When everything depends on a test, love will bring in the crucial points.
Quirion has been a proud hoarder of books his entire long life. When he got not-so-subtly bullied into accepting an assistant four years ago—it was his own decision, yes, and the pleading looks from his brother-in-law had nothing to do with it, damn him and his cuteness—he’d thought it would be a martyrdom he just had to endure. Now, four years later, his library seems lonely on the days Milo isn’t there. Grudgingly Quirion has come to the realization that he wants Milo to be more than just a friend and employee. The only question is how to proceed.
Milo has been Quirion’s assistant for four years, relying on the demon’s help to navigate the more difficult aspects of college life. For almost as long, he has known that, to him, Quirion is the perfect man. But the demon is so much older and wiser than him—Milo doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell to ever get him. And when funding for his research is taken from him unexpectedly, he needs Quirion to help him once again with a test that can make or break his career.
Can these two scientists find a way into each other’s arms or are they doomed to study alone?
General Release Date: 29th October 2024
Milo stared at the envelope he had just found in his mailbox. As letters went, it looked kind of ominous. It wasn’t an invoice—those had a special look and feel he had learned to dread over the past years. It also wasn’t something medical, for which he was grateful. Despite only being twenty-two, Milo could live the rest of his life without ever getting medical-related letters again. He also knew this was wishful thinking. His mother’s cancer had been officially cured, but she had to stay vigilant nevertheless, which, in Milo’s opinion, told them more about the illness than he wanted to know. Cancer was an asshole that could sneak back into a person’s life without warning. He turned the envelope over in his hands. It had an unfamiliar weight, the paper thick and nice to the touch. There was also a seal, an honest-to-god wax seal, depicting what Milo thought were an S, a B and a W, but he couldn’t be sure because of all the loops. The wax was royal blue. His name and address were printed on the front in the same loopy writing, in gold, which complemented the blue of the seal. Milo could imagine what their postman would have to say about it when they saw each other the next time. Larry had opinions on everything and no problem in sharing them. Loudly. Repeatedly. In case the other person hadn’t understood him the first time. The best course of action was to avoid him altogether and, if that failed—the man was suspiciously good at sneaking up on people—to nod and say ‘Yes, Larry’, at the appropriate moments.
Milo weighed the envelope in his hand while he contemplated his options. Opening it right away might have been the obvious choice for any innocent and clueless bystanders, but Milo had long ago stopped being innocent and clueless. If he thought about it, the moment the last of his innocence had died, had been when the demon Dresalantion, Dre for his friends, had followed his summons. Reading about demons and actually meeting one were two very different things. For many people, the difference was being able to keep on breathing after meeting the demon.
His second thought was to go to his mentor and friend, Sammy, the person he had tried to sacrifice to Dre, thus inadvertently introducing the two fated mates. Sammy still gave him credit for it, though Milo felt uncomfortable when he did so. Yes, he had been a desperate, lonely, mobbed teenager, but killing another human being to make life more bearable for himself was abominable. Perhaps, one day, Milo would feel like he had atoned enough for this sin. He didn’t hold his breath. Sammy would definitely be interested in the letter, especially in the wax seal and the calligraphy. He had a lively discussion via letter with his demon-in-law, Quirion, who also happened to be Milo’s second employer—his first employer would always be Sammy, even though he rarely helped at the bookstore anymore—about everything regarding books. The two used a paper similar to the one Milo was holding in his hands, they played with different seals and wax colors and the correspondence never failed to get Quirion agitated, which, according to Dre and Barion, was a good thing. Gets him out of his funk, were their words. Milo wasn’t always convinced, because he failed to see where Quirion might be in a funk, though he did have to admit that Quirion was definitely looking forward to every letter.
Then a horrific thought crossed Milo’s mind—Sammy and Quirion would never involve him in their discussion, would they? He was good with books, yes, but he was also more of a numbers and formulas kind of guy. Mathematics and biochemistry were his forte, not libraries. He stared at the letter with newfound trepidation. If this was from Sammy or Quirion, they would expect an answer in kind. Milo shook his head. No, they wouldn’t. He didn’t have the appropriate paper, for one. Or wax. He had no wax, no fancy seals. And he was sure Quirion would have dropped a hint. The big green demon thought he was so subtle. Milo had to grin. Like a sledgehammer to the forehead.
He turned the letter around a few more times and decided to go to Quirion. If he was supposed to take part in his and Sammy’s writing game, the demon could at least lend him the materials he needed. Milo took his phone from his pocket and sent a short text while marching back inside the house. His mother was out meeting with some of her friends, which made it safe for his demon to come. And he should probably stop thinking of Quirion as his because that was simply youthful infatuation and would never lead to anything substantial. Ha. He even sounded like Quirion in his head.
As for it being safe—of course Milo’s mother had met Quirion. When he had started working for the demon, he had still been a minor and his mom had been adamant about getting to know the miracle employer who shelled out enough money for Milo to pursue his scholarship at MIT and keep on helping her with the bills. The meeting had been sufficiently awkward for his mother to satisfy her curiosity while at the same time ensuring she would never think about inviting Quirion again.
Quirion, as always, hadn’t been able to read the room. He had happily gobbled up the lemon cookies his mother had baked, had taken one sip from her rosehip tea, declared it inferior, then launched into a detailed monologue about the history of tea, the evolution of rosehips, why and how they were used in the kitchen, and ended with the promise to get her the best rosehip tea in the entire world. After those partly interesting seventy-five minutes had passed, his mother hadn’t protested when Milo had brought Quirion outside. The demon had honestly thought the meeting had gone perfectly and, from a certain perspective, it surely had. And whatever misgivings Milo’s mom might have had about Quirion were erased the next morning when she found a package with the best rosehip tea in the world on her front porch. These packages kept coming, always when her supply was getting low, and whenever Quirion’s name was mentioned, she praised him to the heavens for his excellent taste in tea and his generosity.
Milo had asked Quirion once how he did the thing with the tea and his demon employer and mentor had only winked and said, “I was owed a favor by a witch. She’s delighted to get out of it so easily.” And that had been that.
Milo had reached the kitchen when he felt the by now very familiar pull he associated with the opening or closing of a rift in space and time.
“Hi, Quirion,” he welcomed his mentor, who had appeared next to the sink in the kitchen.
The huge demon smiled and lifted his hand in greeting. Milo knew that he had his glamour on in case his mother was here, but apparently once a person had seen a demon without their glamour, it didn’t work anymore. Just like Sammy, he saw the demons in his life in their true form. Or rather in the true form they chose in the moment. They could actually control their size, which varied between the six-foot-eight the glamour showed the world and the seven to eight feet when they went full-on demon. They also could hide their scales, though not the color, another reason the glamour was necessary. Barion, Quirion’s youngest brother, for example, looked like a Smurf with his deep blue hue. Dre’s color was that of a cooked lobster and Quirion sported a gorgeous linden green. Wings and claws were retractable and usually hidden, with the claws coming out quickly and regularly whenever the demon was agitated. When Milo concentrated hard enough, he could see the humanoid form—Milo had yet to meet an actual human man who looked like the demons and wasn’t Photoshopped to the high heavens—the glamour gave them, but why bother? He had stopped being afraid a long time ago. And now I sound like an old man.
“Greetings, Milo. Why have you called me? Isn’t today your day off?” Quirion furrowed his brow. “You need to relax on your days off, Milo. We talked about this.”
Yes, they had talked about this, repeatedly. When Quirion had helped him to study for his scholarship at MIT. During the first semester, when Milo had worked himself to the ground for fear of losing said scholarship. During his studies for the undergraduate tests. Then afterward when he was trying to narrow down the field he wanted to work in and couldn’t make a decision and tried to keep up with everything. And now that he had found his field, nanotechnology, the trend continued. Quirion had always been and was always there to remind him to take care of himself. Just like the perfect boyfriend. Again, a thought he should probably tamp down on.
Xenia Melzer was born and raised in a small village in the South of Bavaria. As one of nature's true chocoholics, she's always in search of the perfect chocolate experience. So far, she's had about a dozen truly remarkable ones. Despite having been in close proximity to the mountains all her life, she has never understood why so many people think snow sports are fun. There are neither chocolate nor horses involved and it's cold by definition, so where's the sense? She does not like beer either and has never been to the Oktoberfest – no quality chocolate there.
Even though her mind is preoccupied with various stories most of the time, Xenia has managed to get through school and university with surprisingly good grades. Right after school she met her one true love who showed her that reality is capable of producing some truly amazing love stories itself.
While she was having her two children, she started writing down the most persistent stories in her head as a way of relieving mommy-related stress symptoms. As it turned out, the stress-relief has now become a source of the same, albeit a positive one.
When she's not writing, she translates the stories of other authors into German, enjoys riding and running, spending time with her kids, and dancing with her husband. If you want to contact her, please visit either her website, or write her an email.
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