THE GRUMPY DEMON’S SUNSHINE

© Karla Doyle, March 2024

CHAPTER ONE

DELA

“Oh, Dela…” my coworker singsongs from the opposite end of the café counter. “Your favorite customer just walked in.”

Nope. Not giving Shay the satisfaction of a response or reaction. And I’m definitely not turning around to confirm who she’s talking about. Besides, I don’t have to. The temperature is easily several degrees higher than before the bell over the front door jingled, and that’s not because the furnace kicked into overdrive.

Raz is the hottest monster in town. Yes, yes, phoenix shifters literally burn, but that’s once every what, five-hundred years? Dragon fire is technically hotter than Raz, too, but again, that’s not part of a dragon’s day-to-day, out-in-public existence. Neither of those creatures, nor any of the others in town, affect the coffee shop’s room temperature.

But Raz does. Heat radiates from the towering red demon. Even without seeing his brooding face and curved black horns above the heads of the other patrons, I feel his presence every time he comes into The Brew.

Shay says she doesn’t feel the increase in room temperature. I call bullshit on that, but the more I dispute her claim, the more enjoyment she gets from pushing my buttons. She’s my favorite person to work with, one of my new best friends, and I don’t mind the teasing when Raz isn’t within earshot. But honestly, who knows how far that range is? He’s a revenge demon, for goodness’ sake. His life’s purpose is to hear vengeful wishes and make them happen. Odds are, his hearing is pretty damn good.

Right now, all I can hear is my pulse pounding a heavy beat. Based on its increasing speed, he’s getting closer to the counter. Meaning, I’m going to have to face him momentarily. There are only so many sugary sprinkles I can add to the birthday-cake iced latte I’m making before I have to turn around and hand it off to the customer patiently waiting for her order. On that note, I hope fairies can’t get diabetes.

I force myself to return the sprinkle shaker to the shelf, then draw a deep breath. Overloaded iced latte in hand and smile in place, I make the necessary swivel. My focus should be the fairy with beautiful, iridescent wings and wide green eyes. The person whose drink I’m holding—or, more accurately, withholding, since I haven’t set it down. It’s become my personal security drink. When I turn it over to its rightful owner, Flora will flutter away and Raz will move up, one step closer to the counter. Before I know it, he’ll be directly in my face.

After I tip my head back to look up at him, that is. Which I’ll have to do because he’s a customer. Something I’ll want to do because what Shay said is true—Raz is my favorite customer. My favorite monster. My favorite man.

To him, I’m just a coffee barista. An unremarkable human who chose to live in a town full of monsters. He probably assumes I moved to Fate’s Falls because I have a monster fetish. I came here to escape a monster of the worst kind—a human man who tried to hurt me.

Despite its population filled with some potentially deadly creatures, Fate’s Falls has a zero-tolerance policy for aggression of any kind. The monsters who choose to live here may do heinous things outside the town’s boundaries, but never within. There hasn’t been a single occurrence. As a survivor of some ugly shit, when presented with the opportunity to live without fear, I jumped. Not literally, I was too broken and weak at the time. But internally, mentally, I did more flips than an Olympic gymnast.

If Fate’s Falls didn’t have its guarantee of peace and harmony, I still would have moved here. It’s far away from the city where I lived with Doug. Even if he tried to hunt me down, the odds of him finding this small town nestled between mountains and forests are slim. Maybe even impossible, if the stories I’ve heard are true.

As for monsters… It never occurred to me I might be attracted to one. My unexpected interest is irrelevant because I’m riding the celibacy bus now. Okay, that and my vibrator, which yes, is oversized and red. Coincidentally. Or subconsciously. Maybe I was thinking of Raz when I ordered it online. But whatever. That’s as close to his cock as I’m ever going to get. Assuming he has a cock. That’s not information you can fact-check via Google, after all.

“Here you go,” Shay says, prying the birthday-cake iced latte from my grip, then passing it to my extremely patient fairy customer.

Snapped back to reality, my cheeks flame with embarrassment. Everyone in the café just witnessed me completely zone out while thinking about riding my Raz-inspired vibrator. Here’s hoping none of them have the ability to read minds.

“I’m so sorry for your wait,” I say to Flora as she rises from the floor, takeout cup in hand.

“No problem, sweetie.” She winks before fluttering away. Not a general, friendly wink; it’s slow and exaggerated, a knowing kind of wink.

Oh shit, can fairies read minds? The better question is, can revenge demons? Because there’s one directly in front of me now. How did he get to the head of the line, anyway? I could’ve sworn he was at the back, near the door.

A glance to my left gives me the answer. Shay opened the second register—probably while I was off in hell-demon dreamland—and all the customers between Flora and Raz abandoned my line for hers. I have no idea if there’s anyone standing behind Raz. He’s not the largest being in Fate’s Falls, but he’s pretty huge. If I didn’t tilt my head upward to look at his face, I’d be talking to his abs.

“Sorry for the delay,” I say, grateful my voice sounds normal when I pull myself together enough to use it. “What can I get for you today?”

“Are you unwell?” he asks, ignoring my apology and question.

“No, I’m fine.” I wrangle my features in to an appropriate, neutrally friendly smile. No easy feat with Raz’s stare drilling holes in me. “Can I get your usual, or would you like something different?”

“Usual?” His pronounced, permanently furrowed brow rises the tiniest bit.

My customer-service smile morphs into one that’s genuine. I’ve watched him enough to know he’s always in control of his expression. Of his voice. Of everything about himself, I assume. Seeing that control waver, even infinitesimally, because of me…that’s enough to make my day.

“You always get the cauldron of doom, extra-hot.” The darkest coffee we make, it’s the closest liquid to a true black color that I’ve ever seen, and it packs a wallop with over 600mg of caffeine per hundred milliliters. That’s more than double what the strongest brand made for humans contains.

“I have never ordered a cauldron of doom. You are confusing me with another customer.”

“Um, no,” I say, letting my gaze rise all the way up to the top of his wavy black horns, then do a slow wander downward until I meet his glowing eyes again. “Zero confusion.”

“Then you are simply making a mistake. In my existence, words are crucial; I remember all which I have spoken.”

I should’ve known better than to attempt casual conversation or humor with him. In the half-year-plus I’ve worked here, he’s never given me any indication either would be welcome. My ex gaslighted me about a lot of things, but he was obviously right when he said I’ll never learn, because here I am, attempting to start fresh, yet inexplicably drawn to another closed-off man.

“You’re right. You always order ‘the largest capacity of the strongest coffee.’” I make air quotes around his customary words. “Which is a cauldron of doom. Cauldron equals extra-large in our lingo, and doom is our name for the most jacked-up brew we serve. I took the liberty of adjusting the serving temperature to make it extra-hot once I learned your core temperature is higher than, well, nearly everybody’s. You didn’t complain about the change—in fact, you started coming by more frequently, so I assumed you enjoyed it, and I continued to prepare it that way.”

“I was unaware.”

Is that a hint of sheepishness on his resting scowl face? Pretty sure it is. It’s hardly an apology—not that he owed me one—but it’s something. And his comment, well, it makes me wonder if maybe…

I lean forward over the counter, hoping to keep my next words private. “I’m happy to read you the menu options anytime. English is a human language. I wouldn’t expect everyone in Fate’s Falls to be able to read it.”

A low rumble rolls from him, his lips becoming an even straighter line than normal. “I understand every language that has ever existed on this plane, written, spoken, or communicated by action.”

Offending a hell demon can’t be a good thing. I inhale deeply and hold it in. On the job with a customer staring me down isn’t the ideal place to engage in the affirmation techniques my therapist taught me, but I manage to re-center myself before dizziness sets in.

With my pulse back where it should be, I exhale and give him a smile. My feelings, desires, and grab-bag of issues aren’t his fault. I’m not going to hold a harmless miscommunication against him. Nor am I going to apologize for being considerate, even if it was misplaced. All that aside, we’re two entirely different species—if species is even the right word for demons. I’m not about to ask Raz that question. Honestly, there’s only one question I should ever be asking him. “What can I get for you today?”

He’s silent, his strong brow line lowering as he stares at me. If it were possible to see behind his eyes, the gears would undoubtedly be turning, likely as he wonders what kind of frail-human malfunction I’m having.

I bite my tongue and hold my smile in place. Definitely not going off-script again. I’ll wait him out, one way or another.

“A cauldron of doom,” he says in his ever-present deadpan. Then, his lips twist into an unfamiliar shape—it’s not an actual smile, but a hint of upward tick is there. “Extra-hot, if it is not an inconvenience to ask for your usual preparation.”

“Coming right up.” Heat blooms on my cheeks, even though there’s no way in hell—or on earth—that he’s flirting. The fact that he’s making this out-of-character and kind-of-clunky attempt at friendliness is enough. For now.

* * *

RAZBUNARE

It is fortunate when she turns away to prepare my beverage, because I find myself unable to force my gaze from Dela’s face. Increased adrenaline has widened her capillaries and brought blood closer to the surface of her facial skin. A physiological response she cannot control, brought on by any number of stimuli. Fear, anger, embarrassment… the reason matters not. She is radiant; even more so than the dozens of other times I have observed her. Red suits her.

Most humans fear me on sight. Because of my size. My red skin and glowing eyes. The long, dark horns curving up from my cranium’s frontal bone. I was created to intimidate, to ensure the humans who choose revenge in exchange for their soul are aware there will be no release from the bond.

Dela has never shown any sign of fear in my presence. She meets my gaze directly, though to do so requires she tip her head back to its maximum angle. Her voice does not waver when she speaks to me—even just now, when my inability to engage in comfortable communication would have made any other mortal shudder.

Embarrassment or anger are the logical causes for the color of her delicate cheeks. Either or both are possible after the exchange we just shared.

I must refrain from attempting conversation. Especially with this human who intrigues, confounds, and arouses me in equal measure. She is a curiosity I should not indulge. Yet I am unable to focus my attention anywhere else.

In the vast span of my existence, I have encountered countless human women, many very pleasing to the senses. However, I could not individually recall a single one. None captivated me beyond the fraction of time they spent in my purview.

Until Dela.

She lingers in my mind when I am not in her presence. Her full lips with their pale-rose hue—natural, not falsely painted, like most modern human women favor—and their pronounced bow shape. Her eyes, as blue as the clearest earthly sky, are always wide open and never shuttered. Looking into them brings a lightness unlike anything I have experienced and cannot resist returning to. And, in the moments when I am alone, free of the noise of the worlds above and below, memories of her voice flow through my mind, flooding me with an unfamiliar combination of peace and longing.

I did not think myself capable of those… feelings.

“Here you go.” The music of her voice pulls my focus from futile thoughts.

I hold up a payment card as she sets the takeout cup in front of me.

Her hair shimmers as she shakes her head. “This one’s on me.”

“I have ample financial assets.”

The upward curve of her mouth increases and her eyes twinkle as if filled with stars. “It’s a friendly gesture, Raz, not charity.”

I was born in the fiery depths of hell, yet hearing her speak my name, even in its shortened version, creates a different kind of heat within me. “Friendly.” I repeat the word no one has ever used in regard to me.

“Yes. If that’s overstepping, I—”

“It is not.” I try once again to arrange my lips in a position she will interpret in a pleasing manner. “Thank you,” I say, lifting my cup from the counter.

The delicate brown arcs above her eyes rise. “Anytime.”

Behind me, an orc called Dakgorim loudly grumbles his displeasure that I have not relinquished my position in the line.

“Choose a time,” I say, ignoring an additional huff from the orc.

Dela’s head tilts slightly to the right. “A time?”

“A convenient time for me to purchase a beverage for you, when you are not performing the duties of your employment.”

“You want to buy me a coffee when I’m off the clock?” she asks, a rouge deep enough to rival my color rising on her cheeks and quickly spreading down her neck and into the neckline of her yellow shirt.

The sight of it nearly causes me to crush the paper cup in my hand. My desire for her is irrelevant. Speaking out of turn in an environment where she is not permitted to respond freely or to escape has made her uncomfortable, yet again. “I wish to return your friendly gesture. My nature requires balance be maintained.”

“Oh,” she says, her countenance falling. “Then I guess our natures are completely opposite, because when I give, it’s freely. I never expect something in return.”

Though I doubt she intended her comment to scathe, it does just that. Shame is not familiar to me. Though made to mask the true intent of my offer, my statement about balance was accurate. Even in delivering the darkest of reckonings, I have felt no regret. Vengeance is my reason for existing, and I have always behaved within the boundaries of my agreements. But today, I acted on my desires. Perhaps not forbidden, but a mistake.

Further words are unnecessary. I was foolish to have spoken so many already. Even my nod before turning is more than I should give.

Next time, I will hold my tongue. But later, when I am alone, I will call up the memories created today. Visions of her tinted cheeks, the way her lovely lips curved for my eyes only, and the sound of my name in the song of her voice.