Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

ZELDA

The next day, Geneva pounced on Zelda the moment she walked in the door.

"Come with me," the older woman said, grabbing her arm tight enough that Zelda understood she had no choice.

Once in the back, she barked at Zelda to have a seat while she futzed with the coffee machine.

Zelda perched on the edge of the remarkably uncomfortable folding chair. Of course she was in full panic mode, worried Geneva knew and hoping she somehow didn't.

The back room was packed rather tightly with a desk buried under invoices, a counter with just enough space and equipment to reheat a meal or make coffee, a rickety folding table with two chairs, and boxes—lots and lots of boxes stacked on the floor and packed onto shelves.

"What did you promise him?" Geneva demanded. She leaned against the counter while the coffee machine went through its machinations, arms folded over her chest. The harsh overhead light cast an unflattering glow across her complexion.

"Him who?" Zelda asked, feigning innocence, which was harder than it sounded because Zelda suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. Was she blinking too much? Did she just wink at her boss?

Geneva tossed her a sharp look. "Don't be clever and stop winking. The demon."

So she knew. Zelda had been expecting it. Geneva was far too shrewd to miss a demon strolling into her shop.

"Nothing much," Zelda said.

"It's never nothing much."

"I'm not answering." The last thing she'd ever admit was that the demon asked for a kiss.

"I could fire you," Geneva threatened casually as she poured the fresh brew.

"You won't," Zelda replied, acting a lot braver than she felt. "How did you know, anyway?"

With a tired sigh, Geneva carried two mugs of coffee towards the folding table and sank into the other chair, the metal groaning with age. "You deal with a Daimoni long enough and you pick up on their tells."

Zelda accepted the mug. "I knew you'd never give me an afternoon off. Did Mal threaten you?"

"Mal? That's the creature's name?"

Zelda didn't appreciate the way Geneva referred to Mal as a creature. He wasn't human but he was still a living being. "What did he say to you?"

Geneva waved a hand absently. "Some song and dance about it being your birthday. Sugar?"

Zelda reached for the caddy but Geneva pulled it back at the last moment. She said, "Sugar is for good girls who answer the question."

Fine. Zelda could drink her coffee black. She sipped, grimaced because the shop's coffee maker scorched the beans, and took another sip. Spite motivated most of her actions and Zelda really needed to rethink that.

"How do you know so much about Daimoni, anyway?" she asked.

Geneva tore open a packet and dumped the contents into her mug. "Look, I appreciate the need for cagey answers, but we're just going around in circles. Let's just say that I have some experience in these matters."

Zelda had a hundred questions. She must have looked like she was about to burst because Geneva continued, "So when I tell you to be careful, I know what I'm talking about."

"I'm careful." Another bitter sip.

"That fact that you won't tell me the price tells me all I need to know." Geneva pushed the caddy towards her, almost as a peace offering.

Ouch. That hit too close to home.

"I'm willing to pay the price," Zelda said.

"Be careful. Daimoni can't be trusted. They twist words and won't let go once they get their claws in you."

Yeah, that's what she was worried about.

"What was so important that you had to sell your soul?" Geneva asked.

"You already heard about my ex. You know what he did."

"Revenge? That's all?"

All? Walker changed the trajectory of her life. She had a good career she enjoyed and friends. After the museum robbery, her job was gone and the friends turned out to not be friends at all and abandoned, and Walker just walked away.

A better person might philosophize that everything worked out in the end and things happened for a reason .

Well, Zelda wasn't a better person. She burned to get a bit of her own back. Walker needed to suffer. He needed to share her pain. If she had to sell her soul to a demon to make that happen, so be it.

"Yeah, I'm basic like that," Zelda said.

Geneva shook her head, as if disappointed. "Revenge won't be the solution you want."

They were going to have to agree to disagree. Zelda knew the deal with Malgraxon would be worth it. Walker would get what he had coming and she could finally move on.

She hoped.

The midnight-blue dress along with every item she tried on in the shop and many, many accessories arrived the next day. Zelda found the selection of underwear intimidating. They were lovely pieces with delicate little scraps of silk and lace designed to make the most of her ample rear. No doubt the bill was more expensive than a month's rent. They were completely impractical. She was more of a boring, high-waisted panties with built-in support kind of gal and resisted the urge to try on the silky undergarments.

The temptation of the red satin dress proved harder to resist. Zelda held the gown against herself, studying her reflection. The dress was strapless with a structured waist and layers of fluffy petticoats underneath. She couldn't ever imagine needing to wear such a dress, yet she desperately wanted to try it on and maybe do a little twirl. She had the underwear already out of the box and, really, it didn't hurt to slip the dress on…

Someone pounded on her apartment door.

Zelda flinched, tossing the dress back to the pile of too expensive and too fancy gowns that Malgraxon bought for her. She tugged on an old sweater and leggings.

The pounding continued. If the building's AI worked, the face recognition would send her a notice about who was trying to beat down her door. As it was, Zelda had to do it the old-fashioned way and check the screen next to the door.

Malgraxon stood outside, holding a carryout cup in one hand and a carrier loaded with more cups in the other.

Zelda took a deep breath before entering the code to open the door.

Back again. She really didn't understand why and feared Geneva had been correct about Mel sinking his claws into her.

"Explain," he demanded, shoving a disposable cup in her face.

"Well, hello to you too." She took the warm cup. The aroma of chocolate wafted up. "What am I explaining?"

"I have sampled several hot chocolates, and they are all inferior. Explain ." Malgraxon brushed past her to stand in the center of her tiny apartment. His form waivered, and his face morphed into one with a crown of horns. A dark mist rolled across the floor.

Fishtopher the cat did not appreciate this and fled to the safety of the bedroom with a hiss.

Zelda looked at the carrier filled with multiple cups. "They don't make theirs with love?"

He huffed. "Love is not a palatable ingredient."

"And yet—" She took a sip of the hot chocolate. It wasn't bad, but the chocolate was weaker than she liked.

"A trade," he said. "Teach me your secret and I will prepare a meal for you."

"You can cook?"

He gave a weary sigh. "Yes. I would not have survived these centuries if I were unable to feed myself." Centuries? She started to ask, but he made a grumbling noise. "A Daimoni lifespan is not the same as a human's," he said.

"But centuries? How old are you?"

"I will not discuss it. Do you accept the terms of our deal?"

"My hot chocolate recipe for a meal. What are you making?"

"What ingredients do you have?" Without waiting for her to answer, Malgraxon opened every door in the kitchen. What he found was a bunch of nothing. He made a disapproving clicking noise. "This is unacceptable."

"Ah, well, you see, it's the end of the month and money's tight. My pantry is a little bare." She'd been living on cheese sandwiches and pasta. Not at the same time.

"I will purchase the necessary supplies. Do we have a deal?" He extended his hand.

A Daimoni offering a bargain set off all the warnings in Zelda's mind. Agreeing to a second bargain was reckless, and here she was, taking his hand. A familiar tingle surged through her.

Malgraxon watched intently as Zelda prepared the hot chocolate. "It's nothing special. This is just a powdered mix, but I like to add syrup to make it fancy." He noted the size of the spoonful of mix she used, the temperature of the water, how much peppermint syrup she added to the mug, and even the amount of whipped cream she sprayed on the top.

In the end, he cradled the mug and inhaled. His long, forked tongue flicked down and lapped up the whipped cream. He made a happy, growly noise that bordered on obscene. "This is correct. Thank you."

"It's nothing special?—"

"False humility does not suit you. Do not diminish your beauty to appease others."

Well, she didn't know how to respond to that. She used an instant mix and not even the fancy brand. It was a discount brand with a cartoon logo. As for beauty, her hair was a mess, and her shirt had an old coffee stain down the front. Glamorous was not the word she'd use to describe herself.

Malgraxon drained his mug and slammed it down on the kitchen counter. "Excellent. Dress for dinner while I prepare our meal. Do you have any allergies or dietary restrictions?"

"Umm, no. I'll eat anything. I like… food," she managed to say. Her mind went blank on exactly the type of food she enjoyed because Malgraxon held up her skillet to the light like he was inspecting a treasure. "Sorry, what are you doing?" she asked.

He waved the pan in her direction. "Go. Dress. I want to see you in one of the lovely gowns I purchased."

"For dinner in my apartment? I'll ruin it."

"If you'd rather be naked, I will not complain." His tongue flicked out, licking his lips, and she blushed hot enough she feared she'd combust.

"Be right back," she squeaked. Malgraxon's laughter followed her into her bedroom.

Zelda took a quick shower. Sorting through the estate sale boxes had been dusty work. Apparently, no one bothered to clean the items before packing them away. Zelda had decades worth of dust on her.

The red dress, hastily tossed on the bed, called to her.

With hair still damp and curling around her ears, she opened the box with the black silk panties and matching bra.

Why not? It'd be a crime to wear her old drab things under her lovely new dress.

The silk panties slid over her skin, and the red dress fit like a dream. Turning in front of the mirror, she twisted her head to catch a glimpse of her behind. She felt decadent wearing such expensive things just to hang around her apartment, but she was in no hurry to take them off. As a finishing touch, she wore the meteorite necklace.

When she emerged from the bedroom, dinner waited on the table, along with a fresh bouquet of flowers. Candles had been lit, giving her dingy apartment a shabby chic flair.

Malgraxon kneeled on the floor, attempting to woo Fishtopher with a bowl of milk. The bowl sat between him and the cat.

"He doesn't drink milk," she said.

"Your feline is misinformed," Malgraxon replied. "I can cite multiple sources of Earth lore that indicate that cats drink milk in saucers."

He pushed the bowl forward an inch. Fishtopher ignored it and licked his paw.

"I hate to tell you, television lied. Adult cats can't digest milk. It makes Mr. Fish farty, and we don't want that."

"Very well." He dusted his hands on his trousers as he stood. He gave her an appraising look. "You're as lovely as a falling star. A blazing comet. You must dress like this all the time. I insist we destroy your old rags immediately."

Zelda smoothed a hand over her stomach. The fabric fit snugly but did not pinch. Most importantly, the fabric belt did not roll down or dig into her waist. "Thanks, but this isn't practical to wear every day."

He made a dismissive noise. "Who cares about practicality when you look delectable?"

"If you want Fishtopher to be your friend, try bribing him with canned tuna," she said, completely ignoring that he called her delectable.

Malgraxon found a can of tuna in the pantry, and Fishtopher began to cry immediately. The cat was on the tuna the moment Malgraxon swapped it out for the bowl of milk. He even allowed the demon to pet his head.

Mal crouched down next to the feasting cat, a grin on his face. "He is now my minion," he said with satisfaction.

"Oh, that's not how this works at all. You feed him the good stuff. You're his minion."

"That is acceptable." Mal continued to stroke the cat, who tolerated the demon's touch while he greedily scarfed down the tuna.

Zelda caught the aroma of dinner. Her stomach rumbled.

Mal sprang to his feet. "Let us feast!"

With a flourish, he escorted her to the table decorated with a pristine white tablecloth. She had no idea where the tablecloth came from because it was not hers.

Dinner was mushroom risotto, grilled chicken, asparagus drowning in butter, and fresh baked rolls. A bottle of wine chilled in a bucket.

"What is this?" she asked. He didn't have time to cook, and none of the ingredients came from her kitchen.

"I took the liberty of examining your food purchasing habits, my comet, and ordered before I arrived." He smiled, displaying his inhuman pointy teeth in his otherwise human face. "I am clever. You are welcome."

"You hacked me."

"Only a little." He gestured for her to pick up a fork. When she did not, his brows pulled together. "Was that wrong?"

"Invading my privacy? Yeah, that was wrong."

"Eat. I went through all the trouble of breaking several passwords and a few inconsequential laws to have dinner with you."

She eyed the plate. The risotto looked creamy. Starving to prove a point was just a waste of good food. Really, she'd only be punishing herself.

This is what the Daimoni did. Dangle temptation in front of their target and make it seem like the logical choice to accept, the only choice…

Geneva warned her.

Zelda pushed the plate away. "You're the devil."

He grinned, all teeth, and his eyes went dark. "Such flattery."

"That wasn't a compliment."

Malgraxon uncorked the wine and poured two glasses. "I apologize for invading your privacy. I wanted you to be pleased with the meal, and I did not think how it would make you feel to have your passwords broken."

Zelda accepted the glass, moved by his thoughtful apology. Dinner and flowers were nice gestures, and he wanted to win over her cat. That counted for a lot. She said, "Thank you. Don't do it again."

"I will not, but I suggest a random string of words, not Iheartfishtopher ."

And he ruined it.

Zelda drained the glass too quickly to appreciate the perfectly chilled wine. "Why are you here, Malgraxon?"

"Mal, please," he said with a coaxing grin. "Malgraxon is too formal for friends."

Yeah, they weren't friends. Whatever this was, it wasn't friendship. Fucked up, absolutely.

"Why are you here?" she repeated.

He picked up his wine and frowned. "One does not like to dine alone. It's not civilized."

Sure. That made as much sense as anything.

"Eat," Malgraxon said, only now all the coaxing had vanished. It was an order.

Zelda picked up the fork and dug into the risotto. It was superb. Everything was fantastic. She remained silent. Malgraxon apparently didn't care, holding up her side of the conversation. He chatted about nothing in particular, from a documentary he watched on famous art thefts on Earth, to her favorite flower, and an amusing anecdote about his tailor.

The whole evening was surreal. A Daimoni was in her tiny apartment, had spent a small fortune on a new wardrobe for her, and brought her dinner for no reason more serious than he didn't want to dine alone.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"You see, merino wool is perfectly serviceable, but this is vicuna. The quality is entirely different."

"Not about your clothes. My clothes. The dresses. The wine. All of this." She touched the necklace.

His swirling black and blue eyes gazed at her. "This is the bargain we struck. The ruin of Walker Rocheford for your kiss."

Yeah, he wasn't going to give her a straight answer.

"Why did you come here tonight? Sure, you wanted the secrets of my instant mix hot chocolate, but I ain't buying that," she said.

Malgraxon refilled his wine glass and leaned back in his chair, swirling the red contents. "When we attend Amiron Yan's party, it is imperative that we are comfortable in each other's company."

Zelda turned that over. "You mean I acted weird at the dress shop, and you want me to relax."

"Precisely. You must chill."

She laughed. It wasn't funny, a demon sitting at her rickety table, drinking wine that cost more than she wanted to know, telling her to chill. "How is this a fair trade? What's in it for you?" There was a trick, always a trick with the Daimoni.

His eyes went black. "Revenge," he said.

"Revenge," Zelda repeated, because that made no sense. "Against Walker?"

"Amiron."

Okay, that made sense. Zelda recalled how Malgraxon had seemed unusually interested in her situation. "If you want revenge against him, you don't need my help." Certainly not a scheme that involved them being comfortable in each other's presence or whatever it was he had planned.

"Unfortunately, even my kind must abide by rules. I cannot move against Amiron directly, as much as I wish to smite the slippery male."

Interesting. Malgraxon had rules he had to play by. There was a ton of lore about the Daimoni but few actual facts. "So you'll come at him indirectly through Walker?"

"A happy coincidence."

Somehow, she doubted that.

"What did Amiron do?" she asked.

"Nothing."

She really doubted that.

She must not have much of a poker face because Malgraxon said, "We had a bargain. I fulfilled my end of the contract, and he avoided the consequences of his."

"He outmaneuvered you. Learn to lose gracefully."

His expression grew dark and dangerous. For just a second, no longer than a heartbeat, black fog steamed from his eyes and his shirt collar. His human face dissolved, and she saw a skull wearing a crown of horns.

"He eluded our bargain once, but I will bind him to an obligation that not even he can escape," Malgraxon said, his voice deep and resonating in her chest.

Zelda swallowed, suddenly very afraid of Malgraxon and his wrath. There was only a table between them, but it would take nothing for him to reach across and snuff the life out of her.

Then the manifestation was gone.

Malgraxon scowled, but Zelda released the breath she had been holding because the smoke and skull special effects had vanished. He said, "Amiron broke the spirit of our bargain and wormed his way out of the contract's obligations. It is vexing."

He was outplayed at his own game. Yeah, she could see how that would be vexing. Rather than share her insights, she should keep her mouth shut. Mal didn't seem to be in the mood. Yet she said, "And you can't come at him directly."

"I will engineer a situation and create a new obligation, one that Amiron will not be able to manipulate."

"You mentioned a trap?—"

His eyes grew dark, the black completely swallowing the light. He reached across the table. Gripping her fork like it was the last line of defense, Zelda remained motionless as he cupped the side of her face with one hand.

"You will be the most magnificent bait," he said.

Bait… Yeah, nothing to be worried about there.

"What happens if you break the rules?" she asked.

Mal snatched his hand away and stood quickly from the table. "Be ready tomorrow evening. Do something with your hair. I find this ragamuffin appearance charming, but it will not do with Amiron Yan's sort."

She touched her still damp hair as she watched him leave. He had said a lot that evening, but it had been mostly empty prattle. What he didn't say was more interesting.

There were tons of stories about djinn that granted wishes only to twist them. Or monkey paw wishes that came with a terrible price. Fae that offered a bargain that appeared simple on the face of it but was much more complex. A crossroads demon who granted your deepest desire in exchange for your soul. Stories of the human getting one over the bargainer, however, were few and far between.

What had Amiron done? What rules tied Malgraxon's hands?

Worry eased within her. Whatever Malgraxon's motive, he wasn't after her. She was just a bystander caught up in his ultimate target: Amiron.

A knock sounded on her door at the top of the hour.

Right on time.

After their disastrous dinner, Zelda half-expected Malgraxon to turn up the next morning with coffee and bagels or burst into the pawnshop like nothing happened. He did neither. No visits, no demands for hot chocolate or impromptu meals in her apartment. Nothing but silence until the evening of the party.

"You're here," Zelda said as she opened the door to Malgraxon, sounding surprised. She had feared he called off the deal.

Dressed in a well-tailored suit, he was elegance personified with the same face as last time. The eyes, though—they were entirely human, and it looked wrong. Dull.

"Of course. We have a bargain," he said. His gaze swept over her, his eyes shifting from regular blue to smoky black and back again.

Zelda touched the meteorite necklace. She couldn't help but recall how his eyes blazed when he put the necklace on her, how she felt sure he would lean down and preemptively claim his kiss. She got the same vibe from him now, which was silly. She knew what she looked like. The midnight blue dress was very flattering, but there was only so much she could do with her hair and makeup. Tonight, she set her chestnut hair in loose curls, and thankfully her hair cooperated.

"Your lips are very red," he said.

"Thank you. It's called rouge star." The vivid red lipstick was a risk, but it worked well with her complexion and the classic look of the dress.

"It suits you." His eyes flared again, and he pressed a finger to his lip, contemplating her.

Zelda blushed, unused to such open admiration.

"Are you wearing everything I sent?"

Zelda nodded.

He leaned in to whisper, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "The black panties?"

She sucked in a breath. She had worn the black silk panties the night before. Tonight, she wore a pink pair. It seemed a crime not to wear them.

"Not black. What color?" he asked.

"Pink."

"Good," he said, his voice purring.

She shivered. So help her, she shivered.

"Shall we? I have enemies to smite," he said, holding out his arm.

Right. He wasn't here for her or the pink silk panties. They had a contract.

It was better this way. He was flirty by nature. It had nothing to do with her. She was just collateral damage, caught up in the force of nature that was his charm. This was strictly business. She wouldn't want her emotions to get confused.