“Now, what seems to be the matter, Milo?” Quirion adopted the softer tone he had developed just for Milo. It was even gentler than the one he used for Sammy, because he had quickly found out how willingly Milo reacted to it. This time was no different.
“I’m sorry, Quirion. It’s just too much. Everything’s too much.”
“Nah, I doubt that. Let’s assess.”
He briefly thought about planting his ass on the table but decided against it after a quick peek at the rickety legs. It was a miracle that thing was still standing and Quirion didn’t want to be the one to deal thecoup de grace. So he hunkered down in front of the table until he was at eye-height with Milo. His knees weren’t too happy about their half-bent state, which he ignored.
Milo inhaled deeply and his gaze became focused. He lifted the index finger of his right hand.
“Firstly, my mom’s surgery will be soon. She’s taking it all pretty well, which is probably the reason I’m such a wreck.”
Quirion nodded in encouragement. He was proud to have fostered such a pragmatic streak in Milo, which allowed him to maybe not always keep a cool head but to regain it quickly.
“Secondly, because of all the worrying, I can’t seem to concentrate on my studies. The tests for MIT are in a few weeks and I’m behind.” His shoulders sagged.
Quirion extended his hands and took Milo’s in his. “Firstly, there isn’t much you can do about your feelings regarding the surgery. This is something that defies logic, a matter of feelings.” He gave a dramatic shudder which made Milo giggle. “But the surgery will soon be done and afterwards, you can concentrate on your studies. Don’t worry about losing a week or two, because you’ve got the best teacher there is to help you.” He winked and pointed at himself, shortly losing his contact with Milo’s hands.
“You’re helping me?” Milo sounded so adorably surprised, Quirion wanted to hug him.
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I? You’re my assistant and it’s a matter of pride for me to see you shine no matter what you do.”
“Even if I sort books by field first?” The glint in Milo’s eyes told Quirion that the young man was already feeling better.
“I just pretend I didn’t hear that. By field.” Quirion made a face, even showing a hint of fang. This was no joking matter. “How much longer do you have to mind the shop?”
Milo looked at his wristwatch. “Sammy should be back in about twenty minutes.”
“Excellent. I’ll keep you company till he’s back and then you can come with me. We take a look at your study schedule and see where we can tweak things.” He looked directly into Milo’s eyes, getting lost for a moment in the pale blue depths. “You will succeed, Milo. That I can guarantee.”
The smile he got in return warmed his heart. It was a strange sensation he didn’t want to examine too closely. He was here to help Milo, not to make his life even more complicated than it already was. Still, having the young man look at him with such pure adoration did things to his ego. He puffed up. “Perhaps you can make me one of those lattes the werewolves always rave about.”
“Gladly. Though mine aren’t as good as Sammy’s.” Milo winked and leaned closer. His earlier breakdown seemed to be forgotten. “I think he is in league with the coffeemaker. Or there’s a deity nobody else knows about who has blessed him to make the perfect beverages.”
“You know what, with Sammy, everything is possible.” Quirion helped Milo up and followed him to the front of the shop.
The latte Milo made was, of course, the best.
Chapter One
Four years later….
Milo stared at the envelope he had just found in his mailbox. As letters went, it looked kind of ominous. It wasn’t an invoice—those had a special look and feel he had learned to dread over the past years. It also wasn’t something medical, for which he was grateful. Despite only being twenty-two, Milo could live the rest of his life without ever getting medical-related letters again. He also knew this was wishful thinking. His mother’s cancer had been officially cured, but she had to stay vigilant nevertheless, which, in Milo’s opinion, told them more about the illness than he wanted to know. Cancer was an asshole that could sneak back into a person’s life without warning. He turned the envelope over in his hands. It had an unfamiliar weight, the paper thick and nice to the touch. There was also a seal, an honest-to-god wax seal, depicting what Milo thought were an S, a B and a W, but he couldn’t be sure because of all the loops. The wax was royal blue. His name and address were printed on the front in the same loopy writing, in gold, which complemented the blue of the seal. Milo could imagine what their postman would have to say about it when they saw each other the next time. Larry hadopinionson everything and no problem in sharing them. Loudly. Repeatedly. In case the other person hadn’t understood him the first time. The best course of action was to avoid him altogether and, if that failed—the man was suspiciously good at sneakingup on people—to nod and say ‘Yes, Larry’, at the appropriate moments.
Milo weighed the envelope in his hand while he contemplated his options. Opening it right away might have been the obvious choice for any innocent and clueless bystanders, but Milo had long ago stopped being innocent and clueless. If he thought about it, the moment the last of his innocence had died, had been when the demon Dresalantion, Dre for his friends, had followed his summons. Reading about demons and actually meeting one were two very different things. For many people, the difference was being able to keep on breathing after meeting the demon.
His second thought was to go to his mentor and friend, Sammy, the person he had tried to sacrifice to Dre, thus inadvertently introducing the two fated mates. Sammy still gave him credit for it, though Milo felt uncomfortable when he did so. Yes, he had been a desperate, lonely, mobbed teenager, but killing another human being to make life more bearable for himself was abominable. Perhaps, one day, Milo would feel like he had atoned enough for this sin. He didn’t hold his breath. Sammy would definitely be interested in the letter, especially in the wax seal and the calligraphy. He had a lively discussion via letter with his demon-in-law, Quirion, who also happened to be Milo’s second employer—his first employer would always be Sammy, even though he rarely helped at the bookstore anymore—about everything regarding books. The two used a paper similar to the one Milo was holding in his hands, they played with different seals and wax colors and the correspondence never failed to get Quirion agitated, which, according to Dre and Barion, was a good thing.Gets him out of his funk, were their words. Milo wasn’t always convinced, because he failed to see where Quirion might bein a funk, though he did have to admit that Quirion was definitely looking forward to every letter.
Then a horrific thought crossed Milo’s mind—Sammy and Quirion wouldneverinvolve him in their discussion, would they? He was good with books, yes, but he was also more of a numbers and formulas kind of guy. Mathematics and biochemistry were his forte, not libraries. He stared at the letter with newfound trepidation. If this was from Sammy or Quirion, they would expect an answer in kind. Milo shook his head. No, they wouldn’t. He didn’t have the appropriate paper, for one. Or wax. He had no wax, no fancy seals. And he was sure Quirion would have dropped a hint. The big green demon thought he was so subtle. Milo had to grin.Like a sledgehammer to the forehead.
He turned the letter around a few more times and decided to go to Quirion. If he was supposed to take part in his and Sammy’s writing game, the demon could at least lend him the materials he needed. Milo took his phone from his pocket and sent a short text while marching back inside the house. His mother was out meeting with some of her friends, which made it safe for his demon to come. And he should probably stop thinking of Quirion ashisbecause that was simply youthful infatuation and would never lead to anything substantial.Ha.He even sounded like Quirion in his head.
As for it being safe—of course Milo’s mother had met Quirion. When he had started working for the demon, he had still been a minor and his mom had been adamant about getting to know the miracle employer who shelled out enough money for Milo to pursue his scholarship at MIT and keep on helping her with the bills. The meeting had been sufficiently awkward for his mother to satisfy her curiosity while at the same time ensuring she would never think about inviting Quirion again.
Quirion, as always, hadn’t been able to read the room. He had happily gobbled up the lemon cookies his mother had baked, had taken one sip from her rosehip tea, declared it inferior, thenlaunched into a detailed monologue about the history of tea, the evolution of rosehips, why and how they were used in the kitchen, and ended with the promise to get her the best rosehip tea in the entire world. After those partly interesting seventy-five minutes had passed, his mother hadn’t protested when Milo had brought Quirion outside. The demon had honestly thought the meeting had gone perfectly and, from a certain perspective, it surely had. And whatever misgivings Milo’s mom might have had about Quirion were erased the next morning when she found a package with the best rosehip tea in the world on her front porch. These packages kept coming, always when her supply was getting low, and whenever Quirion’s name was mentioned, she praised him to the heavens for his excellent taste in tea and his generosity.
Milo had asked Quirion once how he did the thing with the tea and his demon employer and mentor had only winked and said, “I was owed a favor by a witch. She’s delighted to get out of it so easily.” And that had been that.
Milo had reached the kitchen when he felt the by now very familiar pull he associated with the opening or closing of a rift in space and time.
