“Don’t despair,” Devlin says, the confidence in his voice putting me further at ease. “Believe it or not, I’m quite familiar with dodging oncoming trains.”
I let out a mock gasp. “Even the all-powerful Devil makes mistakes?”
“To hear my father tell it, the all-powerful Devil is theoriginalmistake.”
His energy darkens, a tempest of anger swirling just behind the lighthearted jokes. But before I can ask what he meant, he reaches for a blueberry scone and says, “Speaking of which, I’m actually on a deadline as well—I’ve got a prior engagement in Los Angeles that I’m keen to get back to. So, the sooner we can wrap this up, the better for all parties.”
“Agreed, and I’m totally open to ideas. Other than the heist.”
“Yes, you and your pesky morals.” Devlin spreads a bit of clotted cream over the scone and takes a bite. “I suppose you’ll just have to rely on clever plotting from your new marketing consultant.”
“Marketing consultant?”
“Maleek was right—Idohave a large social media presence. Large enough that some people may recognize me, even here. Sticking with the consultant cover story is a good idea.”
“I still can’t believe the Devil has a social media presence. What do you even do on there? Throw parties in Hell and post videos of your demon friends doing keg stands?”
“You’re… not that far off the mark. I’m an influencer.”
“I have no idea what that is.”
Devlin laughs, a sound I’m getting far too attached to. “You weren’t kidding with that MySpace comment, were you?”
“I’ve just never been into the whole social media thing. In high school, I didn’t even have my own phone or computer. Now, I barely know how to text. Drives my sisters crazy.”
“That settles it, then. You reallydoneed a consultant, and voilà, here’s your man, eager to assess the shop’s potential and make a plan. A bit of pro-bono charity work for my empire of—”
“Devlin, no!” Panic launches me off the couch. If word got around that I accepted pro-bono work from a so-called social media star, my sisters and everyone else in this town would know something’s up. Namely, that I’m floundering. That I’m screwing up the one thing I’m supposed to be good at. “You are absolutelynottelling anyone that I’m some influencer’s pet project.”
“Would you rather tell them you got plastered on rum slushies and drunk-summoned me in a fit of quiet desperation?”
“Magic mojito lemonitos, and no. I would not.” I sit back down and sip my tea, trying to soak up those Queen of Swords take-no-prisoners vibes. “I know I don’t have the right to ask. But I would very much appreciate it if we could just say I hired you, and leave it at that.”
It’s possibly the most direct request I’ve ever made in my life, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to say no. To tell me I’m in no position to be asking for favors, especially when he’s got his own business to run and his own life to lead and his own family dynamics to navigate, and getting kidnapped by a drunk witch was most definitelynoton his bingo card.
But Devlin merely shrugs. “The only way to break the spell and escape our predicament is to work together to unlock your heart’s desire, so that’s what we’re going to do. Call it whatever you want. Fair enough?”
Relief has me feeling hopeful again. “So you’re… you’re really going to help me save the café?”
“Don’t act so surprised, Mushroom. Believe it or not, the Devildoesknow a little something about entertaining people.”
“I’m notinthe entertainment business. I’m in the tea business.”
“What is tea,” he says with a dramatic wave of his hand, “if not entertainment for the tongue?”
“Oh, no. If that’s the best a world-class influencer can come up with, we may as well close up shop now.”
“Excuse me?” He shoots me a defensive glare. “It’s catchy, in its own way.”
“Like a bad rash.”
“Well, I suppose you would know, what with all the overnight guests you’ve harbored.” He makes a show of examining the cushions. “Should I have sanitized this before curling up naked last night?”
He says a whole bunch of other things too, but my newly Queen of Swords-sharpened, super-focused mind is now super focused on the ‘curling up naked’ part of the story, serving up red-hot images of the Devil sprawled out in his birthday suit, the firm ridges of his abs glistening by the firelight, the dark trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton to—
“…donned at first light,” he continues. “Didn’t want to alarm any passers-by. Or you, for that matter, though it seems I’ve failed in at least one of those endeavors. Are you all right?”
“Donned… what?” I blink away the images and try to focus on what he’s saying.
