Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
Mal paced the length of the apartment (twelve steps, turn, twelve steps back), his tail lashing behind him. The coffee from earlier still buzzed through his system, making his thoughts race faster than hellfire. He couldn't stop thinking about the way Ethan's hand had felt on his, warm and gentle, before Kyle had interrupted.
He really shouldn’t be thinking about that.
He was a demon. He had a job to do. A soul to collect. A chance to prove himself.
Ethan was his ticket to a better life.
Mal could not let himself start 'caring too much' again.
That kind of incompetence was exactly what had landed him at the bottom of the demonic pecking order.
Keys rattled in the lock.
Quick now, look professional.
Mal’s chest tightened as he sat down on the couch as if he hadn't just worn a path in the carpet.
The door opened. Ethan stepped inside.
One look at his face told Mal everything he needed to know about how the date had gone.
"That bad?" The words slipped out before Mal could stop them.
Ethan shut the door with a quiet click and leaned against it. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You don't have to." Mal's tail curled with uncertainty. "But if you'd like, I could set him on fire. Just a little."
"Kyle's perfect." Ethan's voice cracked on the word. He slumped onto the couch beside Mal, close enough that Mal could smell coffee and defeat on him. "I'm the problem."
"You're not."
"I am." Ethan pulled his knees to his chest, making himself smaller. "He's brilliant, you know? Getting published by Random House. And I just sat there like an idiot, barely able to string two words together about that stupid book."
Mal knew that tone. Had heard it in his own voice too many times after failed assignments and botched soul collections.
"And then this girl came up asking about romance novels." Ethan pressed his forehead against his knees. "Of all the moments to bring up secret baby plots. While he's talking about narrative temporality and post-truth society."
"Secret... baby plots?"
"Romance novel trope. Doesn't matter. He probably thinks I'm an idiot. Everyone else is finding their happily ever after, and I can't even make it through one coffee date without embarrassing myself."
Mal watched Ethan curl tighter into himself, something hot and uncomfortable building in his chest. The feeling reminded him of that morning in Beelzebrock's office, watching other demons parade past with their glowing soul vessels while he sat empty-handed.
He knew too well what it was like to feel... less.
"Wait here." Mal stood, smoothing down his tie. "I have something that might help."
He raised his hands, dark smoke curling from his fingers. The spell was simple enough—a basic summoning he'd learned in his first decade of soul acquisition training. But his magic felt rusty after a century of filing paperwork. The smoke writhed, then coalesced into a container that dropped into his waiting palms.
"Is that... ice cream?" Ethan lifted his head.
"Gelatus Infernalis." Mal managed to catch the container before it slipped from his frozen fingers. "From Hell's finest creamery."
The tub radiated cold so intense it made the air around it shimmer. Frost crackled across its black surface, forming patterns that looked exactly like screaming faces.
"It's, uh, special order." Mal tried for a casual tone. "They have to keep it at approximately negative eight hundred degrees to prevent it from melting in Hell's climate."
Ethan eyed the container warily. "Is it safe for humans?"
"Probably?" Mal conjured a sturdy spoon. "Just don't let it touch your tongue for too long. And maybe don't ask what gives it that purple swirl."
"That's not very reassuring." But Ethan's lips twitched, just slightly.
Mal sat back down, careful to keep a professional distance between them. He was just fulfilling his contract obligations. Keeping his target happy. Nothing more.
"Here." He handed Ethan the spoon. "The trick is to eat it quickly, before it freezes your taste buds."
Ethan looked at the ice cream sceptically."What flavor is this supposed to be?"
"Midnight Pomegranate and Damned Souls." At Ethan's alarmed look, Mal quickly added, "The souls are more of a garnish, really. Mostly it's fruit."
"I think..." Ethan licked his lips. "I think I'll pass on the hell-cream. But thank you for the offer." He set the spoon down. "I have some regular Ben Mal was here for nefarious reasons, and they both needed to keep that in mind.
Ethan spoke again without waiting for Mal. "You’re not getting my soul unless I get what I want."
"And that’s Kyle?" Mal couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.
Ethan got up from the couch and started pacing the small apartment, ignoring Mal’s disregard for his crush. "Maybe the spell just needs to be stronger," he said. "Make me more irresistible. Even to people who read literary fiction and get published by Random House."
"You don't need?—"
"Because clearly, I'm not enough as I am."
"Stop." Mal stood, catching Ethan's arm as he passed. "You are not the problem here."
Ethan went still under his touch. "Then why didn't he stay?"
"Kyle's blindness to your worth isn't a reflection on you." Mal's hand slid down Ethan's arm. "It's his failure, not yours."
"Can you fix that?" Ethan turned to face him. "Do you have a spell that would make him see me?"
"I spent all morning watching you at the library?—"
"You were stalking me?"
"Only in a professional capacity." Mal's tail curled defensively. "Soul acquisition requires thorough target observation."
"I’m not sure that makes it less creepy."
"The point is," Mal pressed on, "I watched how you interact with people. The problem isn't that others can't see your light. It's that you don't see it yourself."
Ethan seemed unconvinced. "So what's your demonic solution for that?"
Mal's eyes fell on the half-eaten container of ice cream. He snatched it up, dark smoke curling from his fingers as he whispered words that made the air crackle. The cookie dough chunks glowed briefly purple, then settled back to their normal golden brown.
"Here." He pressed the container into Ethan's hands. "Eat the rest."
Ethan peered at the ice cream suspiciously. "What did you do to it?"
"Just a small confidence boost. You'll feel better in the morning."
"That would be the first time ice cream actually solved a problem." But Ethan dug his spoon in, anyway, hesitating only briefly before bringing it to his mouth.
Mal watched him eat, trying to ignore the warm satisfaction spreading through his chest.
He was on the right track now; he knew it. He would help Ethan get what he wanted, and then Mal would get what he wanted: the recognition he deserved from his fellow demons.
It was a fair trade.
Wasn’t it?