Chapter 3
Malphas’s “earthly residence” turned out to be a charming Craftsman-style house with immaculate landscaping.
As we pulled into the driveway in his surprisingly normal SUV (I’d been expecting something more…
flaming), I noticed the perfectly edged lawn, the well-maintained garden beds, and the gleaming exterior.
“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “This is really nice.”
Malphas beamed with pride, his demonic features softening. “Thank you. I rebuilt the front porch myself.”
Inside was just as surprising. The decor was tasteful—modern but comfortable, with rich colors and quality furniture. Nothing screamed “a demon lives here” unless you counted the massive battle axe mounted above the fireplace, which Malphas caught me staring at.
“A relic from my early days,” he explained, almost apologetically. “I keep meaning to replace it with something more appropriate, but Gary thinks it adds character.”
It was surreal watching this imposing demonic figure move around a perfectly normal kitchen, preparing coffee and talking about his renovation plans for the guest bathroom. Even more surreal was how comfortable it felt.
He showed me to the guest room—tastefully decorated in blues and grays—and pointed out the attached bathroom.
“There are clean towels in the linen closet,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
I set my hastily packed overnight bag on the bed. “Thanks, Malphas. Seriously. You really saved me tonight.”
Something flickered in his eyes—a flash of that otherworldly red. “It’s nothing,” he rumbled, his voice momentarily deeper, more demonic. Then he cleared his throat, and regular Malphas was back. “Get some rest. I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”
As he turned to leave, I impulsively asked, “So which one are you right now? Malphas or Gary?”
He paused in the doorway, his broad shoulders tensing.
“It’s… complicated. Sometimes I can feel the distinction clearly.
Other times, the lines blur.” He looked back at me, a wry smile on his face.
“Right now, Malphas knows you’re in danger from your apartment situation and wants to provide protection.
Gary is worried about whether the guest room sheets have a high enough thread count. ”
I laughed, and after a moment, he joined in.
“Goodnight, Sam,” he said finally.
“Night, Malphas.”
After he left, I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process the absurdity of my situation. I was in a demon’s guest bedroom, about to sleep on his high-thread-count sheets, with the promise of breakfast in the morning.
This should be terrifying, I thought. So why does it feel so… nice?