Chapter 33
Waking up felt… strange. A kind of almost childlike giddiness, mixed with the distinct impression that I'd been thoroughly beaten up. My mood hadn't suffered in the slightest, but my body was already sending its first distress signals—exhausted, demanding rest. Lucky thing it was a day off and I didn't have to drag myself into a shift at the SDS.
I pulled myself out of bed and gave the room a quick once-over. The demoness had already left, most likely headed home to freshen up—not that that posed any problem whatsoever with her particular set of abilities.
A little disappointing, sure, but I was a grown man, and I could understand perfectly well that a girl would much rather shower in her own place with all her creams and lotions than in the home of a guy living with his grandmother, where the most moisturizing product available was tap water and the only shampoo was some five-hundred-in-one formula fit for scrubbing car windows in January.
I got up and lowered my slightly unsteady legs to the floor—and immediately locked eyes with the Mechamen poster on the wall across from me. A violent wave of shame washed over me.
"I'm going to need to cover you with something next time… or just take you down altogether."
My eyes, still not quite adjusted to the sunlight, started picking up on small details I'd missed at first.
Spots of blood on the bed, among other stains. Four identical furrows carved into the concrete wall. And a persistent smell that hadn't cleared even with the window cracked open.
"Mel must have really gone all out…"
Speaking of which, the demoness's clothes were still lying exactly where she'd dropped them the night before. The juvenile impulse to keep her underwear as some kind of trophy was quickly smothered by a mental slap to the back of my own head—and by the very clear understanding of what an avalanche of cringe and mockery would rain down on me the moment Mel found out. Or worse, if it somehow came up in Team Z.
I pulled on the first clothes I could find—a pair of signature yellow sweats and a stretched-out T-shirt—and only vaguely registered that my shorts from the previous day had gone missing, along with the fact that my wardrobe was in some mysterious state of disorder, as though someone had already rummaged through it.
I shuffled out the door, wincing slightly as the fabric brushed against the scratches on my chest and the bite mark on my shoulder, and slowly made my way downstairs, leaning on the old worn banister and steering the cats out of my path with my feet.
That should have been my first warning sign. But riding high on the night's events, I missed every hint and clue right up until the last second—and so when I walked into the kitchen, I almost didn't hear the voices at all.
I was drifting toward the kettle on autopilot, hoping to brew the strongest possible cup of tea, and stood there for several seconds with an empty mug in my hand, completely unable to process what I was seeing—before slowly, creakily pivoting on my heels.
They were sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by an atmosphere that was difficult to read at first glance. Actually, no—everything was fine, that was just the smell of whiskey drifting through the kitchen. Mystery solved.
Grandma sat in her armchair, stroking a lazy lump of fur in her lap with one hand and swirling a glass expressively with the other.
Malévola, on the other hand… Wearing my shorts and a fitted T-shirt on bare skin, the demoness was the living embodiment of cozy, domestic sexuality. Despite the horns, the crimson skin, and the frankly unfair physique, she looked completely at home in our kitchen—like she'd been part of the place her entire life.
"Grandma… Mel…" I swallowed hard, feeling the power I'd managed to keep dormant overnight stirring back to life as my back began to sweat in earnest. I shifted my gaze from one dear woman to the other. "I see you've already met…"
"Of course, sweetheart." The demoness raised her glass of whiskey in a toast—identical to the one grandma was holding—and smiled at me with a sly, carnivorous grin. "I didn't feel like waiting around for you to pull yourself together, so I introduced myself."
"Please don't call me that."
"And good for her." Grandma ignored me entirely, clinked her glass against Mel's, and said something entirely different from what I'd been bracing for since I walked in. "How could you have been hiding this delightful creature from me?"
"Uh? What?" Seeing my genuine bewilderment, both women exchanged a glance that silently demanded an explanation. "Well, I just figured you'd be against it, grandma. I mean, Mel is…"
"A demon from the Underworld who's come to claim my beloved grandson's soul?" Now we were getting somewhere. But it didn't last long. "Well, that's already a considerable improvement over your long bathroom visits and the games with that little plastic man in the tight shorts… and those sleepovers with that Harvard boy. So honestly, even a night with a demon is a step up."
I stopped listening to the loud, ringing laughter of the demoness. I closed my eyes and tried to count to ten. I even had to lean against the kitchen table for support. Mel was openly enjoying herself, throwing in sarcastic little comments that grandma engaged with enthusiastically.
A picture of domestic bliss, for crying out loud.
"Sure, you're condemning yourself to a terrible afterlife, but at least there's now a realistic chance of great-grandchildren… even if they do come out with horns from birth… and red. Though you two don't need to rush into that—enjoy yourselves first. Don't repeat the mistakes of my youth, ah…" Mrs. Herby finished in a tone of peculiar wistfulness, tipping half her glass of whiskey into her mouth. "At any rate, she's ten times more feminine and better-looking than that boy with the bat head and the bat brain."
"Grandma. Victor is just my friend." I was trying to keep my voice from trembling—though at this point I wasn't sure if it was from laughter or from shame. "And we never had a sleepover. We were in jail."
"Pfft. That's quite the alibi. And besides—if you've already chosen to live in sin, who am I to stop you?" Grandma shrugged and winked at Mel. "Things are finally looking up, and judging by the sounds coming from upstairs last night—the exorcism was a rousing success."
"Oh God, you heard everything."
"No, no, I was sleeping soundly, but…" She waved a dry hand with complete nonchalance, then rolled toward the nearest window and began pointing at neighboring houses one by one. "The neighbors came to see me. Albert and his daughter. Mary. The Simonsons, the whole family…"
"Lord…"
"Oh yes. You performed your exorcistic duty admirably, swee-tie." The demoness drew out my childhood nickname syllable by syllable in her signature low, resonant voice—the kind that sent goosebumps down your spine. "Though I have a feeling one session isn't going to be enough…"
"That's my girl." Grandma high-fived Mel and smoothly topped off both their glasses while no one was paying attention.
"Someone kill me."
"Don't go adding to your sins before God. Wasn't one night with a demoness enough?"
"Half-demoness," Mel corrected tactfully, though she was still laughing.
"Oh, forgive me, dear." Grandma poured what was almost certainly now my girlfriend another glass, then rolled over to me and took my hand. We looked at each other for a few quiet seconds before she patted the back of my palm with her other hand. "Sweetheart… Everything's fine. All that matters is that you're happy. Nothing else is important."
I didn't hold back. I dropped to one knee and wrapped my arms gently around the old woman's thin shoulders, careful not to squeeze too hard. Holding her small, seemingly fragile body against me, I glanced over at Mel.
The demoness was watching us with warmth—she'd even set her glass down. A strange mix of emotions flickered in her eyes, and she wasn't making much effort to conceal any of them.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. The unexpected, spontaneous introduction between grandma and Mel turned into hours of unrelenting jokes at my expense, primarily on the subjects of sex, religion, and moral character—turning my face steadily redder and making me groan with inner torment.
But everything ends eventually, and by the time evening rolled around, my demoness and I were finally left alone—sent off with an encouraging smack on the backside from grandma and her heartfelt instructions to "give it to her good."
"Don't worry, your grandma is absolutely lovely."
I was long past asking Mel to stop, and I settled for a tired sigh. It was evening. We were sitting in the big first-floor living room playing chess with a case of beer. Not the strangest way I'd ever spent a Saturday night.
"It's just that everything happened so fast, is all…" I waved it off and gripped my chin, staring hard at the chessboard. "But honestly, nothing terrible happened."
Mel had told me with the most charming smile that she'd never played chess before today. And at first I'd had no reason to doubt her—her early moves had been exactly what you'd expect from a first-timer. But now…
"When we ran into each other in the kitchen this morning, her first words were: 'God willing, tell me you've been using protection. The last thing I need is some Luciferian gonorrhea, we share a bathroom!'" The demoness recounted this with a laugh, waving off my worried look. "Relax, sweetheart. I'm smart enough and experienced enough to know when someone's joking."
She fired her golden eyes at me, made another move without so much as glancing at the board, and once again forced me into the Thinker's pose—mentally straining with everything I had.
Malévola herself, in spite of everything she'd just said, was now looking out the window with the kind of expression that meant the thoughts going through her head were not entirely cheerful. I was willing to bet that her appearance had caused her a lot of problems throughout her life—especially in conservative, religious America.
"If you say so." I smiled, gave in to the impulse, and reached across the table to wrap my hand around the demoness's fingers, which had been drumming lightly against the tabletop.
She looked down at our interlocked hands for a moment before running her tongue slowly across her lips. Leaning forward so that strands of her hair fell across half her face, Mel gripped my hand tighter.
"You're so sweet, Hermi…" The heaviness of her breath hit a trigger somewhere in my head, and the memories of the night before came rushing in—making me blush furiously, to the demoness's obvious delight. "I could just eat you up right now, but…"
"But?" I pulled free from the fog of arousal for just a moment and watched Mel's hand slowly slip from mine.
I tracked her wrist, eyes narrowing, as she reached out and picked up the knight.
"Just to make sure I understand this correctly—if I put the horse right here…" She released the piece, and at the last instant a small portal whisked it to exactly the square she'd intended. "Then that's checkmate. And I win?"
Every lingering thought about last night evaporated completely. I leaned in until I was almost pressed against the board.
"Hmm…"
"See, my beacon is blocking you here, and your queen has nowhere to go." She pointed out the complete absence of any escape route on my end, then stood up from the armchair across from me, gave me a pat on the shoulder, and opened a portal behind her back. "Which means I win!"
"Hmm…"
"All right." She stepped closer, grabbed my collar with one authoritative hand, and pulled me—gently, despite everything—out of my tortured concentration. She kissed me on the lips, leaving me with a very specific problem in my pants, and then released me and teleported home. "That was a wonderful day… and an even better night. We'll do it again soon. But tonight I need to be home. My favorite band's concert is starting, and I don't want to miss it."
Her cheeks flushed faintly as she pressed herself against me in farewell—but, resisting the temptation for both our sakes, she stepped back quickly.
She was already halfway through the portal when she stopped, turning back toward me in a way that was already starting to feel familiar.
"And don't worry about grandma. She and I are going to get along wonderfully."
She gave a small wave and disappeared into the hum of the portal.
I was left sitting alone, eyes drifting back to the chessboard.
"What's worrying me right now," I said to no one in particular, "is the fact that you 'never played before' and just took me apart like Bobby Fischer with a toddler."
---
I tried to sleep. I lay down several times and got back up, running through all the useless tricks—counting sheep, the whole routine—but nothing worked.
The residual adrenaline, the lingering emotional charge, the sheer impossible fullness of everything still pouring through me—it all demanded movement. So, finally giving up, I headed to the team's regular bar. It was Saturday. There was a very real chance of running into someone from Team Z.
Who could have guessed that everyone except Mel would be there.
"Hmm." Diva inhaled loudly through her nose, and the moment I sat down next to her she leaned in, giving me a thorough once-over from head to toe. "I know that smell…"
"Uh, what?"
I wasn't the only one who startled—most of the team was already looking at me with that familiar anticipatory interest, waiting for a story.
"That's the smell of sex, isn't it, Ginger?" She wagged a finger in front of my face before I could fully object, clearly already three steps ahead of whatever I might say. "Don't even bother trying to explain it away. I'd know it anywhere. Rich, heady… the smell of a proper good time."
"Jesus, Diva, what the—you too?"
Because on the other side of me, Colm was leaning in. Then Sonar, then Prism, and even Kupé—her head poking out from behind Bruiser's shoulder.
They all inhaled in unison. Most of the team spent a few seconds in apparently serious contemplation—and then erupted in triumphant cheers.
"Something familiar about it, but still—well done, congratulations! That's definitely it, nice work, Waterbane." Sonar, Colm, and Kupé were celebrating openly. But Prism, to my surprise, simply flashed a broad smile and moved in close.
"It was her, wasn't it… I can practically smell a certain pair of demonic horns on you." She slung an arm around my neck and poked me in the cheek with one finger. "And just look at the state of you—our little she-devil drained you dry, didn't she, ma boy!"
"Drained?" The word threw me slightly. I said the first thing that came to mind—and a very specific scene from the finale of last night's events immediately played itself out in perfect clarity before my eyes. "I mean, yeah, you could put it that way…"
"I once milked a cat," Kupé announced, inserting herself into the conversation with another truly remarkable story. "The cereal turned out to be pretty interesting, but what I really enjoyed was the stitches in my arms."
"For the love of—Kupé." Nearly the entire team said it at the same time. But the enthusiastic crowd wasn't going to stay distracted for long.
"Ha! No way, you actually slept with Malévola!? Respect, Ginger!" The invisible girl's fist connected solidly with my shoulder, and then Diva dropped into the seat beside me. "Well? What was it like? Did you finish in the first three seconds and then have to make it up to her until morning!?"
She held up two fingers in a V and brought them to her lips, extending her tongue between them.
"Hmm. If that's the case, you can always come to me. I'll train you up so that kind of thing doesn't happen." I was pulled firmly against someone's chest and a voice breathed directly into my ear, concluding with a sharp click of teeth. "Mama would teach you everything you need to know, Wa-ter-bane…"
Prism hit the last syllable with emphasis, and released me to the sound of general laughter.
Fortunately, it was all in good fun, and within a couple of minutes of ribbing, they slammed a massive beer tower down in front of me and demanded I drink it in more or less one go.
Because today was a momentous occasion—at least according to them, as far as I was concerned. For everyone else it was simply an excellent excuse to get properly drunk, as usual, and tear up their favorite spot.
I looked around the table. I was a little sorry Mel wasn't here with us. But even so, floating on a wave of something that felt a lot like joy, I was fully prepared to call these ridiculous misfits my friends.
Laughter on all sides, dumb jokes coming one after another, a couple of small brawls breaking out with other patrons every so often.
"Now, back at Harvard, we used to…" Victor kicked off his greatest hit, already with a streak of white powder across his nose.
"The more pain and blood, the better… See how he winces when he walks? That means a night with a demoness was everything it should be. Now I want to try…" Kupé shared her analysis, stroking Colm with proprietary calm, having identified—and now continuously staring at—every spot where Mel had left her mark on me.
"The most important thing is the feelings," the Golem intoned drunkenly, draped over my shoulders and dispensing dad-wisdom.
I pulled the beer tower a little closer and looked around at my friends one more time. Somewhere in the back of my mind, without any particular fanfare, I decided that life was starting to look pretty good.
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