Malrik paused at the door, his silhouette backlit dramatically despite the lack of any light source behind him. "Just bring your expertise, Charlie." His smile was all charm and danger. "And an open mind. Ashcliff Manor has a way of... expanding to suit its master's needs."
After he left, I sat in my suddenly too-quiet office, staring at the business card that continued to radiate unnatural warmth between my fingers. The embossed letters rearranged themselves briefly to read "SEE YOU SOON" before settling back into the address.
I added "investigate demonic power" to my to-do list, right after "order fireproof clothing" and "call Mom."
A lingering scent of smoke hung in the air. I opened the window, telling myself it was to clear out the sulfurous odor rather than to cool my inexplicably flushed skin. I'd handled supernatural beings before. Plenty of them. This was just another client. One who happened to be literally hot as hell.
Professional distance. That was the key. No matter how the air seemed to crackle when he smiled or how my name sounded like a forbidden spell in his mouth.
4
MALRIK
Ipaced the length of Ashcliff's grand ballroom, absently conducting the storm outside like a personal orchestra. Thunder rolled precisely on cue as lightning illuminated the chandeliers I'd spent hours adjusting to catch the light just so.
I'd never cared what a mortal thought of my residence. Yet here I was, staging the ballroom like a theater set because Charlie Davenport was coming to evaluate my home.
Ridiculous.
"Master," Paz hovered at the doorway. "The mortal event planner will arrive shortly."
"Excellent." I positioned myself against the grand piano, testing several poses before settling on one that struck the perfect balance between casual power and dangerous allure. "And Sinnamon?"
"Contained in the east wing, as instructed."
I nodded, satisfied. Everything was prepared to create the proper impression. After our meeting in her office, where she'd somehow maintained complete detachment despite my best efforts, I was determined to shift the balance on my territory. Ashcliff Manor had reduced experienced occultists to babbling terror. Charlie Davenport would surely show some reaction here.
The manor itself seemed to sense my anticipation, the artifacts in the hallway glowing more intensely, ancient whispers growing louder in the walls. Even the sea below the cliffs crashed with greater violence, as if nature itself aligned with my intentions.
Moments later, I heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. I summoned a fresh rumble of thunder for dramatic effect.
The manor's bell tolled, its deep resonance echoing through the cavernous halls. Precisely on time, of course.
My pulse quickened. An unfamiliar sensation coiled in my chest, tight and restless.
Not anticipation. I'd felt anticipation before. The delicious moment before a conquest, before a soul tipped toward temptation. This was something else entirely. Something that made my ancient blood feel oddly... mortal.
Ridiculous. I didn't get nervous. I made others nervous.
Paz's shrill voice echoed from the entrance hall, followed by another sound that wasn't part of the plan. The skittering of claws and heavy panting.
Damnation. The hellhound pup had escaped again.
I remained in position, listening to Paz's increasingly flustered commentary as he escorted Charlie through the hallways. Tohis credit, he was following the script perfectly, emphasizing the dark history of each artifact they passed. Yet Charlie's responses were... unexpected.
"The architecture is remarkable," came Charlie's crisp, professional response. "Gothic Revival with influences from at least three different centuries, if I'm not mistaken. Though I'm curious about the gargoyles. They seem to be watching me."
"They are," I murmured to myself with a smile. Of course they were watching her. I'd instructed them to.
I could hear her footsteps in the distance, the confident stride of someone who had faced down bridezilla banshees and still delivered flawless events. Most visitors to Ashcliff either trembled in terror or gushed with inappropriate enthusiasm. Charlie sounded like she was inspecting a hotel ballroom, not the ancestral seat of a demon.
Paz was leading her through the portrait gallery now, where the eyes of my painted victims followed visitors with silent screams. I'd instructed him to take the most unsettling route possible.
The artifact room was the next surprise. Paz directed her straight to the encased statues. "The ventilation is surprisingly good," her voice carried clearly. "Are these display cases securely anchored? Definitely a safety hazard."
I frowned. Safety hazard? The objects in those cases had consumed souls, and she was concerned about them being properly secured to the wall?
The ballroom doors swung open at my command, revealing Charlie Davenport in all her clipboard-wielding glory. She looked exactly as she had in her office. Professionally attired,perfectly composed, and completely unimpressed by the display around her.
