2
Amanda awoke to the sound of her phone beeping. The small bedroom in her student apartment swirled in the light from the display. She’d slept well into the afternoon, and the darkness outside reached in through the window, its long fingers attempting to smother the light. Winter had always been her least favorite season – cold and dark and depressing – especially when the snow turned to slush and the ice melted into puddles.
The room swayed. The opened letter sat illicitly on her pillow. She’d been to Hell. Marc was an actual demon. Not just a gloomy poet as she had thought.
‘I’ll be spending this weekend in the Dens of Misery.’
The words from his letters echoed through her mind.
‘I grew up in the darkest corner of the Hell’s underbelly.’
‘My brother is something of a mix between a pig and a sloth.’
‘Sometimes when I close my eyes, I hear the lamentations of the sinners. Oh, to someday rule these blasted lands.’
That had all registered as symbolic and lyrical to Amanda, but now it had a new meaning. She shuffled into the bathroom and flipped off her haggard reflection in the mirror. She had a lot of work ahead of her if she wanted to look decent for the date.
Amanda ran her fingers through her dirty blonde locks. How does one impress the King of Hell? She shook her head. No, he had to impress her. She wasn’t even sure she liked him anymore.
***
La Guinness sat on a hill just outside the city. It was one of the oldest and most famous restaurants in the country, and to get a reservation there you had to sell your soul – at least, that was the rumor.
Chandeliers sparkled in the ceiling, and waiters scurried back and forth between the kitchen and the tables, delivering all sorts of fancy cuisine for the overly rich guests. As a student, Amanda could barely afford takeout sushi once a week, much less eating in a restaurant with this many stars.
She found Marc at a table near a window, framing a view over a frozen pond and the snowclad forest outside. He rose and smiled at her.
“I hope the cold didn’t bite your cheeks off,” he said and pulled out her chair.
Amanda just stared, covering her mouth. “You’re on fire…”
“This old thing?” Marc brushed off the flaming shoulders of his blazer. “Come on, have a seat.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Amanda sat down. She glanced at the other guests, but nobody seemed to pay much attention to the demon in their midst.
“I come here every Friday,” Marc explained. “I made a deal with the owner back in 1832.”
Amanda leaned in over the table, whispering, “You said you were young!”
“Oh, but I am! At just under two thousand years old, I’m the youngest ruler that Hell has ever seen.”
Marc grinned at Amanda’s frown and picked up the menu.
“Two thousand…” Amanda mumbled. “I thought you were my age.”
“Age is immaterial... much unlike the Slow-Cooker Boeuf Bourguignon, which, in my humble opinion, is one of the cornerstones of the mortal plane.”
Amanda rolled her eyes but struggled to keep the smile off her lips. “I guess I’ll have that then.”
“A very wise choice!” Marc gestured to the waiter, who just nodded from across the room and went into the kitchen. “That’s Paulus. We have a somewhat... special relationship. I think he really gets me.”
“I’m not sure I want to know…” Amanda said, looking sideways at the entrance to the kitchen.
Marc’s smile grew wider still. He uncorked the bottle that stood on the table. “I took the liberty of ordering wine. Can I… tempt you with a glass?”
“I, um, I don’t usually drink…”
“I know that, but try just a sip of this. It’s heavenly, I promise.” He poured her a glass. “Not that I’ve ever been there or anything.”
His red irises flared as he spoke. His jaw muscles flexed under the pale skin. He kept talking, but the words didn’t register. Amanda blinked and shook her head. She couldn’t believe how easy it was to get lost in the contours of his face.
“I’m sorry, what?” she said, and took a sip.
“I said that you look positively stunning in that dress.”
She pinched the shoulder strap. “This old thing?”
Marc chuckled and raised his glass, and was just about to toast when his phone rang.
“Excuse me. One moment,” he said and put the phone to his ear.
Amanda could hear the murmur of someone with a very deep voice on the other end.
“What part of ‘do not disturb me under any circumstances’ did you not get?” Marc rumbled, but then his face darkened. “Aha… okay… are you certain? Mhm… right, fine… I’ll be there.”
“What’s going on?” Amanda asked when Marc put the phone down.
“Bit of a situation back home. Apparently, Lucifer just broke out of the cage and… well, there’s all sorts of trouble.” Marc stood up. “I’m really sorry to do this, Amanda, but I kind of have to leave.”
“Oh, um, okay…” Amanda stood up as well.
“Please stay and enjoy the meal, it’s on me. Again, I’m really sorry; perhaps you’ll give me another chance?”
Amanda crossed her arms. “I’ll think about it.”
“Thank you,” Marc said and disappeared in a burst of flames.
Amanda sat down and took another sip. Did this count as being stood up? Probably. She sighed. At least she could cross that off her bucket list: ‘getting stood up by the King of Hell.’