by Eve Langlais
“The whole point in starting up a matchmaking service was to free up my valuable time. I’m a busy man, you know. Contracts to sign. Souls to collect.”
“I thought you had underlings doing that.”
“Who do you think oversees them?”
“Isn’t that the task for your other employees?” In many respects, Hell was a modern-day machine with many moving parts and Lucifer the linchpin that held it together.
“Are you implying I’m not needed?” the Dark Lord huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils.
“Never! Without your expertise, Hell would be in shambles. I merely asked for guidance because it is well known that none could ever aspire to be as grand a pimp as you.” He’d seen the made-for-HellTV movies on the romances the devil engineered. A Demon and his Witch, A Demon and his Psycho, and his personal favorite, Hell’s Kitty.
“I am the king of pimps. Although I’m not fond of wearing the chains.” Lucifer brushed a hand down his red velour jacket, the buttons open-mouthed skulls with glowing eyes.
“I shall endeavor to do your bidding and prove myself worthy of your trust, oh mighty Dark Lord.”
“You’d better. And don’t use the word trust. You know I have issues with it.” The Devil grimaced. “Do me a favor. While you’re over here, toss a few bum-chica-wa-was into some you-know-whats,” he said, poking his finger through a hole created by two more. He waggled his brows.
“Yes, sir.” He lied. He’d been celibate for more than century now and saw no reason to break that chain.
Lucifer smiled. “This is going to be a most excellent endeavor.”
No wonder they called him the king of lies.
One month later, Brody sat behind a desk with too much paperwork, the pile about to get higher since Karina, distracted by a pretty human, lost her demon target. It didn’t help this failure would be compounded by a lack of pregnant humans and three possible abortions—meaning three soldiers, with pure souls, lost to Heaven.
The problems didn’t end there. He’d already dispatched a team to handle the man in hospital with the bleeding groin, screaming about the date he’d gone on with the woman sporting teeth in her vagina. He’d be sending a scathing report back to the Guild in Hell about their screening process.
Brody missed the fires of Hell, and he probably wouldn’t see them anytime soon given he’d yet to find Posie, his neighbor across the hall, the perfect match. Not for a lack of trying. The woman said no to everyone he shoved in her direction. He kind of admired that about her, even as he was determined to find her a match.
There had to be someone out there that could melt her Canadian pussy and spread those legs apart. And no matter how many naked dreams he had about the woman, it wouldn’t be him.
6
Maybe I should get a cat. Getting close to thirty-seven, single, and childless, led to Posie thinking about things she’d sworn she’d never do. Maybe she should become the woman who lived alone with felines. Who wore sweaters all the time and cotton briefs instead of bikini lace panties. She was already the crazy lady keeping tabs on her neighbor.
In her defense, he kept odd hours and even weirder company. Which was saying a lot considering the group living on the second floor.
She’d seen the guy across the hall more than a few times the month after he moved in, usually exiting his place, wearing that oversized cloak, his head hidden in the shadow of his hood. She’d yet to see his face and spent more time wondering than she should why he hid it.
She’d not spoken to him since that night she’d helped him with his stubborn key, nor had he required any more help. The next day a locksmith had come by and swapped the lock out for a keypad that beeped. If it weren’t for the fact she’d taken to peeking every time she heard it going blip, beep, bop in the hall, she’d never see him.
She couldn’t say as much for his guests. She couldn’t seem to avoid them. They visited at all hours. Men. Women. Other. Which wasn’t meant to be rude. Some of them had androgynous appearances that made it impossible to tell.
Many of his guests appeared to enjoy cosplay just like the downstairs neighbors. The man who appeared as a centaur was extremely well done. Too well done, given he’d ensured the ensemble kept the expression “hung like a horse” very true.
He tried to chat with her as if he weren’t dressed as a mythical creature with a realistic prosthetic hanging out, but she’d huddled against the far side of the elevator, ignoring his smile. When those doors opened, she ran for her apartment, slammed that door shut, and locked it, even leaned on it for good measure. No surprise, horse-y man went to visit the guy across the hall.
Perhaps it was time to think of moving. That night, she searched the rental ads, suppressing a shiver when she heard a distant neigh. After hours of searching, she came to the conclusion this place still provided the best deal around.
It would have been tolerable if only his guests didn’t appear to run into her on purpose. As she left her place in the morning, on a strict schedule to get to work, they’d exit his apartment in a hurry, smiles wide and brash with too many teeth. As they waited for the elevator, they always felt a need to chat.
“Hey, darling—"
“Where you been—”
“How about you and I—”
She never let them finish. “Not interested.” Her only reply, and before they could engage her in conversation, she either locked herself back inside her apartment or left quickly for work.
But the overtures didn’t stop. Every day this week she’d been practically accosted in the halls, forced to socialize. Bad enough she had to say hello to people all day long at work; she wasn’t about to start at home.
And she had only one person to blame for it. Her mysterious neighbor across the hall.
It took her three more days before she got the nerve to knock on his door and do something about it. Three days because she practiced what she’d say, her favorite and least charitable one being, “Excuse me, sir, but could you please ask your guests to zip their mouths before I shut it for them?”
She wanted to be nice. It killed her to be rude. However, she also wasn’t about to continue living like this.
I am strong. Nothing to fear. He’s just a man. Doesn’t hurt to ask. The worst that will happen is he says no.
Or so she hoped as she mustered the gumption to knock on his door.
When the portal flung open, she almost flinched. A good thing she’d not remained standing close because he loomed in the opening. Big. Wide. And still wearing that stupid cloak even inside.
Did he have a problem with drafts? Perhaps she’d caught him about to go out.
“Can I assist you?” Spoken in that deep, low growl.
“I’m sorry to bother you.” As a Canadian, she had to start with an apology, especially since she was about to be somewhat rude and demanding.
“Then why knock?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re apologizing for interrupting what I was doing, therefore making me wonder what could be so important that you felt a need to do so.”
The convoluted twist had her blinking. “Would you prefer I wasn’t sorry?”
“It would be more honest.”
“I see. In that case then, I’m not sorry I knocked because I have something important to say.”
“Doubtful.”
This conversation wasn’t going well at all, but she forged ahead anyhow. “I’ve come to ask if you could speak to your guests about respecting the privacy of those in the building. Especially in the elevator.”
“Has there been an issue? Did someone accost you? They know they’re not supposed to.”
“I should hope not given it’s against the law.”
“Then what’s the problem?” he snapped.
“They keep trying to talk to me.”
“And?”
“I’d prefer they didn’t.”
“Let me get this straight. When you’re in the common areas, and my guests run into you, they
are to avoid speaking to you because you’re antisocial?”
She almost winced because it sounded bad when he said it. Very un-Canadian. But she couldn’t stop now. She forged ahead, taking the advice of her online virtual psychologist who told her she should confront her anxiety. “I’m glad you understand.”
“Actually, I don’t.”
“I really would like it if you could help, as I suffer from anxiety.”
He snorted. “The current trend. Everyone is anxious. Deal with it.”
“I am, by asking you to speak to your guests.”
“If you don’t want to talk, then don’t.”
“But—”
“If we’re done…” Not even a question as he moved to shut the door.
She rushed to say, “Could you also perhaps speak to them about wearing some kind of covering in public if they have certain areas exposed?” Her cheeks heated at her bold statement.
“Are you implying someone came into the building without their pants?” He sounded quite incredulous, his voice a low and rumbly timber. The velvety kind heard on the radio, but did he have the features to match?
“Only the one time. Your friend, the one dressed as a centaur.”
His tone crept an octave higher. “You saw Frederick’s horse ass?”
“I don’t know his name, and it’s not that his costume wasn’t realistically detailed. It was just a little too detailed, if you understand what I mean.”
“I do and I don’t. Have any of my other guests appeared non-human to you?”
What an odd way of phrasing it. “If you mean have I seen elves and demons and other cosplay visitors, then the answer is yes. You’re a popular guy.”
“Not really. They’re only showing because we’re doing business.”
The mention brought a frown. “What business?”
“I manage a matchmaking service.”
Of all the answers… She blinked at him. “Excuse me, did you say you run a dating agency?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Hard and to the point that she almost wiped tears.
He crossed his arms—clad in black fabric—over his chest. His hands were, as usual, gloved. “I fail to understand your amusement.”
She snorted. “Which is probably part of your problem. I have a hard time believing you’re some kind of matchmaker given you look like the Grim Reaper.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“You appear to be indicating my appearance is an issue.” He glanced down. “I was assured these garments were suitable for this plane.”
“Maybe if you were on a Game of Thrones set. Or some kind of movie where everyone dies and you steal their souls.” Too late. She spoke and couldn’t retract the words. He’d probably be peeved. She’d have to apologize.
Instead, the hood cocked to the side. His tone held a query. “What do you think I am dressed in?”
As if he didn’t know. “A giant cloak for starters. Gloves. And while I can’t see what you’re hiding under there, I am going to go out on a limb and assume it’s just as black.”
“You see my overgarments?” A surprised query.
“Kind of hard to miss.”
“What about my face?”
“What about it? If you’re asking if I could pick you out of a lineup, then the answer is no. Which you should know given you never seem to leave your apartment without hiding it.”
“This is most fascinating.” His gloved hands went to the hood, and he pulled it back. “Do you see me now?”
Goodness he was pretty. And she didn’t think that often. Her neighbor had blond streaked, thick hair falling in slight waves, a very masculine face with a rugged jaw sporting a hint of a beard, and the most vivid and bright blue eyes, like sea ice in daylight.
“Well look at that, you have a face.” Again, not the most brilliant reply.
His lips twitched. “I do. I just don’t often show it.”
“Which is your business. I didn’t mean to trick you into revealing it.”
“No. I’m glad we had this conversation. It was extremely enlightening.”
“Again, really sorry to have bothered you. Best of luck with your dating operation.” Which she might anonymously call in to make sure it was legit and not some front for some kinky sex club for people who liked to pretend they were mythical creatures.
Did that make him the dungeon master?
He’d probably look good in leather and chains.
7
Brody leaned against his door and pondered the revelation of his neighbor. She could see past the glamour that the demons and other species wore on the mortal plane. She saw him in his true form, wearing his uniform of office and not the meek façade that everyone else did. Every human, that was. His visitors perceived the truth beneath the spell veneer.
And so did Posie.
How was it possible? Her file, one of the few that had yet to move from the inbox to the out, indicated she was one hundred percent human. A human with a rare ability. It explained why the Dark Lord wanted her to mate with some of his soldiers. Being able to see beyond camouflaging magic would be a useful trait. However, it made his task more difficult. No wonder she’d rejected those he’d sent her way. She never saw the stunning good looks most of them wore. She thought they were playing dress up.
How could he make this work?
Tapping at her file, he barely paid any attention to the other robed figures moving around his apartment. They tended to pop in or out depending on their assignments, only wearing their cloaks when they were on a job and had to hide. The more time they spent on the mortal plane, the more his reapers tucked away the overgarment. Walking amongst the humans. Fitting in with the masses. Undetectable with their cloaks hidden.
Before the idea could fully form, brimstone scented the air, bringing a nostalgia for home until he remembered the guild didn’t provide cold, stimulating showers or even chillier baths congealed with essential oils.
“How are things going?” The Dark Lord appeared, looking quite dapper in his hunting garb. Robin Hood style with green tights, a vest, and even a jaunty cap.
“Excellent, sir. Currently averaging three to five hookups a night. And we just confirmed three pregnancies.” About time. He’d been seriously contemplating influencing some congressmen to pass some laws about contraception and abortion. He still might.
“Only three!” Smoke spilled from Lucifer’s nostrils and curled like snakes, hissing in his direction.
“It’s not easy countering the birth control methods the humans use. Not to mention, it’s been only just over a month since we started. Most of the subjects we’re following haven’t indicated if their cycle has been disrupted yet. I imagine the number will jump within the next few weeks.”
“It better improve! I am counting on you, Brody. The good news is now that you’re finding my demons their perfect matches, even if at first they don’t succeed, they will keep banging their meat into that one special bun, which will eventually result in little minions.”
“Perfect matches, my lord?” Brody frowned. “We sought compatible coital partners, of which the majority moved on after the fornication was complete.”
“What?” The Devil gaped at him. “What are you running, a whorehouse? Wham bam, thank you and back to Hell?”
“Isn’t that what you ordered? Your mission statement indicated you wanted as many hybrid births as possible. That requires coitus. The coitus is happening.”
“But what about the love?” Lucifer clutched his chest and bellowed, “Bambi! Where in the blazes are you?” The Devil reached into the air and, from a rip through space, yanked his daughter, wearing a robe, her hair in an upsweep, and an annoyed expression on her face.
“Do you mind? I was about to have a bath.”
“What’s this I hear about Grim Dating being all about the sex and not the connection?” The Devil sounded quite put out.
Bambi
appeared confused.
And so was Brody for that matter. “Love, sir? Since when does love matter?”
“It’s always mattered, but it’s taken me millions of years to realize it. To finally figure out that the strongest and wiliest come from love matches. It is children born of those kinds of unions that will make my army unstoppable.”
“Fuck me, did that Ursula put a spell on you again?” Bambi slapped her hand on the Devil’s forehead.
Lucifer knocked it down and scowled. “I am not sick. Turns out, all this time my belief that love was a weakness, an evil thing to be avoided at all costs, was actually a ploy by Heaven to weaken me.” He shook his fist at the ceiling. “I’m on to you, angelic bastards. I should have known it was a lie given they’re incapable of loving anyone but themselves because love isn’t perfect. Love isn’t clean. Or kind. Love of people, country, and religion is the greatest evil of all and the reason behind the vilest acts.”
Bambi blinked long, dark lashes before drawling, “Love is a crock of shit.”
“What she said.” Brody jerked his thumb at her. “It doesn’t exist. And those that think they’re in love usually end up falling out of it eventually.”
Only once had Brody succumbed. With the lovely Louisa, who acted as his mother’s chambermaid. She claimed to love him. Certainly faked it well enough when she sighed beneath him. Turned out, she sighed like that for his mother and father, too. And the captain of the guard. And the cook. And… He learned his lesson. But not before Louisa’s other lover, the captain of the guard, killed him.
Was it any wonder he volunteered to become a reaper? With just one caveat. He’d enjoyed dragging her soul and that of his murderer to Hell.
“Love is ever evolving, just like the universe. Why do you think Gaia and I keep coming together and then splitting apart?” Lucifer exclaimed.
“I thought it was because the make-up sex was so good,” Bambi replied, sitting cross-legged on the floor since Brody still had almost no furniture. She appeared to be wearing something metallic under the robe. She glanced around. “Are you ever going to decorate?”