Chapter 6
One week into living with Malphas, I discovered his dirty little secret.
No, not the fact that he was literally from hell. That was old news. I’m talking about his unholy love affair with Home Depot.
It started innocently enough. Over breakfast (Belgian waffles that would make angels weep, which I found ironically hilarious), Malphas mentioned he needed to pick up some supplies.
“I should be back in a couple of hours,” he said, drizzling maple syrup onto his stack with surgical precision.
“Mind if I tag along?” I asked. My apartment repairs were progressing, but I was in no rush to leave my demonic roommate with benefits. “I need to get out of the house. Cabin fever.”
A fleeting expression crossed his face—was that panic? “It’s just a quick trip to the hardware store. Nothing interesting.”
Now I was intrigued. “Even better. I need boring after the week I’ve had.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Unless you wore me out too much last night…”
The reminder of our bedroom activities—which had involved Malphas lifting me against the wall with those powerful arms and fucking me senseless—made his eyes flash red briefly.
“Fine,” he relented. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I should have heeded that warning.
The moment we walked through the sliding doors of Home Depot, Malphas… transformed. Not physically—he still towered over everyone, crimson-skinned and horned (which, surprisingly, didn’t seem to faze the employees; I guess they’d seen stranger things in retail). But his demeanor changed completely.
His shoulders relaxed. His pace slowed. His eyes—normally alert, sometimes predatory—took on a dreamy quality. It was like watching someone come home after a long journey.
“So,” I asked as he grabbed an oversized orange cart, “what do you need to get?”
Malphas pulled a meticulously written list from his pocket. “Just a few things for the backyard project.”
Three hours later, I was reconsidering all my life choices.
We had systematically visited every aisle.
EVERY. SINGLE. AISLE. Malphas had engaged no fewer than seven employees in detailed discussions about everything from mulch composition to the relative merits of different power drill brands.
He’d spent forty-five minutes—I timed it—comparing bathroom fixtures that all looked identical to me.
“What do you think?” he asked, holding up two toilet handles. “The brushed nickel or the oil-rubbed bronze?”
I think I’m in hell. The actual hell is a never-ending trip to Home Depot with a demon who can’t make decisions about toilet fixtures. “They both look great,” I said weakly.
Malphas frowned. “But the bronze would complement the existing vanity better, while the nickel would create a more cohesive look with the shower hardware.”
“Then… bronze?” I ventured, hoping to end this particular circle of retail purgatory.
He nodded seriously. “You’re right. Bronze it is.” He placed it in our cart, which was now so full it resembled a hoarder’s treasure trove of home improvement supplies.
As we finally—FINALLY—headed toward checkout, Malphas detoured into the garden section. “Just need to check on something,” he said, eyes lighting up at the sight of seasonal plantings.
I trailed behind him, watching in fascination as he gently touched the leaves of various plants, checking their health with the care of a devoted parent. It was bizarrely endearing.
“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” I asked.
Malphas looked up, seeming almost embarrassed. “It’s Gary’s influence.”
“Is it, though?” I leaned against a shelf of terracotta pots. “Because you seem pretty into it for someone who’s just possessed.”
He straightened, his imposing height momentarily reminding me of exactly what he was. “I am Malphas, Prince of Hell, Commander of Forty Legions. I do not get ‘into’ human retail experiences.”
Just then, an employee walked by with a pricing gun, slapping discount stickers on a display of garden gnomes. Malphas’s head whipped around so fast I thought he might get whiplash.
“Are those on clearance?” he asked, abandoning all pretense of demonic dignity.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “You were saying, Your Infernal Highness?”
He glared at me, but there was no heat in it.
“It’s complicated,” he admitted. “These… interests… they started as Gary’s intrusions, but now…
” He picked up a garden gnome, examining it thoughtfully.
“Now they feel like mine too. Like I’ve absorbed parts of him, or maybe he’s brought out aspects of me that were always there. ”
The vulnerability in his admission caught me off guard. I moved closer, touching his arm. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with liking this stuff. Even if you are a terrifying prince of darkness.”
His lips quirked into a small smile. “It’s not very on-brand for a demon.”
“Maybe it’s time for a rebrand,” I suggested. “Malphas: Demon Prince and DIY Enthusiast. I’d watch that HGTV show.”
He laughed, the sound drawing curious glances from nearby shoppers. “Would you be my co-host?”
“Only if I get a fancy title too. Sam: Graphic Designer and Demon Wrangler.”
Malphas put the garden gnome in our already overflowing cart. “Deal.”
By the time we reached checkout, I was starving and contemplating gnawing on one of the decorative two-by-fours. The cashier didn’t bat an eye at Malphas’s appearance, just started scanning our small mountain of supplies.
“Find everything okay today, sir?” she asked.
“Yes, thank you, Patricia,” Malphas replied, and I realized with a start that he was on a first-name basis with the Home Depot staff. “How’s your son doing at college?”
“Oh, much better since he switched majors,” Patricia beamed. “Those exam tips you gave him really helped.”
I stared at Malphas, who studiously avoided my gaze as he swiped his credit card. He’s giving college advice to the cashier’s son. The demon prince is giving college advice.
Once we’d loaded his SUV with enough supplies to rebuild a small house, we headed to a nearby diner for a late lunch. Over burgers and fries, I couldn’t help but tease him.
“So, you and Patricia seem close.”
Malphas dabbed his mouth with a napkin—impeccable table manners for someone who probably attended banquets where the main course was human souls. “I shop there often.”
“Uh-huh. And you know her son’s academic situation because…?”
He sighed. “I may have helped him with some study strategies. And built him a desk. And possibly intimidated a roommate who was bullying him.”
I nearly choked on a fry. “You what?”
“I didn’t harm the roommate,” Malphas clarified. “I just… appeared in their dorm room one night and suggested alternate living arrangements might be in order.”
The image of Malphas materializing in a college dorm to terrify some kid was both horrifying and hilarious. “That’s… actually kind of sweet, in a terrifying way.”
He shrugged, but I could tell he was pleased by my assessment. “Patricia always gives me a heads-up when the premium mulch goes on sale.”
“A demon prince has mulch connections,” I marveled. “What a world.”