Chapter Four
The only thing stopping me from retreating and slamming the door is the casual expression on Zarmenus’s face. He just tilts his head at me, as if he were working at his desk or reading in bed. Not conducting some kind of dark ritual.
He pushes up off the ground to float to his feet. “I thought you’d be gone for longer. I’m done now, anyway.”
He flicks on the light, breaking any fear.
The ruby pendant of the necklace he’s wearing catches the candlelight.
It’s attached to a dark metal chain, and the pendant looks like it’s held in place by a monstrous claw.
I can’t stop my gaze from dropping lower to his chiseled six-pack, but then I realize what I’m doing and force myself to look away.
I go into the room, still wary.
What had seemed ominous a few seconds ago now seems mundane.
People can buy Ouija boards on , after all.
This one is clearly special, made of dark-stained wood, with the letters in bloodred metal.
But it’s still nothing to be afraid of. The pentagram is a circular rug with a pattern stitched into it, and it’s surrounded by standard red candles. He waves a hand and they flicker out.
“What were you doing?” I ask.
“Séance,” he says. “I was trying to call a friend of mine, but she was busy.”
I narrow my eyes. “Shirtless?”
“It’s hot in here. And truly, if it were allowed, I’d never wear a shirt.”
As Zarmenus starts rolling up the rug, the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I turn around, my adrenaline spiking. It felt like someone had just breathed on the back of my neck. But there’s nobody there. I look around the room, and it’s totally empty save for Zarmenus and me.
“Um,” I say. “You should know that we’re not supposed to have candles in here. It’s a fire hazard.”
Slowly, he pulls his tank back on. His eyebrow arches, his expression caught somewhere between amused and annoyed. “Noted.”
I close the door behind me.
“Did your mom just leave?” he asks.
“Yup.”
“My parents just left as well. There was an emergency back home, they had to skedaddle.”
His choice of word makes me smile. I haven’t heard the word “skedaddle” in a long time, and it’s amusing hearing him use it. Then it clicks that when he refers to home, he means Hell. Literal Hell.
He steps closer. “So it’s just us.”
“Guess so.”
“Oh, I should warn you,” he says, still annoyingly close. Is personal space not a thing in Hell? It might just be in my head, but the air feels hotter this close to him. “Me being here can weaken the membrane between our dimensions. Things in here might get a little weird.”
“Weird how?”
He grins. “You’ll see.”
He turns away and presses his back against the wall, doing a classic hot boy lean.
It’s impossible not to notice just how attractive he is.
Honestly, the pale skin and amber flecks in his eyes just accentuate it.
Yes, he clearly does work out, but he also has classically handsome features. Plus, his hair is truly a work of art.
“Got any plans for the afternoon?” he asks.
“Not really,” I say, still reeling from what he said about dimensional membranes. Weird how? “I might check out the campus.”
“Oh, cool.”
I get the sense he might want to join. I know I have a choice right here, right now.
I could go alone, putting a clear line in the sand with Zarmenus.
I could keep our relationship surface level, and we could be the sort of roommates who are friendly, but not friends.
Being friends could be fun, yes, but maybe a level of detachment would be a good thing; it would make focusing on my studies easier.
I’m aware I’m getting ahead of myself, as I’m not even sure Zarmenus wants to be friends with me.
Plus, I’m wary, because he has been pretty rude, although it might be unfair to expect him to pick up on human social cues.
Being friends would be the best strategic choice, as it would make living together easier, which can only be a good thing for my studies.
“No pressure if you don’t want to,” I say. “But you could come with me if you’d like?”
“It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do. Thanks for being cool, by the way.”
“About what?”
“The séance,” he says. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to walk in on that.”
“It’s not like I walked in on you completely naked or anything.” Oh my God, why would I say that?
Zarmenus raises his eyebrows at me. “Well, the year is young.”
I try to move on. “Should we go now?”
“You don’t want me to change first?” Zarmenus teases, playfully lifting the bottom hem of his shirt.
Heat creeps up my neck as I bolt out the door. “I’m leaving now!”
I practically hear Zarmenus’s smugness as he trails after me.
When he catches up, I do realize how underdressed he is. I’m in a sweater and jeans, and he’s in just a tank and shorts.
“Okay, you actually can’t go outside dressed like that, it’s cold out.”
“Are you slut shaming me?”
“You need long sleeves at least.”
“I don’t need anything. I run hot. I only look human, remember.”
“You—”
I’m pulled up short when he grabs my hand and puts it on his chest. My eyes widen as I feel his skin is crazy warm. Roasting, even.
“Oh wow, that is … toasty.” And his pecs are like rocks.
“Perks of having demon blood.”
I snap my hand away and roll my eyes as I keep charging down the hall. “Speeding up now!”
He jogs to catch up to me. I reach the end of the hallway and jam my finger onto the elevator button.
“You’re curious about what I really look like, aren’t you?” he asks.
I’ve heard about this. Demons have multiple different forms, but they also have the ability to control their appearance. It dawns on me that the boy I’m looking at right now could just be a glamour. Maybe his skin and eyes are just hints at his true self.
“Yeah,” I confess, only slightly alarmed he can read me so easily. “Well?”
“I’m an unspeakable terror,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “I could show you one day, if you’d like.”
I swallow hard. “Hard pass.”
“Your loss.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. The thing he was doing with his eyebrows makes me think he is.
“What do you think of this form?” he asks. “Rate me.”
He’s a ten, easy.
“I’m just messing with you, man,” he interrupts before I can answer. “Just tell me this, am I hot?”
My walls are up now, and I don’t want to answer with the truth.
I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, and admitting that yes, I do find him, at least superficially, extremely attractive, feels like a bad move.
I’m still getting a read on him, and it seems like there’s a good chance he’s a douchebag.
“To some people, maybe.”
The elevator arrives, the doors opening with a chime.
“But not you?”
“Objectively, sure, but you’re not my type.”
“Huh. That’s fair. Ready to go?”
As we go into the elevator he mumbles something under his breath that sounds alarmingly like “liar.”