I glanced at Malphas, who was pinching the bridge of his nose in a very human gesture of frustration. “Can we discuss the actual numbers in private, please?” he said.
The demons looked disappointed but nodded in agreement. Ixizel’s tentacles drooped noticeably.
“Perhaps Sam could show us around the human dwelling while you review the reports,” they suggested. “It would be… educational.”
Malphas looked at me questioningly. I shrugged—giving demons a house tour seemed marginally less weird than sitting through an infernal performance review.
“Sure,” I agreed. “Though it’s a pretty standard house. Nothing special.”
“On the contrary,” Zaebur said, rising to his impressive height (still shorter than Malphas, but towering over me). “Lord Malphas’s interest in human habitation has been a subject of much curiosity in the lower circles.”
“Has it now?” I looked at Malphas, who suddenly seemed very interested in the paperwork Pustule was presenting.
“Indeed,” Ixizel confirmed. “His acquisition of lawn care equipment was discussed at the last Council of Princes. Most unusual behavior for a being of his stature.”
“I bet,” I murmured, filing away this information for later teasing. “Well, follow me, I guess. We’ll start with the kitchen.”
Chapter 13
The next half hour was possibly the strangest of my life—and given recent events, that was saying something. I led three demons through Malphas’s immaculate home, explaining mundane household features that they found utterly fascinating.
Pustule was captivated by the refrigerator, opening and closing it repeatedly to watch the light turn on and off. “Ingenious,” he murmured. “Cold storage without the use of souls to generate the chill.”
Zaebur became entranced by the television remote, pressing buttons at random until the TV cycled through inputs, volumes, and channels. “A device of power,” he declared reverently. “To control images from afar.”
But it was Ixizel who asked the most questions, their curiosity seemingly boundless. As we reached the second floor, they pointed to framed photos of Malphas and me that had recently appeared on the walls.
“You are… happy together?” they asked, tentacles waving thoughtfully.
The question caught me off guard. “Yes,” I said honestly. “Very happy.”
Ixizel studied me with eyes that held ancient wisdom. “Lord Malphas has existed for eons. He has commanded armies, destroyed civilizations, harvested countless souls. And yet…” They touched one of the photos with a gentle tentacle. “I havenever seen him display images of any being in his personal space.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. The photos had been Malphas’s idea—ordinary couples photos from a day trip to a nearby lake, nothing special. But the way Ixizel described it made it seem significant.
“He’s different now,” Zaebur observed, joining us in the hallway. “Changed. The Gary-entity’s influence has altered him.”
“But it’s more than that,” Pustule added, his spines rising and falling in what I’d come to recognize as his version of thoughtfulness. “The Gary-entity explains the dwelling, the lawn equipment. It doesn’t explain… this.” He gestured to me.
“I’m standing right here,” I pointed out, feeling slightly offended at being discussed like an unusual pet. “And Malphas isn’t that different. He’s just… evolved.”
All three demons stared at me as if I’d said something profound.
“Evolved,” Ixizel repeated, tentacles rippling with excitement. “Yes, precisely. Not diminished, as some in the lower circles have suggested. Evolved.”
“Some are saying he’s gone soft,” Pustule confided, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “That the human realm has weakened him.”
I bristled at that. “Malphas is not weak. He’s the strongest person I know.”
“Person,” Zaebur noted, all four eyes blinking rapidly. “You consider him a person, not a demon prince.”
“He’s both,” I said firmly. “And he’s not defined by either label.”
Before the conversation could continue, Malphas’s voice called from downstairs. “If you’re done with the tour, I need my lieutenants back.”
We descended to find Malphas standing by the still-open portal, looking imposing in a way I rarely saw at home. His posture was straighter, his expression harder, and his eyes glowed red without a trace of hazel. This was Prince Malphas, not my Malphas who fretted about proper mulching techniques.
“We have matters to discuss in the lower realm,” he informed his subordinates. “Sam, I shouldn’t be long—perhaps an hour in earthly time.”
