Chapter 2 Malrik
MALRIK
Sir? SIR??
I couldn't help it. I grinned.
I'd been watching her for the last hour, this goddess of organizational efficiency.
The way she moved through the grounds like Moses parting the Red Sea, but with better accessories.
The confident tilt of her chin when she delivered instructions.
The absolute authority in her voice that had even me, Malrik, Tempter of Souls, wanting to straighten up and report for duty. If you know what I mean.
And now she was checking to see if I was on the guest list.
"I'm quite aware of the VIP designation," I replied, letting just a hint of power curl around my words. The kind of voice that typically had mortals offering me their eternal devotion or, at minimum, their desserts. "I'm Malrik."
I waited for the recognition. The widening eyes. The flustered apology. The standard "Oh my, THE Malrik?" followed by immediate compliance with whatever I wanted.
Instead, she nodded. "Yes, I know who you are. You're still not on my list."
Well. That was unexpected.
She was still looking at me expectantly, pen poised over her clipboard like she was prepared to write me a visitor's pass or possibly escort me off the premises.
Me. The demon whose Glimpse account had more followers than the population of several small countries.
The performer whose tickets sold for small fortunes.
And yet, I couldn't even be properly offended. Not after how she'd handled Priscilla's artistic meltdown with the patience of a saint. Not that I'm particularly familiar with saintly virtues.
"I was admiring your work," I said, deciding on honesty, which felt novel. "You handled Priscilla's lighting crisis quite efficiently."
"Of course, that was you." A flash of something crossed her face. Not appreciation, exactly, but professional acknowledgment. "The mystery lighting adjustment."
I gave a modest shrug that was anything but modest. "Guilty."
"Well, that explains a lot," she said, making a note. "Our lighting tech will be relieved. He was convinced the equipment was possessed." She glanced up with a hint of amusement. "Which I suppose isn't far from the truth."
A crash of thunder suddenly rolled overhead, followed by the distinct pitter-patter of rain beginning to fall on the tent. Around us, guests looked up nervously at the canvas ceiling, which was already beginning to sag under the sudden weight.
Priscilla's voice rose above the murmurs. "Not rain! Not NOW!"
Charlie didn't panic. She simply looked up, assessed the situation, and reached for her headset. But I raised my hand slightly.
"Allow me," I said, and with a casual flick of my wrist, the rain stopped. The clouds parted, revealing a perfect evening sky.
She looked at the suddenly clear sky, then back at me. "Handy trick," she said, making another note. Not shocked, not amazed. Just noting a useful piece of information. As if I'd mentioned I could help with the catering, not that I could command the elements.
"I believe Raina mentioned me," I said, deploying the connection I'd been saving. "I'm looking for an event coordinator for my upcoming Scorched Gala."
That got her attention. Not the kind of attention I was used to. The swooning, adoring, or terrified varieties. But a sharp, assessing look that felt like she was calculating my potential as a client rather than my supernatural appeal.
"Raina mentioned someone," she said.
"Yes. Perhaps we could discuss it somewhere less..." I gestured at the fashion display around us. "Priscilla-adjacent?"
"My schedule's pretty full," she said, but her tone was conversational rather than dismissive as she glanced at her calendar. "But I could fit you in. Your events have been getting attention, and I imagine you need someone who won't ask too many questions about how you achieve certain effects."
For the first time, a hint of a smile touched her lips. Not the professional mask she'd been wearing, but something genuine. "My office, tomorrow at ten. Bring your technical specifications and insurance details."
Insurance details? Did she think I needed insurance? What was I going to do, file a claim with Infernal Assurance if something went wrong? "Acts of Satan" was literally an exclusion in most policies.
"I'll have my people send over the details."
"No, bring them yourself," she countered, unfazed. "If you want me to consider taking you on as a client, I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."
If I want HER to consider ME? The audacity of this mortal was either going to get her soul claimed or earn my eternal fascination. Possibly both.
"Most people find my capabilities a bit... overwhelming," I said, letting my voice deepen slightly.
"Mr. Malrik," she replied with a subtle raise of her eyebrow, "I coordinate events in Mystic Ridge. Trust me when I say I've handled overwhelming before."
"Tomorrow at ten," I agreed, extending my hand.
She shook it firmly, and I deployed a touch of my power. Just a spark, a tiny flirtation of energy that typically had mortals writing my name in their diaries with little hearts over the i.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of response. Just professional courtesy and a nod before she scanned the tent, already speaking into her headset about some crisis with the after-party champagne delivery.
I stood there, hand still outstretched, feeling like a rockstar who'd just watched his signature guitar solo met with polite applause and someone asking where the bathroom was.
Wait. What?
I'd never experienced this before. My charm had always worked. Always. From casual flirtations to grand temptations, it was as reliable as gravity. More reliable, actually, since I could manipulate gravity when the mood struck.
I watched her walk away, completely immune to charms that had once started a war. In my defense, Helen of Troy had asked for "just a little something" to make her more noticeable at parties. How was I supposed to know things would escalate?
For the first time, I felt... confused. I'd been manipulating desire since Eve first eyed that apple, and yet Charlie had looked at me with all the breathless wonder of someone checking items off a tax form.
And somehow, impossibly, that only made me more interested.
Raina had promised me "the best event coordinator in Mystic Ridge," but had conveniently failed to mention the woman was apparently resistant to demonic influence. I'd have to have a little chat with her about that oversight.
But first, I had an appointment to prepare for. And for the first time in centuries, I found myself actually concerned about making a good impression.
How... refreshingly mortal of me.
And how absolutely, positively intriguing.