Page 8 of My Indecent Valentine

“Then we had a good run,” he says softly, his throat constricting on the last word.

“I don’t want to close,” I say, and tears well up in my eyes.

“Neither do I, but it’s not exactly a surprise, is it? We both knew I’d sink this ship, eventually.” His voice sounds broken, and whatever’s happening behind his black eyes, I’ve never seen it before. I hate it. This is not Samite’s fault. He took my failed dream and brought it to life. It’s better than I could have ever imagined because of him. And we’re not going to let it sink now.

“Get dressed,” I tell him. He startles and asks where we’re going. We’re going to talk to Magleon. There’s no other choice, but what I say is, “You’ll find out when we get there.” I should probably try to explain the offer on the table and prepare him for the conversation we’re about to have, but all I can think is that we have to go right now.

The black-horned demon can make his offer directly to Samite, and if my husband is willing to pay the price, then Ollas Encendidas will be saved. If not, at least we tried.

Chapter 4

Samite

We arrive at an unmarked office building. Inside, Sofia leads us down the hall to an unnumbered office, no name on the door. There’s no truer hallmark of a demon-owned property than that there is no signage or indicators of who owns the place.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she says, exhaling a nervous breath, hesitating at the door.

I lean in and whisper in her ear. “I trust you, mi esposa.” Yes, I am repeating her words back to her. It’s a useful trick in so many scenarios, but especially now when I want my wife to know that no matter what happens, we’re in this together. Whatever this demon has promised her, it can’t be enough to save us, but she’s not ready to give up. I respect that. As long as she has fight left in her, we’ll keep chasing salvation.

“He said we could go right in,” she says with a darting glance at me.

“Then we should,” I say, and because I want her to feel more confident, I decide to be bold. I grab both handles of the French doors, swing them open, and stride through, making a grand entrance.

“Magleon?” I come to an abrupt halt, surprise rooting me in place. He can’t be the demon we’ve come to see. We’re in the wrong place. My pulse spikes even as my head spins with confusion.

“Samite.” Magleon rises from a plush leather chair behind a stately desk, large as ever. His horns rise over his head with the majesty and menace of flying buttresses on a Gothic cathedral. My mouth goes dry.

It’s been a long time. He looks different, heavier set, and better dressed, yet the same. The back of his eyes light up in a swirl of yellow that I’d almost mistake for a welcome, but I know better than to expect that from him.

“Come in. I’m so pleased you’re here. Thank you, Sofia, for facilitating this overdue reunion.” He turns to my wife and, pressing a hand to his chest, he bows his head to her.

This can’t be happening. I’m hallucinating.

“Won’t you have a seat?” He gestures to the matching armchairs in front of his desk, a polite smile stretched wide over his sharp teeth. He always had really good teeth. I was so jealous that at one point, I nearly filed mine to match. “May I offer you a drink?”

Sofia answers for us, I think in the negative. Their exchange is drowned out by the sound of questions pinging around inside my head like a pinball machine. When did Sofia meet Magleon? Did he really invite us here? If so, for what purpose? Why would he willingly choose to see me again? He can’t have forgiven me.

Sofia’s hand on my elbow tugs me forward. My feet thud over a plush rug that, even in my daze, I register as a paisley pattern in black and gold. It’s opulent and splendid. He always had very good taste.

“May I belatedly congratulate you on your nuptials?” he asks, raising a glass to us. He’s poured himself a Brimstone Bourbon, still his spirit of choice, I see. Two empty glasses sit untouched on a mirror tray, and I regret that I wasn’t quick enough to take him up on the offer. I could use a stiff drink. He returns to his seat, swirling his glass slowly over the black-stained mahogany with opal inlay.

“I have to admit, it hurt not being invited,” Magleon says, and his brow pinches.

I don’t know what to say to that. I didn’t even consider inviting him to our wedding. If our roles had been reversed, and he’d sent me an invitation, I would have burned it on sight.

“It’s been a decade and a half,” I say, as if that’s the reason and not that I’d assumed he’d never want to see me again.

“What’s fifteen years between childhood friends and old business partners?” He smiles, but there’s a twitch echoing back and forth between his lip and his eye. Whatever he’s holding back worries me. I still don’t know why we’re here. “You were my first, Samite, and I was yours. That’s a bond for life. At least, I always thought it would be. You should have invited me.”

“First what?” Sofia whispers at my side.

“Co-signer,” I whisper back. She pinches my arm, wanting more. I try to ignore her, but she keeps pinching, so I turn to her. “Magleon and I opened the bar together,” I say. She knows the one I’m talking about. I’ve told her the story of the craft cocktail lounge that collapsed under the weight of its own pretentiousness. Even I can see that now, and I’ve never understood the negative connotation associated with the word pretentious.

“I convinced him to invest all of his money. I did the same. We lost everything and went bankrupt,” I add. Back then, same as now, it was my fault the business failed. I should have stuck to the boring but safe investment portfolios favored by my father and brothers. It’s made them very rich, far richer than myself, and they’ve never bankrupted their best friend or killed their wife’s dream. There’s something to be said for the stability of soulless capitalism.

“Yes. We did go bankrupt. I’d forgotten that part!” He laughs, and his shoulders shake with mirth. “Another first we shared.” I give him a curious look. How could he have possibly forgotten that part? He has to be lying. “As you said, Samite, that was a decade and a half ago, or fourteen years and seven months, if anyone wanted to be precise. Water under the bridge. We’ve both made our money back, haven’t we? Besides, Peritorum Sacellum was a beautiful place and an exciting venture.” I cringe at the reminder of the pompous name. I’d originally picked Connoisseur’s Sanctum before I was struck with the brilliant idea of translating it into Latin. Sweet Mother Below, I was a monster.

“I’ll never regret a moment it existed,” Magleon continues. “And watching it fail so spectacularly taught me a few valuable lessons that have served me well, the most valuable being never go into business with someone in their twenties. It’s like strapping your money onto a firework. They shoot up with a flash, dazzle for a heartbeat, and then go out with a fizzle,” he chuckles.

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