"Maybe later," as if he suddenly remembered he was supposed to be an intimidating demon.
"Suit yourself," Ethan said.
Their order came up a moment later. They took their mugs back to their table, and Ethan found himself watching Mal's face as the demon took his first sip of sugary coffee.
Mal's eyes went wide. He stared at the cup like it had personally betrayed him, then took another sip. And another.
"This is..." He felt himself starting to smile and quickly rearranged his features into something more demonic. "Adequate. For mortal beverages."
"Just adequate?" Ethan settled back into his chair, surprised to find himself fighting a grin. There was something endearing about watching someone try so hard to look unimpressed.
"The caramel adds a certain..." Mal paused, as if searching for an appropriately demonic description. "Sinful decadence?"
"It's just sugar."
"Well, we don’t have anything like this in hell." Mal took another sip, longer this time. A bit of whipped cream caught on his upper lip. "I mean, we have sugar. But our coffee tastes like a roast of broken dreams and regrets. This is so different from that." He looked at his beverage in wonder.
A whisper from the next table over caught Ethan's attention. He tensed, but the other customers seemed to have lost interest in him for now. They were watching Mal instead.
Ethan couldn’t blame them.
He found the demon very interesting to watch himself. He wanted Mal to keep talking.
"What else don't you have in Hell?" he found himself asking.
"Everything's just..." Mal's free hand moved through the air, trying to shape concepts into words. "Darker. Worse versions of things. The coffee is miserable. The chairs are always uncomfortable. The break room microwave only heats the edges of things."
"You have microwaves in Hell?"
"Hell's very corporate." Mal grimaced and took another sip of his coffee. "Lots of meetings about meetings. Quarterly soul quotas. Endless paperwork. Where do you think you mortals got all that bullshit from? We let you copy our homework."
"Huh. I guess then people aren’t exaggerating when they’re talking about corporate hell."
"They’re really not." He let his gaze sweep the coffee shop. "You all don’t know how good you have it up here. I was stuck in hell without a topside assignment for a century."
"That sounds rough."
"It was." Mal drank the last of his coffee in big gulps, as if the heat of the beverage didn’t make that uncomfortable. Then again, he was a demon. "It’s all good now," he said as he set the empty mug down. "You summoned me and broke me out." A genuine smile accompanied his words.
A smile that made Ethan feel fuzzy on the inside as it focused on him.
Suddenly, he had the strong urge to move.
He rose from his chair. "You know what? I’ll get you that fancy drink with the funny name you were eyeing."
"The diabetes?"
"Exactly!"
"You don’t have to?—"
But Ethan was already on his way to the counter.
He wasn’t attracted to Mal, was he?
Sure, he looked nice in his suit, even if it was a little singed, and there was something about the depth of his dark eyes that made Ethan feel like he could fall right in. Something about his lips that?—
No.
Ethan stopped himself as he reached the counter.
He was not going to entertain those thoughts about a demon who wanted to collect his soul.
But even the barista was sneaking glances at Mal while she rang him up. "Your friend's cute," she whispered as she handed Ethan his receipt. "Is he single?"
"He's a demon," Ethan said without thinking.
She laughed. "Yeah, guys in suits usually are. But like, actually single?"
Ethan retreated without answering. But he couldn’t shake the question.
Was Mal single? Did demons even date?
When Ethan returned to their table, Mal looked at him with such joy that Ethan found it difficult to stick to his resolve not to think about such things.
No, it was the drink Mal was looking at.
Not Ethan.
Ethan set the tall glass down. "Here you go."
Mal immediately grabbed the glass and took a sip.
"This is..." His eyes drifted shut. "I think I finally understand why people sell their souls."
"For sugary coffee?"
"For joy." Mal grinned, then sat up straight. "Which is very useful information for future soul acquisition projects, of course."
"Of course."
But Mal couldn't quite manage to look sinister while savoring his drink, making little happy sounds with each sip. Within a minute, the glass was half-empty.
Belatedly, Ethan wondered if it was a good idea to get his demon hopped up on caffeine. He’d be up all night watching The Great British Bake-Off again.
Still, it was difficult to begrudge him the simple pleasures he’d been denied in hell.
"Why were you stuck down there for so long?" Ethan found himself asking. "I mean, why didn’t you get 'topside assignments'?"
Mal’s expression clouded. "I got banned from Earth after my last mission."
"What does a demon have to do to get banned from Earth?"
A grimace formed on Mal’s face. "I was supposed to be collecting a soul. Easy assignment. The man was a gambling addict. The kind of person who'd bet his own grandmother on a horse race." He took another sip, slower this time. "Should have been simple to corrupt him fully."
"But?"
"But he had children. And his wife was sick. And he just..." Mal's fingers drummed against the glass. "He needed someone to talk to. That's all. Just some support."
Something in Mal's voice made Ethan lean forward. "What did you do?"
"I listened." Mal wouldn't meet his eyes. "And then I might have... suggested he find others who were struggling with the same problems. Set up weekly meetings. Share their stories. It turned into The Last Bet Alliance ." He grimaced. "Created the most outrageous paperwork headaches in Hell's bureaucracy. Do you have any idea how many forms you have to fill out when you accidentally start a support organization?"
"You created The Last Bet Alliance ?" Even Ethan had heard of that massively successful support group for gamblers.
"I told my supervisor it was strategic!" Mal's cold drink started steaming. He didn’t seem to notice. "Get all the gambling addicts in one place, I said. Easy mass soul collection! But then they all started... supporting each other. Getting better." He ran a hand through his hair. "It is very hard to corrupt a soul once someone's developed healthy coping mechanisms."
"You're really bad at your job, aren't you?"
The words slipped out before Ethan could stop them. Mal's shoulders slumped, and his drink cooled again.
"I mean..." Ethan reached across the table without thinking, laying his hand over Mal's. The demon's skin was warm, like sun-baked stone. "I think it's good to be bad at being bad."
Mal stared at their joined hands. Something shifted in his expression, surprise melting into something softer, more vulnerable.
Neither of them moved.
"Oh, you brought a friend?"
Kyle's voice shattered the moment. Ethan snatched his hand back, heart racing. Kyle stood by their table, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised at the evidence on their table that showed they’d been here for a while already.
"He's, uh..." Ethan's mind went blank. He hadn't thought about how to explain Mal's presence.
"Just leaving, actually." Mal stood, straightening his tie, expression closed off. "Enjoy your literary discussion."
He walked away before Ethan could say anything. The bell above the door chimed, and he was gone.
He hadn’t finished drinking his white chocolate macadamia cream cold brew.
Kyle settled into the chair Mal had vacated. "Ready to discuss The Nightless Sky ?"
Ethan's palm still tingled where it had touched Mal's hand. He forced himself to focus on Kyle, on the coffee date he'd wanted for so long. This was his chance. His happily ever after.
So why did it suddenly feel like an interruption?
Ethan shook himself out of his stupor. He was being ridiculous. "You want to get yourself some coffee before we start?"
"Actually, I will." Kyle glanced toward the counter. "I think I'll treat myself today."
Ethan nodded, trying to focus on Kyle instead of the lingering warmth in his palm. He watched as Kyle approached the counter, noting the confident way he carried himself. Like he owned any place he moved through.
So different from the awkward demon whose company Ethan had entertained just now.
Kyle returned with an espresso and a slice of lavender lemon cake on a small ceramic plate.
"Special occasion?" Ethan asked, proud that his voice didn’t come out squeaky in the presence of his crush.
"You could say that." Kyle's smile held a secret, and God, Ethan had dreamed about that smile for months now. "My agent just called this morning. We've got a contract."
"Your agent?"
"Mm." Kyle took a sip of his coffee with the appreciation of a true connoisseur. "Random House is interested in my novel. The one I've been working on? About the disillusioned professor who discovers his entire academic career is based on a misinterpreted Victorian text?"
"That's..." Ethan’s voice squeaked again. Damn it. He’d known Kyle was amazing, but he hadn’t known how amazing. All those times he'd watched Kyle writing during his breaks, those elegant hands dancing across his laptop keyboard… he'd been crafting something magnificent enough for Random House. "That’s…wow. I mean, of course they want it. You’re brilliant." He cut himself off, cheeks burning.
"Thank you." Kyle took the praise easily as he cut into his cake. "It's nice to finally have my literary sensibilities recognized. Speaking of which— The Nightless Sky . What did you think of the nested narrative structure?"
Ethan's mouth went dry. He'd spent an hour gathering his thoughts about the book, but suddenly everything he could say felt stupid and uninformed. What did he know about literary sensibilities? Kyle was about to be a published author. Kyle understood things about literature that Ethan could only dream of grasping.
"I found it..." He took a sip of coffee to stall, searching a good word to end his sentence. "Complex."
He sounded like a dunce, didn’t he?
Kyle cut into his lavender cake. "Complex? In what way?"
"The nested narratives..." Ethan's throat felt dry. "The way the stories fit together..."
"Precisely! The interwoven temporalities create a fascinating commentary on the nature of narrative itself." Kyle set down his fork. "The way the Victorian narrative frame creates a lens through which we view the contemporary plotline, it's a masterful critique of how modern storytelling remains shackled to outdated forms, wouldn't you say?"
Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hadn't thought about any of that while reading. He'd just found it confusing, all those storylines tangling together without ever seeming to make a point.
He just didn’t have the level of insight Kyle did, obviously.
"And of course, the unreliable narrator in the secondary timeline provides a perfect metaphor for the fractured nature of truth in our post-truth society." Kyle's eyes lit up as he spoke, hands gesturing elegantly to emphasize his points.
God, he was beautiful like this, all passionate about literature. Even if Ethan only understood about half of what he was saying.
"That's what I'm exploring in my novel, actually." Kyle leaned forward. "The way academic discourse shapes our understanding of reality. My protagonist thinks he's made this groundbreaking discovery about a Victorian text, builds his whole reputation on it." Kyle's voice took on the smooth cadence of someone who'd practiced this pitch. "But then he finds evidence that suggests he fundamentally misunderstood the author's intent. It raises fascinating questions about the nature of truth in academia."
Ethan tried to look fascinated rather than overwhelmed. A Victorian text. Like in The Nightless Sky . Kyle probably thought that parallel was incredibly clever. Ethan should say something about that. Something intelligent.
"That's..." he managed.
Don’t say 'complex’ again.
A movement caught Ethan's eye. A young woman had been hovering near their table, clutching a paperback to her chest. Now she stepped forward, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "But aren't you the librarian who recommended ' The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée ' last week?"
Ethan blinked. "Oh! Yes, that was me."
"I just wanted to tell you it was perfect. You were exactly right about the fake dating tension and the emotional payoff." Her smile brightened. "Do you have any other recommendations?"
Heat shot into Ethan’s cheeks. "Actually, if you liked the fake dating trope, you might enjoy—" He stopped, glancing at Kyle. Romance novel recommendations probably weren't the sophisticated literary discussion he'd been aiming for.
But the woman leaned closer. "Yes?"
" 'The Quarterback's Secret Baby ,'" Ethan found himself saying. "It sounds ridiculous, but trust me. The emotional depth when he realizes he's been pushing her away because of his own abandonment issues..." He trailed off, feeling the weight of Kyle’s gaze on him.
Kyle was looking at him strangely. Really looking at him, maybe for the first time since they'd sat down. "I didn't know you were so... enthusiastic about that kind of fiction."
Something in his tone made Ethan wither. Of course Kyle wouldn't be impressed by secret baby plots and sports romances. He'd just been talking about thematic resonance and the instability of meaning, and here was Ethan gushing about trashy genre fiction.
"I'll definitely check that out," the woman said, seemingly oblivious to Ethan's discomfort. She shifted her weight, like she was about to say something else.
Kyle's phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen and straightened. "Sorry, I need to take this. It's my agent."
Kyle pushed back his chair. "Just gonna step outside for a minute."
"Of course." Ethan's voice came out too high. "I'll be here."
The woman took Kyle's exit as an opening. "I'm Emily, by the way. I'd love to talk more about romance novels."
But Ethan couldn't focus on what she was saying. His eyes kept drifting to the window, watching Kyle pace back and forth on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear. Kyle's face lit up as he talked, his free hand gesturing with the same enthusiasm he'd shown discussing his novel.
Emily was still talking. Ethan nodded at what felt like appropriate moments, but his attention remained fixed on the window.
Kyle ended his call. Stepped to the curb. Raised his hand.
A cab pulled up.
Ethan's throat tightened as he watched Kyle climb in without a backward glance. Without even coming back for his half-finished cake.
"Are you okay?" Emily's voice seemed to come from far away.
"Fine." Ethan stared at Kyle's empty chair.
He was not fine.
How could he talk to people about romance while his own love life was in absolute shambles?