It isn’t until Sable has slipped into the tub of hot water that she realizes following a strange man she has only heard about through rumors likely wasn’t her best idea.

Dammit, she thinks to herself, biting a nail, I really do need to stop drinking at parties so much, if I’d been in my right mind…

Already the events leading up to him gently guiding her back to his house feel thousands of miles away.

And why had he offered to let her come to his house to warm up and wash and repair her dress?

Sable cautiously lifts her leg out of the tub. Her ankle is swollen and red, but thankfully not broken.

The soaps used for her body and hair smell nice, one like roses and the other like vanilla.

She carefully puts her ankle back in the tub and sinks deeper into the waters, until her head is fully submerged. The warmth feels good after being drenched to the bone in cold, icy rain.

Even underwater, she thinks she hears the bathroom doors open and her heart skips a beat. She’s naked, taking a bath in a stranger’s home. Damn it, damn it! she curses herself out before quickly lifting her head from the water.

The maid who greets her squeaks in surprise. “So-so sorry,” she stammers, blinking rapidly.

She’s a small freckled girl, but that isn’t what catches Sable’s eye.

It’s the large scar that stretches across her cheek.

Sable makes sure not to stare at it. As someone who has been on the receiving end of one too many stares in her lifetime, she doesn’t want to impose that same feeling on anyone else.

And yet…

She remembers the rumors fluttering about the party. The Tearer.

If Malcolm Leroux really is the Tearer, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine him being abusive towards a maid.

The maid softly drapes cloth on a hanger. Sable hadn’t even noticed she was holding anything. “I…I brought some clothes,” she says. “Gardenia, the secretary, had some clothes to spare, and you two look about the same size…”

Sable blinks. So that’s why he offered to help me here. He did mention a change of clothes, and I wondered how he had women’s clothing.

She smiles at the girl. “Thank you.”

Then Sable reaches out to her. “What happened?” she asks worriedly. “Did someone do this to you? Your master?” She wants to wince at her words. Of course someone did this to her, nobody could slash up their own face like this, that was so inconsiderate.

The girl flinches and backs away for a moment. “N-no, it was quite a few years ago, Mister Leroux would never do this to me!”

Sable purses her lips. She wants to argue, but at the same time she doesn’t want to alienate the only fully friendly person she’s met at this strange mansion. So she decides not to press the issue, and sinks further into the tub for a moment.

The maid bunches her apron in her hands. “Erm…Miss Whittaker, may I help you with your ankle? Once you’re done with your bath?”

Sable nods. “Yes, I do need help. Can you help me get up?”

The girl nods. “Of course!”

Carefully, she aids Sable in getting out of the bathtub, making sure not to put too much weight on her ankle.

The clothes are a simple nightgown. She doesn’t need to put on a corset or anything, just sit down as the maid wraps up her now dry ankle in bandages. “Mister Leroux says he wishes to speak to you,” she says.

Sable’s stomach swoops uncomfortably. “Ah. I see,” is all she replies, closing her eyes at the horrid memory of her first words to him.

In her drunken haze, she’d remembered what Cornelia and Agatha had said about him, and despite the pain coursing through her body, had giggled and sputtered out, “Ah, the demon!”

Mr. Leroux, to his credit, had taken the rude comment in stride. Although his eyes had glinted oddly, but that was to be expected after such words.

“What is your name?” Sable asks her.

The maid blinks and looks up at her as she finishes wrapping the bandages. “Posy,” she replies.

Sable smiles as warmly as she can at the girl. “Lovely name.”

Posy gently guides her to the main room of the house. Already she can smell a fire from the fireplace, and indeed, Malcolm Leroux is sitting next to it in a big chair, reading a book. A pot of tea and a plate of shortbread biscuits sits in front of him.

His bright blue eyes flick up as the two women enter the room. Posy quickly bows as best she can, still holding Sable upright. “Mister Leroux, I brought her,” she says.

Mr. Leroux’s eyes glint, but for some reason, they do not unsettle Sable the way Silas’ eyes do. “Thank you, Posy,” he says, snapping the book shut in a quick motion. “You may retire for the night.”

Posy bows again quickly before helping Sable into a chair and hurrying away.

The two sit in silence for a long moment. The warmth of the bath and the fire seeps into Sable’s bones, and she nearly finds herself relaxing into the comfortable chair as he pours tea into her cup.

Then Mr. Leroux speaks. “Who told you?” he asks, voice cold and business-like.

Sable blinks, truly waking up for the first time in hours. “T-told me what?”

His eyes glimmer darkly. They really can’t be natural, Sable thinks. Nobody’s eyes glow like that. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Now, she’s starting to feel a dark flush in her face, and she bites the inside of her cheek. Now is not the time to say something rude, he’s a stranger, she has to be on her very best behavior. “Mister Leroux,” she begins. “When you found me, I had been running for who knows how long in the rain, all while being tipsy. Forgive me if I can’t recall everything I said to you.”

He exhales before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright then,” he says. Now he leans forward, and Sable resists the urge to lean back far away from him. “Who told you that I am a demon?”

Sable can’t speak for a moment. And then she laughs. “That is what you want to know?” she asks between fits of laughter.

Mr. Leroux doesn’t laugh, however. “Miss Whittaker,” he says, and now the chill in his voice is only stronger. “Who. Told. You.”

The coldness in his voice is enough to sober Sable up. She looks at him. “What does it matter?” she asks. “It’s just ridiculous, petty gossip.”

Mr. Leroux does not seem convinced at all. His shoulders still seem tense. “It does matter, because if that is what people are saying about me, somebody talked. But none of my staff are dead.”

Dead? Chills erupt down Sable’s spine. Suddenly the brightness of Mr. Leroux’s eyes doesn’t seem as charming, as interesting, as they had before. Once more, she nervously recalls the other rumor about him being The Tearer. I need to get out of here.

Shakily, she rises from the chair, wincing as she puts the smallest amount of weight possible on her injured ankle. “Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Leroux,” she says. “But I must be going, my parents are likely worried about me.”

But as she walks towards the open doors leading to the main hallway, they slam shut before her very eyes. Sable can’t help but cry out from shock, nobody had been in the main hall, and the only two people in the main room are she and Mr. Leroux. And neither of them had closed the doors. So who had?

In her shock, she steps backwards on her injured ankle, causing a spasm of pain to course through her body. With another cry, she tumbles to the floor.

Or she would have, if a pair of arms hadn’t grabbed her before she could fully fall. “Careful now,” Mr. Leroux says from behind her. “You sprained your ankle fairly badly. Don’t want to make it worse, hm?”

Sable can’t even speak as he guides her back to the chair, even lifting her leg to rest on the ottoman, keeping her foot elevated. Her eyes flick back to the door. “How?” is all she can croak out.

“Well, I closed them,” Mr. Leroux says.

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“Don’t be ridiculous,” she sputters. “Neither of us were close enough to the door to close it!”

He smiles knowingly at her and raises his hand, flicking his wrist.

The doors open.

Sable gasps.

He flicks his wrist once more, and the doors slam shut again.

Sable doesn’t trust herself to look at him calmly, so she pointedly stares at the doors instead.

He closed the door without touching it, he opened it without touching it, how, how?!

“I have one more trick up my sleeve, if you don’t believe me,” he says, cutting through her thoughts.

“What sort of trick?” she asks, tilting her head as she looks back at him. Trick could mean anything.

Mr. Leroux smiles at her, a soft, warm smile that does not match the chill of the room. He reaches forward, resting one hand on her ankle.

Sable feels her face flush deeply. No man has ever touched her bare skin before, aside from her father pinching her cheek affectionately. “What on earth do you think you’re doing-” she snaps, only for a sharp blue glow to emanate from his hand, still on her ankle.

The blue light seeps into her skin, and her leg feels frozen in place, she couldn’t move it away from him to save her life.

The pain in her ankle sharpens for a moment, and she gasps harshly. But then the feeling smoothes and lessens before fully easing away, just as the light fades completely, leaving her skin the same tan as it was before.

Sable can only gawk at him as he removes his hand from her foot. “Well?” he asks.

She blinks, and then wriggles her toes. There’s feeling back in them, and this simple movement no longer causes sharp spikes of pain throughout her foot.

Cautiously, she lifts her leg and places her foot back on the ground, putting some weight on it.

No pain.

“W-what…what did you do?” she breathes, and her brown eyes make contact with his.

He smiles at her as he cocks his head to the side, a stray wave of black hair gliding “What do you think?” he asks her. “I healed you!”

“B-but that’s impossible,” she whispers. “Not even priests can heal so quickly, even with Blessed Objects.”

He crosses one leg over the other, spreading his arms. “Well, I’m no priest,” he replies.

“Obviously.” Sable thinks for a moment, her mind working like a jigsaw puzzle. “The…the only others who can heal are…not human…”

His smile doesn’t waver one bit. “You’re getting closer, Miss Whittaker.”

She gulps. “Only…angels and demons can supposedly heal someone immediately.”

His eyes glint that strange blue color, even with the light the fireplace gives off.

The demon of Willow’s End.

Sable licks her lips. “You…no,” she chuckles. “You can’t be, can you?”

“Can’t be what?”

A nervous laugh escapes her. “Well…a demon. You really can’t be one, right?”

He rests his chin in his hand. “What do you think, Miss Whittaker? You saw me open and close a door without touching it, and your sprained ankle is no longer injured or pained, correct?”

“R-right…”

That smile is not a smile that belongs to a demon. It’s too warm, too gentle, too human. “Is that not proof enough?”

Sable’s breath catches in her chest, and she feels glued to her seat. “Y-you…” she pants. “You really are a demon, aren’t you?”

He leans forward towards her once more. “Correct, Miss Whittaker.”

Sable can feel her mind go thousands of miles a minute, faster than any carriage, any blimp, even those new-fangled automobiles.

The first words out of her mouth surprise even her.

“If you’re a demon…” she begins. “Can you curse people?”

Mr. Leroux blinks. Clearly, he had not expected such a question either. “Well…yes, I can,” he says. “I don’t do it often, however.”

Sable is the one to lean forward now, a delicious idea brewing in her mind. “And you can make contracts, deals, correct?”

His smile flutters now, an awkward, boyish grin. “Erm…yes, I have contracts with all of my employees here.”

Sable can’t fight the grin spreading across her face. “I have a proposition for you, Mister Leroux,” she says.

Those blue eyes flicker brightly, he’s interested, she can sense it. She thought it was only a myth, a rumor, that deals were irresistible to demons. But now she sees how true it is. “What sort of proposition, Miss Whittaker?”

She leans back, trying to look as commanding as possible as she can in a simple, plain nightgown. “Curse my arranged fiance,” she tells him.

Oh, those eyes. They truly are proof of his demonic origins. They flicker and waver, sometimes their brightness changes. “Why would I do that?” he asks, but the interest in his voice…

Sable smiles. “My fiance, Silas Montgomery, is a cruel bastard,” she says bluntly, not caring that cursing is unladylike. Mr. Leroux already knows she’s a far cry from a proper lady by now. “I admit, upon first meeting him, I thought he was attractive. But he made his true personality obvious the moment we were left alone to talk. It would be one thing if we were merely incompatible. But he looks at me as though I am beneath him, and he has no consideration for me, even as a fiance. For lord’s sake,” she cries, “At our engagement party tonight, he spent much of it dancing with someone else!”

Mr. Leroux raises his head, understanding. “I see, I see,” he breathes. “It sounds to me, you’d rather have a partner, someone of equal standing by your side, rather than being some trophy wife, to be used to look good, to win over others and conquer, only to be pushed to the side behind closed doors, am I right?”

Sable pauses before nodding. “Yes, yes, you’re right,” she admits. “I know such wishes and desires are but a pipe dream in the society we live in, but at the very least, I would prefer a husband who doesn’t so blatantly want to use me, and who tells me to my face that I am nothing.”

Mr. Leroux’s mouth curls up into a grin on one side. “I do believe we have mutual wishes, then,” he says, before snapping his fingers.

Sable gasps as a long scroll of paper appears before her, and he places it on the table.

“How does this sound?” he asks her. “I curse your fiance, and after the engagement is officially called off…” The fireplace casts a strange shadow upon his face. “Well, you become my companion.”

She can’t help but blink a moment. “Companion?” she asks.

He nods. “Of course, we’d have to legally marry, as I doubt your family would approve of you becoming friends with me otherwise.”

Sable nods. “Correct.”

“While legally, we’d be considered husband and wife, we’d be more akin to friends and business partners.”

She blinks. “You’re a businessman?”

Mr. Leroux nods. “I am. I inherited the original Malcolm Leroux’s hotels, and on my own, I am a private exorcist.”

Sable stares at him for a long moment. “A demon who’s a private exorcist,” she murmurs. “That sounds…contradictory.”

He smiles. “It’s less contradictory than you would believe, Miss Whittaker.

“As my wife, you’d help in running the hotels and with my exorcisms. You’d be my confidante, my partner. And I’d be the same to you. I will never look down on you, and you will be treated as my equal, nothing less.”

Sable’s eyes flick down the contract. It’s true; everything he’s saying is written there. It’s…too good to be true.

Aren’t demonic contracts supposed to end up benefiting the demon more than the human?

This is quite suspicious, as she can’t see any major detriments for either of them listed.

Just to be sure, however…

“Do you mind if I add something to the contract?”

Mr. Leroux laces his fingers together. “What would you like to add?” he asks.

She smiles as politely as she can. “You are not allowed to use magic on me under any circumstances.”

He blinks. “Even after I healed your ankle?”

“Not even something like that. It’s nice to have it healed quickly, but…well, let’s just say if you can heal me with magic, you can also hurt me that way.”

His eyes flicker. “I would never-”

“You say that,” Sable interjects, “But spoken promises can easily be broken. I would like it in writing,” she says, tapping the paper.

Mr. Leroux purses his lips. “Three times.”

“Pardon?”

“I shall add a clause to the contract. I will be able to use magic on you up to three times. When your life is in danger. That is it. If I exceed the use of magic on you, I shall be exorcized back to Hereafter for 1,000 years, unable to return to the human realm until the allotted time is over.” His eyes spark darkly, now almost the color of the night sky. “How does that sound?” he asks, but his tone is low. Sable has a feeling the question is less a question and more of a final offer.

She exhales, leaning back in her chair. “That’s fine with me,” she agrees.

Mr. Leroux flicks his wrist, and a fountain pen appears between his fingers. He takes the paper and signs his name with a flourish. “And you,” he says, handing her the pen.

Sable takes one more apprehensive look down the paper, weighing her options.

Silas will be cursed, in exchange for her companionship.

All in all, not a terrible deal.

She signs her name in her best handwriting.

Mr. Leroux smiles as he takes the paper. “Thank you,” he says, curling the scroll up and up until it vanishes into nothing.

Sable nods. “Alright then,” she says, and everything just sort of sinks in in that moment. She’s already engaged, but now she’s engaged to a different man, a man she met barely a few hours ago, a near stranger who happens to be a demon from Hereafter.

Certainly not how she expected her night to go.

Mr. Leroux sighs. “I apologize for my lack of a ring,” he says, and Sable erupts into laughter. An engagement ring had been the last thing on her mind.

“Quite frankly,” she says, “I hadn’t expected to be engaged to not one, but two men by the end of the night.”

“We must get that taken care of right away, shouldn’t we?” Mr. Leroux asks as the grand doors open.

A tall, older man walks in. The butler, Sable presumes. “Posy asked me to inform Miss Whittaker that her clothes have been washed, dried, and repaired,” he says.

Sable gasps as she checks the clock. It is nearly one at night.

Good god, her parents must be scared out of their wits!

She gets to her feet. “I must be on my way home-” she begins, but Mr. Leroux cuts her off.

“Miss Whittaker,” he says, carefully putting his gloves on. “As your new fiance, I must impose on you once more for tonight, and take you home by my carriage,” he says with a smile.

Sable pauses and nods. “Ah,” she says. “Thank you, Mr. Leroux.”

He smiles at her. “Now go and retrieve your clothes before we head out. And please, call me Malcolm. We are engaged, after all.”

Sable reciprocates the smile, albeit more wary. “Alright, Malcolm,” she says, and she notices that the light from the fireplace casts a reddish tint to his face. “But only if you call me Sable.”

He nods at her. “As you wish, Sable.”