Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
Mal materialized in Beelzebrock's office with the taste of Ethan still on his lips. His shirt buttons, hastily redone minutes ago, felt wrong against his skin. He probably looked like he'd only just gotten out of bed. Of all the times to be summoned...
Beelzebrock sat behind his massive brimstone desk, surrounded by towers of paperwork that tried their best to defy gravity. The department head's expression remained unreadable as he handled a manilla folder.
"Care to tell me what you've been up to, Malphas?" He spread a series of photographs across the desk like a demonic tarot reading.
Mal's stomach dropped. The photos showed him and Ethan on the couch, wrapped around each other, lips locked in what was very clearly not a standard demon-target interaction.
"Sir, I can explain?—"
"Please do." Beelzebrock's multiple sets of eyes fixed on him. "Explain how our most incompetent soul collector ended up in a compromising position with his highest-value target."
Damn it. What could he say?
"It's part of my plan." The lie fell from Mal's lips before he could stop it. "I'm gaining his trust. His… love. So that I can be the one to take his virginity and collect his soul. "
Beelzebrock looked at him as if he didn't believe him for a minute. Of course not. It was just like Ethan always said; Mal was a terrible liar.
"Your approach," Beelzebrock said, "looks remarkably similar to genuine affection from these angles."
"I would never?—"
"You have forty-eight hours."
Mal blinked. "What?"
"Collect his soul within forty-eight hours, or I'm reassigning the contract."
No. No, that couldn't happen.
"You can't." Mal's voice came out sharper than he intended. "By Hell's own laws, once a demon is bound to a contract through summoning?—"
"Are you trying to argue with me, Malphas?" Beelzebrock's voice boomed through the office.
"No?" Malphas squeaked. "It's just?—"
"I will find a way." Beelzebrock rose from his chair, looming over the desk. "And you, Malphas, will handle every form, file every petition, and process every document that making it happen requires."
"Sir—"
"You're dismissed."
Mal opened his mouth to try to argue his case again. Beelzebrock couldn't do this to him, couldn't do this to Ethan, but by the look in Beelzebrock's eyes, he knew he'd only make things worse if he said anything else. He turned and yanked open the office door.
Raviel waited in the hallway, leaning against the wall with perfect casual grace. His perfectly pressed suit made Mal's disheveled appearance feel even worse.
"Rough meeting?" Raviel's smile showed just a hint of fang. "I do hope my surveillance photos were helpful to the department head. It's so important that Hell runs smoothly, don't you think?"
Mal's hands clenched into fists. "You need to stop messing with me."
"Oh, but I'm not messing with you. I'm only doing my job. You should try it sometime." Raviel's smile widened. "Seriously, Mal, you had one job. How could you screw it up?"
"I did not screw anything up," Mal insisted, but even as he said the words, he knew that he had indeed screwed up majorly.
He'd fallen for his target, and now he couldn't collect, couldn't send Ethan to Hell knowing that he'd be put through those machines he'd seen in the pictures.
A thought struck him.
"It was you, wasn't it?" He narrowed his eyes at Raviel. "You sent me that file about the Inner Sanctum."
"What file?" Raviel looked confused, but he was a better liar than Mal.
"You know what I'm talking about. The classified documents about what happens to pure souls."
"Now that does sound interesting." Raviel studied him curiously. "Someone sent you a file from the classified archives?" His interest seemed almost predatory.
That was not the reaction Mal had expected. "You don't actually know what goes on there, do you?"
"Of course I know." Raviel smoothed his already-perfect lapel. "Pure souls are... processed. Into something more useful."
Mal's eyebrows rose. "You really don't know anything," he realized. "You've never seen inside the Inner Sanctum."
"I know enough." Raviel's casual pose had gone rigid. "More than you. Tell me about this file."
"Why should I?"
"Because unlike you, I actually have a chance of collecting that pure soul." Raviel's tail lashed once. "And I'd like to know exactly what I'm delivering him to."
"You're not getting anywhere near him." The words came out as a growl.
"We'll see about that in forty-eight hours, won't we?" Raviel's smile returned, but it had turned mean now. "I wonder if your little human will still look at you the same way when you tell him you've been replaced. When he realizes you failed him just like you fail at everything else."
Mal's fist connected with Raviel's jaw before he could think better of it. The crack echoed through the hallway.
Raviel touched his split lip, looking more delighted than hurt. "Oh Mal. Getting violent now? How very... human of you. I'll be sure to add assault of a superior to my report of your actions."
"Go ahead." Mal's knuckles stung. "Add it to the pile."
"I will." Raviel's tongue darted out to catch the drop of blood on his lip. "And in two days, I'll add your human's soul to my collection."
Mal lunged for him again, but Raviel had already dissolved into smoke, his laughter lingering in the air.
Alone in the hallway, Mal pressed his forehead against the hot stone wall.
He had forty-eight hours to figure something out.
Forty-eight hours to save Ethan's soul from the horror he'd seen in that damn file.
And he still had no idea who had sent it to him.
Or why.