Diabolica

The ballroom had always been one of Viorel’s favourite room in the house.

Golden columns supporting ivory panels houses memories of private readings with his back laid on the floor, occasionally looking up and letting visions of flowers and painted skies accompany his eyes as his mind wandered. Motley of books became a loyal friend in times of boredom and escapism.

He had unwittingly associated the old dance hall to his childhood epoch.

Tales of bandits and dragons, too many retellings of princesses with their dashing knights in shining armour, and adventures of a ragtag crew in search for glory, treasures and love. Its gilded walls was what had him believe those stories in the first place, his active imagination always allowing him reprieve.

Then their parents decided to live in their holiday home turned permanent home after a prolonged vacation, leaving a 15 year old boy and his young sister in charge of a household filled with waiting staffs and looming expectations.

Suddenly he was an heir, and soon obligations wrangled his mind into submission; no longer was it a wonder-filled companion, but a cold warden chock-full of responsibilities and checklists.

If it wasn’t for his busy schedule and crippling sentimentality, he would’ve had that room turned into a closet.

It was only a reminder of the better days gone past.

Not exactly a functional space to have.

Now, he was certain half of the reason he was heading there in yesterday’s crumpled clothes, other than his sister’s batty shenanigans, is the universe’s little payback for sparing that useless waste of space.

Viorel burst into the ballroom, hair undone with terror in his eyes.

The windows were open, enveloping the spacious hall with bright sunlight that didn’t leave any room for illusions caused by fatigue.

The blonde stood there frozen like an idiot, taking in remnants of a messy ritual, the sparkles and confettis having the same effect on him as blood splatters and scattered human remains would.

And then there was that woman.

Examining walls and staring at melted candles.

Except that was no woman.

Viorel scoffs in both disbelieve at this mannerless home invader and the lingering fear still stuck inside his gradually quickening heart.

As much as that one memory of their first encounter gives his hands tremors, he has to handle this himself. As far as he’s concerned, no one else in this, now literally, godforsaken house is competent enough.

“Excuse me!” He marches forward with as much blind courage as he could muster post sleepy daze.

The woman thing-person turned and both his heart and his foot suddenly forgot their purposes.

Big, dark eyes lacking whites or any earthly eye colour gripped him with an unknown hold.

He was a statue of shock and confusion as she approached him on flighty steps, holding his shoulders in greeting as if they were old buddies.

“Viorel! Good to see ya back on your feet!” She held his lapels and tugged them down, with just one movement she had turned his suit pressed and straight as if it wasn’t just a wrinkly mess hanging loosely on his shoulders mere seconds ago.

“You had your poor sister worried when you went and knocked your head all the way to dreamland!”

She smiled at him and at that moment he wondered if he was dead and this demonic grim reaper was here for his soul.

“Who are you?” He whispered.

She flipped back tresses of long hair, holding up her arms adjacent to her head like a magician would at the end of a show.

A shit-show that was just about to begin.

“The name’s Bombon. Party animal, Certified Aerobics Instructor and Event Organiser!”

Bombon bowed, a hand on her chest and the devil’s plans on her grin.

“I’ll be you sister’s wedding planner.”

That was somehow worse than her delivering him to the fiery afterlife.

Because at least then he’d be too dead to care.

Any chance of this entire hailstorm of a day being a terrible nightmare reduced to a zero two seconds ago when he finally fully saw the off-putting creature, and just now, when said creature confirmed Nina’s insane story wasn’t her finally losing what little marbles are left in her head.

Viorel still doesn’t move. Couldn’t. Because if he reacted to the absurdity happening in the freak-show he thought was his own home, it’ll mean he’s accepting their existence and he doesn’t think he’s ready for what that might entail.

The loud bang of the ballroom door shoved him from his spiralling thoughts, bringing forth new sparks of anger that was getting directed towards a single source and ready to be launched in three, two—

“Vi! I can explain!”

One.

Viorel’s head snapped to Nina, the furious dagger-shooting his eyes were doing made the little sister’s brave, puffed up posture shrink.

He didn’t turn to see Bombon’s reaction when he smoothed out his hair in a last ditch attempt to look calm.

“Please excuse us for a minute.”

-------------------

You would think having nearly everything would prevent someone from thoughtlessly wanting absurd commodities.

Or at least avoid completely breaking the laws of reality, religion and humanity.

“What were you thinking?” Viorel slammed the door behind him.

Nina yanked away the arm he had dragged her out to the hallway with.

She had that look on her. That irritating stubbornness that could frustrate a mule.
Viorel loathed berating her as he’s pretty sure a little part of him dies every time she throws a downtrodden lower towards the ground. Now, he doesn't care if she starts throwing a tantrum right in the middle of their parlor, he's going to nag her ears off.

“Are you out of your mind? You summoned a demon to plan your wedding? Why would you do that??”

A forcefully closed pair of lips lasted for the entirety of 2 seconds before spilling the reason she made a blood circle instead of on a phone call to a florist in a lovely Sunday evening to arrange for an altarpiece he's put in her itinerary days ago.

“Is it so wrong to want a perfect wedding?!”

Viorel’s temple was practically throbbing with high pressured blood. His entire weekend was ruined because she thought the best way to go around creating life-lasting memories with her loved ones is by dragging creatures from the underworld to the surface and ask them to plan a party for her.

If he’s gonna burst something and has to be hospitalised afterwards, he’d first make sure she understands, with a lack of a better word, how stupid this all was.

‘’You could have done that without invoking unholy forces— Agh, Nina!” Viorel gave up trying to sound sensible midway, throwing up his hands in raw frustration.

He saw that deepening pout and he wasn't having any of it.

"Were you drunk?" he accused.

"What— no!"

"Are you— were you high??" 

"Vi!" Nina whined, annoyed.

He laughed humorlessly.
"Well then you must be a fake lookalike, because Nina Francesca Guinevere Diamanté was raised to be a smart girl who doesn't summon demons when she's bored!"

She grabs his arms tight with a certain type of despair. A concerning helplessness in her sudden importuning.

“Listen, this is the only way!” She uttered hopefully.

“I've heard great things about her, she's really good at parties. And she's not that kind of demon! I've done my research, Vi."

Viorel didn't care if she only cost the lint in his pocket, no sister of his is going to act a fool associating themselves with Lucifer's lackeys.
The ire in his scowl told as much and Nina doubled down on her plea.

"Think about it; I could have an amazing fairytale wedding without, you know, throwing away half of my inheritance for some haughty, 'recommended' wedding planner, shove revenge-filled dirt into everyone’s stupid faces and prove that I’m totally capable of not losing my mind every-time I'm in charge!"
The gradual tightening of her clutch on his arms probably did not support her last statement.

Nina calmed herself with a deep breath, forcing a sweet smile to soften her slightly crazed demeanor.

"A-and you can finally stop worrying about everything I do!”

Nina was desperately trying to convince him that the fifteen profane sacrileges she’s done that evening alone is perfectly in the realm of logic and reason.

How ironic was it that she planned to create a holy matrimonial celebration with devilry. She might as well have them mount goat heads and exchange vows under a blood moon!

If this was any other case of mistaken order or wrong hire, he’d have told her there was no such thing as a fairytale. Not even for people like them who are bejewelled with gems and fine fabric, snuggled up inside royal manors speckled with flowers and horses across acres of green lands.

Pretty as they might look, just a nail long tear into their paper-thin self and you’ll see a barren wasteland of empty sensations and short-term memories.

Viorel took one last look of her gritty expression before easily pulling his arms free. He reached up to pull hair away from her eyes and lets his palm rest on top of her head.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

It was clear from her sharp movements and frantic babbling that her insides were fully doused in caffein.

Bright, honey eyes closed off all access as their owners looked away. As if the lack of eye contact could ever stop him from being intimidating.

He kept his hand on her crown as he narrowed his eyes icily.

“Nina.” His voice is low and spiked with annoyance.

The invisible pressure of the older brother authority finally got to her and she once again, spilled.

“2 days ago.”

Viorel clenched his jaw.

Nina knew that he knew that that alone was enough for him to make a case against her and of course, by birthright default, win the argument.

If their parents were half as involved as he was he would have put the blame on them. But they were somewhere between a cruise in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea or on a tour across Bali, so that left him with only one person who he'd undoubtedly inculpate.

Jasper.

He’d make sure to kick that blathering weasel to the curb for being a terrible influence on his sister. With his tasteless street wear and mollycoddling, Viorel was certain Nina's impetuous tendency thrived in his company.

It doesn't matter if that description could easily fit himself, what matters now is the fact that once again, he's left to clean up Nina's mess.

God, if you're still there, please give me a break.

The man pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a step back and setting aside his aneurysm to be dealt with later.

“Okay. Here’s what’s gonna happen.

I’m going to go in there, tell that… thing, to go back to hell,”

Nina gasped. “But—“

“And you,” He cut off, a nonnegotiable finger pointed squarely at her little face.

“Are not leaving your room until you get some rest.”

Nina had the audacity to sound annoyed. "Didn't I already tell you she's the best?"

If she hasn’t snapped, he’s sure that sentence nearly did it for him.

He jerked his head around, making her flinch. ‘’She’s a demon!”

Or in other words, are you demented? Why are we still arguing about this?

“I thought you trusted me!” Now she looked slighted, like he was the one being a stubborn child and not the grown woman currently voting that the demon stays and plans her wedding.

It was baffling to him how she was still able to defend her actions while they’re standing six paces away from the blood circle she created right under the floor of his bedroom.

Realising that arguing with her will only result in heartburn, Viorel held back anymore shoulder-shaking badgering, decidedly throwing it out the back of his head with a deep breath.

Once he released it, it was in the form of a long suffering sigh.

“Just— go.”

Only the sound of her brisk stomping told him of her departure. His eyes had been focusing on his shoulder, how crisp the sleeve was and how dejected he felt.

Viorel only spared a glance to the empty hallway, building up more mental reinforcements to deal with one last… inconvenience.

-------------------

Poking his head in, he saw the demon woman standing in the same exact spot as before. Still wearing that unsettling smile.

He mimicked it with a smile of his own, albeit more in the realm of fearing for his life than friendly.

“Hello. Bonbon was it?” He walked in, confident, if you don’t notice the stiff arms firmly stuck to his abdomen.

“Bom— bon.” She corrected cheerily.

“Right.”

Viorel needed to give it to her straight and to the point. No needless padding to lessen the impact, just a simple ‘you’re fired but not really because you were never hired in the first place’ type of deal.

He put on his best sympathetic face forward; a pair of upturned brows and scrunched up lips usually does the trick.

“So, unfortunately my sister has changed her mind and we won’t be needing your services anymore.”

That dismissal seemed forward and clear enough. If she doesn’t try to sue, put a curse on them or mock him outright then it was already a win on his book.

When all that greeted him was silence and that same eerie smile, he added a polite
“I’m sorry.”

Bombon doesn’t stop her relentless staring.

In his urgent need for a nice nap and a glass of cocktail, he hastily motioned to the half opened door.

“Uh— I’ll be happy to walk you out, or…”

He cast a surreptitious peep to the faintly flower smelling hell mark on his expensive marble.

“Should I reactivate your circle?”

More grin-filled staring, the minute movements of her flitting pupils her only tell.

“Order you a cab?” He offered, uselessly.

This time he noticed that her smile was becoming more familiar in nature, a smile he has seen before, recognising its unpleasant tilt.

She looked smug. An amused smirk he’s been privy to since he’s joined his first elbow-rubbing with the upper echelon.
She found him entertaining, was looking down on him like those preppy monkeys in suits usually did. Like he was something to pity or cast away. Like his silent presence in their vicinities was their doing and not his own choice. Like he wasn’t a man, but a piece of bad meat no one wants.

An irked frown soured his demeanour.

Bombon might unnerve him, she might intimidate him, but no one in hell, heaven nor earth is going to look at him like that without him shoving it right back to their mangy faces.

Viorel rolled his eyes and walked back to the door. He shoved it further apart with a push of his hand.

“In any case, you can’t stay here. I’m sure I don’t have to repeat myself, because I could not be any clearer—“

The open door he presented slammed shut.

There was no wind, no movement from his fingers.

Viorel might have forgotten in his indignation, that though he might dislike her presence, the way she carries herself, and how wild she looked, she was still something he doesn’t understand. Someone he would have only met in his head, introduced by Edgar Allan-Poe, or R.L. Stine.

She was unnatural, strange, and therefore, dangerous.

Wide almond eyes flickered to Bombon, her smile had shrunk into a small, indulgent grin.

Nothing about her had changed; she was still on two long legs, breathing. Yet somehow, the air around her seemed bigger, darker and it made him want to put more distance between them.

Viorel stares at her and she stares back.

It was a terrible western standoff, only Viorel felt like he was lacking a gun.

His mind became an empty vacuum of anticipation. Viorel was numb, and he didn’t know why the unfamiliar knot in his stomach and sweat behind his neck was telling him he needed to run.

Then her feet left the ground.

His back slammed itself against the door, he doesn’t know if that impact is what caused him to lose his breath or if the demon floating leisurely towards him is.

Viorel couldn’t call for help, or even start cursing like a sailor. His throat felt stuck.

Bombon stopped, now quite literally looking down on him. Wild, sunset stained hair flicked and swirled behind her, that golden scarf lashed on the ground, the way it moves almost makes it look alive.

Then she spoke.

“Do you know how demonic contracts work, Viorel?”

Her gaze told him he had to answer, but he could only shake his head, hoping that his pressed up body will eventually phase through the door.

A long, nailed hand grips his shoulder, Viorel jumps from the sudden touch.

She was tugging him forward, and like an ox, he followed where the arm pulled. He recognised his stand in this situation was not one with power. No matter what he says, the hand leading him further into the ballroom told him he has to stay and listen.

“Well, our contracts work like any other you might be familiar with. Except ours surrounds the magic of fair trade. We fulfil someone’s wish, they give us something of the same value in return, simple.” The explanation still made its home in his head, despite how little he was aware of his own movements.

She reached into her cropped suit to pull out a familiar ringlet of brown hair tied with red thread at the severed end.

All at once, that single lock sobered him up to the point of stomach churning trepidation.

He made a mental note to give Nina a hard smack with how much trouble she's putting him through if he manages to leave the ballroom fully limbed.

He can handle being best man, facing fussy in-laws or difficult caterers won’t drive him mad. But dealing with demons— wedding planning demons in fact, is a throw above his nonexistent pay grade.

“Your sister gave me some of her hair as payment for a contract.”

There was a pregnant pause as the amusement melts from the suspended demon’s face.

“But she hasn’t signed it.”

He feels like a poor street rat facing a mob boss whom his impulsive street rat sister owed money to.

Figures, the higher ranking loons above the moneybags would be demons.

Her upper body lowers until her profile was nearly lined perfectly horizontal to his face.

Viorel has never felt this small in the entire time he has spent being a 30 year-old. She made him feel like a child again. And not in a good way.

“Do you know what happens when you make a contract and decide not to sign it?”

He had difficultly breathing, let alone speaking. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, his spit acid and his throat a crumbling pillar of confidence now a wisp of choked up fear.

But she urged him to reply, as if not answering her would be a wrong answer in on of itself and he’d pay terribly for it.

“Go on, guess.” Her voice told his head she was patiently waiting, but her eyes told his heart she was readily preparing her claws to cut him into ribbons if he remains silent.

“You—“

Those claws landed right on his chest, its dull points digging through expensive fabric and letting his skin feel the threat of pain that he somehow knew not only his physical body would be subjected to.

“I rip out their soul.” She hisses.

That same hand dragged upwards and curled into itself, leaving a sharp forefinger to prick underneath his chin, forcing him to tilt his head and swallow a gulp.

“So if you want me to go back to hell,”

The finger retreats the same time her other hand holds up Nina’s lifeline.

She was smiling again. A smile he only knew how to describe as diabolic.

“I’m taking your sister with me.” 

Bombon lands back on her feet, giving him back his 4 inch advantage that he doesn’t acknowledge, as it doesn’t matter.

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Your choice, apparently.”

Viorel felt like the spotlight was now on him, a microphone readily placed in front of his lips, an invisible crowd expectantly sitting at the edge of their seats. He needed to speak, and not only because she was letting him. He could see his sister lined up in a death row before the merciless executor, waiting for his final verdict.

Nina’s life depended on his decision. She put Nina’s life up to his decision.

As much as he wants to follow Nina's lead; throwing caution in the air and let his silly sister be dragged into the nether realm, just to teach her a lesson and have her apologize, he's not sure the demon would let go after she does.

Maybe he could have Bombon take Jasper instead.

Or one of Nina's friends.

Or maybe even that snobby lady who snatched up the last slice of cheesecake at the bakery two weeks ago.

Viorel sighed. There was no winning. He couldn’t make Bombon leave without his sister.
The only thing he could do now was an option he disliked even entertaining before.

He has to be responsible.

“What if I paid for her?”

Bombon diverted her temporarily distracted attention from a mirror back to him.

He was getting sick of that sympathetic smile, like she felt sorry that he was completely clueless and out of his depth in this sudden realm of insanity.

“She didn’t agree on a monetary price.”

The fifth time he was given a near heart attack that day came from the sudden explosion of light and confetti beside his ear.

The loud bang rung for a few moments before he finally comprehended the existence of a floating piece of paper.

He reluctantly took the parchment and read the short sentence written right in the middle of the page.

In exchange for a wedding of their dreams, the client agrees to give 10 years of their life to the demon in service.

Below it was a long signature pane. Still empty.

Piecing together what she had explained in that little gravity defying trick, he could conclude the best path to take from staring intently at the mostly blank contract.

“If I sign this, you’ll still plan the wedding… but Nina won’t have to pay her debt to you?”

The snap of her fingers nearly made him flinch. “Bingo.”

He took note of the sparse legal terms provided by this sham of a deal. Why the hell would Nina exchange 10 years of her life in service to a beast for a few hours of fun. A wedding would only be worth 5 years, at best, in his opinion.

But it doesn't matter if it's 10 or 5 years. Spending just 5 minutes inside an enclosed space with Bombon was already an extensive cardio. Not even the healthy kind.

“In service, as in I’ll be working for you.” He assumed.

She only shrugged, once again reminding him that this was not as much of a big deal as it is a minor setback for her.

‘’Consider it a couple favours that you owe me.”

Viorel watched Bombon continue her previous snooping; her curious steps and fascinated gaze made her look tame. She threw her head back and openly marvelled at the painted ceiling. Her tiny ‘ooo’s more suited for an innocent airhead than a devil’s spawn.

The man shook his head in disapproval of his free hand’s reluctant journey into his inner suit pocket.

Nothing to it.

He fished out a fountain pen.

It’s just a wedding.

His breathing evened out as his wrist guided an inky point to loop his signature.

And a couple of years.

Bombon kicked invisible dust from underneath her heel, momentarily distracted by the shiny reflection beneath her.

“So, what do you say, pretty boy—“

A hand holding out a scroll cuts her off when it appears to her left.

She turned her head and her contract was handed to her.

The redhead gently took the rolled up paper as Viorel folds his arms over his chest, the very picture of confidence and class he wasn’t just a minute ago.

If he was going to put his life on the line for his sister's wedding, he'll do it with his own terms.

“For now, I work with you, not for you. I’ll be overseeing your wedding planning, see if you’re as good as your rates.” He continued as she looks over his elegant penmanship.

Viorel’s eyes demanded attention and his proud stance rivalled the lofty energy of her own exuberant gait.

She found it the tiniest bit impressive.

“You can take a piece of my hair,”

Ah, yes. That reminds her.

“But not from the side because it has to be symmetrical, otherwise—“

He was made aware of a foreign presence invading his personal space by the bright colour of their eye-catching being.

Blurry shades of lilac and chartreuse and suddenly Bombon was back where she was the first time they met.

Their noses were scant inches apart and instead of whacking her face away or stepping back, Viorel stood still.

Nothing had made sense so far, so it was only natural that because she didn’t look like she was going to eat him anymore, he felt like it was fine to stay within biting distance.

He was…

Sort of…

He doesn’t want to say entranced.

More like, pinned with fear.

Her hand appears in his peripherals and then it slinked towards his forehead.

After a light snip! And a feeling of something soft brushing across his temple, a paintbrush like material was presented before his eyes.

Except that was his golden hair bunched between the fingers of a manic monster.

She had a sweet grin looking like it dripped poison. Waving 10 years of his life like a gift-shop trinket.

“Pleasure doing business with you.”

-------------------

Bombon lets Viorel leave with a sane mind.

It wouldn’t do to have the better half of her retirement plan already going barmy before she’s had her fun.

The demon sauntered gaily towards her summoning circle.

It was actually kind of well made.

Very decently located, too. She’s appeared to worse places, and a glimmering, grandiose ballroom was definitely not one of them. She had been on a good mood partially because of that.
Because not only was her prospective client rich but they were insane enough to do the summoning inside their own home.

The ludicrous ones were always her favourite to work with.

With two stomps of her heel in quick successions, the drawn diagram along with every candle and pieces of streamers vanished up in smoke.

Her eyes caught sight of her favourite colour and Bombon swiftly snatched a single object from the disappearing orchestra of black magic.

She holds up the lavender stem. Bringing it closer, she sniffs its pleasant scent.

Such a sweet, violet flower.

“My favourite.” She hummed.

The flower catches fire atop her palm, its petals turned black and golden.

Just how she likes them.