Chapter Four

Coco

T he next morning, I'm jolted awake by my dog’s chainsaw-like snoring. How such a little creature can make so much noise is beyond me. As I reach for my tennis shoes, my puffy eyes serve as a stark reminder of last night's tears. The weight of yesterday's events settles heavily on my shoulders.

Did I spend all night crying because of that demon at the bar?

No. Absolutely not. It wasn't his words that broke me, though his critique of my "scent" still lingered in my mind. No, what reduced me to tears was the email I received from the clinic owners after I got home. Their ultimatum was clear: Improve patient retention by Christmas or close the doors for good. I knew it was coming, but the message still stung when I read it. Ugh. This is why I don't check work emails at home.

I fumble with my shoelaces, desperately clinging to my usual routine. But today, even this simple task feels insurmountable. With a defeated sigh, I kick off the sneakers.

Mariah doesn't stir as I retrieve an old college textbook off the shelf next to her doggy bed. I flip to a marked page, and the demon culture chapter—barely a page long—stares back at me mockingly. I've memorized every word, every vague reference to bargaining, religion, and security. It's frustratingly little compared to the wealth of information available on other species. Demons fiercely protect their privacy, going to great lengths to purge the internet of revealing articles and, in some extreme cases, even purchasing publishing houses to prevent tell-all books from reaching the public.

As frustrating as it is, the demons' fierce protection of their culture has always fascinated me. Growing up with a therapist mother meant constant analysis, even of the most trivial matters. Everything has to be discussed, poked, prodded, and analyzed when it comes to her. Perhaps that's what drew me to Winter Bliss—the allure of the unknown. My mind drifts back to that strange, charming demon I met at the bar. Maybe he’s right, perhaps some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved. Whatever I’m lacking can’t be found in a textbook. But that still won’t stop me from spending all night studying a page I’ve read a million times .

The harsh ring of the doorbell shatters my concentration. Mariah transforms from sleeping beauty to barking banshee in record time. I check my phone's security feed, my stomach dropping at the sight of Judge Silas Grimshaw's imposing figure.

"Good morning," his deep voice resonates through the speaker, "I'd like a word." I remind myself to not let his stern presence intimidate me. I’m beginning to realize that’s just how he talks, making everything sound like a summons to court.

I scramble to make myself presentable, flattening my bedhead with my hands. I scoop up my running sneakers and toss them in the closet before rushing to the door. It’s easy to keep a clean place when you’re only working with 600 square feet, but since Grimshaw is my landlord, with only one wall separating our homes, his random ‘drop-ins’ definitely keep me on my toes. I don’t want to give him any reasons to judge me.

The high-tech Mammon Technologies lock gives me trouble as always; Grimshaw promised me he disabled the firemark sensor before I moved in. If that’s true, then why do I have to warm up my fingers every time just to get the touchpad’s screen to light up?

"Doctor Sullivan," he greets me formally as I open the door, his presence filling my tiny entryway .

I bite back my usual request to be called Coco. Some battles aren't worth fighting. Especially with someone as stubborn as him.

"Hello . . .Your Honor, how are you?" I manage awkwardly, as Mariah makes her presence known, positioning herself between us like a tiny, furry security guard.

To my surprise, the judge produces a treat for her, which she accepts with her usual diva-like attitude. I bite back a smile. Mariah has always been my best tool for judging character. Is it because she can read a person’s character with her extra doggy senses? Definitely not. Mariah is a tiny ball of sass wrapped in fur, and anyone patient enough to weather her storm of yaps and growls, slowly winning her over with food, until they build her reluctant trust are my kind of people. Perhaps there's a softer side to Grimshaw after all, deep underneath all that legal brimstone and fire.

"I have a proposition for you," he states, his tone as formal as ever.

I straighten. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“I’ve been called for an emergency hearing this morning, and I need a ride to the courthouse. I lost my glasses, and my spare pair is at the office. I propose an exchange of services.”

It takes me a long moment of awkward, prolonged eye contact before I realize he’s serious. I wave my hand in the air, laughing. “You just need a ride? We don’t need to exchange anything. I’m happy to help. ”

The line in his forehead deepens as he frowns. “You don’t want to negotiate at all? Not even a slight reduction in next month's rent, or a verbal agreement that I vacuum out your car?”

I give him one, slow blink. I know bargaining is important in demon culture, but this seems a little excessive. “Seriously. I don’t mind.”

As I turn to grab my car keys, I pause, noting the slight dip in his voice. He wants me to bargain, doesn’t he? I assumed demons liked to bargain over important things, like business contracts or land acquisition, not neighborly favors. To each their own.

I pivot and face him again, chewing on my lower lip. Can you tell me the secret to connecting with demon clientele? Or am I so hopeless I should just close my doors now? It seems like a big ask, considering he just needs a ride. So instead, I say, “Maybe in exchange for a free ride, you can tell me why you’re being called for an emergency hearing?”

His dark eyes shift, and I hold my breath, wondering if I yet again offended a demon without realizing it. But then, Grimshaw puffs out his chest and snorts indignantly, the gleam in his eye unmistakable. “A service in exchange for information? Fine. It’s a deal.”

As we make our way to my car, my attention snags on something sitting on Grimshaw’s porch, covered in a blue tarp and pushed off into the corner. It’s been there since I moved in, and such an eyesore compared to the front of his farmhouse, which is so rustic and dreamy, it looks like it belongs on the cover of Volcanic Vogue Living.

I motion towards the covered furniture. “What do you have under there?”

Grimshaw frowns, not even bothering to look where I’m pointing. “Nothing,” he says gruffly. “I know you're new around here,” he adds, his tone softening, “but here’s a piece of advice: A demon in your debt is more powerful than gold. Use that knowledge judiciously.”

I hang onto every word, but at the same time, I have no idea what he means. Does he expect me to bargain with him every time I want to ask a personal question?

As we drive to the courthouse, the judge fills me in on the reason for his emergency hearing. Three demons arrested for vandalizing a beloved statue? It sounds like the setup for a bad joke, but the gravity in the judge's voice tells me it's anything but funny.

“Winter Bliss is not what it used to be,” he mutters, shaking his head in remorse. I keep my face forward, eyes on the road, trying not to think of how badly he’s scratching the car ceiling with his horns. “You be careful, Doctor. I’m glad I upgraded the security on your apartment.” I wince. Sometimes I leave the back door unlocked because sneaking out through the back is much easier than dealing with that damned touchpad. “When did you say your husband was coming back? ”

I exhale through my nose, squeezing the steering wheel. I don’t have a husband. Or a boyfriend. Or even a friend, except for my dog of course—unless Judge Grimshaw counts as a friend now? No matter how many times I remind Grimshaw I’m single, he always forgets. He must be confusing me with the couple that lived in the apartment previously. Grimshaw works a mentally exhausting job; I don’t blame him for not remembering. I eventually gave up correcting him and went along with it.

“Soon,” I say, noncommittally. The judge doesn’t pick up on my tone. He just nods, pleased with the answer.

As soon as we reach the courthouse, I feel anxious about letting him leave my presence. Though the car ride was awkward and filled with small talk, it feels like we’re making some kind of progress. He’s opening up in a way. Maybe I can use this to my advantage and get some more insider demon knowledge that will help me with my clients. It’s a shot in the dark, but at this point, I’m desperate.

I glance up at my car’s ceiling and frown. “Oh no,” I whisper to myself, but loud enough for him to hear.

“What’s the matter?”

I sigh, reaching up to rub a mark on the ceiling above his head. Guilt prickles in my chest for doing this, his horns barely left any scratches. “Oh, it’s nothing. I think your horn may have scratched the interior of my car—” I plaster on a fake, tight smile. “You know what? I’m sure it’s fine. I’m sure I can fix it. Good luck with your hearing.” I’m pleasantly surprised how easily the lie slips out. I guess it’s just my mom I have trouble lying to.

He unbuckles his seatbelt but doesn’t move. “What would you like in exchange for the inconvenience?” he asks with a resigned sigh.

I try to hide my giddiness. “Can I hang around and watch the hearing?”

G rimshaw leads me through the courthouse hallways, until we reach an elevator at the back of the building. There is no button or panel to call it, but as the judge raises his hand toward the metal surface, a small ember sparks in the middle of his palm. He presses his hand flat against the entrance, the metal sizzling as his yellow firemark appears and then quickly disappears. The elevator groans, low and deep, as the cab travels to meet us. I take a step back to hide my embarrassingly wide toothy smile. No matter how many times I see a supernatural using their magic, it never ceases to amaze me.

I lean closer to the door, listening to the groaning metal grow louder as the cab approaches. “So, the courtroom is upstairs?”

“No,” he says with a devilish grin, “we’re going down.”

The Winter Bliss courthouse is like every other courthouse I’ve been inside. Drab. Worn, squeaky linoleum floors with scuff marks. Flickering fluorescent lights that threaten to give me a migraine if I stare too long. That is until we step inside the elevator, and it takes us so deep into the ground where the temperature drops, and it feels like our next stop is a walk-in freezer.

The cab stops and the metal doors open. I immediately forget the chill and let out an involuntary gasp. We enter a large office carved from sleek, black stone. The desk on the other side of the room, the bookshelf, everything is made from the same polished volcanic material. The faint scent of brimstone lingers in the air. I drag my finger along one of the bookshelves and they come back streaked with soot. I rub the grittiness between my fingers before wiping it off on the side of my leggings.

Grimshaw hangs up his coat and exchanges it for a long black robe. “You’ve never been inside a demon court before?” he asks, seeing the bewilderment on my face. I shake my head. “Ah. Well you’re in for a treat. This whole underground is carved out of volcanic stone. It’s a reminder of the days we held court at the bottom of volcanoes. A few things have changed over the centuries, we no longer throw the convicted into the lava below like they did in the olden days or chop off the horns of the guilty, but we’ve tried to keep the other, more humane traditions alive.”

I'm devouring every word he says, the heat from the obsidian walls making my skin prickle. A demon in a matching black robe appears, exchanging a few quiet words with Grimshaw about firemarks at the crime scene.

Grimshaw's expression darkens as he turns to me. "Dr. Sullivan, I need to be clear. What's about to happen is a daemon tribunal. Everything that occurs in this courtroom stays within these walls." His voice drops lower. "The proceedings are private for a reason. Our secrets are sacred to us."

I start to back away, but he holds up his hand. "However." His orange eyes lock onto mine, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because his shoulders relax slightly. "Our bargain stands. If you can stay absolutely silent and remain hidden where no one will see you."

The offer hangs in the air between us. I can feel the weight of his trust in his words. This isn't just about watching a trial—it's about discretion.

I nod once, understanding completely. Not a sound.

T he obsidian walls of the underground courtroom seem to absorb all sound, creating an eerie silence that makes my skin prickle. I watch from the secret passageway connecting Grimshaw's office to the courtroom, grateful he suggested this hidden vantage point. He gave me the option to sit in the audience, but I didn’t want to be the only human in the small demon crowd. The air is thick with the scent of brimstone, and flickering torches cast long shadows across the room, giving everything a mysterious glow.

My heart races as I watch the three demons filing into the courtroom, all shackled and wearing orange. I’ve studied demon culture as much as possible, but being here, witnessing an actual demon trial, is beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

The bailiff's voice booms through the chamber. “ALL RISE FOR THE HONORABLE JUDGE GRIMSHAW!”

As the crowd stands, I catch my first glimpse of the defendants. My breath catches in my throat. There, standing between two other demons, is Vale—the handsome stranger from the bar. His crimson skin seems paler than I remember, his amber eyes wide with barely concealed panic.

My mind reels as realization dawns—Vale must be one of the three demons the judge mentioned, the ones who destroyed the statue. As I watch Vale shift nervously from foot to foot, my earlier conversation with him takes on new meaning. That's why he was so eager to leave town, why he seemed so desperate at the bar. The pieces click into place, painting a picture I'm not sure I want to see. Judge Grimshaw's gavel cracks like thunder, silencing the murmurs that had begun to ripple through the small crowd. "This court is now in session," he intones, his voice reverberating off the stone walls. "We are here to address the charges against Ramonarex Perchaz, Ignatia Henix, and . . .” He pauses, leaning forward to squint at his paper. "Well, well, Valefor Embergrave." Grimshaw's voice cuts through the tension like a knife, dripping with centuries-old disdain. "I knew I'd see you three ashfire imps in my court one day. Some things never change."

Vale murmurs something I can’t make out from my position, but the hulking bailiff standing behind them doesn't miss a beat. A swift knock to Vale's leg with her ceremonial staff is accompanied by a growled order to show respect.

Grimshaw slowly lowers his gavel, the motion deliberate and threatening. "Spit it out, Valefor. What's your excuse this time?"

Vale’s snaps to attention, the chains of his shackles jangling. My breath catches as I watch Vale straighten his shoulders and lift his chin, a mask of confidence settling over his features. It's a stark contrast to the charming, slightly drunk demon I met at the bar. If I had demon senses, I'm sure I'd be able to taste the fear radiating off him. Fake it 'til you make it, just like he told me. But how does he make it look so effortless?

"Look, it was me, alright?" Vale's voice carries clearly through the chamber as he addresses the judge. He jerks his chin towards the other defendants, his shackles rattling with the movement. "I talked them into destroying the statue. Whatever the fine is, I'll pay—"

"Vale, shut up!" The female demon in custody hisses at him, her voice tinged with panic and fury. The other defendant, the giant one with oversized horns, stands and tries to elbow Vale into silence.

“ORDER IN THE COURT!” The judge and bailiff shout in unison.

"Fine me, punish me, I don't care!" Vale continues, his voice steady despite the interruption. "I'll make a devil's bargain right now to pay for the damages, whatever the amount, if you agree to let us go." The other defendant plops down, retaking his seat. But Vale remains standing.

The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees as Grimshaw responds, his words laced with venom, "Sweet Darkness Below, are you trying to insult me? You'd make the Abyss blush with shame with that bargain." A collective gasp ripples through the courtroom, even Vale visibly flinching at the judge's words.

Vale's composure wavers, a slight tremor running through his body, but he manages to keep his face neutral. "I didn't mean to offend—"

"There are some things money can't buy, Valefor," Grimshaw interrupts, his voice rising. The judge's palms begin to glow red, and I instinctively shrink back, wondering if he's about to unleash his fire on Vale. Instead, he announces his verdict. “Guilty on all charges. Your deplorable actions have not only scarred the heart of our beautiful town square, but they’ve also disrespected the memory of a legendary figure, a great man."

Vale's indignant snort cuts through the tension, and I wince, silently willing him to stay quiet. Grimshaw's eyes narrow dangerously, but he continues, his voice taking on a razor's edge, "As punishment befitting your shameful crimes, you are hereby sentenced to twelve weeks of probation and 250 hours of unpaid labor." The bang of his gavel punctuates his words as he continues to shout over it, making me jump every time.

Chaos erupts. The burliest of the group drops his head to the table with a thud almost as loud as the banging gavel.

My eyes are drawn back to Vale, who stands frozen before the judge. His confident facade crumbles, his chin quivering as he struggles to speak. "Please, I can't stay. I have a m-m-mov—" He cuts himself off with a snarl of frustration. Despite everything, my heart aches for him.

"My wife," Vale says suddenly, his voice ringing out in the sudden silence. My heart stops, a chill running down my spine. This guy was trying to bring me back to his hotel, and he has a wife? Any sympathy I felt evaporates instantly. "She needs me. She just opened a clinic to help demons. She's having a hard time building trust and understanding their culture. I'll finish my community service, I swear, I just need to help her first.”

My jaw drops, and before I can stop myself, a small, shocked gasp escapes me. I clap a hand over my mouth, silently cursing for possibly disrupting the trial.

I look over at Grimshaw, studying his reaction. The deep furrow in his brow, the way his eyes glow with barely contained anger, tell me he's not buying Vale's story for a second. Even without my years of studying behavior, it's clear Vale is grasping at straws. I doubt he’s even married. But more than that, he's using my real-life struggles—my clinic, my difficulties connecting with demon patients—as a convenient excuse. That stings worst of all. My clinic is real, not just some sob story for him to exploit.

Grimshaw's earlier words intone in my mind: A demon in your debt is more powerful than gold. Use that knowledge judiciously.

Before I can fully process what I'm doing, I'm moving forward, stepping out from my secret hiding spot in the hallway. Vale notices me first, his head whipping around, brows furrowing in confusion as he makes the connection. Grimshaw is the last to see me, doing a comical double take and nearly dropping his gavel. But it's too late to turn back now. I've already crossed the courtroom floor, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure everyone can hear it.

I come to a stop next to Vale, acutely aware of every eye in the room fixed on me. Grimshaw glowers down at me, his eyes burning with fury. "Dr. Sullivan? What is the meaning of this?"

"Um." I glance at Vale, desperately hoping for some hint, some clue of what to do next. He looks just as bewildered as I feel. Swallowing hard, I turn back to the judge. "What Vale is saying? I can testify it's true. He's not lying about his wife."

Grimshaw leans across his dais, his voice dangerously low. “And how do you know this?”

"Well, uh . . ." My voice trails off as I reach for Vale's hand, forgetting about the metal mitts around them. He pulls away, the rejection stinging more than it should. Can’t he see I’m trying to help him? Ignoring his rejection, I grasp his wrist instead. I turn back to the judge, plastering on what I hope is a convincing smile. "Because Vale is my husband. And the clinic he's talking about is mine. He was supposed to come home last night, but it looks like he got a little sidetracked."

The silence that follows is deafening. Grimshaw stares at me, his expression unreadable. I hold my breath; certain he'll see through our charade at any moment. In that instant, I see my future in Winter Bliss crumbling before my eyes. I'm not only going to lose my clinic but my apartment as well. Who knows, he might even charge me for lying in court. But it's too late to back out now.

Finally, Grimshaw turns to Vale, his voice laden with suspicion. "Why didn't you tell me your wife's clinic was in town?"

"I, uh," Vale mumbles, clearly caught off guard.

Grimshaw looks at me once more, then shakes his head. The full weight of what I've done crashes over me. This idea better work because Grimshaw will never trust me again after this.

"Well," he says, his voice tinged with reluctance, "it looks like we found your community service, Valefor." He bangs his gavel, the sound reverberating through my body. My legs nearly give out from the shock.

I wonder if Grimshaw is going to want a ride home after this.