Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

ZELDA

This was a terrible idea. Just the worst. Also, illegal. The only problem was, Zelda couldn't think of a better plan. So her choice was to go with the terrible, highly illegal plan, or learn to live with Walker Rocheford getting away with ruining her life.

She couldn't let it go. She tried but the need for justice burned inside her. It kept her up at night. Therapy was a nice idea but Zelda didn't have therapy money, hence her situation with the choice between an illegal plan or learning to live with it.

Honestly, it wasn't a choice at all. The terrible plan was her only option.

Zelda took a deep breath. Her hands shook as she took up the chalk. The circle she laid was lopsided, the line wavered, but there were no gaps. Did penmanship—chalkmanship?—matter when summoning a demon? Probably not. It was an unbroken circle. All the sources agreed that was the important part.

She placed her offering of salt and herbs in the center, lit a candle, and spoke. "I appeal to the Daimoni. I seek vengeance. Walker Rocheford must pay for his sins."

Zelda waited, feeling foolish. What was she doing? The summoning ritual made no sense. This was the modern age. The Daimoni weren't demons. They were aliens. Yes, they had a long history of contact with humanity before humanity had even been to Earth's moon. How long a history? Nearly every language on Earth had a variation of their name: demon.

The Daimoni were shapeshifters, tricksters, and bargain makers. Most importantly, they liked humans, or at least liked toying with humans. Allegedly, they considered humans to be adorable little pets.

They traded wishes for a person's soul, first-born child, or something equally precious. They couldn't be trusted. They'd trick you into a contract, honor it to the letter but not the spirit, and screw you over. Everyone knew that. They were chaotic evil lawyers. Worse.

Bargains with the Daimoni had been outlawed for decades for good reason. Don't make deals with a demon.

Yet here she was, sitting in her living room in a summoning circle, because she was desperate and too petty to let her anger go.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "I'm ridiculous."

Of course this wouldn't work. Summoning an alien demon with a candle and items raided from her kitchen? The Daimoni were shapeshifters and possibly telepathic—how else did they find desperate people? They lurked in shadows, mingled with people while wearing false faces, and waited until they spotted a mark. They didn't appear out of thin air.

Obviously.

The summoning ritual was nothing more than a test to identify the gullible. Well, good job, Zelda. She was as gullible as they come.

"It's fine," Zelda said, rising to her feet. "Walker Rocheford stole a priceless cultural treasure, ruined my reputation, and replaced me with another woman, and it's fine. I don't need your help. I'll leave nasty reviews online. I'll post bad photos of him. I've got one where he's slightly less stunning than usual, so that'll show him."

She couldn't prove that Walker had been behind the theft, but she knew it in her gut. Someone used her keycard and knew her passcode. No one else had access. Of course, Walker was with her when the actual robbery happened, but there had been something in his eyes when she received a visit from the police after the fact. Anticipation. He had known.

Rumors lingered after the investigation cleared her. The museum didn't fire her for the break-in, but she was let go shortly after for bullshit reasons.

The end result being, she lost her job, her apartment, and her friends.

"He has to pay," she said quietly.

A mist filled the room. Zelda panicked, fearing a leaking gas line or a contaminated atmosphere. Her apartment building wasn't exactly up to code. She needed to find her cat and leave.

The overhead lights flickered, then went out. The candle provided the only illumination in the room. The flame wavered, then snuffed out. Darkness surrounded her.

"Zelda Kniffen, you called me here for petty revenge?" a deep voice asked.

She jumped back. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

A chuckle made the hair on her arms stand on end. The menace was off the charts.

"I was invited," he said.

"You're a Daimoni."

Her eyes adjusted to the dark. There was a large figure in the middle of her circle. Large was being polite. Massive better described the being.

There was a massive demon in her living room.

"I am called Malgraxon."

The figure clapped his hands. The lights returned.

Zelda blinked in the sudden light.

In the center of her poorly drawn summoning circle stood a demon wearing an old-fashioned suit. His face was nothing but a shifting, inky black haze. He had no eyes, no mouth, and no body. He was just a black fog wearing a suit.

"Nice suit. Did you rob someone's attic?" She slapped a hand over her mouth, mortified at the sarcastic question. Sometimes her mouth started running before her brain came online. Okay, not just sometimes. Often. It was a problem.

He tugged on the cuffs, nonplussed. "A museum actually. Oh, don't look surprised. They weren't using it."

"A museum," she said, not impressed. Was he messing with her? A museum.

"Relax. The university's theater department is practically a museum. All those lovely costumes, moldering away in storage. I saw this on stage fifty years ago and knew this was made for me. Fits like a glove." He turned, displaying his backside. "Don't give me that look. They had a spare."

Zelda collapsed in a lounge chair. She summoned a sassy demon. Awesome. "You're a cloud. Why do you need to wear clothes?"

"Ah, the eternal question. Social expectations, mostly. People tend to shout and scream when you stroll around in nothing but a fog," Malgraxon said. Zelda had no way to know this for sure, but he was smirking. It wasn't a fun, light-hearted smirk—it was a smug smirk.

She didn't like it or his haughty attitude. She didn't like him. That did not change the fact that she needed him.

"Would it help if I looked like this?" he asked. The fog swirled and condensed, the black draining away and color fading in.

A square-jawed man with honey brown hair and blue eyes stood before her. Walker.

"Zelda, honey?—"

"No. Absolutely not," Zelda said, springing to her feet. She didn't need the demon that badly. She'd find another way. "You can go."

Walker—Malgraxon—tilted his head. His eyes were black swirls, void of light. "You wanted a contract. I heard you, Zelda Kniffen. You have a grievance. You want justice. I can give you justice."

"I changed my mind."

"This man stole from you. He took your reputation. Your love." He said the last word like it was a foreign concept.

"Walker didn't steal my love, but he abused it. Betrayed me," she said, her voice giving a little wobble.

Malgraxon flashed a smile that was not Walker's. The teeth were all wrong and… pointy. Way too pointy.

Shit. He had her, and he knew it. She'd agree to anything because of that wobble in her voice.

Fucking Walker.

"I can gut him and knit you a sweater of his innards," the demon suggested.

"God no! Do not do that."

"It is no trouble. The trick is to soak them in a saltwater bath?—"

"No! Stop… stop talking about entrails." Then, because it couldn't hurt, "Please."

Malgraxon folded his arms over his chest. "Well, I feel that you are missing an opportunity to send a powerful message. Why, if not bloody vengeance, have you summoned me?"

Why indeed.

"I want vengeance, just not the blood. I want to expose him for the weasel he is. I want everyone to know."

Malgraxon gave a dramatic yawn. "Boring."

"Sorry, but if I wanted him dead, I'd hire some ruffian." The details on how to do that were sketchy, but they would give her less lip than the demon, so it'd be worth the trouble.

His lips twitched, betraying his amusement. "Sure, ruffians. While you're at it, hire a rapscallion, a few scallywags, and a cad."

Zelda blinked, slowly processing the sheer amount of snark coming from the demon. "I don't need a cad. I want revenge on one. Anyway, don't mock me. You're the one dressed like you're on the hunt for Jack the Ripper."

"Thank you." He smoothed down the front of his suit with a pleased grin.

"That wasn't a compliment." Zelda ran a hand through her hair. She didn't have a lot of options here. She had to make a deal with this demon, as aggravating as he was. Better do some damage control. "Look, we got off on the wrong foot. Would you like a drink?"

"I desire the water of melting snow collected from the sacred pools of Jesare," he said, like that was something she could pick up at the store.

"No sacred water, but I'll find something." She had hot chocolate. That was sacred in her books.

He waved a dismissive hand. "Very well. Surprise me, mortal."

Zelda scurried into the kitchen, very aware of the demon watching her with his swirling black and blue eyes. She resisted the urge to tug her sweater down over her butt. She didn't need to draw more attention to her big behind.

While water boiled, she leaned against the counter. This wasn't going the way she expected. The demon wasn't supposed to be real. She fully intended to do the little ritual and when nothing happened, laugh at herself, have an ugly cry, and get on with things like an adult. Then Malgraxon had the nerve to show up and ruin her perfectly reasonable pity party.

She poured boiling water over the powdered mix, stirred in peppermint syrup, and topped it with whipped cream and crushed peppermint candy. Nature might have given her extra padding, but she saw no reason not to treat herself.

When she returned to the common room, Malgraxon sat on the floor, embroiled in a staring contest with her cat, Mr. Fishtopher. Mr. Fish's tail was straight in the air, wary, but not puffed in alarm.

Zelda set the mugs of hot chocolate in front of Malgraxon. "It's better hot," she said, grabbing Fishtopher and setting him on her lap. The cat wasn't having it and moved to investigate the hot chocolate.

"That is mine, foul fiend," Malgraxon said, cradling his mug to his chest.

"Fishtopher is not a fiend. He's a good boy," Zelda said, reaching for her own mug.

Malgraxon sniffed the mug, frowning. An obscenely long tongue darted out, taking a swipe of whipped cream. His eyebrows went up in surprise. He greedily downed the drink, leaving whipped cream on his top lip. "What is this?"

"You never had hot chocolate before?"

"No. Humans insist on plying me with whiskey or wine. It's rather tedious." His long tongue licked the inside of the mug. It was wrong, but she couldn't stop staring. His tongue was forked.

How would that feel?

Zelda blushed and stared into the bottom of her mug. She had no business imagining his tongue doing stuff… Moments ago, he annoyed her. Yes, he was handsome, but he was a shapeshifter, so a good-looking face didn't mean much. Hot or not, his attitude needed an adjustment.

"This is not tedious," Malgraxon said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Well, help me take down Walker, and I'll treat you to an ice cream sundae," she joked.

His eyes flashed and he leaned back against the sofa, laying his arm along the cushions. For no good reason other than to torment her, that tongue licked his lips, getting the last of the whipped cream.

He did that on purpose.

Zelda shifted, pressing her thighs together because she did not need to be having thoughts about that tongue. "I, uh, have, that is, I saw, on the newsfeed about the, umm—" She stumbled over her words because he was biting his lower lip as he watched her, looking as if he knew full well she was having thoughts about his tongue. "Walker's going to be at a party," she finally managed to say.

"You require a date? I am flattered." Despite sitting on the floor, he managed to lord over the room.

His uncontrolled attitude had the effect of taking a cold shower. All her desire vanished. She said in a flat tone, "I don't need a date. I need an invitation. It's exclusive. Look, did you hear about the ruby slippers that were stolen?"

"I do not keep tabs on human shoes."

"They're famous. They were props from an old Earth movie, The Wizard of Oz ." She waited for recognition, but none came. "The ruby slippers are priceless from a cultural standpoint. I am—I used to be—the curator at the Martian Historical Society. The ruby slippers are—were—the only pair off Earth. They were stolen, and the thieves used my keycard and passcode to do it."

Malgraxon eyed her untouched hot chocolate. She handed her mug over to him and was rewarded with a genuine smile of delight.

Walker never looked at her like that. She saw that now. Their relationship had been entirely one-sided, infatuation on her part, and him just telling her what she wanted to hear.

"I know Walker was behind it, or at least part of it. He used me, and then vanished after the robbery."

"You suspect," Malgraxon said.

"I know!" Fishtopher jumped on the couch and butted his head against her arm. She scratched behind his ears the way he liked. When her voice was steady, she said, "I don't have any physical proof, but certain things he said make sense in retrospect. He was with me at the time of the robbery, but that was just to keep me distracted."

"You are each other's alibi. What did the police think? The insurance adjuster? They are often more concerned with recovering the item than the legal authorities."

Zelda tossed her hands up in frustration. "Nothing. They were more interested in me, but that's ridiculous. If I had anything to do with it, I'd have to be brain dead to use my own codes."

"Yes, that would be shortsighted on your part, but not unsurprising. Criminal masterminds are few and far in between."

"Well, eventually they came around to that opinion, but I couldn't shake the gossip. Anyway, long story short, I lost my job, and no museum, gallery, or archive will hire me." She leaned back against the sofa cushion, perfectly aware that she was sulking. "The art world is small, especially on Mars. Insular. No one's going to hire me unless I clear my name."

In desperation, she had applied to the Mars Mart around the corner but her name tripped some flags on the background check. The fact that the investigation was closed and charges dropped didn't matter. It was fine or whatever. She didn't want to work at a convenience store anyway.

"Relocate for employment. That is the obvious solution, not making a deal with my kind," the demon said, his eyes a glowing swirl of black and luminescent blue.

"Why should I have to move? This is my home. I'm a third-generation Martian."

Malgraxon gave a dramatic yawn, the jerk. "This is my concern, why?"

"Because he's going to do it again. Amiron Yan is having a party next week. Halloween." She paused, waiting for a reaction. "It's an old Earth holiday. People dress up like ghosts and devils. You'd like it."

"As intriguing as that sounds, I do not see a reason to be involved."

Zelda grabbed her tablet and projected an image onto the far wall. It was a vase of white flowers with two red poppy blossoms in the lower left of the arrangement. "That is ‘Poppy Flowers' by Van Gogh."

"You show me flowers," the demon said, sounding unimpressed.

"It was stolen in 2010 and never recovered."

He licked the last of the hot chocolate from the mug, giving no indication that he cared.

"The rumor is that Amiron has it," Zelda said.

"You are suggesting that your beau will want this painting."

"He won't be able to resist—and he's not my beau." Not any longer. Zelda was embarrassed to think how head-over-heels she had been for Walker, but it hadn't been real. Nothing about that man had been real.

Malgraxon remained silent, studying the painting. Finally, he said, "You have no proof that Walker Rocheford is responsible for your misfortune."

"I don't need proof. I know ." It had to be Walker. There was no other opportunity for someone to grab her keycard and codes.

"You are desperate to blame your ex-lover for all your woes rather than accept that he left you for the typical reasons. He grew bored. Your relationship was stale. Unexciting. Tedious." With each word, Malgraxon's presence seemed to grow larger, chasing out the light in the room until it was just him.

"No," Zelda protested.

"You are nothing more than a spurned lover. There was no plot. You are just another pathetic human looking to blame someone else for their troubles."

"You're wrong."

"Prove it," Malgraxon growled.

"Men who look like Walker don't date women who look like me," she said, mortified at her words.

Barely a heartbeat later, she was pressed flat on the sofa with Malgraxon looming over her. He pinned her hands above her head in a firm grip. One knee wedged itself between her thighs.

He licked his lips, the long tongue moving with all sorts of promises.

"Now that is a lie. Do not lie to me, Zelda Kniffen." He sat up, no longer holding her wrists, but she was still restrained by an unseen force.

"I'm not lying." She squirmed, and his eyes went entirely black, which probably wasn't good. "Hot guys don't go for chubby chicks unless they want something."

"Is that something sex? Because—" He growled again, deep in his throat, and it went right to her core.

"You can't say things like that." She turned away, her face burning in embarrassment.

With a snap of his fingers, he released her wrists. Gently, he grabbed her chin, turning her to look at him. His eyes were completely black, void of light. "I will say what I please. The truth does not care for your inhibitions."

This wasn't about her inhibitions, thank you very much. This was about Walker dazzling her with his handsome face, and her being so desperate for affection that she overlooked the fact that he used her. What had she been thinking? Guys who looked like him were never interested in women who looked like her. That was just a fact.

Malgraxon growled again, interrupting her self-recriminations. "I see now. He took more than your security clearance and your job. He took your spark."

Ugh. Pity . She didn't want pity.

"My spark is just fine," she said.

"Hush." He pressed a finger over her lips, smirking. "I will take your contract, Zelda Kniffen, third-generation Martian."

He sprang to his feet. She absolutely did not miss the weight of him on her or his heat, because she was not lusting after this arrogant demon who wore her ex's face.

"I will ruin Walker for his transgressions against you," Malgraxon said.

"In exchange for what?" she asked, sitting upright. There was a price. There was always a price.

His gaze swept over her, heated, and his tongue did that thing again. "A kiss."

"A kiss?"

"Yes, you have convinced me of the righteousness of this task. Walker Rocheford must be made accountable for all he has done to you. A kiss is my price."

"Just a kiss?" That was too little. She'd read stories about how the Daimoni took the first-born child or something equally horrific. Their price was never straightforward.

"Do you think I need gold or jewels? I have plenty. But I have never tasted your lips. With my long life, unique experiences are difficult to find, and your kiss will be a unique experience. Do we have a deal?" He held out a hand.

It had to be a trick. She turned his offer over in her mind but couldn't see how.

"Deal," she said, taking his hand.

A tingle or a spark went through her when their hands touched. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and she gasped.

"Now," he said, rubbing his hands together. "Tell me more about this party Walker will attend."