Chapter 15
Chapter
Fifteen
"Le Petit Jardin" occupied the ground floor of a converted brownstone, its facade done up in carefully distressed cream paint that was probably meant to evoke provincial France. Brass letters above the door gleamed against warm lighting, and through the windows Ethan caught glimpses of exposed brick walls lined with vintage posters of vineyards and cute little cafes on cobblestone streets.
The place had been open for three months and already had a two months wait list.
How had Kyle gotten them a reservation here?
The answer came too quickly: he had a demon on his side.
Ethan pushed the thought away. He was here to help Kyle, to warn him about whatever deal he'd made with Raviel. And maybe... maybe there was still a chance that Kyle's recent interest in him had been genuine. After all, Mal's spells had affected Ethan's behavior without changing who he was inside.
"Ethan!" Kyle's voice cut through his thoughts. "I knew you’d look stunning in green."
Ethan's hand went to his collar. In spite of everything, Kyle’s compliment made him feel warm.
A remnant of his crush?
If he wasn’t careful, it would be easy to lose himself in it.
"Thanks," Ethan made himself say, facing Kyle. "You look nice too."
Kyle wore a perfectly tailored blazer over a cream turtleneck that probably cost more than Ethan's entire wardrobe. He looked exactly like the sophisticated writer Ethan had spent months dreaming about.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
"Shall we?" Kyle gestured toward the door. "I've heard their wine list is exceptional."
Inside, the restaurant was packed with people who all seemed to be speaking just a little too loudly about their latest European vacations. A maitre d' in a perfectly pressed waistcoat greeted them with a smile that only grew wider as Kyle introduced himself.
"Ah, Mr. Edwards. Your table is ready."
As they followed him through the dining room, the other patrons' gazes slid over Ethan like he was invisible, while lingering appreciatively on Kyle.
Ethan couldn’t fault them. Kyle was eye-catching.
But had other people always noticed that to this degree?
He couldn’t say now.
When they got to their table, Kyle pulled out Ethan's chair with a flourish that should have been romantic but felt performative instead.
"The sommelier will be with you shortly," the maitre d' said, handing them leather-bound menus.
Kyle opened his. "The duck here is supposedly transcendent."
Ethan's eyes went straight to the prices and his throat closed up. Fuck, that was a lot of money. "Kyle, about the other day?—"
"I'm thinking of setting a scene here in my novel." Kyle's gaze swept the room. "The atmosphere is perfect for my protagonist's moment of revelation about the hollow nature of success. What do you think?"
Oh, the irony of that statement.
Ethan didn’t even know what to say.
Which was just fine because Kyle had more than enough words for the two of them.
"The way the chandeliers cast shadows across the faces of the diners, the subtle undertones of desperation beneath their laughter..." Kyle gestured with his water glass. "It's all wonderfully metaphoric, don't you think? A commentary on the performative nature of upper-class dining."
A waiter appeared at Kyle's elbow. "Would monsieur like to see the wine list?"
"Yes, excellent." Kyle accepted the second menu without even glancing at the waiter. "Have I told you about my protagonist, Louis? He's going through this fascinating crisis of identity. The way his existential ennui reflects the hollow nature of modern society..."
Ethan glanced at the waiter, who seemed a little lost. Ethan sympathized. How had he never noticed that Kyle didn't actually want anyone's input? That what Kyle really wanted was an audience?
Could that all be Raviel’s doing?
"Kyle," he tried again. "About your book deal?—"
"Random House is flying me to New York next week to meet the editorial team." Kyle's smile looked too bright to be real. "They're already talking about marketing strategies."
"That’s very nice," Ethan made himself say, and if Kyle’s success had been genuine, Ethan really would have been happy for him. But as things stood…
He watched Kyle turn to the waiter and order a bottle of something with a pretentious name for them while Ethan’s mind raced.
"Kyle." Ethan leaned forward when they had relative privacy. "Have you met anyone... unusual lately? Someone who offered to help with your career?"
"Are you asking about my agent?" Kyle's eyes lit up. "I was working late at the library, really struggling with the third act, when this man approached me. He had the most interesting proposition about my novel..."
Ethan's throat went dry. "What kind of proposition?"
"The kind that changes lives." Kyle's eyes took on a distant gleam. "He really understood what I was willing to do to make it."
"What exactly did you agree to?"
"Does it matter?" Kyle took a sip of water. "Look at everything that's happened since. Random House, Ethan. Do you have any idea how many writers would kill for this opportunity?"
The word choice made Ethan flinch.
"And it's only the beginning," Kyle elaborated happily. "My agent says we could be looking at a movie deal. Can you imagine? My words, my vision, up on the big screen."
"But at what cost?"
Kyle's expression hardened for just a moment before his practiced smile slid back into place. "Sometimes you have to sacrifice for your art. Not that I'd expect you to understand. You spend your days recommending mass market paperbacks to housewives."
The words hit like a slap. Not because they were cruel—though they were—but because they confirmed what Ethan had been trying so hard not to see. This was Kyle. The real Kyle. The demon had just made that easier to see.
"Those housewives are people," Ethan said quietly. "With hopes and dreams and full lives of their own."
"Yes, yes, everyone's special in their own way." Kyle waved his hand dismissively. "But we're not talking about them. We're talking about my novel. The themes I'm exploring... the way I deconstruct society's obsession with success..."
Again, that bitter irony.
All this time, Ethan had been attracted to this ?
But self-centered or not, Kyle didn’t deserve to be part of the demonic mess Ethan had created.
His hands clenched in his lap. "You need to listen to me. That man who approached you? He wasn't a literary agent."
Kyle's perfect smile didn't waver. "Of course he was."
"He's a demon." The words tumbled out. "And whatever deal you made, it's going to cost you your soul."
A beat of silence.
Then Kyle laughed. The sound drew appreciative glances from nearby diners. "How delightfully gothic. I should write that down."
"I'm serious." Ethan leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I know because... because I made a deal too. And I know what happens now. Your book will be published. You'll get everything you wanted, but when you die…"
"When I die?" Kyle's eyes glittered with something that wasn't quite amusement. "You really believe this, don't you?"
"You have to break the deal. Step back from the contract."
"Why would I do that?" Kyle's voice was soft, almost gentle. "Do you have any idea how many manuscripts Random House rejects every day? How many writers spend their entire lives trying to get where I am?" He shook his head. "If some mythological force wants to trade eternal success for whatever happens after I'm dead anyway... well, sign me up."
Ethan stared at Kyle, trying to reconcile the sophisticated man he'd spent months pining after with someone who could treat his own soul as a commodity.
His mind flashed to Mal's words about the grinder, about corrupted souls powering Hell's infrastructure. About the Inner Sanctum and whatever horrors awaited particularly valuable souls there.
"You’re taking this too lightly," Ethan insisted. "It's not just after you're dead. Hell is real, and it’s really horrible."
Kyle shot him a pitying look. "Are you trying to make me regret my break-through? Are you jealous?"
"I'm trying to save your soul."
"From what? Success?" Kyle scoffed. "Are you part of a cult now? Because you’re starting to sound like it."
Ethan pushed his chair back. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For thinking I could help you." Ethan stood, his legs shaking. "For being the reason you met this demon in the first place. But mostly? I'm sorry I ever thought I was in love with you."
He turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving Kyle sitting there with his hollow success and his bargained-away soul.
The river caught fragments of streetlight, scattering them across its dark surface. Ethan sat on a low concrete wall, watching the water flow past. His fancy dinner clothes felt wrong here, like he was playacting at being someone he wasn't.
Maybe that's what he'd been doing all along with Kyle.
Kyle had said he looked good in green, but even that compliment had been about Kyle's own taste, his own aesthetic vision. Everything circled back to Kyle's wants, Kyle's needs, Kyle's artistic journey.
How had he spent so long building up a fantasy around someone who couldn't even see other people as real?
The water moved steadily below, carrying leaves and bits of debris toward whatever lay downstream. Ethan watched a plastic cup bob past, thinking about souls flowing toward Hell. About Kyle, trading his so easily for success. About his own soul, promised away without thinking.
He should have felt devastated about Kyle. Instead, all he felt was tired. And maybe a little angry. At Kyle for being so dismissive, at himself for being so blind, at the whole situation for being such a mess.
A presence materialized beside him, bringing with it the faintest scent of wood smoke.
"This seems like an odd place for someone dressed for a fancy dinner." Mal's voice was tentative, like he wasn't sure of his welcome.
Ethan didn't look up. "How did you find me?"
"Demon GPS." A pause. "That was a joke. I, uh, might have a general sense of where you are. Part of the contract."
"I see."
Mal settled onto the wall beside him, leaving careful space between them. They sat in silence for a moment, watching the river flow past.
"So," Mal ventured finally. "How did the date go?"
Ethan shook his head. "About as well as you'd expect when trying to warn someone their literary agent is actually a demon who wants their soul."
"Ah. That well?"
Ethan finally turned to look at the demon. "You weren’t watching?"
"I’m afraid I missed the whole thing trying to get back up to the surface."
"Well, you didn’t miss much." Ethan looked out over the river again, tempted to throw something into it. "He wouldn’t listen to my warnings, and I realized I was stupid for caring so much if he did or not. Stupid for caring about him at all, really."
"You’re not stupid for caring," Mal said. "You’re allowed to care. You’re human."
"Well, I don’t want to care."
"You don’t mean that."
Ethan blew out a breath in exasperation. "How would you know?"
Mal remained silent for a moment, then he said, "I see your soul, remember?"
Ethan shuddered, wondering what exactly it was that Mal saw. Wasn’t it every romantic's dream that someone saw their soul ?
Except that the sight of Ethan’s soul made Mal want to collect, and there was nothing romantic about that.
"That's why you're here, isn't it?" he asked. "To make sure I don't mess up your chance to get my soul?"
"Ethan..." The hurt in Mal's voice made Ethan wince.
"I'm sorry." Ethan dropped his head. "That wasn't fair. I know you're not... I mean, you've been very kind, considering..." He sighed. "I'm just taking my frustration out on you because you're here."
"It's okay." Mal shifted closer, his shoulder nearly touching Ethan's. "I could summon some ice cream if you think it would help?"
Ethan huffed a laugh. "No more ice cream, thanks. I'd rather keep my filter tonight."
"I rather liked you without your filter."
Ethan glanced sideways at Mal, feeling warmth spread through his chest at the smile he found on the demon’s lips. "You did?"
"Kyle might be ugly without his mask, but you’re not."
Ethan's heart did something complicated at those words. He forced himself to look away from Mal's smile, focusing instead on the reflections of street light dancing in the water.
What was he doing, getting excited about a demon complimenting him?
Did he immediately have to come up with a new crush now that he was over Kyle?
His dirty fantasies about Mal came back to him, driving heat into his cheeks.
This had started before all his illusions about Kyle had been shattered.
He bit down on his lower lip. He was being stupid. There was nothing between him and Mal and the demon only wanted his soul.
And they had to clarify on what terms that was going to happen. "Did you find out anything?" he asked, forcing himself to look at Mal. "About, um… virginity?"
Mal watched the blush spread across Ethan's cheeks, trying not to think about what might have caused it. The way Ethan bit his lip was entirely too distracting.
"About virginity?" Beelzebrock's words echoed in his head: Any demon worth their sulfur would choose the interpretation that best serves Hell's interests.
It would be so easy. All he had to do was tell Ethan that a handjob counted. One handjob, and Mal could claim his soul. Clean and simple.
Except nothing about Ethan was simple.
Mal's gaze traced the curve of Ethan's neck, the way his hair fell across his forehead, the genuine concern in his eyes. Eyes that looked at Mal like he was worth something more than his demonic failures.
"It's..." Mal tugged at his collar. The truth stuck in his throat, battling against centuries of demonic conditioning. "The contract terms are actually quite flexible."
"What does that mean?"
Tell him it means whatever Hell wants it to mean, the demonic part of him urged . Tell him you get to decide.
But Mal remembered the way Ethan had wrapped that blanket around himself and asked if Hell would hurt.
He also remembered Raviel's words about pure souls in the Inner Sanctum. The way they screamed. The way they broke.
"It means..." Mal's tail curled in on itself. "It means I'm supposed to interpret the terms however would get your soul to Hell the fastest."
Ethan went very still beside him. "Oh."
"Any proper demon would tell you it means whatever they want it to mean." The words tumbled out before Mal could stop them. "They'd say a blowjob counts, or... other things. Anything to speed up collection."
"And what are you telling me?"
Mal looked at the human beside him. At the soul that gleamed so bright it hurt to see. What a prize Ethan was.
If only Mal was the kind of demon who could collect such prizes.
But Ethan had treated Mal like a person instead of a failure, and Mal would not treat him like an object in return.
"I'm telling you to define what losing your virginity means to you ," Mal said. "Because you deserve to do this on your own terms."
Ethan's expression softened into something that made Mal's chest ache.
"Thank you." Ethan shifted closer until their shoulders touched. "For being honest with me. For giving me that choice."
The warmth of Ethan's body against his side made it hard for Mal to think. He should move away. Put some distance between them. But he couldn’t make himself move.
"Mal?" Ethan's voice had gone quiet. "What happens if I never... if I just decide not to…"
"Then you keep your soul," Mal admitted. "The contract only activates if you lose your virginity to someone you love. If that doesn't happen, you're safe."
"But what happens to you?"
Trust Ethan to be concerned about him in all this.
"Nothing worse than what's already happened to me." Mal tried to make his voice light. "More filing. Maybe a strongly worded memo."
Ethan turned to face him fully, and suddenly they were much too close. "You're lying."
"I'm a demon. We do that."
"Not you." Ethan's eyes searched his face. "You're terrible at it."
The moonlight caught in Ethan's hair, silvering the edges. Mal's fingers itched to brush back that one strand that had fallen across his forehead.
"Tell me the truth," Ethan whispered. "What will they do to you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters." Ethan's hand found Mal's wrist, warm fingers wrapping around cold skin.
Mal’s whole focus zeroed in on that point of contact between them. "Whatever they do, it doesn’t matter," he heard himself say. "You’re worth protecting."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Ethan's breath hitched. "Mal..."
The air between them felt charged with something more dangerous than demonic magic. Ethan was so close now, his soul blazing bright enough to burn.
And Mal couldn’t tear his gaze away from Ethan’s slightly parted lips.
"I should go." Mal made to rise, but Ethan’s fingers tightened around his wrist.
"No, stay."
"I'm the reason you're in this mess," Mal reminded Ethan.
"No." Ethan gave him a faint smile. "I got myself into this mess. Well, me and the coriander." His smile grew more radiant, as did the light of his soul, and Mal found himself drawn in by the gravity of his presence, by the warmth of Ethan’s skin and the trust in his eyes and everything else that made him so perfectly, painfully human.
"You should let me go," Mal said weakly.
"I don't want to."
Their mouths met in the space between words. Soft at first, hesitant, until Ethan made a small sound in the back of his throat that shattered Mal's restraint. His free hand came up to cup Ethan's jaw, deepening the kiss as Ethan's fingers slid up his arm to his shoulder.
It felt like falling. Like burning. Like every cliche about first kisses that Mal had never understood until this moment. Like something fundamental shifting in the universe, and within himself.
Ethan's soul burned against his senses, pure and bright and welcoming.
He was the antithesis of everything Mal knew from Hell, and the realization of what they were doing hit Mal like a bucket of holy water.
He jerked back, breaking the kiss. "We can’t do this."
"Why not?" Ethan's fingers curled in the fabric of Mal's suit, his lips still close enough that Mal could feel the words against his skin.
"Because I'm a demon." The words felt like ash in his mouth.
"Are you going to get in trouble?"
"Trouble?" Mal let out a strangled laugh. "They'll do worse than make me file papers if they find out I..." He couldn't finish the sentence.
"If they find out you what?" Ethan's fingers loosened their grip on Mal's suit, but didn't let go completely. "That you kissed me?"
"They already think that I care too much about you." The words escaped before Mal could stop them. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I wasn't supposed to... This isn't..."
"Mal." The gentleness in Ethan's voice made something twist in Mal's chest. "Look at me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because your soul is too bright," Mal whispered. "And I'm afraid of what I'll do if I keep looking at it."
"What do you mean?"
"Demons destroy beautiful things." Mal gently unwound Ethan's fingers from his suit. "We corrupt them. Taint them. That's our entire purpose."
"You wouldn't?—"
"You don't know that." Mal stood, putting distance between them. The loss of Ethan's warmth felt like a physical wound. "You don't know what I am. What I was made for."
"I know you’re not like the other demons."
The faith in Ethan's voice made Mal's chest constrict. Funny how he could make those words sound like a good thing. Mal shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out again.
"I should go," Mal said again, and this time, he wasn’t going to let Ethan stop him.
"Mal, wait?—"
But Mal had already dissolved into shadows, fleeing before he could give in to the temptation to kiss Ethan again. To keep kissing him until neither of them could remember why they shouldn't.