Ethan loved romance novels. The meet-cute, the pining, the first kiss that only made the wanting worse, the drama, the grand gesture, and finally, finally, that moment when all the pieces clicked into place and the story ended with mind-blowing sex and a promise of happily ever after. 

Did Ethan feel a tiny bit self-conscious about reading a smut-scene at work? 

He had in the beginning. 

Then he’d found this perfect spot to hide away during his lunch break, between the religious section and the occult part of the library. He sat in an armchair hunched over his phone. No one ever bothered him here. 

Which gave him free reign to read about Marcus and James getting their happily ever after. Three hundred pages of almosts and maybes had led to this moment, and Ethan’s chest felt just as tight as his pants as he read the final paragraphs. He’d been rooting for them since page one, when James had spilled coffee all over Marcus’s favourite jacket and Marcus had fallen in love with his apologetic rambling instead of getting mad.

“Move in with me,” Marcus whispered against James’s temple. “I want to wake up to your terrible coffee and your endless astronomy facts every morning. I want all our tomorrows.”

God. Ethan pressed his forehead against the page, trying not to cry in his favourite hiding spot in the university library. It was cheesy and over-the-top and absolutely perfect. The kind of love that felt inevitable, where the right person showed up exactly when you needed them, where every missed connection and misunderstanding only made the finale sweeter.

The kind of love that only happened in fiction.

Only in fiction…

Ethan sighed. 

His phone buzzed. A notification from his brother Matt popped up on Instagram. Ethan clicked it, still a bit sniffly from the book because nothing got him quite like a well-earned happy ending. 

Instagram loaded and Ethan saw the picture his brother had posted: Matt down on one knee in front of a lighthouse, Sarah’s hands clasped over her mouth, caught in a moment of pure joy.

She said yes!!!

The tears that had threatened during the book spilled over for real this time. Matt would totally call him a cry baby if he could see him now. He had been calling him that since they were kids and Ethan had sobbed through every Disney movie. But how could he not cry? His big brother had found his person. 

Matt and Sarah were that kind of love he’d just convinced himself only existed in fiction. She laughed at Matt’s terrible puns, she’d started a vegetable garden with their mom, and Matt got this dopey soft look on his face whenever she walked into a room. They’d even met at a coffee shop, just like in the books. Their meet-cute had turned into morning coffee dates, had turned into forever.

Ethan wiped his eyes with his sleeve and typed out “Congratulations!!!” with enough heart emojis to make his point. He meant every single one. His brother was getting married. His brother was getting his happily ever after!

So maybe real love like that was possible after all.

His thumb hovered over the search bar. Before he could think better of it, he typed in “Kyle Edwards.” 

Ethan’s crush looked unfairly gorgeous in his latest post, holding up a copy of Pride and Prejudice in front of the library’s circulation desk. Those warm brown eyes, that bright smile that made Ethan’s knees weak every time they worked together…

For a whole year now, Ethan had been obsessed with him. If only he didn’t get so damn tongue-tied around his co-worker. If only he could tell Kyle how much he adored his smile. 

Maybe today was the day. Maybe today Ethan could work up the courage to ask him out for coffee. He could do that. Just walk up to him, open his mouth, and-

A laugh echoed through the stacks. Warm, rich, achingly familiar. Ethan froze, his romance-novel-and-engagement-photo courage evaporating instantly.

“Wait, you’ve read The Nightless Sky too? Everyone I recommend it to gets overwhelmed by the first book.” Kyle’s voice carried through the gap between shelves, full of that eager enthusiasm that had first made Ethan’s heart during their first meeting.

“Love it. The whole book-within-a-book thing? Brilliant.” The answering voice was deep, confident. “I stayed up until four AM finishing the last book.”

“Right? The way all the stories weave together at the end-“

“Pure genius.”

The soft sound of books being reshelved paused. “We should get coffee sometime. Talk about it some more.”

Ethan’s phone fell into his lap. Had he just overheard his crush planning a date with someone else—someone who wasn’t too damn shy to go up and talk to him? 

Of course he had, because Ethan always missed his chance. 

He was hopeless. 

And he’d read The Nightless Sky too and he’d thought it was fucking boring. A lot of eloquent rambling about nothing of substance. 

Strike that thought. 

If Kyle thought it was brilliant, there was probably something Ethan had missed. 

Something that this new person had evidently picked up on. 

Ethan sighed, seething with jealousy.

His watch buzzed. Break time was over. Ethan glanced at his half-eaten sandwich and decided he wasn’t hungry anyway. He had books to shelve. A whole cart of them, waiting near the circulation desk. He checked the call numbers and his heart sank. These books were going right where Kyle and his new friend were still talking.

Because that was just how his day was going.

He could do this. Just wheel the cart in, shelve the books, and get out. Simple. He’d perfected the art of being invisible over the past year. No one would notice him. 

Kyle’s laugh drifted around the corner as Ethan approached with his cart. “The worldbuilding is incredible, right?” Kyle was saying, entirely focused on the ginger he was talking to. “And the love story!”

Ethan tried to focus on the call numbers. Philosophy, religion, occult studies. Keep it professional. Just shelve the books. 

A slim volume caught his attention. It was bound in faded red leather, tucked between a treatise on meditation and a history of pagan rituals. “Love Spells and Summonings.”

If only things like that actually worked…

Ethan snuck another glance at Kyle, still deep in animated conversation with his soon-to-be date.

Well. It wasn’t like Ethan could possibly be any worse at love if he amused himself with a little fake magic.

He decided to take the book home.

---

The waiting room outside Senior Soul Acquisition Manager Beelzebrock’s office hadn’t changed in the last century. Same uncomfortable stone benches. Same lava fall cascading down the wall. Same sense of creeping dread.

Mal’s tail twitched as he smoothed down his tie for the hundredth time. The fabric smoldered under his fingers—it was so hard not to incinerate things when he was nervous. At least his horns were polished. That had to count for something.

Another demon strutted past, their containment vessel glowing with a freshly harvested soul. Mal’s eyes narrowed. He used to have a vessel like that. Back when he’d still been allowed topside.

He could have one again, if he only managed to convince his boss. 

“Malphas!” Beelzebrock’s voice boomed through the obsidian door. “Get in here.”

Mal stumbled to his feet, straightened his smoking tie one last time, and pushed through the door.

Beelzebrock sat behind a massive desk carved from brimstone. The senior demon’s six eyes fixed on him with the kind of weary resignation usually reserved for tax audits The desk groaned under the weight of scrolls. Mal’s incident reports, probably.

“Sir, thank you for seeing me,” Mal said, trying to sound confident. “I know my past record isn’t perfect—”

“Perfect?” Beelzebub snorted flames. He grabbed a scroll at random. “Let’s review. 1478: Assigned to corrupt Father Giovanni De Luca. Instead of damning his soul, you…” He squinted at the parchment. “Helped him build an orphanage?”

“The children were starving! And technically, pride is a sin, so if he got too proud of his good works—”

“1843: Target, Elisabeth Blackwood. Mission: Tempt her to betray her family for riches.” Beelzebrock’s eyes scanned the text. “You facilitated a tearful reconciliation at Christmas.”

“Love is a sort of currency if you look at it from a certain angle. She walked away from that very rich!”

His boss shot him a glare and his voice dropped to a growl. “1923. James Morrison. Gambling addict. Should have been an easy soul to claim. You were supposed to push him over the edge. Instead?”

Mal stared at his shoes, which had started to melt. “I may have… helped him join Gamblers Anonymous.”

“Which didn’t even exist until you invented it!” All six eyes blazed. “Do you know how much paperwork that caused?”

“But sir, I’ve learned from my mistakes! I’ve spent the last century in the Dark Archives filing ominous prophecies. I’m ready for field work again. I only need another chance!”

“You’re the worst demon in the history of Hell.” Beelzebrock massaged his temples. “The actual worst. I have the metrics to prove it.” He gestured at the scrolls. “You know what your problem is, Malphas? You care. It’s embarrassing.”

“I don’t care!” Mal protested. His tie burst into flames. “I mean, I do care. About collecting souls! Which I would be excellent at if—”

“No. Absolutely not. You are staying right here in Hell where you can’t cause any more damage. Now get out of my office. Those prophecies won’t file themselves.”

Mal slunk toward the door, shoulders hunched. “What if I promised to be really, really evil this time?”

“OUT!”

The obsidian door slammed behind him. Mal trudged back toward the Dark Archives, leaving smoking footprints in his wake. Another demon passed by, their soul vessel casting a brilliant glow across the walls.

One more chance. That’s all he needed. Just one opportunity to prove he could be as ruthless and heartless as any other demon.

Was that really so much to ask?

---

A stack of romance novels teetered on the windowsill beside Ethan’s reading chair, bright spines a splash of color against the blank rental-unit walls he still hadn’t decorated after eight months. String lights draped across his bookshelf cast a warm glow over his modest collection: mostly paperbacks rescued from the library’s donation bin. The whole studio apartment was barely bigger than his childhood bedroom, but it was his. Even if most nights he just ended up curled in that chair, reading about other people’s happily-ever-afters.

Tonight was supposed to be different. “How to Summon Cupid,” the chapter title promised in elaborate script. Ethan traced the words with his finger. 

The book lay open on Ethan’s coffee table, its pages yellowed and creased. He’d pushed aside his laptop and empty takeout containers to make space for the “ritual,” though he used that term loosely. The ancient tome had probably been someone’s creative writing project, abandoned to gather dust in the library’s occult section.

For a moment, though, Ethan let himself dream. 

Maybe the cherub would appear in a shower of rose petals, armed with his magic bow. One well-placed arrow, and Kyle would finally notice him. They’d get coffee, talk about books…  actually talk, not just Ethan stammering through their work interactions. Kyle would realize that Ethan got all his literary references, that they were perfect for each other…

Ethan sighed. Who was he kidding? Still. He’d already bought the ice cream to combat the disappointment when nothing happened. Might as well see this through.

He squinted at the list of ingredients for the summoning spell. 

“Pure spring water blessed under a full moon.” He lifted his Brita pitcher. “Filtered tap water blessed under my apartment’s ceiling lights. Close enough.”

He poured the water into his favorite mug, the one with little cartoon cats all over it. The book hadn’t specified what kind of vessel to use, so clearly that part didn’t matter. 

“Rose quartz crystal.” Ethan dug through his bedside drawer and pulled out a bracelet his kid sister had made for him using plastic beads. “Pink is pink.”

The beads clattered into the mug.

“Blessed candles…” He grabbed the aromatherapy candles he’d bought during his last Target run. Lavender for calm, vanilla for comfort. “These were definitely blessed by someone at the factory. Probably.”

The familiar scents filled the room as he lit them. This was actually kind of nice, even if it was completely ridiculous. Better than sitting alone in the dark, refreshing Kyle’s Instagram and imagining different versions of that overheard conversation where he was the one being asked out for coffee.

“Laurel leaves…” Ethan opened his sad excuse for a spice cabinet, mostly filled with instant ramen and hot sauce. “Yeah, no.” 

But he did have the dried coriander his mom had given him months ago, still unopened because everything he read said fresh was better. But leaves were leaves, right? And really, what difference did it make? It wasn’t like he was really going to summon Cupid. The little angel was probably too busy shooting arrows at people who actually had a chance at love.

“To thee I offer nature’s bounty,” Ethan read from the book, trying not to laugh at himself. He sprinkled the coriander into the mug. “By leaf and stone, I call to thee, O spirit of love. My immortal soul I offer—”

The lavender candle went out.

Then the vanilla one.

“Um.” Ethan reached for his lighter. 

Then the mug started to steam.

Ethan blinked at it. That wasn’t possible. He’d used cold water from the fridge. Maybe the candles had heated it somehow? Or maybe he’d been staring at that stupid book for so long he was starting to hallucinate.

The steam turned black.

Ethan scrambled back from the coffee table. 

What the fuck?

The dark vapor twisted in the air, taking shape, solidifying into…

A man. 

A very attractive man in a slightly singed navy business suit, with small red horns peeking through his dark hair. And a tail. An actual tail.

Was this…?

Whatever this was, it was definitely not cupid.

Holy shit, had he summoned a demon?

Demons were real?

Stunned, Ethan watched as the man he’d summoned spun in place, seeming almost as confused as Ethan felt. “What the… this isn’t the seventh circle.” His narrowed eyes darted around the apartment. “Where am I?”

“In my apartment,” Ethan said, his voice small. His eyes tracked the movement of the demon’s tail as it swished back and forth. Real. That was a real tail. 

He couldn’t get over that fact. 

“Who… who are you?”

“I am Malphas.” The demon drew himself up. “Seventh Ranked File Clerk of the Dark Archives, Former Junior Soul Acquisition Specialist of Hell’s Seventh Circle.” He adjusted his tie as he spoke. It had burn marks on it. His tail curled importantly behind him. “You summoned me.”

“I…” Ethan shook his head. “I was trying to summon Cupid.”

Mal lifted the mug Ethan had been using and wrinkled his nose. “With coriander? That would never summon a cherub. Demons only.” 

Ethan swallowed hard.

Fuck him. He’d summoned an actual demon into his apartment. 

He was never using coriander for anything again.

* * *

The last thing Mal remembered, he’d been sulking in the Dark Archives, filing a prophecy about the end times (scheduled for next Tuesday, but those were always getting postponed). Then—poof. Summoned to this cramped apartment with its teetering stacks of romance novels and fairy lights.

Before him, the human’s soul blazed like a beacon. Mal had never seen one this pure, all earnest yearning and rose-tinted dreams wrapped in an aura bright enough to hurt his eyes. A soul like that could buy him a promotion. Maybe even a corner office. 

Beelzebrock would have to reconsider Mal’s worth.

Mal only needed to figure out the terms of collection.

“So.” The human—Ethan, according to the library nametag set down on the coffee table—hadn’t moved from his spot against the wall. His eyes kept darting between Mal’s horns and tail. “You’re really a demon.”

“Obviously.” Mal’s tail curled with satisfaction. Finally, someone properly intimidated by his demonic presence. “And you’ve offered your immortal soul to me.”

“I what?” Ethan’s voice cracked. “But I was just reading! I didn’t think it would actually…”

Mal looked the human up and down. He was young. Attractive, in a soft way that made something twist in Mal’s chest. He shoved the feeling aside. Focus. A pure soul and a love spell gone wrong. This was his chance. 

“Your intent doesn’t matter,” he said, trying to adopt Beelzebrock’s authoritative tone of voice when his boss talked about demonic regulations. “You summoned me, offered your soul, and now we need to establish what you want in return.” A thought struck him. “What exactly were you trying to summon Cupid for?”

Ethan’s face flushed red. He stared at his hands. “I want… I want my happily ever after.”

“Going to need something more specific than that.” Mal pulled out a contract scroll from thin air, proud that he didn’t singe it in the process. “Demonic deals require precise terms.”

The human’s blush deepened. “I want…” He swallowed hard. “I want to lose my virginity to the man I love.”

Oh.

Well.

That was specific.

“You’re a virgin?” the question escaped Mal before he could hold it back.

Ethan’s face went from pink to scarlet. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no.” Mal scratched behind one horn, trying to look professional. He cleared his throat. “Right. So. Your soul in exchange for helping you lose your virginity to someone you love.”

He could do this. How hard could matchmaking be? Humans fell in love all the time. They wrote entire books about it. Mal glanced at the towering stack of romance novels by the window. Books Ethan had clearly read.

Thoroughly.

With expectations.

Mal tugged at his collar. “Any particular someone in mind?”

The way Ethan’s expression softened told him everything. Wonderful. A specific target would make this much easier. One quick seduction, one claimed soul, and Mal could finally prove himself as a proper demon.

As long as he didn’t mess it up.

Again.

---

Ethan’s alarm chirped at seven AM, and for one blissful moment, everything was normal. Then he remembered he had a demon sleeping on his couch.

Ethan shuffled over to him quietly, still half in disbelief about what had happened the day before. 

Mal, sprawled across the too-small couch, one leg dangling off the edge, tail curled around himself. One of his horns had poked a hole in Ethan’s favorite throw pillow.

The TV displayed a text asking, “Are you still watching The Great British Bake Off?” 

Netflix. The demon had discovered Netflix.

“I haven’t been topside in a hundred years,” Mal had insisted last night, curious as Ethan showed him how to navigate the menu. “This looks interesting. Just one episode?”

Seven episodes later, Ethan had given up and gone to bed.

He padded to the kitchen, trying not to wake his unexpected houseguest while he started the coffee. The demon shifted, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “soggy bottom.”

Did demons drink coffee? 

The smell must have reached Mal because his eyes snapped open. He sat up and sniffed the air.

“Is that…” Mal’s tail perked up. “Coffee?”

“I wasn’t sure if you—”

“We literally run on coffee in Hell.” Mal sat up, smoothing down his rumpled suit. “Granted, it’s never good coffee, but still.”

Ethan poured a second cup, black as sin. Mal cradled it like it held the secrets of the universe.

“So,” Ethan cleared his throat. “I have to get to work.”

“Work?” Mal eyed him curiously. “The library? Where your paramour awaits?”

“Kyle isn’t my… I mean, yes, but…”

A slow smile spread across Mal’s face, revealing just a hint of fang. There was something cute about that. 

No, Ethan told himself. Demons are not cute.

But Mal was still smiling. “Perfect.” He set down his coffee and raised his hands. Dark smoke curled from his fingers. “Hold still.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trust me.” Mal’s eyes gleamed. “I’m a professional.”

“A professional what?” But the smoke had already wrapped around Ethan like a silk scarf, sinking into his skin. It felt… warm. Tingly. “What did you just do?

“Made you irresistible.” Mal picked up his coffee again, looking immensely pleased with himself. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

The library parking lot was mostly empty when Ethan arrived. Normal for a Tuesday morning. He fumbled his staff badge twice trying to unlock the back door, still feeling weirdly tingly from Mal’s spell. Nothing seemed different. Maybe demon magic wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Louisa from Acquisitions rounded the corner just as Ethan pushed through the door. She usually barely glanced up from her phone during their morning pass-by.

Today she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Ethan?” Her eyes went wide. “Is that a new cardigan?”

“No?” He tugged at the worn sleeve. It was the same one he’d worn at least twice last week.

“Huh.” She stepped closer, twirling her hair. “It looks… different. Good different. Really good.”

“Thanks?” 

“You know, I was just about to grab coffee from the break room.” She touched his arm. “Want to join me?”

Louisa had never invited him to hang out before. Had never touched his arm before. Had definitely never looked at him like… that.

“I’d like to get a headstart on work,” Ethan managed, backing away. “Before the patrons come in.”

“Right. Of course.” She didn’t move. Just kept staring. “Maybe later?”

“Maybe?” 

He practically sprinted down the hallway. Okay. That was weird. But one person acting strange didn’t mean anything.

“Ethan!” 

Marcus from IT stepped directly into his path, grinning like he’d won the lottery. “I was hoping I’d run into you. Having any computer troubles? Anything at all? I could stop by the circulation desk later, make sure everything’s running smoothly…”

Oh no.

Was every person on the planet attracted to him now?

Two student volunteers whispered together and giggled as they walked past. Dr. Wilson, the ancient head of Reference Services, peered at him over her glasses and actually winked. 

Ethan shuddered, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when the maintenance guy dropped his wrench with a clang that echoed through the lobby.

His morning continued just as bizarrely. 

Two student volunteers nearly crashed their book cart watching him shelve in Ancient History. Three different people ‘accidentally’ bumped into him, and when he left the building for a short moment to get a breath of fresh air (and maybe scream) he found that someone had left their phone number and a chocolate bar on top of his cart, making him want to scream all over again.

This was not what he’d signed up for. He’d only wanted Kyle to notice him, not… 

Not all of this attention. 

It made his skin prickle like he was constantly being watched, like he was the last cookie at a bake sale. 

And the worst part was that Kyle hadn’t even come into work yet. He was having a late start because of some appointment he had to attend. 

At noon, Ethan ducked into his usual hiding spot between Religious Studies and the Occult section. The same spot where, less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d checked out that cursed spell book. The same spot where he usually felt safe and invisible.

“There you are!” 

Ethan jumped. His best friend Noah leaned against the end of the row, a stack of picture books balanced against his hip. His dark hair was artfully messy as always, and today’s bowtie featured tiny dinosaurs wearing party hats—exactly the kind of thing that made him a hit with the kids during storytime. “You never responded to my texts last night. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Ethan said quickly. Too quickly.

Noah tilted his head. “You look… different.” He squinted. “Did you do something with your…” He waved vaguely at all of Ethan. “Everything?”

“It’s nothing. Just a…” What could he say? “A small enhancement.”

“Enhancement?” Noah’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Before Ethan could answer, a gaggle of graduate students rounded the corner. Their rapid-fire discussion about which of their professors was the least competent died the moment they spotted him.

“Oh!” One of them stumbled. “We were just… looking for books on… what were we looking for?”

Her friends shook their heads, staring at Ethan.

“Classic literature… things?” another managed.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “Three rows down for Literary Studies.” His tone had shifted from friendly to protective. “Way down there.”

The students didn’t move.

“Now,” Noah added firmly.

They scattered, but not without several backward glances at Ethan.

“Okay.” Noah turned back to him. “What’s going on? Because that’s the second group I’ve seen looking at you like you’re giving away free tuition. And Helen asked me where you usually eat lunch, which is weird because she’s never even noticed you exist before.”

“I might have done something stupid.” Ethan slumped against the shelves. “Really stupid.”

“Define stupid.”

A loud crash echoed from the next aisle over, followed by the distinct sound of books avalanching off shelves.

“Sorry!” called an unfamiliar voice. “Just trying to get a better view— I mean, trying to find a book!”

Noah crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

“Promise you won’t think I’m crazy?”

“Too late for that. Remember the time you organized the entire romance section by trope?”

“That was a valid organizational system!” Ethan took a deep breath. “Okay. Last night I tried to summon Cupid.”

Noah blinked. “You what now?”

“I found this spell book in the occult section and I thought, you know, maybe…” Ethan gestured vaguely. “But instead of Cupid, I got… a demon.”

“A demon,” Noah repeated flatly.

“Named Mal. He’s staying on my couch. He really likes The Great British Bake Off.”

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me make sure I’m following. You tried to summon Cupid, got a demon instead, and now he’s… your roommate?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

Noah stared at him. “That’s because it is stupid.”

Ethan couldn’t really argue with his friend’s logic. 

Noah continued to look at him. “Well, go on, what did your demonic roommate do?”

“He uh… ” Ethan’s face burned. “He promised he’d get me together with Kyle.”

“And in exchange?”

“He gets my soul?”

“Your soul?” Noah cried in disbelief as he threw up his hands. “You sold your soul to a demon to get a date with Kyle ‘I only read literary fiction’ Edwards?”

“I didn’t really have a choice after I summoned him!” Ethan insisted. “It seems hell’s bogged down in bureaucracy.” 

Noah stared at him some more. “Did you maybe have too much too drink last night?” He pressed his palm to Ethan’s forehead. “Are you feeling alright? Did you eat something weird?”

“I’m not making this up!” Ethan swiped Noah’s hand away.  “Look, I took a picture when he wasn’t looking.” He showed his friend his phone.

Noah squinted at the screen. “That’s… that’s not Photoshop? The dude really has horns?”

“And a tail! Look at his tail.”

“And he’s just… living on your couch? Watching baking shows? You sure you two aren’t getting baked together?”

“Noah!” Ethan complained. “I’m serious. He’s worked some sort of spell on me and now everyone thinks I’m hot.” He paused, then asked in a small voice. “Do you think I’m hot?”

Noah took a step back and eyed him from top to bottom, then he shook his head. “You sure seem different, but you’re still my nerdy friend and I’m still…” He let the sentence hang, then he shook his head. 

Ethan didn’t need him to finish. He was just relieved to have an ally in his friend.

Noah’s tongue darted out to wet his lips as he pondered the situation. “So you’re now demonically enhanced so that everyone finds you hot?” 

“Pretty much.”

Noah thought for a moment longer.

Another crash from the next aisle reminded them they weren’t alone.

“Still trying to find that book!” called the voice from earlier.

“Oh God.” Ethan slid down the shelf until he was sitting on the floor. “What am I going to do?”

“First, you’re going to get up before someone takes a picture of you looking tragic and poetic down there.” Noah hauled him to his feet. “Then you’re going to practice flirting.”

“I don’t need to practice.”

“Yeah? The other day you spent twenty minutes telling me about Kyle’s coffee order. Which you learned by watching him from behind the reference desk because you were scared to talk to him.”

“I was being observant!”

“You were being a stalker. A very awkward stalker.” Noah’s expression softened. “Come on. The universe is giving you a chance here. Use it! Talk to people. Flirt back. Have some fun for once in your life.”

“I have fun,” Ethan protested weakly.

“Reading romance novels alone in your apartment is not having fun.” Noah grabbed his arm. “Look, there’s Axel Tanner. He’s cute, he’s single, and he’s friendly. Just… say hi.”

Daniel rounded the corner, carrying a stack of magazines. His eyes lit up, brightening his face with a warm smile when he saw Ethan.

Not the kind of reaction Ethan usually got from people. 

“Hi!” he squeaked. Then immediately hid behind Noah.

Axel shot him a confused look, then waved and went on his way. 

“Wow.” Noah shook his head. “That was… something.”

“I panicked!”

“I noticed. But hey, at least you made a sound this time. That’s progress from last week when the coffee shop guy smiled at you and you just stared at him like a startled deer.”

“It was unexpected.”

“Start expecting it! You’re smart and kind and you deserve love.” Noah straightened Ethan’s cardigan. 

“You think so?” Ethan wished he sounded more confident. 

“Yes, I do. Now repeat after me. I’m smart and kind and I deserve love.”

Ethan took a deep breath, and then he repeated the words. They didn’t seem quite right, but he felt stronger for having said them. 

Noah gave him a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Well done. Now you need to learn how to form complete sentences. We’ll head to the circulation desk and you’ll have at least one conversation where you don’t hide behind furniture.”

“Can I hide behind you instead?” 

“Nope. Now march.”

---

Mal perched on the library’s rooftop, peering into the the scrying mirror he’d conjured from a stolen coffee mug. 

He needed to monitor Ethan’s progress, and this was the best way to do it.

His spell had worked perfectly. Too perfectly, perhaps. He hadn’t meant to make Ethan quite so irresistible. Just enough to catch one human’s attention, not the entire library staff’s.

In his mind, it had all been simpler.

But what was done was done. 

If only Ethan had a better handle on all that attention. The mortal really didn’t have to hide himself away the way he did. 

“My, my. What do we have here?”

Mal whirled around. He knew that voice. Smooth as silk, sharp as broken glass. It always cut into Mal like broken glass too. He narrowed his eyes at the other demon. 

“Raviel.” The name tasted like ash in his mouth. His former colleague materialized from the shadows, perfectly pressed suit making Mal’s singed one look even shabbier. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, obviously.” Raviel’s red tail swished behind him. “Beelzebrock is quite adamant to have you back where you belong.”

“I’ve been summoned.” Mal straightened his tie, which immediately started smoking. “Bound by contract. Can’t leave until it’s fulfilled.”

“Really? You? Somebody summoned Hell’s most incompetent demon?” Raviel looked as if he found this very amusing and Mal decided not to mention that Ethan had been trying for Cupid instead… or the dried coriander that had been used in the summoning.  

When Mal remained silent, Raviel peered into the scrying mirror. “What a delicious little soul you’ve found. I must say, I’m almost jealous.” He licked his lips.

Something inside Mal’s chest tightened at the thought of Raviel sinking his claws into Ethan. 

The mortal was too pure to survive a confrontation with a demon like that. 

“Ethan’s my target,” he emphasized. 

“Oh, yes, of course. I will wait until you screw it up before I swoop in and save the day, don’t worry.”

“I’m not going to screw it up.” 

“Funny. I recall you said the same thing about Father Giovanni.” Raviel traced one claw through the mirror’s surface, creating ripples in the image of Ethan. “How is that orphanage doing, by the way?”

Mal’s tail lashed. “This is different. I’m a changed demon.”

“Sure you are. I’ll just keep an eye on things, just in case.” 

“Ethan’s contract is with me. You can’t interfere.”

“Oh, I won’t interfere.” Raviel’s expression hardened. “I’ll just watch. And when you fail—because we both know you will—I’ll be there to clean up your mess. Like always.” He smoothed down his already-perfect tie. “You fucked up my chance at a promotion last century with your little gambling addiction support group idea. Don’t think I forgot. You owe me a juicy soul like this.”

Mal opened his mouth to argue, but Raviel had already melted back into the shadows, leaving only the scent of brimstone behind.

The scrying mirror showed Ethan ducking behind a bookshelf, face flushed as he tried to avoid yet another admirer. 

Mal suppressed a sigh. If he was hell’s most incompetent demon, Ethan was earth’s most hopeless romantic. What a pair they made. 

---

Ethan had never noticed how many people visited the library’s circulation desk until they came not to check out a book but him.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” A grad student with paint-stained hands leaned against the counter, grinning. “Almost as beautiful as—”

“Your books are due in three weeks. Except for this one. This onee needs to be back next Tuesday.” Ethan pointed at the topmost book and then pushed the pile across the desk, careful not to let their fingers brush. He’d learned that lesson after the third person had tried to hold his hand while checking out their books.

“Next Tuesday.” The student sighed dreamily. “I’ll see you then?”

“The drop box is open twenty-four seven,” Ethan mumbled.

Noah, reshelving nearby, snorted.

This was ridiculous. Ethan had spent years perfecting the art of being invisible, and now he couldn’t go five minutes without someone trying to start a conversation. His usual strategy of avoiding eye contact, hunching his shoulders and hiding behind the computer screen only seemed to make people find him more endearing.

“You’re doing better,” Noah said once the grad student finally left. “So many full sentences!”

“I hate everything about this.”

“No, you don’t.” Noah straightened a row of freshly returned books. “You smiled at that history professor earlier. Actual eye contact and everything.”

“He asked about my favorite romance tropes!”

“And you gave him a very detailed explanation on enemies-to-lovers versus friends-to-lovers. Progress!”

Maybe Noah had a point. Ethan’s hands hadn’t shaken quite as badly during his last few interactions. He’d managed to recommend books without stumbling over his words. And it felt… nice, sometimes. Being seen. Being heard. Even if it was all because of demon magic.

And then he spotted a familiar figure in the corner of his eyes.

Ethan’s heart stopped, then started again at double speed.

Kyle.

He wore his usual laptop bag, the one with all the literary quote pins. Today’s sweater was a soft blue that made his eyes look warmer, more approachable. He moved through the lobby like he owned it, nodding hello to a few regulars.

And he barely even glanced at Ethan.

Everyone else in the library seemed to gravitate toward the circulation desk, finding excuses to linger, to browse the new releases display, to ask Ethan questions they definitely could have googled. But Kyle walked right past, heading for the staff room like it was any other Tuesday.

Of course he did.

Kyle was different. Special. Too sophisticated to fall for some cheap demon trick. He probably saw right through Mal’s magic, just like he saw through pretentious literary devices and derivative plotlines.

“Earth to Ethan.” Noah waved a hand in front of his face. “You’re doing the Kyle-staring thing again.”

“I am not.” But he totally was.

“You know what would be wild?” Noah’s eyes gleamed with trouble. “If you actually talked to him.”

“I talk to him!”

“Mumbling ‘good morning’ and then hiding in the stacks doesn’t count.”

Ethan opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He thought about all the conversations he’d managed today. About the history professor who’d listened, really listened, to his thoughts on romance tropes. About all the students who’d asked for his number.

If all those strangers could see something in him—even if it was just demon magic—maybe…

“I’m going to ask him out,” Ethan heard himself say.

Noah stared at him. “What?”

“For coffee.” Ethan’s voice shook, but his resolve didn’t. “To discuss The Nightless Sky.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“Yes?” Ethan wasn’t sure who was more surprised by his answer, Noah or himself. “I mean, yes. I am. He liked the book, right? And I’ve read it. I can talk about it.”

“You hated that book.”

“I can still talk about it!”

Noah studied him for a long moment. “Look at you, all grown up and ready to lie about literature for love.”

“I’m not lying. I’m…” Ethan searched for the right word. “Engaging in literary discourse.”

“Right.” Noah grinned. “Well, don’t let me stop you. Go get your man.”

Ethan stood. His legs felt steady. His hands weren’t shaking. 

Maybe this was what confidence felt like.

He walked toward the staff room, rehearsing his opening line. Simple. Casual. Hey, I couldn’t help overhearing you talk about The Nightless Sky yesterday. Want to grab coffee and discuss it?

He could do this.

He was going to do this.

He pushed open the staff room door.

Kyle sat at the table, reading something on his laptop with fierce concentration. 

God, he was so handsome like that, all focused.

How could Ethan dare to break that focus? 

No, he had to.

“Hey,” Ethan made himself say.

Kyle looked up, blinked like he was coming back from somewhere far away. “Oh. Hi.”

“I couldn’t help overhearing…” Ethan’s carefully rehearsed words tangled in his throat. “Um. Yesterday. The book. You were talking about The Nightless Sky?”

“Yes?” Kyle’s expression shifted from distant to interested. “Have you read it?”

“I have!” Too eager. Dial it back. “I mean, yes. I have.”

“What did you think of the metaphysical implications of the nested narrative structure?”

Ethan had thought the nested narrative structure was pretentious garbage, but he wasn’t about to say that. “It was… fascinating. Would you maybe want to get coffee? Talk about it?”

The words tumbled out too fast, all running together, but they were out. He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

Kyle’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to discuss it! None of my friends understand why it’s such a masterpiece.

Because it isn’t, Ethan’s brain supplied helpfully. But Kyle was smiling at him. Actually smiling. At him.

“Great!” Ethan’s voice only cracked a little. “Tomorrow? After work?”

“Perfect. The café down the street?” Kyle was already turning back to his laptop. “I have so many thoughts about the author’s use of metaliterary commentary as a reflection of post-modern society.”

“Can’t wait to hear them.” 

Ethan fled the break room before his courage could desert him entirely.

Noah was waiting by the circulation desk, practically vibrating with curiosity. “Well?”

“He said yes.” The words didn’t feel real. “We’re getting coffee tomorrow.”

“Holy shit, you actually did it!” Noah punched his arm. “I’m so proud of you!” He grinned widely. “Did he seem… affected at all?”

“No, he just seemed normal.” 

Noah rubbed his chin. “I wonder why.” 

“Does it matter?” Ethan couldn’t get himself to care. He’d done it. He’d done the thing! Without magic. “You aren’t affected either,” he reminded his friend.

“I doubt Kyle is like me.”

Ethan shrugged. 

Noah kept pondering, though. “You should talk to your demon and ask him if this will get you out of that contract, if his magic is useless.”

Oh! That was a brilliant idea.

---

Ethan arrived at The Daily Grind an hour early, notebook clutched to his chest like armor. In an effort to dress up a little, he’d traded his usual cardigan for a green sweater that his sister swore brought out his eyes. Not that it mattered. Kyle probably wouldn’t even notice.

But everyone else might.

The coffee shop buzzed with the usual afternoon crowd. Students sprawled across mismatched armchairs, young professionals huddled over laptops, clinging to the last dregs in their cups. A pair of professors graded papers by the window.

In short, there were lots of witnesses… or targets… in case his demon-enhanced… whatever this was… got out of hand again.

Perfect.

What the hell had he gotten himself into?

Trying not to panic, Ethan chose a corner table, positioning himself so he could watch for Kyle’s approach while reviewing his hastily scribbled notes on The Nightless Sky. He’d collected these via Google, beacuse his own personal opinion was still that he would have liked to fling the book across the room.

“Excuse me?”

Ethan looked up to find a student hovering by his table, laptop clutched to her chest, pink creeping across her cheeks. “Is anyone sitting here?”

Oh, this again.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone.” Ethan tried a smile to soften the blow. 

“Oh! I could keep you company until they arrive?” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I make great conversation.”

“That’s… I’m kind of busy.” He gestured at his notes. 

The girl retreated, but two women at the next table kept sneaking glances between sips of their lattes. The barista nearly overfilled a cup because she was staring in his direction. Even the guy by the window who’d been fully absorbed in his textbook for the past ten minutes couldn’t seem to focus anymore.

Ethan’s skin prickled. He’d thought the library was bad, but at least there he had had his familiar surroundings to boost his confidence—and his best friend. Here he felt alone and exposed, like a book someone had left open on display.

The bell above the door chimed. 

Ethan’s eyebrows rose.

Was that Mal?

The demon looked deceptively human in his slightly singed navy suit. He wasn’t sporting his tail, and there were no signs of horns hiding in his dark hair. 

He scanned the room with the air of someone trying very hard to look like they belonged in a coffee shop.

Their eyes met. Mal’s lips curved into a smile that was probably meant to be mysterious and demonic but looked more relieved than anything else.

He slid into the seat across from Ethan, adjusting his tie. It looked suspiciously crispy around the edges. “Quite the crowd you’re drawing.”

“This is your fault.” Ethan gestured at the room of people trying not to stare at him. A woman nearly walked into a chair because she was too busy watching their table. “Your spell did this.”

“Exactly as intended.” Mal straightened in his chair, preening. “I worked powerful magic on you.”

“Kyle isn’t affected at all!” The words burst out of Ethan. “I saw him this morning at work and he barely looked at me. The spell didn’t work on him.”

“Ah.” Mal’s smug expression faltered. “Well. That’s… perfectly normal.”

“Normal?” 

“Absolutely. You see, the spell is clearly…” Mal waved his hands vaguely. “Calibrated for maximum efficacy through… inverse supernatural attraction matrices?”

Ethan blinked at the demon. Were those words supposed to mean anything or was Mal just desperately trying to cover up his failure? “You’re making that up,” he ventured.

“I most certainly am not! It’s very complex demonic magic. Very technical. The… the thaumaturgical resonance frequencies need to harmonize with the target’s aura.”

Ethan crossed his arms. “You have no idea why it didn’t work, do you?”

“I am a highly qualified demon!” A wisp of smoke curled from Mal’s collar before he hastily patted it out. “With extensive experience in…” 

Ethan stopped paying listening when he noticed someone trying to take his picture. 

He groaned. 

This made Mal notice the nerd with the camera as well. 

The next moment, the camera burst into flames. A whisper of shocked gasps swept through the coffee shop, along with a cry of outrage from the poor man seeing his expensive equipment burn away to nothing. “I just bought this last month!” 

Ethan’s gaze snapped to Mal. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” the demon claimed. “The human was annoying me.”

“So you broke his toy? What are you, five?” 

“I’m a little older than five centuries,” Mal said with clear indignation.

Five centuries??? 

Ethan shook his head. “Well then, act your age… I guess?” How was someone supposed to act when they were that old?

Mal watched the human with the broken camera leave the shop and then he turned his attention back to Ethan. “You know,” he started, “if you could see how brightly your soul shines, you wouldn’t be surprised by all this attention.” 

Ethan didn’t know what to make of that. 

He had a bright soul?

Was the demon mocking him?

No, it didn’t seem that way. Mal looked very serious, almost too serious. There was something intense in his gaze that made Ethan’s skin prickle, but not in the uncomfortable way that all the unwanted attention from the coffee shop patrons had. 

This was a warmer sensation. 

A smile tugged at Mal’s lips. “If you could see it you would know why people are drawn to you. That’s really all I wanted my spell to do. To reveal your natural shine.” 

“My natural shine?” 

“Your soul is bright like a sunrise breaking through storm clouds. Like starlight on new snow. Pure and warm and…” He caught himself, clearing his throat. “This is from a demon’s perspective, of course. I just opened other people’s eyes to it.”

Heat crept up Ethan’s neck. No one had ever described him like that before. Like he was truly special instead of just… awkward. “If that’s what your spell did,” he made himself ask, “why can’t Kyle see it?” 

“I don’t know,” Mal admitted. “Not everyone is susceptible to the light of an innocent soul, I suppose.”

“Innocent?” Ethan asked. “Wait, is that what it’s about? I’m not special, I’m just a virgin?” His cheeks flamed as he spoke. 

How fucking embarrassing. 

“No!” Mal said quickly. “I mean, that helps, but it’s not…” He fumbled with his words. “No one glows like that just because they haven’t lain with another. Your light comes from your soul, and the soul isn’t touched by carnal pleasures.”

Ethan tried to process what Mal was trying to tell him and found that he couldn’t. 

Too much had happened in the last 24 hours, and he really needed a break from things that made no sense. “You know what?” he asked, getting up. “This is a coffee shop. Let’s get some coffee.”

“Coffee?” Mal glanced toward the counter. 

“You said there was no decent coffee in hell, so we’ll get you some decent coffee. Come on.”

Mal stood, and they approached the counter together. Ethan ordered his usual: large dark roast, black. Simple. Reliable. A drink that matched the serious, literary discussion he was supposed to be preparing for.

Mal, on the other hand, stared at the menu board like he’d discovered a new language. 

“What’s a… caramel mac-chiato?”

“Sweet espresso and steamed milk with caramel drizzle,” Ethan explained. “Very sweet.”

Mal’s eyes lit up like a child discovering candy existed. “I’ll try that. And… what’s a ‘white chocolate macadamia cream cold brew’?” 

“That’s diabetes served in a tall glass. Do demons get diabetes?” 

“No.”

Ethan grinned. “Then definitely have one.”

“Maybe later,” as if he suddenly rememered he was supposed to be an intimidating demon.

“Suit yourself,” Ethan said.

Their order came up a moment later. They took their mugs back to their table and Ethan found himself watching Mal’s face as the demon took his first sip of sugary coffee. 

Mal’s eyes went wide. He stared at the cup like it had personally betrayed him, then took another sip. And another. 

“This is…” He caught himself starting to smile and quickly rearranged his features into something more demonic. “Adequate. For mortal beverages.”

“Just adequate?” Ethan settled back into his chair, surprised to find himself fighting a grin. There was something endearing about watching someone try so hard to look unimpressed.

“The caramel adds a certain…” Mal paused, as if searching for an appropriately demonic description. “Sinful decadence?”

“It’s just sugar.” 

“Well we don’t have anything like this in hell.” Mal took another sip, longer this time. A bit of whipped cream caught on his upper lip. “I mean, we have sugar. But our coffee tastes like a roast of broken dreams and regrets. This is so different from that.” He looked at his beverage in wonder.  

A whisper from the next table over caught Ethan’s attention. He tensed, but the other customers seemed to have lost interest in him for now. They were watching Mal instead. 

Ethan couldn’t blame them. 

He found the demon very interesting to watch himself. He wanted Mal to keep talking. 

“What else don’t you have in Hell?” he found himself asking. 

“Everything’s just…” Mal’s free hand moved through the air, trying to shape concepts into words. “Darker. Worse versions of things. The coffee is miserable. The chairs are always uncomfortable. The break room microwave only heats the edges of things.”

“You have microwaves in Hell?”

“Hell’s very corporate.” Mal grimaced and took another sip of his coffee. “Lots of meetings about meetings. Quarterly soul quotas. Endless paperwork. Where do you think you mortals got all that bullshit from? We let you copy our homework.” 

“Huh. I guess then people aren’t exaggerating when they’re talking about corporate hell.” 

“They’re really not.” He let his gaze sweep the coffee shop. “You all don’t know how good you have it up here. I was stuck in hell without a topside assignment for a century.”

“That sounds rough.” 

“It was.” Mal drank the last of his coffee in big gulps as if the heat of the bevarage didn’t make that uncomfortable. Then again, he was a demon. “It’s all good now,” he said as he set the empty mug down. “You summoned me and broke me out.” A genuine smile accompanied his words. 

A smile that made Ethan feel fuzzy on the inside as it focused on him. 

Suddenly he had the strong urge to move. 

He rose from his chair. “You know what? I’ll get you that fancy drink with the funny name you were eyeing.”

“The diabetes?”

“Exactly!” 

“You don’t have to—”

But Ethan was already on his way to the counter. 

He wasn’t attracted to Mal, was he? 

Sure he looked nice in his suit, even if it was a little singed, and there was something about the depth of his dark eyes that made Ethan feel like he could fall right in. Something about his lips that—

No. 

Ethan stopped himself as he reached the counter. 

He was not going to entertain those thoughts about a demon who wanted to collect his soul. 

But even the barista was sneaking glances at Mal while she rang him up. “Your friend’s cute,” she whispered as she handed Ethan his receipt. “Is he single?”

“He’s a demon,” Ethan said without thinking.

She laughed. “Yeah, guys in suits usually are. But like, actually single?”

Ethan retreated without answering. But he couldn’t shake the question. 

Was Mal single? Did demons even date? 

When Ethan returned to their table, Mal looked at him with such joy that Ethan found it difficult to stick to his resolve not to think about such things. 

No, it was the drink Mal was looking at. 

Not Ethan.

Ethan set the tall glass down. “Here you go.”

Mal immediately grabbed the glas and took a sip.

“This is…” His eyes drifted shut. “I think I finally understand why people sell their souls.”

“For sugary coffee?”

“For joy.” Mal grinned, then sat up straight. “Which is very useful information for future soul acquisition projects, of course.”

“Of course.”

But Mal couldn’t quite manage to look sinister while savoring his drink, making little happy sounds with each sip. Within a minute, the glass was half-empty.

Belatedly, Ethan wondered if it was a good idea to get his demon hopped up on caffeine. He’d be up all night watching The Great British Bake-Off again.

Still, it was difficult to begrudge him the simple pleasures he’d been denied in hell. 

“Why were you stuck down there for so long?” Ethan found himself asking. “I mean, why didn’t you get ‘topside assignments’?”

Mal’s expression clouded. “I got banned from Earth after my last mission.”

“What does a demon have to do to get banned from Earth?” 

A grimace formed on Mal’s face. “I was supposed to be collecting a soul. Easy assignment. The man was a gambling addict. The kind of person who’d bet his own grandmother on a horse race.” He took another sip, slower this time. “Should have been simple to corrupt him fully.”

“But?”

“But he had children. And his wife was sick. And he just…” Mal’s fingers drummed against the glass. “He needed someone to talk to. That’s all. Just some support.”

Something in Mal’s voice made Ethan lean forward. “What did you do?”

“I listened.” Mal wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And then I might have… suggested he find others who were struggling with the same problems. Set up weekly meetings. Share their stories.” He grimaced. “Created the most outrageous paperwork headaches in Hell’s bureaucracy. Do you have any idea how many forms you have to fill out when you accidentally start a support organization?”

“You created Gamblers Anonymous?”

“I told my supervisor it was strategic!” Mal’s cold drink started steaming. He didn’t seem to notice. “Get all the gambling addicts in one place, I said. Easy mass soul collection! But then they all started… supporting each other. Getting better.” He ran a hand through his hair. “It is very hard to corrupt a soul once someone’s developed healthy coping mechanisms.”

“You’re really bad at your job, aren’t you?”

The words slipped out before Ethan could stop them. Mal’s shoulders slumped, and his drink cooled again.

“I mean…” Ethan reached across the table without thinking, laying his hand over Mal’s. The demon’s skin was warm, like sun-baked stone. “I think it’s good to be bad at being bad.”

Mal stared at their joined hands. Something shifted in his expression, surprise melting into something softer, more vulnerable. 

Neither of them moved.

“Oh, you brought a friend?”

Kyle’s voice shattered the moment. Ethan snatched his hand back, heart racing. Kyle stood by their table, messenger bag slung over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised at the evidence on their table that showed they’d been here for a while already.

“He’s, uh…” Ethan’s mind went blank. He hadn’t thought about how to explain Mal’s presence.

“Just leaving, actually.” Mal stood, straightening his tie, expression closed off. “Enjoy your literary discussion.”

He walked away before Ethan could say anything. The bell above the door chimed, and he was gone.

He hadn’t finished drinking his white chocolate macadamia cream cold brew.

Kyle settled into the chair Mal had vacated. “Ready to discuss The Nightless Sky?”

Ethan’s palm still tingled where it had touched Mal’s hand. He forced himself to focus on Kyle, on the coffee date he’d wanted for so long. This was his chance. His happily ever after.

So why did it suddenly feel like an interruption?

Ethan shook himself out of his stupor. He was being ridiculous. “You want to get yourself some coffee before we start?”

“Actually, I will.” Kyle glanced toward the counter. “I think I’ll treat myself today.”

Ethan nodded, trying to focus on Kyle instead of the lingering warmth in his palm. He watched as Kyle approached the counter, noting the confident way he carried himself. Like he owned any place he moved through. 

So different from the awkward demon whose company Ethan had entertained just now. 

Kyle returned with an espresso and a slice of lavender lemon cake on a small ceramic plate. 

“Special occasion?” Ethan asked, proud that his voice didn’t come out squeaky in the presence of his crush.

“You could say that.” Kyle’s smile held a secret, and God, Ethan had dreamed about that smile for months now.  “My agent just called this morning. We’ve got a contract.”

“Your agent?” 

“Mm.” Kyle took a sip of his coffee with the appreciation of a true connoisseur. “Random House is interested in my novel. The one I’ve been working on? About the disillusioned professor who discovers his entire academic career is based on a misinterpreted Victorian text?”

“That’s…” Ethan’s voice squeaked again. Damn it. He’d known Kyle was amazing, but he hadn’t known how amazing. All those times he’d watched Kyle writing during his breaks, those elegant hands dancing across his laptop keyboard… he’d been crafting something magnificent enough for Random House. “That’s…wow. I mean, of course they want it. You’re brilliant.” He cut himself off, cheeks burning.

“Thank you.” Kyle took the praise easily as he cut into his cake. “It’s nice to finally have my literary sensibilities recognized. Speaking of which—The Nightless Sky. What did you think of the nested narrative structure?”

Ethan’s mouth went dry. He’d spent an hour gathering his thoughts about the book, but suddenly everything he could say felt stupid and uninformed. What did he know about literary sensibilities? Kyle was about to be a published author. Kyle understood things about literature that Ethan could only dream of grasping.

“I found it…” He took a sip of coffee to stall, searching a good word to end his sentence. “Complex.”

He sounded like a dunce, didn’t he?

Kyle cut into his lavender cake. “Complex? In what way?”

“The nested narratives…” Ethan’s throat felt dry. “The way the stories fit together…”

“Precisely! The interwoven temporalities create a fascinating commentary on the nature of narrative itself.” Kyle set down his fork. “The way the Victorian narrative frame creates a lens through which we view the contemporary plotline, it’s a masterful critique of how modern storytelling remains shackled to outdated forms, wouldn’t you say?”

Ethan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He hadn’t thought about any of that while reading. He’d just found it confusing, all those storylines tangling together without ever seeming to make a point.

He just didn’t have the level of insight Kyle did, obviously.

“And of course, the unreliable narrator in the secondary timeline provides a perfect metaphor for the fractured nature of truth in our post-truth society.” Kyle’s eyes lit up as he spoke, hands gesturing elegantly to emphasize his points.

God, he was beautiful like this, all passionate about literature. Even if Ethan only understood about half of what he was saying.

“That’s what I’m exploring in my novel, actually.” Kyle leaned forward. “The way academic discourse shapes our understanding of reality. My protagonist thinks he’s made this groundbreaking discovery about a Victorian text, builds his whole reputation on it.” Kyle’s voice took on the smooth cadence of someone who’d practiced this pitch. “But then he finds evidence that suggests he fundamentally misunderstood the author’s intent. It raises fascinating questions about the nature of truth in academia.”

Ethan tried to look fascinated rather than overwhelmed. A Victorian text. Like in The Nightless Sky. Kyle probably thought that parallel was incredibly clever. Ethan should say something about that. Something intelligent.

“That’s…” he managed.

Don’t say ‘complex’ again.

A movement caught Ethan’s eye. A young woman had been hovering near their table, clutching a paperback to her chest. Now she stepped forward, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she said, though she didn’t sound sorry at all. “But aren’t you the librarian who recommended ‘The Billionaire’s Fake Fiancée‘ last week?”

Ethan blinked. “Oh! Yes, that was me.”

“I just wanted to tell you it was perfect. You were exactly right about the fake dating tension and the emotional payoff.” Her smile brightened. “Do you have any other recommendations?”

Heat shot into Ethan’s cheeks. “Actually, if you liked the fake dating trope, you might enjoy—” He caught himself, glancing at Kyle. Romance novel recommendations probably weren’t the sophisticated literary discussion he’d been aiming for.

But the woman leaned closer. “Yes?”

“‘The Quarterback’s Secret Baby,'” Ethan found himself saying. “It sounds ridiculous but trust me. The emotional depth when he realizes he’s been pushing her away because of his own abandonment issues…” He trailed off, feeling the weight of Kyle’s gaze on him.

Kyle was looking at him strangely. Really looking at him, maybe for the first time since they’d sat down. “I didn’t know you were so… enthusiastic about that kind of fiction.”

Something in his tone made Ethan wither. Of course Kyle wouldn’t be impressed by secret baby plots and sports romances. He’d just been talking about thematic resonance and the instability of meaning, and here was Ethan gushing about trashy genre fiction.

“I’ll definitely check that out,” the woman said, seemingly oblivious to Ethan’s discomfort. She shifted her weight, like she was about to say something else.

Kyle’s phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen and straightened. “Sorry, I need to take this. It’s my agent.”

Kyle pushed back his chair. “Just gonna step outside for a minute.”

“Of course.” Ethan’s voice came out too high. “I’ll be here.”

The woman took Kyle’s exit as an opening. “I’m Emily, by the way. I’d love to talk talk more about romance novels.”

But Ethan couldn’t focus on what she was saying. His eyes kept drifting to the window, watching Kyle pace back and forth on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear. Kyle’s face lit up as he talked, his free hand gesturing with the same enthusiasm he’d shown discussing his novel.

Emily was still talking. Ethan nodded at what felt like appropriate moments, but his attention remained fixed on the window.

Kyle ended his call. Stepped to the curb. Raised his hand.

A cab pulled up.

Ethan’s throat tightened as he watched Kyle climb in without a backward glance. Without even coming back for his half-finished cake.

“Are you okay?” Emily’s voice seemed to come from far away.

“Fine.” Ethan stared at Kyle’s empty chair. 

He was not fine. 

How could he talk to people about romance while his own love life was in absolute shambles?

---

Mal paced the length of the apartment (twelve steps, turn, twelve steps back), his tail lashing behind him. The coffee from earlier still buzzed through his system, making his thoughts race faster than hellfire. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Ethan’s hand had felt on his, warm and gentle, before Kyle had interrupted. 

He really shouldn’t be thinking about that.

He was a demon. He had a job to do. A soul to collect. A chance to prove himself.

Ethan was his ticket to a better life. 

Mal could not let himself start ‘caring too much’ again. 

That kind of incompetence was exactly what had landed him on the bottom of the demonic pecking order.

Keys rattled in the lock.

Quick now, look professional. 

Mal’s chest tightened as he sat down on the couch as if he hadn’t just worn a path in the carpet.

The door opened. Ethan stepped inside.

One look at his face told Mal everything he needed to know about how the date had gone.

“That bad?” The words slipped out before Mal could stop them. 

Ethan shut the door with a quiet click and leaned against it. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.” Mal’s tail curled with uncertainty. “But if you’d like, I could set him on fire. Just a little.”

“Kyle’s perfect.” Ethan’s voice cracked on the word. He slumped onto the couch beside Mal, close enough that Mal could smell coffee and defeat on him. “I’m the problem.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.” Ethan pulled his knees to his chest, making himself smaller. “He’s brilliant, you know? Getting published by Random House. And I just sat there like an idiot, barely able to string two words together about that stupid book.”

Mal knew that tone. Had heard it in his own voice too many times after failed assignments and botched soul collections. 

“And then this girl came up asking about romance novels.” Ethan pressed his forehead against his knees. “Of all the moments to bring up secret baby plots. While he’s talking about narrative temporality and post-truth society.”

“Secret… baby plots?”

“Romance novel trope. Doesn’t matter. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. Everyone else is finding their happily ever after, and I can’t even make it through one coffee date without embarrassing myself.”

Mal watched Ethan curl tighter into himself, something hot and uncomfortable building in his chest. The feeling reminded him of that morning in Beelzebrock’s office, watching other demons parade past with their glowing soul vessels while he sat empty-handed. 

He knew too well what it was like to feel… less.

“Wait here.” Mal stood, smoothing down his tie. “I have something that might help.”

He raised his hands, dark smoke curling from his fingers. The spell was simple enough—a basic summoning he’d learned in his first decade of soul acquisition training. But his magic felt rusty after a century of filing paperwork. The smoke writhed, then coalesced into a container that dropped into his waiting palms.

“Is that… ice cream?” Ethan lifted his head.

“Gelatus Infernalis.” Mal managed to catch the container before it slipped from his frozen fingers. “From Hell’s finest creamery.” 

The tub radiated cold so intense it made the air around it shimmer. Frost crackled across its black surface, forming patterns that looked exactly like screaming faces.

“It’s, uh, special order.” Mal tried for a casual tone. “They have to keep it at approximately negative eight hundred degrees to prevent it from melting in Hell’s climate.”

Ethan eyed the container warily. “Is it safe for humans?”

“Probably?” Mal conjured a sturdy spoon. “Just don’t let it touch your tongue for too long. And maybe don’t ask what gives it that purple swirl.”

“That’s not very reassuring.” But Ethan’s lips twitched, just slightly.

Mal sat back down, careful to keep a professional distance between them. He was just fulfilling his contract obligations. Keeping his target happy. Nothing more.

“Here.” He handed Ethan the spoon. “The trick is to eat it quickly, before it freezes your taste buds.”

Ethan looked at the ice cream sceptically.”What flavor is this supposed to be?”

“Midnight Pomegranate and Damned Souls.” At Ethan’s alarmed look, Mal quickly added, “The souls are more of a garnish, really. Mostly it’s fruit.”

“I think…” Ethan licked his lips. “I think I’ll pass on the hell-cream. But thank you for the offer.” He set the spoon down. “I have some regular Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.”

“Oh.” Mal’s tail drooped. “Right. Of course. Mortal ice cream is probably safer.”

Ethan pushed himself off the couch. “Want to try some? No damned souls, but Cookie Dough is pretty good.”

“Cookie… dough?” What a concept. “You eat it raw?”

“Not real cookie dough.” Ethan’s voice drifted from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of opening drawers. “It’s little chunks of special dough mixed into vanilla ice cream. Safe for human consumption.” He returned with two fresh spoons and a pint. “Usually.”

“Usually?”

“Well, sometimes you get a bit carried away and eat the whole container.” Ethan settled back onto the couch, closer this time. Close enough that his knee brushed Mal’s thigh. “Then you hate yourself in the morning, but that’s part of the ice cream experience.”

Mal watched as Ethan peeled back the lid. No frost. No screaming faces. Just sweet-smelling ice cream with little brown chunks scattered throughout. “That’s what makes you hate yourself? Not the souls of the damned?”

“Have you seen how many calories are in this thing?” But Ethan was almost smiling now. The tight misery around his eyes had softened. He dug his spoon in and offered the first bite to Mal. “Here. Try some regular, non-infernal ice cream.”

Mal’s breath caught. Ethan was holding out the spoon, waiting. Was he offering to… feed Mal? 

If so, he probably didn’t think anything of it, and Mal shouldn’t either. 

He leaned forward, letting Ethan guide the spoon to his lips. The sweetness hit his tongue like a revelation. No bitter aftertaste of tormented souls. No burning cold that threatened to freeze his teeth. Just pure, simple pleasure.

Ethan watched him, spoon still hovering near Mal’s mouth. “Good?” 

“Positively sinful.” Mal offered a smile, and Ethan offered one in return, a real smile. One that reached his eyes and made them shine. All that brightness Mal had talked about in the coffee shop—Ethan’s pure, radiant soul—it was there in that smile, and how could anyone not see it? How could this Kyle person claim to be intelligent and not recognize Ethan’s worth?

Oblivious to Mal’s thoughts, Ethan dug out another spoonful. “Here.” He offered it just as gently as the first.

Mal stared at it.

This was wrong. Mal was supposed to be helping Ethan fall for Kyle. That was the contract. That was the plan. He needed to say something clever, something that would steer the conversation back to Ethan’s failed date. Something demonic.

Instead, he leaned forward and accepted the second bite.

“You know,” Ethan said, setting the spoon down, “for a demon, you’re really not very scary.”

“I am extremely scary.” But Mal’s traitor of a tail curled with pleasure at Ethan’s soft laugh. “I’ve terrorized dozens of souls.”

“Sure you have.” Ethan tucked one leg under himself, turning to face Mal more fully. “Like that gambling addict you steered back to the light?”

Heat crept up Mal’s neck. “That was different. He needed help.”

“And you helped him.” Ethan’s voice was soft, but his words hit harder than any of Beelzebrock’s lectures. “Just like you tried to help me tonight.”

“I summoned ice cream from Hell.”

“Which was very demonic of you.” There was that smile again. The one that almost convinced Mal that being good wasn’t so bad. “Even if you did let me substitute it with Cookie Dough.”

“Your choice was clearly more tempting,” Mal said. “No screaming faces required.”

Ethan scooped up another spoonful. This time he took the bite himself, and Mal caught himself staring at the way his lips curved around the spoon. “I’m tempting?” he asked lightly, as if he was completely oblivious to the way Mal watched him.

Mal’s mouth went dry. 

Damnation. 

What was he doing?

“I meant the cookie dough,” he managed.

“Right.” Ethan’s tongue darted out to lick ice cream from his lips. “The cookie dough.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with something Mal couldn’t name. Didn’t want to name. He should say something about Kyle. About the date. About their contract.

“You know what the worst part is?” Ethan broke the silence first, his playful tone fading. “Kyle’s going to be this famous author now. Random House wants his book. And I couldn’t even keep up with him talking about one novel.” His voice dropped lower. “I don’t think he even noticed he left me there when he got into the cab.”

“What?”

“He got a call from his agent. Took a cab without coming back inside.” Ethan scooped up more ice cream. “I mean, it makes sense. He’s got more important things to think about than some loser who reads romance novels.”

Once again Mal felt the strong urge to set something on fire. Preferably Kyle. “You deserve better than that.” 

Ethan’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Someone who walks out on you doesn’t deserve your soul.” The words rushed out before Mal could stop them. “I mean… your time. Doesn’t deserve your time.”

Ethan set his spoon down. “My soul?”

“Figure of speech.” Mal’s tie began to smoke. He patted it out quickly, avoiding Ethan’s eyes. “Demons tend to… think in terms of souls.”

“Because that’s why you’re here.” Ethan’s expression sobered. “You’re going to collect my soul at the end of this.”

Mal’s stomach turned to knots, but what could he say? That watching Kyle walk out on Ethan had made him want to reduce the man to ashes? That every time Ethan smiled, Mal felt less like a demon and more like something with a beating, feeling heart?

No, Ethan was right; Mal was here for nefarious reasons, and they both needed to keep that in mind.

Ethan spoke again without waiting for Mal. “You’re not getting my soul unless I get what I want.”

“And that’s Kyle?” Mal couldn’t keep the contempt out of his voice.

Ethan got up from the couch and started pacing the small apartment, ignoring Mal’s disregard for his crush. “Maybe the spell just needs to be stronger,” he said. “Make me more irresistible. Even to people who read literary fiction and get published by Random House.”

“You don’t need—” 

“Because clearly, I’m not enough as I am.”

“Stop.” Mal stood, catching Ethan’s arm as he passed. “You are not the problem here.”

Ethan went still under his touch. “Then why didn’t he stay?”

“Kyle’s blindness to your worth isn’t a reflection on you.” Mal’s hand slid down Ethan’s arm. “It’s his failure, not yours.”

“Can you fix that?” Ethan turned to face him. “Do you have a spell that would make him see me?”

“I spent all morning watching you at the library—”

“You were stalking me?”

“Only in a professional capacity.” Mal’s tail curled defensively. “Soul acquisition requires thorough target observation.”

“I’m not sure that makes it less creepy.”

“The point is,” Mal pressed on, “I watched how you interact with people. The problem isn’t that others can’t see your light. It’s that you don’t see it yourself.”

Ethan seemed unconvinced. “So what’s your demonic solution for that?”

Mal’s eyes fell on the half-eaten container of ice cream. He snatched it up, dark smoke curling from his fingers as he whispered words that made the air crackle. The cookie dough chunks glowed briefly purple, then settled back to their normal golden brown.

“Here.” He pressed the container into Ethan’s hands. “Eat the rest.”

Ethan peered at the ice cream suspiciously. “What did you do to it?”

“Just a small confidence boost. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“That would be the first time ice cream actually solved a problem.” But Ethan dug his spoon in anyway, hesitating only briefly before bringing it to his mouth.

Mal watched him eat, trying to ignore the warm satisfaction spreading through his chest. 

He was on the right track now; he knew it. He would help Ethan get what he wanted, and then Mal would get what he wanted: the recognition he deserved from his fellow demons.

That was fair.

Wasn’t it?

---

Ethan’s alarm went off and he swatted it silent before the sound could wake Mal. Through his bedroom doorway, he could just make out a tail dangling off the edge of his couch, twitching occasionally in whatever dreams demons had.

Probably something about good coffee. 

The memory made Ethan smile even as other memories of the day before sat heavy in his stomache. He’d told Mal things he hadn’t even admitted to Noah. About not feeling good enough.

And Mal had tried to help, in his awkward demonic way. That spell he’d cast on the ice cream was supposed to fix everything, though Ethan didn’t feel any different this morning. Maybe magic just took time to work. Like bread rising, or library hold requests getting filled.

He went through his morning routine on autopilot, thoughts drifting between Kyle’s abrupt departure yesterday and Mal’s surprisingly gentle attempts at comfort. The demon who’d crashed into his life really wasn’t very demonic, was he?

Except that he would still collect Ethan’s soul when all was said and done. 

Ethan couldn’t let himself forget about that. 

He cast one last look at Mal before leaving his apartment. 

Whatever magic he’d worked on Ethan, Ethan would find out soon enough. 

* * *

The library always felt different before opening hours. Sunlight slanted through the high windows, turning dust motes into lazy constellations and the empty reading rooms held their breath, waiting for the day to begin. 

Ethan loved getting to the library early to enjoy this time when it was just him and the books. 

He was shelving a cart of returns in Literature when Dr. Wilson appeared around the corner, already wearing her stern expression. The ancient head of Reference Services had probably been old when the library was built, and she ran her department like a particularly strict ship captain.

“Good morning, Ethan.” She peered at him over her glasses. Yesterday, she’d winked at him. Today, her usual frown was back in place. “Have you read the new Booker Prize winner we just acquired?”

“No, but I saw it on Kyle’s desk a few days ago and thought about how pretentious the cover looks. Like they’re trying too hard to seem literary.” The words tumbled out before Ethan could stop them. “Actually, most literary fiction is just genre fiction in a fancy jacket. Like Anna Karenina is basically a romance novel about a marriage in trouble and a love triangle. And Moby Dick is enemies to lovers, if the enemy is a whale.”

Dr. Wilson’s mouth fell open.

Ethan’s mouth fell open too.

Had he really just said that out loud?

To Dr. Wilson?

“I mean…” But instead of backtracking, he heard himself continue: “Pride and Prejudice is basically a Regency romance with extra commentary on real estate. And War and Peace is slow burn friends to lovers plus historical fiction. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Literary fiction just pretends it’s above genre conventions while using all of them and…” Ethan forced his lips shut. 

What was happening to him?

Dr. Wilson drew herself up to her full height, which still only reached Ethan’s shoulder. “Mr. Volkov. Are you feeling quite well?”

“I feel fine except that I can’t seem to stop saying everything I’m thinking and I think this might be because of the spell Mal cast on me last night.” Ethan clapped both hands over his mouth, but the words kept squeezing through his fingers. “And now you’re looking at me like I’ve lost my mind which I probably have because I’m talking about demon magic to the head of Reference Services and your left eyebrow just went higher than I’ve ever seen it go.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Wilson said slowly, “you should take a break. Have some tea to calm your nerves.”

“That’s very kind of you but actually I think I just need to hide in the stacks until this wears off.”

Ethan fled, leaving his cart of books behind. He could hear Dr. Wilson calling after him, but he didn’t dare stop. If he stopped, he’d just tell her more things. Things about how her cardigans reminded him of his grandmother, or how he’d always wondered if she slept in the library because she was always here first and last to leave.

He needed to find somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he could figure out what was wrong with him before he ran into anyone else.

His feet carried him automatically to his usual hiding spot between Religious Studies and the Occult section. The same spot where this whole mess had started. He pressed his back against the shelves and tried to breathe.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Okay. This is fine. This is… this is absolutely not fine because I can’t stop talking and everyone’s going to think I’m crazy and Kyle’s going to hear about this and…”

“Ethan?”

Oh no.

Louisa from Acquisitions stood at the end of the aisle, clutching a stack of order forms. Yesterday she’d been all flutter and flirtation. Now she just looked concerned.

“Are you alright? I heard talking.”

“No, I’m really not, but you shouldn’t worry because you never noticed me before yesterday. And yesterday you only noticed me because of Mal’s first spell.”

She shot him an odd look as she puzzled over his words as if trying to decide if she should be offended. “What spell?”

“The magic spell that the demon cast on my ice cream last night.”

Now he officially sounded like a crazy person.

Louisa looked at him like she thought so too. “I think I’m going to go do… something else.” She turned around and left him there.

Ethan slid down the shelf until he sat on the floor. 

Why did it have to be Louisa who found him? 

Within half an hour, everyone in the library would know that Ethan was off his rocker.

He needed to call Mal. No, he needed to text Mal. Calling would be a disaster because he’d probably tell the demon exactly how cute he looked when he was sleeping.

Not that he could do either of those things because Mal didn’t have a phone. 

Was the demon watching him, though, the way he’d done the yesterday?

Was he laughing at Ethan’s unfiltered word vomit?

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Noah’s voice. Thank god. Noah would help him. Noah always helped him.

Ethan looked up at his friend. “Save me.”

“Save you from what?” Noah’s bowtie had tiny astronauts on it today.

“The demon’s cast a spell on me and now I’ve lost my filter. Remember how yesterday it was difficult for me to talk to people? Now it seems I can’t shut up, and I say the stupidest things. Dr. Wilson’s left eyebrow nearly achieved orbit.”

Noah studied him for a long moment. “You’ve lost your filter?” 

“Don’t you dare take advantage.”

“Why are you really into Kyle Edwards?”

“Because he’s safe.” The answer surprised even Ethan. “He’s so far out of my league that nothing could ever actually happen between us. I can daydream about him without risking real rejection because he’ll never notice me anyway.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than all the books surrounding them.

“Oh,” Noah said softly. “Ethan…”

“I didn’t know that’s why.” Ethan stared at his hands. “I really didn’t know until you asked and it just… came out.” His voice got smaller. “That’s kind of messed up, isn’t it?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Noah bumped his shoulder against Ethan’s. “You deserve someone who actually sees you, you know that right?”

“Please don’t be nice to me right now. I might cry.” He rubbed at his still dry eyes and took a shaky breath. 

“I have to tell you, though, Kyle is so totally not out of your league.”

“Right.” Ethan stared at his hands. “I’m just a guy who reads romance novels and gets tongue-tied around attractive people. He’s about to be published by Random House.”

“You’re also smart and kind and literally every person in this library has been falling over themselves trying to get your attention since yesterday.” 

“That’s the spell though. Not me.”

“The spell just made people give you the attention you deserve.” Noah’s voice went gentle but firm. “You’re the one who remembers every patron’s reading preferences. You’re the one who special-orders books you think they’ll like. You actually care about people, while Kyle’s spent the last year treating everyone around him like we’re supporting characters in his great literary journey.”

Ethan hadn’t expected that burst of honesty from his friend. “Noah…”

“If you put half the effort into actually talking to people that you put into avoiding them, you’d have a line of genuinely interested suitors around the block. No demon magic required.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do,” Noah confirmed, and Ethan didn’t know how he deserved a friend like that, because he was sure Noah was telling the truth, even without being under a spell. 

“We should get you out of here.” Noah pushed himself up from the floor and held out his hand. “Before you tell any more uncomfortable truths.”

“Or critique cataloging systems.” Ethan let Noah pull him to his feet. “I told Dr Wilson that War and Peace is slow burn friends to lovers.”

“You didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.

“Then you should really make a run for it now.” Noah peered around the corner of the stacks. “Coast is clear. If we cut through periodicals, we can avoid most people.”

Cautiously, they made their way forward.

“Maybe I should call in sick,” Ethan whispered.

“With your current truth-telling situation? You’d probably end up confessing that you’re actually being magically compelled to tell the truth by a demon who enchanted your ice cream.” Noah led him around another corner. “Actually, that might work. They’d think you were running a fever.”

“I hate this.” Ethan’s hands twisted in the hem of his shirt. “I feel like I’m going to vibrate out of my skin if I don’t tell everyone exactly what I’m thinking about them.”

“Like what?”

“Like how your astronaut bowtie is adorable but also kind of crooked and it’s driving me crazy that I can’t fix it.”

Noah’s hand flew to his bowtie. “It is not crooked.”

“It’s tilted about twelve degrees to the left and every time you move your head it tilts a little more and—” 

“Okay, okay.” Noah adjusted his bowtie. “Better?”

“A little to the right. No, too far. There. Perfect.” Ethan let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being ridiculous.”

“It’s fine,” Noah assured him. “You’re giving me things to tease you about for years to come.” 

Ethan opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of the main doors opening cut through his thoughts and if he was saying anything, he couldn’t hear himself. 

Footsteps echoed across the lobby’s floor. Familiar footsteps. Ethan knew that purposeful stride, had memorized its rhythm during countless hours of shelving nearby while pretending not to notice…

“Nope.” Noah tried to steer him toward periodicals. “Absolutely not.”

But Ethan was already turning, drawn by some masochistic impulse he couldn’t fight. Or maybe it was the spell, forcing him to face what he’d been avoiding.

Kyle walked through the lobby as if he had somewhere important to be, wearing a cream cable-knit sweater that probably cost more than Ethan’s rent, and that perfectly accentuated the depth of his dark eyes. Ethan’s heart did that familiar squeeze even as his mouth opened against his will.

“Noah.” Ethan’s voice came out strangled. “I can’t be here right now. I’ll say something. I’ll say everything.”

“Then let’s—”

But it was too late. Kyle had spotted them, and his face lit up in that particular way it did when he had news to share about himself. 

“Oh no.” Ethan grabbed Noah’s arm. “Oh no oh no oh no.”

“Just… try to think about anything except polite things,” Noah whispered.

“That’s not how thoughts work and you know it and also his sweater looks so soft I bet it would feel really nice if I hugged him.” Ethan snapped his mouth shut as Kyle drew near.

“Ethan!” Kyle greeted him with a smile. “I was hoping to run into you. The most amazing thing happened after our coffee yesterday. My agent called—”

“You left.” 

The words tumbled out of Ethan’s mouth, soft but clear. His grip on Noah’s arm tightened.

Kyle’s smile flickered. “What?”

“You left me sitting there.” Ethan’s voice wavered but wouldn’t stop. “You got in a cab and didn’t come back. And I know your book deal is important and your writing is brilliant, and I’m not smart enough to understand narrative temporality or post-truth society or whatever other concepts you were talking about. But you could really learn something from romance novels too. Like how not to abandon your date at a coffee shop.”

Noah’s hand settled on Ethan’s shoulder in support. Possibly the only thing that kept him from bolting out the door as Kyle stared at him.

“I…” For once, Kyle appeared at a loss for words. “I didn’t realize…”

“That it was a date?” The truth spell pulled more words from Ethan’s throat. “Or that I’ve had a crush on you for a year? Because I have. I love how passionate you get about books, even the pretentious ones I don’t understand. I love that little frown you get when you’re writing, and how your hair falls in your eyes when you’re shelving the lower rows, and the way you always smell like new books and expensive coffee.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Ethan’s face burned. He wanted to sink into the floor, to disappear between the shelves and never emerge. But the spell kept him standing there, raw and exposed, waiting for Kyle to say something—anything—that would put him out of his misery.

Kyle stared at him, mouth slightly open. Several emotions flickered across his face in quick succession: surprise, confusion, and then… something else. Something that made his eyes light up in a way that had nothing to do with discussing literary theory.

“You’ve been watching me this closely?” The question came out soft, pleased. “All this time?”

Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs. “Of course I have. You’re smart and talented and—” He pressed his hands to his mouth, but the words squeezed through his fingers. “—and completely out of my league, which is why I never said anything, because why would someone like you ever notice someone who reads romance novels for fun and cries at fictional weddings?”

“I had no idea.” Kyle took a step closer, and Ethan’s heart beat even faster. “You really think my writing is brilliant?”

Noah made a quiet sound that might have been a groan.

“I mean, I haven’t actually read any of it,” Ethan admitted, the truth spell still working its merciless magic. “But I’m sure it’s amazing because everything you say is so intelligent and sophisticated and I wish I understood half of what you talk about but mostly I just sit there thinking about how nice your lips are when you’re explaining things.”

Kyle showed him another smile. This one had heat in it, interest. “Perhaps we should try that coffee again.” He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag. “Somewhere we can discuss this more thoroughly.”

Noah’s grip tightened on Ethan’s shoulder. “Ethan, don’t—”

“Tomorrow evening?” Kyle stepped even closer, completely ignoring Noah. “I know this little bistro near campus. Much more intimate than a coffee shop.” His voice dropped lower. “We could talk about whatever you’d like. I could share my writing with you.”

The spell pulled more words from Ethan’s throat. “I’d like that. I’d like that so much that I’m actually terrified because what if I mess it up again? What if I say something stupid about secret baby plots or…” He swallowed hard. “Oh god, I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?”

“It’s charming, actually.” Kyle reached out and straightened Ethan’s collar, his fingers lingering and frying Ethan’s last remaining brain cell. “This honesty of yours. Refreshing, even. Most people try so hard to seem intellectual around me. But you…” His smile turned considering. “You’re absolutely genuine in your appreciation.”

“That’s one word for it,” Noah muttered.

“Seven tomorrow?” Kyle’s hand was still on Ethan’s collar, thumb brushing his neck. “I could pick you up here, after your shift?”

Ethan nodded, focusing all his energy on keeping his mouth shut because whatever words would come out now should never be uttered in a library.

“Perfect.” Kyle finally stepped back, but his eyes stayed fixed on Ethan. “Oh, and Ethan? Wear something nice. I think green would look lovely on you.” He turned and walked away, resuming his purposeful stride.

The moment Kyle disappeared around the corner, Ethan’s knees gave out.

Noah caught him before he could collapse entirely. “Easy there. Deep breaths. We’re almost out of here.”

“What just happened?” Ethan let Noah steer him toward the parking lot. “Did I really just tell Kyle Edwards about how I watched his lips move?”

“You told him a lot more than that.” Noah fumbled for his car keys. “And he ate it up like it was avocado on toast.”

“He asked me out again.” The words came out faint, disbelieving. Noah finally got the passenger door open and Ethan practically fell into the seat. “After I word-vomited all over him about his hair and his intelligence and…” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh god, what have I done?”

“Based on Kyle’s reaction?” Noah sat in the driver’s seat, his voice carefully neutral. “Exactly what he wanted. Nothing feeds a narcissist quite like exaggerated adoration.”

“Noah!”

“What? The truth spell’s catching.” Noah started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Kyle Edwards just discovered he has a groupie before his great American novel even released.”

“I’m not a groupie.” But Ethan’s protest lacked conviction. He stared out the window, not really seeing the passing streets. “I just told him everything. Everything I’ve been keeping inside for a year.” He licked his lips “And he wants to have dinner with me.”

“While you’re wearing something green,” Noah added. “Don’t forget that part.”

“He thinks it’ll look lovely on me.” Ethan’s voice held a touch of wonder. 

Noah glanced at him like he wanted to say something else, but he just turned up the radio and kept driving.

Ethan sat there, replaying Kyle’s lingering touch on his collar, that heated look in his eyes. All this time trying to get Kyle to notice him, and all it took was Mal’s truth spell making him spill his most embarrassing thoughts.

Maybe the demon’s magic wasn’t so bad after all.

Ethan was going to thank him once he got home.

---

Mal slouched on Ethan’s couch, trying to conjure another scrying mirror from a soup bowl. Dark smoke curled from his fingers as he attempted the spell for the fifth time.

“Show me Ethan Volkov.”

The water in the bowl rippled, formed a mirror, then filled with a vision of… people baking cakes. Again.

“No, no.” Mal tapped the glass. “I said Ethan, not eating.” The British accents continued discussing proper sponge texture. “Though that chocolate ganache does look sinful…”

He shook his head, trying to focus. One more try. He just needed to see if Ethan was doing okay at the library. Purely professional concern about his target’s wellbeing. Nothing more.

“Show me—” 

The apartment door burst open. Mal dropped the bowl, barely catching it before it shattered.

“—and then he touched my collar!” Ethan practically floated through the doorway. “Can you believe it?”

“I was there.” A second voice followed him in. “You don’t have to keep telling me.” 

The stranger stopped short at the sight of Mal. Mal recognized him from his surveillance. This was Noah, Ethan’s best friend. Currently glaring at him like he was something unpleasant stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

“So.” Noah crossed his arms. “You’re the demon who hexed my friend.”

Mal took up a defensive posture himself. “I simply gave him some magical enhancements.” 

“Enhanced?” Noah shot him a skeptical look. “He’s absolutely lost control of his mouth.”

“I can’t believe I said that about Pride and Prejudice being a real estate romance.” Ethan collapsed onto the couch beside Mal. “I was trying really hard not to speak but it just kept coming out.”

Mal shifted away from Ethan’s warmth, his tail curling tighter. He hadn’t meant completely remove Ethan’s filter. He’d only wanted to boost his confidence. “I might have put a little too much power into the spell.”

“A little?” Noah lifted one eyebrow. 

Before he could say more, though, Ethan announced some happy news.

“Kyle asked me out again!” He bounced in his seat. “He wants to take me to dinner tomorrow. He said to wear green. I don’t know if I own anything green. Can you magic me an outfit for the date?”

“He’s not a fairy godmother,” Noah cut in. “He’s the demon who’s trying to steal your soul.”

Mal’s gaze narrowed. This new human was annoying. “I’m not stealing anything. It’s a contractual agreement.”

“Right, because contracts with demons always work out so well for all involved.”

“Actually,” Ethan started, “in paranormal romance—”

“Not helping.” Noah shut him down. “And you.” He turned to Mal. “What exactly was your plan here? Make him blurt out every thought until someone takes advantage?”

“Kyle’s not taking advantage,” Ethan protested, but his voice held a note of uncertainty. “You should have seen how he looked at me when I told him… well, everything. He seemed really interested, and he likes that I’m being honest,” Ethan pressed on. “He said it was refreshing. And he touched my collar, and he wants to take me somewhere intimate tomorrow night, and…” He trailed off, finally catching the look on Noah’s face. “What?”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that he ignored you for a year, then suddenly got interested when you couldn’t stop complimenting him?”

Mal’s chest tightened at the flicker of doubt that crossed Ethan’s face.

“The spell is working as designed,” Mal made himself say, but the words felt hollow. “Kyle noticed him. That’s what we wanted.”

“What you wanted,” Noah corrected. “To fulfill your contract and claim his soul.”

To Mal’s surprise, Ethan jumped in to defend him. “He didn’t force me to summon him. I’m the one who stupidly tried to get Cupid but got him instead. And he’s actually been really nice about everything.”

“Nice?” Noah’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s a demon.”

“Yeah, but he’s kinda bad at it.” Ethan shot a sheepish glance at Mal. “Sorry, but it’s true. I mean, you tried to comfort me with ice cream from Hell last night. What kind of demon does that?”

Mal couldn’t argue with that.

Noah looked between them. “I can’t believe you’re serious right now.”

“Can’t lie, remember?” Ethan scratched the back of his neck. “And if you don’t leave I’ll tell you how cute your protective friend routine is.” 

Noah sighed. “Fine. I should get back to the library anyway. Tell them you’re not feeling well.” He pointed at Mal. “But if anything happens to him…”

“Go on,” Mal prompted. “How would you threaten a demon?” 

Noah lowered his finger. “I’ll… figure that part out later.”

“Noah.” Ethan’s voice held barely contained laughter. “I really appreciate you trying to protect me from supernatural forces, but you should probably go before I start in on that speech about the power of friendship that’s bubbling in the back of my mind right now.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” Noah backed toward the door. “Just… be careful, okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

Noah nodded at Ethan and left. 

Which left Mal alone with Ethan—who immediately went to dig through his closet for anything green.

Mal watched him silently for a moment. 

He should be elated that his spell had helped Ethan secure another date with his paramour, but something about the situation felt off… and because of Mal’s demon magic. 

Noah had claimed Kyle was taking advantage of Ethan, and Noah seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. What was more, Mal could easily see someone taking advantage of Ethan’s trusting nature. 

It shouldn’t have bothered Mal—because the other thing Noah had said was also true: Mal himself was taking advantage of Ethan. Mal was only here in order to claim Ethan’s soul so he could then claim respect among his fellow demons. 

He shouldn’t care whether or not Ethan got hurt in the process. 

A proper demon wouldn’t.

But damn it all to hell, Mal cared. That had always been his problem. 

If he was going to get Ethan’s soul, he wanted Ethan to get everything he wanted in return. He wanted Ethan to be happy for his days on earth. 

To achieve that, he would have to dig a little deeper. 

“So.” Mal tried to keep his voice casual. “Tell me what you like about Kyle.”

“Everything.” Ethan pulled out a mint-colored cardigan, made a face, and tossed it aside. “His intelligence, his sophistication, the way he—”

“No.” Mal watched another rejected shirt sail past. “What makes you happy when you’re with him? What do you talk about?”

Ethan’s hands stilled on a hanger. The spell still working on him wouldn’t let him deflect or give a surface answer.

“I…” He turned to face Mal. “We don’t really talk. Yesterday at coffee he told me about his book, and narrative temporality, and post-truth society.” A small frown creased his forehead. “And I sat there feeling stupid.”

“Did he ask you anything about yourself?”

Ethan opened his mouth, then closed it. He worked his jaw. “He was excited about his book deal.” Ethan turned back to the closet, his movements more agitated. “Anyone would be excited about that. And today he seemed really interested in what I had to say.”

“After the spell made you tell him how amazing he is.”

“Why are you asking me these things?” Ethan yanked another shirt from its hanger. “Don’t you want me to go on this date? Isn’t that the whole point—getting me together with someone I love so you can claim my soul?”

Mal shook his head. “Do you really think this person is worthy of your love?” 

“No.” The answer came quickly, and it seemed to surprise not only Mal but Ethan too.

Ethan stared at the shirt in his hands, his knuckles white around the fabric. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“The spell won’t let you hide your feelings.” Mal’s voice came out softer than he intended. “Not even from yourself.”

“But I’ve loved him for a year.” Ethan’s words wavered. “I’ve spent so much time thinking about him, watching him, hoping he’d notice me.”

“That’s not love.” The words felt strange in Mal’s mouth—a demon giving lessons about love. What was the world coming to? Still, he made himself go on. “That’s… admiration, maybe. Or wanting to be noticed by someone you think matters.”

“Then what is love?” Ethan turned to face him, and something in his expression made Mal’s heart squeeze in his chest. “Since you seem to know so much about it.”

“Love is…” He tugged at his tie, which was growing hot again. “Love is wanting someone to be happy, even if it costs you something. It’s seeing who they really are, not who you want them to be.” 

“How does a demon know that?”

“I’m very bad at being a demon,” Mal pointed out. “As everyone keeps reminding me. If I were a good demon, I wouldn’t be telling you this. I should let you go on that date, let you lose your virginity to Kyle and cash in on our deal.”

Ethan studied him for a moment. “Then why don’t you?” His gaze slid down Mal’s body, then focused back on his face. “Do demons fall in love?” 

Mal’s mouth went dry. “The good ones don’t.”

* * *

Mal’s words hung in the air between them.

The good ones don’t.

So much meaning in such few words. 

Or was Ethan reading too much into them?

His heart beat too fast for him to be reasonable. 

None of this was reasonable.

He’d spent a year pining after Kyle, building elaborate fantasies about sophisticated literary discussions and meaningful glances across reading rooms. Now those dreams crumbled like dried leaves, leaving him standing in his messy bedroom with a literal demon from hell.

A demon who was looking at him with an intensity that made his skin prickle.

Mal took a step closer. Ethan’s feet refused to move, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. The demon’s tail swished back and forth, betraying an agitation that didn’t show on his face.

Was Mal going to kiss him? 

More importantly—did Ethan want him to?

The question sent heat crawling up his neck. He didn’t know. Everything felt confused and tangled, his feelings for Kyle unraveling while something new and terrifying took root in his chest. Was he just latching onto the next attractive man who showed him kindness? 

Because Mal was attractive. Ethan couldn’t deny that. The way his dark suit fit his shoulders, how his eyes held warmth no demon’s should, the sharp line of his jaw, the flash of tiny fangs when he spoke—all of it drew Ethan’s gaze like a moth to flame, making his pulse skip as their eyes met.

Mal raised his hand. Ethan’s breath hitched as the demon’s thumb brushed his lower lip. The touch sent tingles through his whole body, a burst of sensation that sparked down his spine and settled warm in his stomach.

Then Mal stepped back.

“There.” His voice came out rough. “The spell’s lifted.”

“What?” Ethan touched his lips where they still tingled from Mal’s touch. “That’s what that was?”

“You should be able to control what you say now.” Mal wouldn’t meet his eyes. “No more uncomfortable truths.”

But Ethan’s heart still raced, and his skin still felt too warm, and he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with any spell.

His fingers brushed where Mal had touched his lip, the ghost of that contact still sparking under his skin. 

“I should give you some time alone.” Mal stepped back, his movements stiff. “It’s been a… complicated day.”

Before Ethan could find his voice, the demon vanished in a curl of dark smoke, leaving behind only the faint scent of ash and brimstone. And questions. So many questions.

Ethan sank onto his bed, surrounded by the rejected clothes he’d pulled out for tomorrow’s date. 

A date he wasn’t sure he wanted anymore.

---

Mal discovered that Hell had one advantage over Earth: it didn’t get cold at night.

Really, Mal should go back to Hell now that he’d spent hours wandering the streets, but he couldn’t get himself to do it. He’d been stuck down there so long that the thought of returning voluntarily… 

He shuddered, and not from the cold. 

And anyway, if he returned now he’d be met with questions about why he wasn’t monitoring his target. 

As if he could settle in Ethan’s apartment right now and watch the mortal sleep without his thoughts going dangerous places. 

“Hey sugar.” A woman’s voice cut through the quiet. “Looking for company?”

Mal turned to find a human leaning against a lamppost. Her crop top sparkled in the artificial light, and her smile promised things that would definitely corrupt a soul or two while promising salvation.

Mal could probably learn a thing or two from her. But never mind that. “You shouldn’t be out here by yourself,” he told her. 

“I won’t be by myself if you join me.”

“No, I mean…” Mal cleared his throat. “This street has terrible lighting, and there’s dangerous people around. There’s a much safer area near Maple Avenue. Better visibility, more escape routes.”

She studied him, head tilted. “Are you… giving me safety advice?”

“In a very demonic way,” he assured her. “Think of it as keeping you alive longer so I can corrupt your soul later.”

“Right.” She gave him an odd look. “You’re not from around here, are you honey?”

“Hell’s ninth circle, actually. Well, technically the basement of the ninth circle. The filing department.” His tail curled with embarrassment. “It’s a long story.”

“O-kay.” She pushed off from the lamppost. “I’m going to find a different corner.”

Mal watched her walk away, heels clicking against concrete. He couldn’t even properly tempt someone who was literally soliciting him. No wonder Beelzebrock kept him in the Dark Archives.

“My, my.” A familiar voice sliced through the night air. “How the mediocre have fallen.”

Mal’s spine stiffened. He didn’t need to turn around to know who stood behind him, but he did anyway.

Raviel adjusted his perfectly-tailored cuffs, looking as immaculate as ever despite the late hour. “Reduced to wandering the streets like a common imp?” His red tail swished with amusement. “Whatever would our supervisor say?”

“What do you want, Raviel?” Mal shoved his hands in his pockets to appear unbothered.

“Can’t a demon check on his favorite failure?” Raviel’s shoes gleamed under the streetlight, betraying not a speck of dirt. “Though I must say, sleeping on the streets seems low even for you. Has your human thrown you out already?”

“I’m giving him privacy.”

“How nice of you.” The way Raviel said ‘nice’ made the word sound like a thinly veiled insult. Not at all the way Ethan had used it to describe Mal.

No, don’t think about that now.

“What are you doing here?” Mal made himself focuse on the demon in front of him. “Shouldn’t you be down in hell, boasting about your conquests to anyone who’ll listen?” 

“Now, now. I’m a hardworking demon. These streets are teeming with possibility at night.” 

Mal thought of the lovely lady he’d talked to just a minute ago and knew exactly what sort of ‘possibility’ Raviel was talking about: preying on people who were only trying to keep their heads above water.

Mal should have thought of that himself.

Why hadn’t he?

Because he was working on a far more important mission, that was why. One that would get him a lot more prestige than anything Raviel would drag back to hell tonight. 

“I’ll have you know that I’ve made great progress today,” he said. “Ethan has a date tomorrow night.”

“Ah, yes.” Raviel’s smile showed too many teeth. “With Kyle Edwards?”

Something about Raviel’s knowing tone made Mal’s stomach twist. “What do you know about Kyle?”

“Oh, just what any competent demon might pick up on.” Raviel examined his perfect manicure. “Promising young writer, about to be published by Random House. I do try to keep track of rising talent.”

How suspicious. “Since when do you care about literature?”

“I have diverse interests,” Raviel claimed. “The publishing world is very receptive to demonic influence. All those fragile egos, desperate for recognition.”

The streetlight above them flickered, and Mal got the oddest inkling that Raviel was hiding something while also being excited at the prospect of Mal uncovering his evil plot so he could rub his brilliant scheme in Mal’s face.

“Do you have a lot of contacts in publishing?” Mal asked.

“A good demon has contacts everywhere.” Raviel’s smile curled at the edges. “And I’m the best.” 

Mal’s gaze narrowed. “You got Kyle that book deal, didn’t you?”

“Did I?” Raviel straightened his already perfect tie. “How interesting that you think so. You don’t think the boy could have done it by himself?”

“How would I know?”

“Well, maybe ask your human what he thinks.” Raviel gave a short laugh. “In any case, I should be going. Souls to corrupt, deals to make. You know how it is.” He paused. “Oh wait, you don’t.” 

Before Mal could respond, Raviel vanished in a cloud of smoke that smelled like expensive cologne and freshly inked contracts.

---

Ethan found it impossible to sleep. How was he supposed to shut his brain off after everything that had happened that day? First he’d upset people at the library, then he’d confessed his innermost feelings to Kyle, and then… then he’d thought about kissing a demon. 

One disastrous thing after another. 

Because it was all disastrous, wasn’t it? 

In the darkness of his bedroom, he touched his lips as if Mal had actually kissed him instead of just releasing the spell he’d placed on Ethan. Why couldn’t Ethan stop thinking about that near kiss? 

Was he crushing on a literal demon now? And an incompetent one at that?

This was not how he’d always pictured his great love story going. For one, he’d always figured that if he were the protagonist of a romance novel, it would be a contemperory romance novel. Not that he didn’t enjoy paranormal romance. It had just never seemed likeley to end up in one of those stories. 

It still didn’t seem likely. 

Even if Ethan liked Mal that way–which he probably didn’t, he was just confused after a long day–there was nothing to say that MAl liked Ethan that way. 

And Ethan couldn’t forget what Noah had said either. Mal might not be evil the way a ‘regular’ demon might be, but he was still here to collect Ethan’s soul. 

Ethan turned and stared at the ceiling, wishing he could find sleep… or answers to all the questions that were niggling at him. 

Since he couldn’t, he grabbed his phone from where he’d put it down next to his pillow. When he opened his socials, the first picture he was greeted with was one of his brother and his fiancee. They looked happy together, both smiling for the camera as the sun set behind them.

Something warm unfurled in Ethan’s chest. His brother deserved all the happiness in the world. 

But Ethan wanted it too. 

Wasn’t that why he’d summoned Mal in the first place? 

Not that he’d wanted Mal; he’d wanted Cupid, but that didn’t matter now. 

Before Ethan even really knew what he was doing, he was looking at pictures of Kyle. He’d announced his book deal earlier that day to hundreds of likes and congratulations. Good. He deserved those congratulations. He was doing amazing. 

How often had Ethan watched him work on that novel, dreaming about being part of his life?

Ethan closed his eyes. He could almost imagine Kyle lying beside him, the heat of his body radiating into Ethan. Would he touch him? Run his fingers over his arm and side and hip, the way Ethan was imagining right now?

Would it feel like when Mal had touched him, his thumb on his lower lip, sending shivers down Ethan’s spine?

No, he couldn’t think about Mal now. 

He wanted to think only about Kyle. Kyle sliding his hand over his chest, down his stomach.

Ethan’s own hand followed the movement, and he imagined Kyle leaning down to kiss him. Softly at first, then deeper as their tongues met.

Kyle’s hand slid lower, cupping Ethan’s erection.

Heat flooded through Ethan, and he bit back a moan as he pictured Kyle stroking him through the cloth. 

“Do you like that?” the voice he imagined wasn’t Kyle’s.

His hand stilled. Why was he thinking about the demon again? This was supposed to be about Kyle. Just Kyle!

He tried to picture his crush, but the image slipped away from him as he started to stroke himself again, his breathing getting ragged. His hips rocked into the movement, pleasure pooling in his stomach.

He needed release, so desperately, and… why not think about a certain handsome, awkward demon? It would just be pretend, and no one had to know.

He imagined Mal kneeling between his legs, pushing up his shirt and running his tongue along the waistband of his underwear.

Ethan’s hand moved faster, his breath turning into gasps as he felt himself approaching the edge, his whole body tense with need. In his imagination Mal looked up at him, dark eyes meeting his own as his mouth covered the tip of his cock and Ethan came with a shudder, his orgasm washing through him as his mind blanked for several seconds.

When he returned to reality, he lay in his bed feeling sticky and embarrassed because he’d just fantasized about getting head from a demon.

A cute demon who’d never actually do any of that with him.

They wouldn’t live happily ever after. They’d live until Ethan lost his soul and Mal took him to Hell. 

A sound from the living room made Ethan sit up straight in his bed. His heart beat in his throat. Was that… Was he not alone in his apartment?

Was that an intruder in his living room or had Mal come back? 

If it was Mal… had he… heard? 

Suddenly Ethan couldn’t recall if he’d been moaning when he’d jerked himself off. But even if Mal had heard, there wasn’t any way for him to know what Ethan had been thinking about, was there?

Ethan wasn’t under that damn spell anymore, thank fuck.

Slowly, he inched toward the door and opened it a crack to peer into the living room. 

In the low light that fell into the room from the window, he saw Mal sitting on his couch. The demon turned toward him. “Ethan? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Ethan flushed, stepping into the room–and then he flushed even harder when Mal switched on the light and Ethan realized he was wearing nothing but his underwear. 

Nothing but his sticky underwear. Shit.

Mal’s gaze setteld on him, and Ethan thought he was going to burst into flames.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect company.” He grabbed a throw blanket and awkwardly draped it around himself as best he could to hide his shame. Then he sank into the armchair opposite from Mal. “I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“I apologize if I’ve startled you. You’re correct that I didn’t plan to return tonight.” 

“Where were you, anyway?” Ethan asked, hoping to talk about something that would distract him from what he’d just done himself. 

Even now he felt the slight urge to sit next to Mal so their knees might brush, but he squashed that impulse down.

He was not going to let himself develop a crush on a demon. 

Mal’s eyes darted away, then returned to meet Ethan’s gaze. “I was out walking,” he said slowly. “I needed fresh air, to clear my head. There’s not a lot of fresh air in Hell, as you can imagine, so it was quite nice.”

“What do you do in Hell, anyway?”

“Mostly I’m stuck in the Dark Archives.” 

That sounded ominous. Ethan leaned forward. “What are the Dark Archives?”

Mal’s tail curled around his ankle. “Picture the most depressing library basement you’ve ever seen, then add eternal darkness and the constant smell of burning paper.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Ethan pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “I kind of like library basements.”

“You would.” Mal’s lips twitched. “But the Dark Archives aren’t filled with books. They’re filled with dark prophecies. Predictions of doom and destruction that are supposed to shape the fate of humanity.”

“Supposed to?”

“They never actually come true.” Mal fiddled with his cuffs. “My job is to file them away and keep track of all the ways they don’t happen. Sometimes I even get to stamp them as void.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“I wish. The stamping is actually the highlight of my day. Just endless prophecies of destruction that fizzle out into nothing. It’s useless to keep track of them. My position is useless.”

The admission hung in the air between them. Ethan found himself wanting to reach across the space and touch Mal’s hand, offer some comfort. But that would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Comforting a demon who was here to claim his soul?

“Is that why you’re so determined to get my soul?” The question slipped out before Ethan could stop it. “To get a better position?”

Mal’s gaze snapped to his face. “That’s not…” He tugged at his tie. “I mean I’ll certainly be rewarded.” 

“It’s okay.” Ethan offered a small smile. “I get it. Everyone wants to be good at their job.”

“I’m terrible at being a demon.” Mal licked his lips. “Do you know what happened when I was out walking tonight? I gave safety advice to someone working the streets. Safety advice! A proper demon would have…” He cut himself off, looking away.

“Would have what?”

“Nothing good.” Mal’s voice went quiet. “But I couldn’t… I just wanted her to be safe.”

Ethan wanted to smile at Mal and squeeze his hand and tell him that his actions were commendable. But if he admitted that he found Mal’s concern for others endearing, he’d slide down a slippery road that he didn’t want to go down. He was not going to let himself feel anything for this demon except maybe friendship.

“Is that why they keep you in the Archives?” he asked. “Because you wind up helping humans?”

“Yes.” Mal blew out a breath. “But if I help you, I’ll be rewarded.” His gaze fixed on Ethan again. “No one will be able to ridicule me if I bring in a soul like yours.”

Ethan wished he knew what Mal saw in him that was so special, but the way the demon looked at him made a shiver run down Ethan’s spine, made him want to get lost in the moment. 

But he couldn’t.

“What’s going to happen to me?” he made himself ask. “When you bring me in?” 

Mal went still and stared at his hands. “You’ll be taken to Hell’s Inner Sanctum.” The words came out rough. “Radiant souls like yours… they’re too valuable for the regular processing.”

“Regular processing?”

“Most souls end up in the grinder.” Mal tugged at his tie. “Converted into energy to power Hell’s infrastructure. Everything runs on corrupted souls down there—the elevators, the coffee makers, even the fluorescent lighting in the break room.” His voice softened. “But you won’t end up there. Pure souls are too rare, too precious. They go to the Inner Sanctum instead.”

“And that’s… better?”

“I think so,” Mal said, sounding sincere. “I’m not high-ranking enough to know what happens in the Inner Sanctum. I just know that’s where my supervisor will take you.” He glanced up, and maybe he caught the fear in Ethan’s eyes because he rushed to add, “But not until after you’ve lived a full life. You get to find love first, real love. Get married, adopt some cats, read too many romance novels…”

“Then you come collect.”

“At the end of your life.” Mal’s fingers twisted in his lap. “You’ll have decades of happiness first. That’s what I’m here for, to help you find that happiness. To make sure you get everything you want before…” He trailed off.

“Before I go to Hell.”

“It won’t be for a very long time,” Mal repeated softly. “I promise.”

“Will it hurt?”

Mal was quiet for a time, considering his words. “I truly don’t know what happens in the Inner Sanctum. No one at my level does.”

Ethan thought about that long and hard. In a way, all of this had been a game to him. Unreal, because how could it be real? 

But if it was, he was gambling the fate of his soul.

For Kyle.

Was he worth it? 

Probably not. 

“I’m starting to think I shouldn’t go on that date tomorrow.” 

Mal’s tail uncurled from his ankle. “Why not?”

“Because…” Ethan fingered the blanket absentmindedly. “Is Kyle really worth spending eternity in Hell for?”

The question hung between them.

“Maybe not,” Mal said eventually. 

Ethan wondered if it had cost the demon to say that. After all, it would be to Mal’s benefit to get this contract between them fulfilled as fast as possible. 

“I didn’t know what Hell meant before,” Ethan said, kind of wanting to explain himself. “The grinder, the Inner Sanctum… it was all just abstract. Like something from one of my books.” He swallowed. “But it’s real, isn’t it? All of it’s real.”

“Yes.” 

“And my soul will power… what? Some demon’s coffee maker?”

“No, you wouldn’t—” Mal cut himself off. “You’re too valuable for that.”

“Right. The Inner Sanctum.” Ethan shook his head. “Where something unknown and probably terrible will happen to me instead.”

Mal opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

Ethan stared at his hands. “I should never have tried that spell.”

Mal shifted on the couch, the leather creaking under him. “I’m very glad that you did.” 

“Even if you never get to collect?” Ethan studied the demon. 

A small smile graced Mal’s lips. “At least I got out of Hell for a little while.” 

Ethan smiled back at him, thinking of their little coffee shop date. Not that it had been a date. “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

They sat in silence for a moment, but it was the good kind of silence that made Ethan glad to share the presence of another person, even while they weren’t talking. 

Soon, though, he turned contemplative again. If he didn’t want Mal to collect his soul, he had to void the terms of their deal. What was it again? 

For him to lose his virginity to the man he loved. 

Did that still refer to Kyle?

Or could it be any man as long as Ethan had feelings for him?

What if he just stayed a virgin all his life?

Would Mal have to stick around, waiting for Ethan to do the deed with someone?

“What are you thinking?” 

“How do you define virginity?” 

The demon blinked, obviously confused about where this question was coming from. 

“I mean,” Ethan said, “there are different schools of thought, right? If I were to lose my virginity to another man, would it have to be anal sex? Or would oral also count for our contract? What about rimming? Frotting? A handjob?”

Ethan might be able to go through life without anal to preserve his soul—and what a thought that was—but if he could never get any action, that would be far harder to deal with. 

“I…um… Never thought about,” Mal admitted. “I’ll have to look up how Hell defines it.”

“Yes, and then please tell me. Wait, you wouldn’t lie, would you?”

“I’m a demon.”

“Yeah, but one who cares.”

Mal exhaled. “Don’t remind me. But you’re right, I won’t lie.”

Strangely, Ethan believed him.

“And while we’re having this deep conversation,” Mal fidgeted a little, “there’s something you should know about Kyle.”

Ethan’s heart skipped in spite of his best intentions. “What about Kyle?”

“I ran into another demon tonight.” Mal tugged at his tie, the way he seemed to do when something made him uncomfortable. “Raviel. He said something about Kyle’s book deal.”

“Another demon talked about Kyle?” 

“I think…” Mal’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I think Kyle might have made a deal of his own.”

The words took a moment to sink in. “What kind of deal?”

“The kind that gets you published by Random House.” Mal’s dark eyes fixed on Ethan’s face. 

“You think a demon hepled Kyle with his book?” A chill ran down Ethan’s spine. “Why would they do that?”

“Raviel has connections everywhere, apparently.” Mal looked troubled. “And I’m afraid he did this to mess with me.”

“To mess with you?”

“So it would be harder for me to collect your soul. Raviel holds an old grudge against me because of that whole Gamblers Anonymous thing.”

“Hold on.” Ethan had to think. Some other demon had messed with Kyle in order to mess with Mal, who was only here because of Ethan. Which meant that this demon would never have zeroed in on Kyle if Ethan hadn’t summoned Mal. 

In other words… Kyle might be going to hell because Ethan had idolized him. 

Holy shit. 

If only his mom had never given him the dried coriander.

“I need to fix this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Mal said, guessing his thoughts.

“Of course it is.”

“You didn’t force Kyle to make a deal with a demon. That was his own ego.”

Ethan shook his head. He knew from his own experience how easy it was to get mixed up in this without really meaning to. “I need to go on that date tomorrow night and talk to Kyle in private. Warn him.”

“But only to warn him, right?”

Ethan chewed his bottom lip. “What if his odd behavior these past two days was because of the demon too?” He gave voice to the spark of hope that was lighting up inside of him. “You changed my behavior too.”

“Ethan…”

“What?”

“Your behavior only changed so dramatically because… because I’m rusty.”

“And Raviel is better at this than you?”

Mal looked aside and muttered something too quietly for Ethan to understand, but it was clear how much he hated having to admit that this other demon excelled at something he struggled with. 

“Maybe Raviel’s not so great,” Ethan suggested. “Maybe he messed up with Kyle.”

“And maybe you’re trying to see the good in people where there isn’t any.” Mal’s features softened. “That’s what makes your soul shine so brightly.”

Ethan made himself shrug. “Or maybe you’re just not the only one who cares when you shouldn’t.”

After another moment, Ethan decided it was time to call it a night. Again. “I should try to get some sleep.” He started to rise, the blanket slipping from his shoulders. He caught it just before it fell, his face burning as he remembered why he’d needed it in the first place.

And who he’d been picturing when he…

No. He wasn’t going to think about that now. Not with Mal right there.

“Have a good night,” Mal said. 

“Yeah, you too.” Ethan clutched the blanket tighter and took it with him all the way to his bedroom.

---

Mal stood in front of the Records Department and tried to summon the motivation to go in. He really hadn’t wanted to be back here so soon, but Ethan was right. They needed to clarify the terms of their deal, and this was the only place where Mal could get the records required to do so. 

He just needed to get this over with. Walk in, request the information about virginity definitions in contracts, and walk out. Simple.

Except nothing in Hell was ever simple.

The glass doors slid open with an ominous hiss, releasing a wave of stale air that smelled of old parchment and despair. Inside, rows of cubicles stretched into darkness. The fluorescent lights above flickered, powered by the souls of bureaucrats who’d made everyone’s lives miserable in life and now continued their work in death.

Mal approached the front desk where a demon with three heads was arguing with herself.

“The form clearly states—” the left head started.

“But according to subsection seven—” the middle head interrupted.

“Both of you are wrong,” the right head snapped. “It’s clearly outlined in the appendix.”

All three heads turned to glare at Mal when he cleared his throat.

“What?” they demanded in unison.

“I need to consult the Infernal Guidelines regarding soul contracts.” Mal tried to keep his voice steady. “Specifically about… um… the technical definition of certain human activities.”

The right head raised an eyebrow. “Which activities?”

Mal felt his face heat up. How was he supposed to discuss this with a demon who had three faces to judge him with?