Yeah. I’m an idiot. I always thought how funny it would be to sit down and write what would happen if my awful male leads ever had the misfortune of sitting down at a table together. So, here we have it.
Chapter Two
“And that is the short of it.”
Asmodeus stared blankly at the man across the table from him. “The short of it? You call that a short story? You’ve been talking for”—he checked the clock on his phone—“two hours. Two hours.”
“It is still the short version of the story.” Aon shrugged dismissively. With one of the claws of his gauntlet he spun the coffee cup in front of him. It had long since gone cold. “And it was far more interesting than yours, at the very least.”
“Uh-huh.”
The warlock and the archdemon sat in silence for a moment. There was clearly no love lost between them. In fact, if Aon thought he could actually kill the creature that sat across from him, he would likely do so.
He was debating making an attempt. Regardless of his success, it might be fun.
“It does seem like we have something in common.” Asmodeus picked up his coffee, sipped it, and realizing it had gone cold, waved over the waiter. “I’d like another cappuccino, please. And get my friend here an iced coffee. Something with a straw.”
Aon glowered at the archdemon, even if it couldn’t be seen. As if sensing the expression anyway, Asmodeus grinned at the warlock.
“I am not using the straw.”
“Come on, slip it on underneath your mask. You must be thirsty as fuck.”
“I am not using the straw.”
Asmodeus stretched in his chair and sighed. “And they call me the emo kid.”
Yes, Aon decided. It might be very fun to try and kill the archdemon. But with a deep and beleaguered sigh, he remembered he was on strict orders to be on his best behavior.
Boston had seen enough shit as it was. And we’re only three series deep at this point, so give the poor place a break for once, will you?
“You mentioned we have something in common. Besides our clear love for wearing the color black, what is it?”
“We tried to build ourselves someone to love and who might love us back. It seems where we differ is that I was successful.” It wasn’t hard for any archdemon to boast. It came to them second-nature. The gift of ego is something of a pre-requisite amongst demon-kind. And for Asmo, it was not only a gift—it was his pride and joy.
“Save for the fact that she trapped you in the spirit realm for seventy-two years. It seemed she wasn’t so much thankful for what you did, more as she merely came to begrudgingly accept it. And your little experiments nearly ended your world.”
“So did yours.”
Aon tilted his head thoughtfully, and then nodded once. “Fine.” He disliked the archdemon, but he wouldn’t be childish about it.
Asmodeus grinned again. “And mine didn’t wind up as a puddle of goop.”
“I was smart enough to not try a second time when I failed the first. You seem somehow even more stubborn than I. That is a trick.”
The waiter came over and placed the hot coffee in front of the demon and the iced coffee in front of the warlock.
Straw and all.
“Thank you, handsome.” Asmodeus let his hand rest on the man’s elbow. The waiter blushed beet red, his sexuality once more in question, as he muttered something about being ‘welcome’ and walking away very quickly.
“Must you stare at his ass? It’s unbecoming of a man who wears a ring on his hand.”
“Oh, hm? Oh! Yes, well. I don’t sleep around. But my nature is what it is, and I’m afraid it’s far too late for me to resist the temptation to at least appreciate a good body when I see it.”
“What is your aspect again?” Aon’s voice was sarcastic. “Oh, yes, Lust. How dignified.”
“You want undignified? You should meet the Archdemon of Sloth. Now that is undignified. I’m perfectly respectable.” Asmodeus tugged on his shirt collar to make sure it was straightened. He felt somehow underdressed next to the warlock, and he never felt underdressed.
Even when he was naked.
Which was pretty frequent.
But that was neither here nor there.
Veil would probably complain if he got in trouble for stripping naked in the middle of a coffee shop. Probably.
“Well, this has been lovely,” Aon pushed the ice coffee away from him. He was not, under any circumstances, going to shove a straw up under his mask. “But I should be going.”
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The man who entered was unique—largely because at first blush he was sorely out of his league. He was human. More or less.
That was if you ignored the fact that he could control electricity with his mind.
Details.
“Is he one of yours?” Asmodeus asked.
“No.”
The man stood perhaps an inch or so over six feet, but his posture and his demeanor made him seem much taller. His hair was blond, swept back from his features. His suit was not black, but unlike the other two monsters, a pale cream. It was dated, and if the fact that he was wearing clothing that was better suited for a hundred years prior to everyone in the room, it didn’t show on his face.
And his countenance was as hard as Aon’s metal mask. He glanced over to the table with the two timeless creatures, and for the first time since walking in, showed an expression.
And it was a cringe.
The sound of the tapping had come from a white-tipped cane. He walked to the table, leaning on it to help smooth out the limp in his left leg. “Gentlemen.” It was clear he was using the word lightly.
“Which one of these things is not like the other,” Asmodeus sang sarcastically into his coffee. It was joke neither of the other two men understood. He didn’t care.
“And who are you?” Aon asked wearily. This was going to be a very long day.
“I am Viktor Lang, Cardinal of the East Wind Dominion,” the man with the cane greeted coldly.
“That means nothing to me.” The warlock sighed. “Fantastic.”
“Sit, Viktor.” Asmodeus, being the one with the considerably better manners, moved over and gestured to an empty chair.
Viktor Lang wanted absolutely nothing to do with either of them. He wanted to not be here. He had business to attend and a country to run. It was clear that these two creatures at the table—one of whom was wearing a metal mask—were only going to waste his time. Or pick a fight. “I think I am here by mistake.”
“No, I don’t think you are.” Asmodeus gestured to the chair again. “I am Asmodeus, and this here is Aon. We’ll skip the titles for now. Join us. Maybe you’ll be better conversation than my metal-clad companion here.”
Viktor sat down and did not respond.
“Or not.” Asmodeus sighed. He hailed the waiter again. This time, the poor man was blushing before he even reached the table. “What will you drink, Viktor? Tell me at least you will actually drink it, and not just stare at it like my friend here.”
“Coffee. Black.” Viktor’s tone was cold and flat.
“This is going to be a laugh riot.” Asmodeus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods above, or whoever is responsible for this bullshit, please—please—send me someone with more charisma than a rock with a fucking face painted on it.”
Careful what you ask for, buppo.
“Well, let’s start with the basics, shall we?” Aon tapped the tips of his metal claws on the table. “How old are you, Viktor Lang?”
Viktor narrowed his eyes. “Why does it matter?”
“He wants to measure dicks but won’t actually just put them on the table and end it once and for all.” Asmodeus smiled with false innocence. He really didn’t have any other kind of innocence, to be fair. “Because I’d win.”
“We are trading stories. I’d like to know how long yours is and whether or not I should brace myself.” Aon said with measured patience. It was running low. If he didn’t measure it out, he’d probably stab someone.
“Very well. I am thirty-six.”
“And?”
“And what?”
Aon measured out another small piece of his patience. “Thirty-six years and how many more?”
“That’s all.”
Aon and Asmodeus both paused to stare at the other man incredulously. Asmodeus broke the silence first. “You’re…mortal.”
“Yes.”
Aon laughed.
Asmodeus let out a sigh. “Well. You’re here for a reason. You might as well get started.”
“Started with what, exactly?” Viktor glared at the archdemon and then back at the warlock. He disliked them both. Deeply. He debated pulling the copious amount of electrical current he could feel burning away within the walls of the building and electrocuting both of them.
They might not be mortal, but it would sting.
And Aon looked more than a little conductive with the metal mask and hand. But Viktor was never one to play his cards too early. He took the black coffee from the waiter as he returned and sipped it. At least the coffee was good. There was that.
“Telling us your story. We’ve already traded ours, so…sorry, but we don’t have another couple of hours to kill.” Asmodeus shrugged. “I’ll summarize ours once we’re done.”
“You will not summarize anything to do with my history,” Aon insisted. He knew it would be horribly butchered.
“You seem incapable of summarizing period, friend.” Asmodeus smiled at the warlock. “So, I’ll do it for you.”
“I do really think I am here by mistake,” Viktor moved to stand, coffee or not, he should leave.
A hand on his arm pulled him back down. “Stay. Please. Entertain me before Aon and I come to blows. Tell us your story, Viktor Lang, East Dominion of the Cardinal Winds.”
Viktor silently counted backward from ten. It was worse than dealing with Nero. That was a stunt, as he didn’t think anything could match it. “Cardinal of the East Wind Dominion.”
“Are you a priest?” Aon asked.
“No.”
“Then why are you a Cardinal?” Asmodeus chimed in.
“It is merely our title.”
“Cardinal of the—Oooohhhh.” Asmodeus snapped his fingers. “I get it! Cardinal Winds. Hah. Cute.”
“Pardon him. He’s the slow one.” Aon shook his head.
Viktor silently counted backward from ten a second time. He had the distinct feeling it was going to keep happening. “Shall I start talking, or would you prefer I just sit and listen to the two of you argue?”
“Please, by all means.” Asmodeus gestured his hand. “Begin.”