Parlor Tricks

Unlike what most people would think, Viorel does not like schedules.

Despite never-ending onslaughts of social gatherings and vague chores, his exceptional mental management made him be rid of physical reminders altogether. Not only were those set times too restrictive, the garish forms they took brings a sour taste to his picky senses; brightly colored sticky notes, vivid red markers and blaring alarm clocks.
Accepting his fate as corporate property doesn’t mean everything he does has to be meticulously arranged.

Instead of a to-do list that bores him to the brink of another midlife crisis, Viorel keeps his mind calm with an ‘organised freedom’ type of system that gets the job done.

Nina approached him the day prior, reminding him of a visit to the after-party venue which he has to sign off as the primary funder.

Viorel dislikes schedules, and he wasn’t too keen on spending time with his bullheaded sister after she stabbed him in the back, punched him in the face, and shoved him into a pit of gators.

Metaphorically, of course.

But he would gladly follow either or both if he could gain one full day without the mad interference of the demon clown that made the room across his her harrow den.

Immediately after her plate of French toast with avocado spread were cleaned off of the very last crumb, Nina was grabbed by the back of her collar and dragged towards their garage, her brother fast walking like his life depended on it.

Once locating a sleek, black, sports car, they took their respective seats.
The engine roared to life with a push of a button, its blaring sound scaring away the soft, mid morning embrace of their front yard.

Seatbelts clicked in and rearview mirror adjusted, Nina could barely warn him that they were missing a pivotal wedding planner before he reversed the metal carriage and sped out of their driveway without a single nudge at the brakes.

The metal gates automatically opened and closed behind them, Viorel sighing in relief when he saw the tall, wiry frame grow smaller with the distance, securing both their home and the promise of a normal day ahead.

Any complaints Nina voiced went ignored. They don’t matter, as long as one voice doesn’t pitch in and mock and best him with every—

“Where are we going?”

The devil was scared out of both siblings when a head pops up from the back seat.

Viorel’s scream screeched with the tires as his hands flung sideways and the car swerved wildly in the middle of a pebbled road.

Deft fingers took control of the steering wheel, forcefully turning it back to align, and in the next moment the car continued its steady cruising on the countryside terrain, like it hadn’t just threatened to maim the grassy hills with mud tracks and splintered fences.

Two, frozen humans clutching whatever was in their immediate reach like a lifeline, regaining stable breaths.

With a whirl of his head, Viorel shot a glass-breaking glare at their sudden passenger.

”What is wrong with you?!”

“You were gonna ditch me!” The demon crossed her arms, unfazed by his acidic tone.

Instead of having a repeat incident, this time from banging his head repeatedly against the car horn, Viorel chose to eat up anymore choice words she’s sure to throw back at him and focus on driving this joke of a group.

Nina flashes a weary but placating smile, folding her hands on her lap after wrenching them off of her seatbelt.

“We’re heading to the venue.” she supplies kindly.

Bombon perched her elbows on the front seats’ back rest, making herself comfortable in the gap between them.

“Sick. Can I come?”

A tense, silent second passed.

“Oh, wait, I already am!” she cackled and Viorel didn’t want to think about the fact that she had managed to weasel her way into every one of his plans, a very loud and colourful appointment in the middle of his mental planner, which is now decorated with stickers and glitter pens spelling out the date and time of his death.

                                                                                —

Surrounded by fresh grass and vast jade hills as far as the eye can see, you couldn’t help but let its serene void suck you in its warm glow and earthy scent.

Bombon breathed in deeply, greedily gathering the matchless feel of human air.

Unlike its warm and ashen counterpart from the fire pit that is her office, the upper world of the mortals supplied you with cool breezes that washes over your lungs and flows through the tips of your fingers. Nearly like you’re floating on air, or drinking mountain fog.

The outdoor space also housed a homely glasshouse just left of the main lot between the modest entrance building, and a mile of man made forest.

Glassy panes phased and reflected strings of sunlight, creating a platinum glow that that highlights its green insides.

“Should I phone some guys to do the tent?” The human girl asked, fishing a flat, oversized phone from inside her coat pocket.

Bombon pushed the oddly shaped device back.

“It's all taken care of, cutie. I know a guy.”

She held her shoulders, gently urging her to step away. “Why don’t you two look around while I give him a call.”

Nina noticed her brother entering the glasshouse and, though uncertain, recognised a chance for reconciliation if she ever saw one.

At least Bombon thought as much when she examines Nina trailing carefully after her brother.

A little girl always making a game of walking on his leftover footsteps; deep and familiar. But when he stops, she’d be forced to continue on her own, discovering that she wasn’t wearing any shoes and the ground was made of flesh-melting acid.

The demon blinked, now alone in the chirping meadow.

Well, whatever that thought meant, it wasn't her call to make.

Bombon goes to make a different kind of call by firstly looking for dead bugs and collecting dew water.

                                                                                —

“They're really pretty.”

Viorel returned from the nestles of his mind, temporarily filled with daffodil's, the spitting image of the one he was smelling.

His sister’s voice opened his eyes literally and to the attempt at amends she was trying to do, unmistakable from the tone of her voice.

“Vi, I never properly apologised.”

‘See?’ He nudged the daffodil's yellow petals with his finger.

Nina strangled the belt of her coat, staring intently at her brother’s head, something she couldn’t have done if he had been facing her.

“I should have listened to you. Things just fill my head and it gets hard to focus on just one, like they're all fighting for my attention and I'm always just — thinking, and wallowing.” She says as if it wasn’t the one thing that’s been the bane of his existence for years as her sole caretaker.

“I know it was sudden, and definitely unorthodox, and I don’t exactly have a good track record, but this time it wasn’t me being impulsive. I understand if you won’t trust me again, but I knew the consequences and—“

Viorel turned and advanced so suddenly, Nina nearly flinched at the anger her brother was pushing at her.

Consequences? Her life should not be classified as a mere consequence!

“You had no problem giving away time to be alive, on earth, with Jasper, me— the only family who’s ever cared for you, for a party?”

He was hurt, he was tired and he was scared.

Weeks of suppressed fear of whatever will happen to him the moment the last party guest leaves and the devil comes to collect his debt became annoyance at his sister’s irrational tendencies.

“I wouldn’t have died from a little assisting work, Vi.” That explains her lack of concern of his fate in the periwinkle hands of a demon. She must think he's replacing her on a company job and not replacing her soul in the chopping block.

Viorel looks away in frustration. Rarely has an argument with his sister ends with her winning and him relenting. It’s more of her crying and him relenting.

“I’m sorry.” Nina said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you.”

“I’m sorry you had to give up 10 years of your life for me.”

He could hear regret in the nuances of her thoughtful apology. But regret for summoning the demon or for not summoning the demon fast enough, he couldn’t tell.

“The fact of the matter is— you messed up, and I am very disappointed with your decisions.” Viorel said, knowing his tame words were still needles to his sister’s heart.

“You didn’t think that whatever doesn’t affect you could affect the people around you.”

Silent seconds tick by, she’s once again waiting for his final verdict.

Then he sighs.

“But I’m here for you.”

“Because in spite of your infernal overthinking and terrible choices that you… probably got from me,”

Viorel shrugs one shoulder.

“I feel like you still need—“

A soft embrace halts his little speech, looking down to find his sister hugging him with all the might of her tiny hands.

“—me.”

He uselessly places an arm around her shoulder, slightly conflicted with how the speed in which he forgave her for practically meddling with her life and the occult.

But he wasn’t that bothered at the moment, not with his sister nearly burying herself in his chest and hiding from the world behind him, like she always did.

But this time, instead of tucked into her middle, her arms surrounded his torso, going under his ribs and joined at his back. She was supporting him, in whatever way she can.

Viorel tightened his hold just a little.

“Just— don’t make as big of a mess next time you feel creative. Your brother’s in his 30’s, I don’t think I have anymore years to give.”

She nods with a sniff.

He shook his head, always with the waterworks this girl.

“Krad eht fo—“

An echo went past his ears.

Then another one, bits and piece of words and odd syllables wisp across the garden space and through the glass walls.

“Do you hear that?”

Nina scanned the air, as did her ears.

“Yeah. What is that?”

The air feels… full.

Something was changing, and it wasn’t the weather.

Viorel’s hair stood on end. This didn’t feel strange. It was almost familiar, in the sense that a significant event took place in a similar way.

Wait.

That repeating voice. The strange air and the faint smell of miscellaneous ingredients.

Oh, no.

—

“Krad eht fo tseab deggel thgie htrof emoc!”

Among the fluttering wind and swirling dead leafs, a glowing red puddle expanded in the middle of Nina’s wedding party venue.

Its creator stood in front of it, inviting it to be her bridge to the other world with incantations of ancient origins.

“Enhcara fo sregnif eht dna anehta fo ysoulaej eht yb dehtrib, klis morf deldnips!”

“Not again!” Viorel cursed every ancestor he’s ever had for their stupid crimes that gave him this ridiculous karma.

The swivelling magic dotting the air stopped the moment her words did.

All that’s left was a clear puddle the size of a small fish pond. It reflected the blue sky and three pairs of curious gazes peering into it.

Until another set of eyes gazed back.

Viorel held back his yelp and sprinted backwards with Nina held to his side and his heart nearly drumming out of his chest.

Like a nightmarish sprite straight from a dark mythology, a large man emerges from the water, hair dry and looking very wrong.

Not only was his skin sprouted with fur and striped black and brown, his face was a mesh of hair, and beady black eyes.

Eyes, as in he has eight of them.

The creature spots Bombon and gasps, two fluffy hands going over his mouth.

“Bombon!”

“Fenrir!” Their wedding planner welcomes with her arms wide.

Viorel looks to Nina, wary. She only shrugs.

Making his own assessment, this new character appeared somewhat human, so he hopefully won’t be too mentally detrimental to work with.

It wasn’t until the man stood up to his full height did they realise his bottom half was a gigantic, round abdomen, conjoining six long legs that jabs the ground as it ascends one by one from the gradually shrinking summoning puddle.

“Whoah...” Nina gasps in awe from behind Viorel’s shielding arm.

Bombon bumps fists with the spider demon.

“You look great, long legs!” He says

“You don’t, longer legs!” She jokes.

And that should have been an all clear — if he didn't always retch his guts out if he stares at a spider for too long.

Good thing Nina‘s blindness for the unnatural opposed his cautiously rigid body, the smaller girl pushing him forward.

“This is Nina, the bride-to-be.” their demon introduced, to the new demon.

“H-hello.” She waved, timid nervousness where there should be alarmed wariness.

“Oh, you are cute.”

Viorel glanced at a flattered, giggling Nina in horror.

“Behave.” Bombon scolded.

“And this,” Too many eyes diverted to him than he feels comfortable with.

“Is her brother—“

“Hey, I know you!" Fenrir pointed at him.

“You’re that blonde schmuck Bom likes to talk about in the group-chat!”

“Schmuck?” Viorel deadpanned.

“Group-chat?” Nina tilted her head.

“Koff—!” Bombon nearly chokes on air.

“Yeah, she went on and on about how fun you were to scare,”

“Uh, Fen—“ Bombon frantically nudged one of his legs while carefully avoiding eye contact with her employers.

“And that you sound like some snobby, old Victorian duke,”

She coughed loudly. “Fen!”

“I told her someone that coiffed always has some screws loose,”

The spider reared his body forward until they were nearly standing an arms length apart, far, far too close for the size of those massive fangs.

“What were you thinking anyway, spending years to work for Bor—“

In a show of power, Bombon punches one of the spider’s leg until it buckled underneath him, causing one side of his giant lower half to topple with a mere swing of her arm. The impact billowed dirt and dust, Viorel and Nina eyeing the brutal aftermath in shock.

Bombon had her back to them, breathing raggedly like a beast, hunched over with her talons flexed beside her.

After a deep breath, she spun around.

“So sorry about that!” She skipped over to them with her hands clasped in front of her chest, a customer service smile nervously plastered across her face.

“I told him he shouldn’t mention our deal since it’s a touchy subject for you, but he yaps a lot for a bug.” she barks that last part, directing glowing irises with painful promises to her supposed friend.

Fenrir seemed too amused for someone who's just received a threat. “Technically, I'm an arachnid, not a bug."

Regaining his 10 feet tall stance, the spider folded his arms. “What can I do for ya?”

The atmosphere converted easily back to business.

“We need a pretty pole tent. Tall, preferably made of spider legs.”

“The fancy option, gotcha.” Fenrir blinked three eyes in his version of a wink and walks away to immediately start with the assigned work.

“I’m sorry— spider legs?” Viorel raises a finger like an anxious student in a class full of harebrained freaks of nature.

“Spider legs.” Bombon affirmed with a nod.

The siblings pointed their attention to Fenrir, who was poking at the ground seemingly at random.

The last leg on his left found the perfect footing and jabbed through the grass, planting itself deep into the dirt.

You would think he was marking the ground for some sort of measurement.

Then he snaps that leg clean off.

He and Nina didn’t so much wince before it grows back after a coaxing shake; segments appearing like an elongating tube from the detached nub.

“Cool!” Nina marvelled like a child witnessing a fun fair attraction.

“How wide do you want it be be?” Fenrir asked Bombon all professional-like.

“Wide. Like a hotel pool!” She called back.

The continuous and calculated snapping of spider legs is starting to do something to his nerves; he could feel the cold sweat on the back of his neck and his feet itching to step on something.

Viorel stays in his horrified bubble as Nina ran ahead to watch Fenrir work up close, morbid curiosity etched across her face as she went after the arachnid.

“I don’t want to ask because I honestly don’t want to know, but how does that work?” He asked with unseeing eyes nailed onto the tall demon.

“When broken off, his legs turns to birchwood.” She answers simply.

He nodded emptily at that logic. “As they do.”

The youngest Diamanté pranced and twirled around the broken-off legs like she was fooling around with a friend and not… that. 

Though that bar is set far too low, as all her friends have brought her are heartache and disappointment. While their cursed guests managed to deliver her everything she’s ever dreamed of in the span of a few weeks. Now, he doesn't know if he prefers her company to be toxic, catty inheritors or fanciful, monstrous beasts.

“How tall do you think I am, bride-to-be?”

“Super tall?” Nina's cute head tilt did its magic, bringing laughter to the giant spider.

“She seems chipper.”

As absurd as this situation was, he was inclined to agree with her. “She ought to be."

Tilting his stare to the side, his entire body froze like it had been dumped by a bucket of cold water, but instead of water, it was a flurry of flower petals and sparkling cider at the sight of a proud smile the demon woman had on. The smallest scrunch of her nose and a big smile, creating a similar effect as the one he saw at the silkworm's shop. No one's expression has ever given him this big of a whiplash, like it mattered an abundance to him how she felt when half the time, he doesn't know what she's thinking.

That feeling lasted all 5 seconds once he noticed that for once, he could. The high rise of her brows and the imbalance in her lips looked too much like a satisfied smirk.

She looked proud.

Not proud of him. No, she looks proud of herself.

Like she had predicted everything that's happened so far and its all a part of her grand plan. Was she responsible for Nina's happier mood? Maybe. But that doesn't mean this upwards spiral in their day to day lives was solely because of her. Viorel knew it wasn't, because he had to consume twice as many wine he had to ignore the whirlwind of crazy that's inching towards him every second he thinks of Bombon and the trails of wild spectacles behind her.

If she thinks she can make that face and stay quiet as if she has the upper ground, after scaring him nearly to death and mocking him in front of however many faceless demons, then she had another thing coming. Particularly his bruised ego.

He wasn’t born and bred in a den of hungry wolves to grow up into a chicken.

“What was her vision like?” He asked, enacting the start of a polite conversation.

She mulls with a hum.

“Ethereal, is what I’d describe it as.”

He nodded.

“It must be very convenient being able to see into people’s head.”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“Along with having an assistant that also works as an accessory.”

Her scarf bristled briefly behind her, as if complaining that it isn’t an accessory.

“He’s right.” She told it.

“And teleporting.” He added, as if nearly forgetting.

“Makes everything so easy.”

“But... what else can you do?”

Anyone with a peanut for a brain could notice the tone he was using. So it was no surprise when he felt her questioning stare warm his temples.

“I’m only saying that, if all you have are parlour tricks, what makes you special from, say, magicians,”

Viorel glances, making sure she knows exactly what he means when he says,

“Or clowns.”

The subtle furrow of her brows told him she was taking the bait.

“A clown can’t pull out a giant animal out of thin air.” She motioned to Fenrir who was doing a little messy Irish jig with Nina which he choses to ignore, because more importantly, he must have hit a nerve with the way her farce uncaring tone wavered.

“But magicians do.” He challenged.

Viorel was dragged in this situation against his will, and if he was to be at this demon’s beck and call for the next 10 years, he’d be sure to cash in some fun first. 

Bombon narrows her eyes.

"I'm a powerful demon from hell, I don't have to prove anything to you." Now this was interesting. It's the first time he's heard her sound annoyed since... ever. In the 5 weeks he's been subject to her presence, the range of emotions she displayed are limited to happy, maniacal, and sinister. Annoyance is new, and he's a bit gratified having fished it out of her.

"Well, this schmuck, isn't impressed." He knows it's petty, but the situation was just too right. It doesn't matter if he's slightly salty she's been talking about him behind his back like those other heirs did, he was aiming for a tiny gratification and he was going to get it.

Viorel, too caught up with his self-appraising thoughts that he blinked wildly at the change of height he was suddenly at the mercy of.

The violet turtleneck he had on was pulled down by the collar and he was forced to bend his torso within eye level of the demon woman.

Her eyes half lidded and smirk gone, he saw a different kind of look he never thought he would see in his lifetime.

"This schmuck looks too smug for someone who passed out when he saw me."

Coy.

A glimpse of a razor sharp row of teeth distracted his flittering pupils.

Viorel may be aloof, but when the proof was smack dab in front of his face, it was hard to dismiss it as an illusion of the mind.

She released her hold after what felt like hours staring into a pair of mischievous eyes that seemed to sparkle whenever they landed on him.
It didn't make sense, but he wasn't in a hurry to figure anything out either. 

                                                                                  —

Lunch came quite fast, considering Fenrir worked at the pace of a thousand men and finished half the poles by the time the clock struck eleven.

Viorel warily watched the spider demon crawl noisily into the forest, said to be looking for a meal of his own.

“What’s lunch for you hell folk?” He asks as they sat on a nearby wooden gazebo perched on a grassy high rise, overlooking the entire soon-to-be party venue.

Bombon shrugs, lazily leaning back on her arms.

“Eh, nothing extraordinary; sandwiches, fried chicken, the occasional unsupervised child.”

He was half certain she was joking, but couldn't help aiming a concerned glance at the woman.

“Kidding.” She drawls flatly.

Unbeknownst to the blonde, a troubling feeling has started churning inside her.
Known for her cool-headedness, the nearly sensitive response she gave the man was nearly never heard of. His petty comment should not have rankled, she should have been dismissive and cocky, not the other way around.

It seems that his putative predictability is a mistake on her part. Now he's managed to find a roundabout way to get under her skin and she wasn't very into that.

But with how acclimated he's been to her presence with how bold he became, she decided it was the right time to enact the first part of her plan.

“I heard you’re gonna be the one who walks her down the aisle?” She enacted the start of a friendly conversation.

“Undoubtedly.” He sounded indifferent. Good. Makes it easier for her to be blunt.

“It must be hard, letting go of your only close family like that.” Trained from years on the job, she easily diverted the topic naturally to the right direction.

“My parents are still alive.” He corrected, still very much blasé about this small talk.

But all it takes on her part, is a little feigned innocence.

“Oh? Well, where are they now?" Using any tone other than genuine curiosity and he would have caught on to her prodding. The quirk of her 'oh?' and timbre of her 'now?' made it impossible for him to suspect otherwise.

Viorel answers with only a bitter grit of his teeth. Just as planned.

She goes ahead and hooks him with her words, and everything else she left for his deep rooted sadness to fill in.

“Nina’s been with you for— years, right?”

He nods, still confident but with no more coherent verbal thought ready on his lips.

“And she’s going to leave soon.”

The lowering of his head urged her further.

“I can’t image how that feels.” Sympathy, the key to any human's trust.

“Aren’t you sad?"

Bombon continued, relentless.

“Angry?”

His eyes was losing focus, he was starting to see something faraway.

“Exhausted?”

“Don’t you feel like you just wanna turn everything back to the way it was?” She saw his body and posture lowering, slowly letting go of the weight and memories he put in so much energy and effort to hold and contain.

She slithered a falsely supportive hand on his shoulder.

“Back when you didn’t think of bad things?”

“Back when you were happy?”

Again, she continued to skin open his head, with the knife he held under her invisible hand. 

“I can help you.”

“With a single piece of paper, I can make it all okay.”

The grip on his shoulder urging mind games and bad feelings to spill. Bombon pulled herself behind him, a cruel puppeteer about to string a new puppet to her fingertips.

“I can make you feel good again.” She whispers.

She missed the way Viorel’s eyes cleared and widened, instead calling forth her powers to summon an empty scroll into her hidden hand.

“All you have to do is-“

The sudden twist of his head to her made her hand retract. Reminiscent of the car fiasco that morning, his terrified eyes, then glaring at her, now glowed with pupils blown wide.
What was that faint coloring on the bridge of his nose anyway? 

“Like… a dalliance?”

What?

Bombon didn't notice her lower lips lowering open, too focused on deciphering that look on his face. A bit fazed, she idly tried to remember what she said that might have—

“I can make you feel good again.” She whispers.

Images started attacking her head, of feathery touches and flushed cheeks and all of a sudden her face mirrored his own. Good thing she sobered up much quickly.

“Not like that!” Bombon slides her entire body back a dozen inches, raising both hands like she’s just been caught red handed. A gesture also copied by Viorel.

“Of course! No, I was only— I-I’m sorry.” He muttered, back straight as a board, hands stiffly clutching the fabric on his knees.

A deafening quiet weighted on both of them. 

Damn her and her eagerness.

Bombon glanced down at the roll in her hand.

But she was so close!

In a not so thought through decision, Bombon inched closer and tried a last ditch effort to save her excellent progress.

“Do you want to…?”

Viorel’s face exploded with a deep rosy blush so red, she half expected him to start producing steam.

He shot up to his feet.

“I-I think I hear Nina calling me.”

"I did?" Nina appeared from beside Bombon, having just returned with cool drinks in her hands.

Cornered and about to die from embarrassment, Viorel hastily gathered his leftover dignity and wordlessly marched away from them. Bombon watched him trip and stumble over a rock with a wry frown, the man tucking his head to his chest and disappeared behind hedged gates.

So much for progress.

Bombon’s loud, synth ringtone signals an incoming call. She pulls out a pink flip-phone from inside her cuff. Identifying the caller, she reinforced her will and sighed.

"I gotta take this." She said to Nina, moving away to edge of the steep hill.

Putting the phone to her ear, she greeted first, as was the rule. “Hey, boss.”

In another place and time, a clawed hand held a black rotary phone handset under the flickering icy glow of a blue fireplace.

“Bombon, how are things in the Diamanté estate?” a mellifluous voice floated from the other end. 

“Everything’s going great. The client is very compliant.”

A sense of pride sweeps over her taller stance and puffed up chest, examining Fenrir's handiwork below with a growing grin.

“I’m also working on an extra contract.”

“Really?” her boss sounded surprised, which is always a good sign.

“Yup. The last 20 years straight from the oldest scion.”

“The snobby one? Are you sure he’ll be useful?”

“With the money he has? Very.”

Bombon could almost picture her senior leaning gracefully on a velvet black armrest.

“Hm. How will you get him to sign twice?”

Even with that minor setback, she knew their relationship was developing, and she was counting on that to move her plan forward.

“Nothing could go wrong with some subtle persuasion.” She assured, determined to make this work.

The boss' approving hum was all she wanted to hear,

“Perfect. Looks like I’ll be signing your resignation letter sooner than I expected.”

Bombon ends the call, thumbing a lock of straw colored hair deep in the recess of her pocket.