Chapter 13
The next half hour was possibly the strangest of my life—and given recent events, that was saying something. I led three demons through Malphas’s immaculate home, explaining mundane household features that they found utterly fascinating.
Pustule was captivated by the refrigerator, opening and closing it repeatedly to watch the light turn on and off. “Ingenious,” he murmured. “Cold storage without the use of souls to generate the chill.”
Zaebur became entranced by the television remote, pressing buttons at random until the TV cycled through inputs, volumes, and channels. “A device of power,” he declared reverently. “To control images from afar.”
But it was Ixizel who asked the most questions, their curiosity seemingly boundless. As we reached the second floor, they pointed to framed photos of Malphas and me that had recently appeared on the walls.
“You are… happy together?” they asked, tentacles waving thoughtfully.
The question caught me off guard. “Yes,” I said honestly. “Very happy.”
Ixizel studied me with eyes that held ancient wisdom.
“Lord Malphas has existed for eons. He has commanded armies, destroyed civilizations, harvested countless souls. And yet…” They touched one of the photos with a gentle tentacle.
“I have never seen him display images of any being in his personal space.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. The photos had been Malphas’s idea—ordinary couples photos from a day trip to a nearby lake, nothing special. But the way Ixizel described it made it seem significant.
“He’s different now,” Zaebur observed, joining us in the hallway. “Changed. The Gary-entity’s influence has altered him.”
“But it’s more than that,” Pustule added, his spines rising and falling in what I’d come to recognize as his version of thoughtfulness. “The Gary-entity explains the dwelling, the lawn equipment. It doesn’t explain… this.” He gestured to me.
“I’m standing right here,” I pointed out, feeling slightly offended at being discussed like an unusual pet. “And Malphas isn’t that different. He’s just… evolved.”
All three demons stared at me as if I’d said something profound.
“Evolved,” Ixizel repeated, tentacles rippling with excitement. “Yes, precisely. Not diminished, as some in the lower circles have suggested. Evolved.”
“Some are saying he’s gone soft,” Pustule confided, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “That the human realm has weakened him.”
I bristled at that. “Malphas is not weak. He’s the strongest person I know.”
“Person,” Zaebur noted, all four eyes blinking rapidly. “You consider him a person, not a demon prince.”
“He’s both,” I said firmly. “And he’s not defined by either label.”
Before the conversation could continue, Malphas’s voice called from downstairs. “If you’re done with the tour, I need my lieutenants back.”
We descended to find Malphas standing by the still-open portal, looking imposing in a way I rarely saw at home. His posture was straighter, his expression harder, and his eyes glowed red without a trace of hazel. This was Prince Malphas, not my Malphas who fretted about proper mulching techniques.
“We have matters to discuss in the lower realm,” he informed his subordinates. “Sam, I shouldn’t be long—perhaps an hour in earthly time.”
“You’re leaving?” I asked, surprised. He hadn’t mentioned going to hell as part of the day’s plans.
“Just briefly,” he assured me. “Some issues require my physical presence to resolve.” He lowered his voice, adding, “Politics. You understand.”
I nodded, though I didn’t really understand at all. Malphas must have seen my confusion because his expression softened slightly.
“I’ll be back before dinner,” he promised. “We can continue unpacking then.”
Before I could respond, he leaned down and kissed me—a quick, casual goodbye kiss, the kind long-term couples exchange without thinking. The kind that said “I’ll see you later” with absolute certainty.
The kind that, judging by the shocked expressions on his lieutenants’ faces, demons did not typically exchange.
Malphas seemed oblivious to their reaction. “The portal will close once we’re through,” he told me. “Don’t worry about the scorch marks on the floor—they’ll fade.”
With that reassurance, he gestured for his subordinates to precede him through the rift. Each gave me a final, curious look before stepping through. Pustule even offered a small wave.
Just before Malphas entered the portal, he turned back. “Sam,” he said, his voice softer than before, “thank you for understanding.”
Then he was gone, the rift sealing behind him with a sound like tearing silk, leaving me alone in a living room that smelled faintly of brimstone and coffee.