"I'm hosting the Scorched Gala at my estate," he said, watching my face carefully. "And I require your expertise to make it unforgettable this year."
I maintained my professional composure, though inwardly I felt a jolt of excitement. The Scorched Gala was legendary. The most exclusive supernatural event of the year.
"I see," I replied evenly. "That's quite the undertaking."
"You've heard of it." It wasn't a question.
"Of course. Invitation only, no social media allowed, and rumors of everything from time manipulation to reality-bending performances." I pulled up a fresh document on my laptop. "What I don't know are the logistics. Previous coordinators have been... tight-lipped about the experience."
"There's a reason for that," he said, his voice dropping an octave. The temperature in the room rose by at least five degrees. "My signature event combines light manipulation, atmospheric alteration, and" he paused, smiling in a way that made my spine tingle, "experiential transformation."
"Transformation," I repeated, making a note. "In what sense?"
"The emotional kind. Though occasionally more literal for especially receptive guests."
The subtle scent of smoldering cedar and something darker. Something ancient. It wafted across the desk. My heartbeat quickened traitorously, and I blamed it on the obvious fire hazard sitting across from me rather than the way his voice seemed to caress each syllable. I discreetly wiped my suddenly damp palms on my skirt.
"I require a coordinator that is not overwhelmed by the technical requirements and the dramatic display of power."
I raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"
"The last three quit. One developed sudden memory loss, another moved to Antarctica, and the third is currently living as a hermit in the Himalayas, claiming to have seen 'the truth of existence.'" He shrugged as if this were a minor inconvenience.
This from the demon currently making my office plants lean toward him like sunflowers tracking the sun.
"I don't scare easily," I said, scrolling through my calendar. "Did you bring the technical specifications and insurance documentation I requested?"
"Ah, yes." Malrik reached into his jacket and pulled out what looked to be a small disk that glowed faintly with red-tinged light. "My technical requirements and..." he smirked, "insurance details. Just press the center button."
"Fancy." I accepted the disk, feeling a brief, searing heat before it cooled to normal temperature in my hands. I pressed the tiny button and pages floated up covered in symbols that shifted and rearranged themselves into English as I read.
"Underworld Assurance Corporation," I read aloud. "Coverage for Demonic Acts, excluded: Apocalyptic Events, Voluntary Soul Transfer, and Demonic Possession Without Prior Consent Form." I looked up. "This is actually quite thorough."
"I aim to meet expectations," he replied with a dangerous smile.
"Mystic Ridge has ordinances about supernatural displays," I said, reviewing the impressive list of effects in his technical specifications. "I'll need to file the proper permits."
Malrik looked amused. "You want to file permits for demonic energy manipulation?"
"I want to ensure nobody gets sued, possessed, or transformed against their will," I countered. "That's my job."
His smile widened. "And you do it so well, Charlie Davenport. Your reputation precedes you."
"So does yours," I replied evenly. "Which is why I'll need to see Ashcliff Manor before making any commitments. I need to understand exactly what I'm working with."
"Of course." He produced a business card from thin air and placed it on my desk. As his fingers released it, the card's edges smoldered slightly. The address was embossed in what looked suspiciously like actual gold.
When our fingers accidentally brushed during the exchange, a jolt of electricity shot up my arm. Static electricity, obviously. It certainly wasn't the way his touch lingered for a fraction of a second too long, his skin impossibly warm against mine.
"Tomorrow afternoon? I could send a car."
"I'll drive myself," I said, entering the appointment into my calendar. "Two o'clock?"
"Perfect." He rose in one fluid motion. "I look forward to giving you the tour."
As he turned to leave, the lights flickered and my laptop screen flashed through a series of demonic symbols before settling back to normal.
"One more thing," I called after him. "Is there anything specific I should prepare for? Any precautions I should take before visiting?"
