Page 25

One Hell of A Deal:

A Monster Brides Romance

Grace Mirchandani

A Monster Brides Romance coming in June, 2025

Chapter One: Max

I should be crying . After all, I was his best friend. The truth is, we were more like brothers. We were so young when we met that I don’t even remember the day. But Garrett Banks has always been the only constant in my life, so it would only make sense for me to shed buckets of tears at his funeral. But I can’t.

When I glance over at his Cassandra, his gorgeous new, and quite pregnant wife, I’m too preoccupied with the odd circumstances of his death to feel anything other than bewildered curiosity. Of course, I am angry too. But that’s an emotion I am well-practiced at burying.

The church is packed, everyone in their suits and dark dresses, almost all of whom are Garrett’s business associates. Other than Cassandra, I doubt anyone here knew him or loved him, like I did. His mother did, but she chose not to come to the service. It was all too much for her, and although I think I understand, her absence makes me sad. Just not sad enough to cry.

As the minister drones on and on about Garrett’s accomplishments, I drift away. My mind replays the night before his wedding on a constant loop.

We were both a little drunk. The night before his wedding had been jam-packed with a formal rehearsal dinner where we all downed a lot of expensive wine. It was followed by a smaller group of us guys hopping around from bar to bar for several hours to celebrate his last night as a free agent.

We behaved ourselves, which I found a little disappointing. Maybe as the designated best man, I should have ordered a stripper-gram to show up in his penthouse, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’ve always thought the whole bachelor party thing was borderline disgusting.

He didn’t seem to mind the fully clothed conclusion to the evening. At least he never complained. It was around two in the morning when the last guests stumbled out, leaving the two of us on the balcony, finishing our cigars.

My buzz was finally subsiding, and I stared out over the New York City skyline, in awe of how far we had both come. “Can you believe all of this?”

He snorts and puts out the cigar in his whisky glass and nods. “We’re definitely a long way from the Sliver.”

Our old trailer park, crammed between two state highways, was a hell I was glad to escape. “Thanks to you. I was military-bound when you offered me the job. I owe you everything.”

“It’s a shame it all comes with a high price tag.” He runs a hand through his dark mop of hair, and his brow is furrowed.

“What do you mean, man?” I say with a chuckle. “You are about to marry an absolute gem. She’s a damn ten in every way, man. You live in one of the best penthouses in the city, are president of a billion-dollar marketing firm, and you aren’t even thirty years old. Your life seems damn good to me. What am I missing? Are you having cold feet?”

“She’s pregnant, you know,” he says in a low voice. I’m taken about by his lack of joy in the announcement. He’s always said that he wanted to have children. He wanted to give kids a stable family that he never had. “We found out a few weeks ago.”

“That’s amazing, Garrett. Congratulations.”

He turns to face me, and his eyes are stretched wide, and he’s wringing his hands. I’ve never seen him so unraveled, and I find it confusing. “It’s not, though.”

“What?” I say, searching his face for any clue as to what he’s working through. “You are having a child with your new wife. You get to have your perfect family that you always wanted. How you say that isn’t amazing?”

“Because I won’t live long enough to see him born.”

Without intention, a laugh erupts nervously from me. He’s going through something. I figure it must be the booze, but I’m not too concerned. He’s being crazy, but as his best friend, I’m determined to get to the bottom of this. “I think you are out of your mind, man. You look as healthy as a damn ox to me. Is there a hitman after you that I need to know about?”

He doesn’t answer, but starts to pace, wringing his hands maniacally. His silence is beginning to freak me out. “Garrett? Answer me. What aren’t you telling me?”

He stops pacing a couple of feet in front of me and stares into my eyes. I don’t remember him ever looking so serious. He opens and shuts his mouth several times before he finally starts speaking. “What I am about to tell you sounds unbelievable, but I promise it’s the one-hundred

percent truth, and you need to believe me.”

He has never lied to me before, which I am aware of, so I nod, intrigued by this madness. “Go on.”

He takes a deep breath, rambling as he exhales. “Almost ten years ago, on the graduation trip that you couldn’t go on because you had the flu, I made a deal with a crossroads demon. All of this,” he says, flailing his arms and spinning in a wobbly circle, “was in exchange for my soul.”

I think he may need to see a doctor. “I think perhaps you’ve had a bit too much to drink tonight, buddy. We really should be getting you inside and...

“I’m not fucking lying Max!” His shouts startle me. He’s not one to yell. Ever. “Now listen to me. This is important.”

Unsure of what else to do, I deflate. “I’m listening.” I’m scared for his mental health, but at the very least, this should be entertaining. He waves me inside, and I follow him to the living room in silence, taking a seat across from him. He looks so tired. Worn.

“Now I get how ridiculous this all sounds. Really, I do. But I need you to know, and I’m going to need you to promise me something too.”

“Let’s hear the story first,” I say, fighting to remove any trace of condescension from my voice. I owe him at least that.

“We never should have stopped in Jackson,” he groans. “But we had been driving for so long and needed a break. Our plan was to hit the road early and be in New Orleans by noon. We pulled into the city around midnight, and Frank had the brilliant idea to try out our fake ID’s before finding a room for the night. We drove around for a while, finally settling on a little hole-in-the-wall called Marlow’s Place. It was dark and in the shadier part of the city, but for whatever reason, we all thought our greatest odds of success would be there.”

“Did they serve you?”

He laughs. “We didn’t even have our asses in the stools before the bartender started shouting at us, telling us to get our kiddie asses out of there before he called the cops.” He pauses, smiling and staring off, lost in the memory. But his joy quickly fades. “We should have just gone straight to a room then, but you know how the guys were. They didn’t plan to give up so easily. On our walk back to the car, this tall, skinny, creepy guy approached us and said he knew a place about twenty minutes out of town, where they serve anyone and everyone. Caught our attention. Mikey

pulled out the map and he pointed to the intersection and said we would recognize the place by the blue lights on the porch.”

I cringe, perplexed at their naivety. I don’t know where his story is going, but there isn’t a chance in hell that I would have trusted some weirdo sending us to the middle of nowhere.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says, nodding slowly. “How could we be so stupid, right?”

“Right.”

“We planned to drive out there and scope it out. We would only go in if it looked safe.”

“Still, sounds pretty dumb,” I say, shrugging. “But go on.”

“It turned out to be a cool place. They never even asked to see our IDs, the beer was cheap, and the atmosphere was super chill. Blues on the stage...pool table and darts...people dancing...it was a great vibe. A couple of hours passed, and while chilling at the bar, we had been talking to this fat dude with wonky eyes. He was funny and wanted to hear all about our life in Pennsylvania. We told him about the Sliver, how tough things were, and our lack of any hopeful

plans for our futures. Looking back, it was a bit odd how curious he was, but none of us thought much of it at the time.”

He falls quiet again, and I wait patiently for him to find his next words.

“That’s when he started telling us all about a supposed ancestor of his, the famous jazz musician, Robert Johnson. Told us how he became a musical virtuoso by making a deal with the devil at the crossroads. Then he said we could do the same thing and have the best life we could ever dream of. I am paraphrasing, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeat.

“We asked him if it was a true story, then why didn’t he make a deal himself? He said it was because he would never mess with anything to do with the occult.”

“Sounds smart to me,” I say, shrugging.

“Once again,” he says, shaking his head, “hindsight is twenty-twenty. Mikey and Frank were smart enough to shrug the man off, but I was glued to his every word. You have to understand, I had no options. No money for college. No prospects for any kind of stable future. Shit, I couldn’t even get into the military because of my damn knee. Plus, I was slightly intoxicated, so there is that.”

“So, you actually tried to summon a demon?” The words coming out of my mouth are

perplexing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking it was worth a try. I hated what my future looked like, and if I had an opportunity to make it better, I was gonna take it.”

I raise my voice, annoyed by his carelessness. “I can’t believe you tried to summon...”

“I did summon her,” he interrupted, and I snapped my mouth shut, frozen. “And she made a deal with me. Sealed it with a kiss, and poof, she was gone.

“Not that I believe any of this, but what was the deal?”

“I asked to be wealthy and successful in every endeavor. Work, love, health, everything.”

“Way to shoot for the stars.” I collapse against my chair, trying to absorb his nonsensical

story. “And what did you have to pay for this arrangement?”

“My soul. I’m allowed to enjoy my life for ten years, and then I am taken.”

“Taken?” I sit up. “Taken where?”

He looks at the floor, and his voice cracks. “To hell.”

My mind races. I’ve never heard such a wacko story in my whole life. Garrett’s always been so logical. There’s no way he can believe he made a legitimate deal with some kind of demon. Surely, his success has been from luck or being in the right place at the right time.

“Garrett, I’m sure your current success has more to do with hard work and luck than some drunken deal you think you’ve made. Maybe you believed in it so much, you made it all happen. You know, like a placebo effect.”

“I’ve grappled with that for years, Max.” He exhales a loud breath. “But the deal was real. And I am running out of time.”

I scooch closer and lean in. “How do you know?”

“Weeks ago,” he says slowly, “I started to dream of hellhounds coming for me. It is so real. It’s like I can feel them scraping at my skin.”

“But those are only dreams,” I say, not sure if I’m worried more about his supposed demon deal or his mental sanity.

“Yeah, well, the last few days, I can hear them while I am awake.” He stares me hard in the eyes, and his face is painted in terror. “They’re coming for me, Max. And there is nothing I can do about it.”

We sit quietly for several minutes. I don’t know what to believe. I’m beyond tired, and this whole thing has been a new level of outrageous. My head spins, but I’m too perplexed to sort it out. I decide it would be best to sleep on it, hopeful for clarity after a good night’s rest. But then I remember something. “Say that I do believe you. Say you are going to be dragged to hell soon. What is the promise you need me to make?”

He looks at me warmly with a half-smile, but it doesn’t hide the worry in his eyes. “Just promise me that you will check in on my mom once in a while. I know she’s a mess, but you have been like a son to her, you know? Cassandra and my baby will be fine. She comes from a huge family. But my mom? It’s her that I worry about.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes, pulling in a deep breath. I don’t feel right catering to this nonsense, but in case this craziness is somehow real, I want him to find some peace about the whole thing. “I promise.”

A ringing bell snaps my attention back to the present funeral service. I stare at the casket, and a rage-filled realization bubbles within me. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I think Garrett must have been telling me the truth. It’s the only thing that makes sense at all, even though the thought of it seems too fantastical to wrap my head around.

He has never made up stories or lied to me. And he’s never had a creative imagination, so I don’t think he could have conjured up such a tale if he wanted to. But the deciding factor for me to buy into his story is that I don’t believe for one second that he threw himself off the balcony. Or that the claw-like scratches found all over his body happened on the way down.

I believe he made a deal with a demon and was dragged to hell. And I intend to make that demon pay.

I just need to figure out how I’m going to do that.