Chapter 2
Two weeks after meeting Malphas, I was standing in my apartment watching water pour from my ceiling like I’d installed a surprise indoor waterfall feature.
I’d already called my landlord’s “emergency maintenance line,” which was apparently connected to a voicemail box in another dimension. My apartment was rapidly transforming into an indoor swimming pool, and I was out of containers.
In desperation, I scrolled through my phone contacts.
My finger hovered over a name I’d added after the last support group meeting: “Malphas.” We’d been texting occasionally—mostly him sending me pictures of home improvement projects with captions like “Installed ceiling fan in living room. Is this normal behavior for Prince of Darkness?”
Before I could overthink it, I hit call.
He answered on the first ring. “Sam?” His voice was alert, not sleepy at all. Right. Demons probably don’t sleep.
“Hey, sorry to call so late, but my ceiling is basically a waterfall right now, and I don’t know what to—”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” he interrupted. “Do you know where your water main shutoff is?”
“My what now?”
I heard a sigh that could have withered plants. “Never mind. Just hang tight.”
Four and a half minutes later (I timed it), there was a heavy knock at my door.
I opened it to find Malphas filling my doorframe, wearing black sweatpants and a faded t-shirt that read “Milwaukee Hardware Hoedown 2017” stretched tight across his massive chest. He carried a large toolbox that looked tiny in his grasp.
“Where’s the leak?” he asked, all business.
“Uh, everywhere?” I gestured at my soaking living room.
Malphas swept past me, his nostrils flaring as he assessed the situation. Without a word, he disappeared into the hall, and I heard heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs. Three minutes later, the indoor rain stopped.
He returned, slightly damp. “Found the main shutoff. Your upstairs neighbor’s water heater ruptured.”
“How did you—”
“I can sense water flow,” he said matter-of-factly, then looked slightly embarrassed. “And I knocked on their door, but they’re not home.”
For the next hour, I watched in fascination as Malphas efficiently dealt with my soggy apartment. He moved furniture, set up fans, and patched a section of ceiling that was threatening to collapse. His movements were precise and confident, his massive hands surprisingly delicate with tools.
“The real damage is in your bathroom,” he said finally, wiping sweat from his brow. I tried not to stare at the way his shirt clung to his damp chest. “The water’s seeped into the walls. You can’t stay here tonight.”
“Great,” I sighed, looking around at my disaster zone of an apartment. “I’ll get a hotel.”
Malphas hesitated, then said, “You could stay at my place.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Your place? Like… in hell?”
He actually laughed. “No. My earthly residence. It’s a house over in Mapleton Heights.”
“You… own a house? In the suburbs?”
Malphas looked slightly defensive. “It’s a good investment property. Solid school district.”
Did a demon prince just mention the school district? I wondered, trying not to smile.
“That’s… really nice of you,” I said. “But I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s no imposition,” he insisted. “I have a guest room that’s fully furnished. And this way, I can come back tomorrow to assess the damage properly.” His eyes, currently more hazel than hellfire, met mine. “It’s the logical solution.”
It was 4:30 AM, I was exhausted, and the prospect of searching for a hotel seemed overwhelming. Plus, I was undeniably curious about where a demon-slash-home-improvement-enthusiast lived.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Let me pack a bag.”