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15

Rejected

Ambrosius

A mbrosius wasn’t a patient demon.

Not many demons were, given their impulsive nature.

Patience was for other creatures.

Vampires awaiting for the sun rise, or werewolves begging for the moon.

Demons weren’t like the other monsters, and rarely associated with them.

They tended to be too dependent on one another while demons were solitary, for the most part.

Demons didn’t trust one another anymore than they could trust other monsters.

No, Ambrosius had grown resentful of patience, the same way he had grown resentful of all the humans that came to his Antiquarium, day in and day out.

So, to say that he was out of patience for Gwendolyn was an understatement.

While he could pretend to understand her disdain for being tricked into a deal with him, Ambrosius was more offended at her denial of the contract.

It was apparent that Gwendolyn did not understand what it truly meant to be a warlock.

Not just any warlock, but one for him.

Yes, there were some unappealing aspects to the work, Ambrosius could admit to that.

However, there was so much she wasn’t aware of—all of which he had listed in that scroll.

Ambrosius had felt her fingers on the old metal when he had given it to her.

Felt her fingers gingerly touch the parchment long after she had vanished and was no longer within his sight.

Ambrosius had labored many nights to create that scroll case, infusing it with his essence.

He had sliced layers of his skin away to weave that parchment, enduring the pain of each wound with awful delight.

He had painstakingly written every detail she needed to know with an inkwell filled with his own blood …

only for her to reject it.

That tiny, branching web tethering her to him was thin.

Weak enough that Ambrosius doubted it would ever crystallize into something more solid.

It would continue to wither if Gwendolyn didn’t start cooperating.

But no, she had to behave like a brat .

She had to take all of his wonderful gifts and bury them far from her, like a child leaving their toys at the playground.

At least Ambrosius thought Gwendolyn had buried them.

He couldn’t see her, but he had distinctly smelled the scent of musk and dirt in his nostrils.

A tiny thing that alerted him to her activity.

Ambrosius was surprised she hadn’t tried to cast the items into flame.

Gwendolyn seemed the type to burn things, given her temper.

Though, perhaps that had been something else Ambrosius had underestimated .

It had been insulting enough that Gwendolyn had tried to leave the doll behind, but the fact that she had tried to return the doll at all had been a blow.

Ambrosius was not human, despite his human-like body.

He didn’t think or even feel the way humans did, but he could not deny that his ego had been impacted by her refusal.

Both insulting and horrendously delicious.

In some ways, Ambrosius was proud of her.

Not many humans faced demons and kept their sanity.

Most of them fell to the despair of seeing his true face, becoming broken shells after he took a bite.

Honestly, Ambrosius had been gracious in ensnaring Gwendolyn to his cause.

He had chosen to ease her into it—something he hadn’t needed to do—versus displaying his full power to her outright.

Another miscalculation on his part, as Gwendolyn had essentially declared war on him.

If Gwendolyn was going to behave poorly, then perhaps he ought to take on a more hands-on approach.

But in order to be hands on, I need her to finish that doll .

He hadn’t lied when he told her the strange phenomenon she had been experiencing was not entirely of his making.

Yes, he had given her a push, but it was exactly as he said, just a push.

Whatever supernatural or demonic experiences that lay before Gwendolyn were entirely of her own making.

Ambrosius doubted that Gwendolyn thought that way.

In her mind, he was truly an enemy.

Ambrosius didn’t necessarily disagree with that way of thinking.

Demons were not friendly with humans any more than a human was friendly with any demon.

Ambrosius also detested most humans on any given day.

Every single useless soul that walked into his Antiquarium was yet another reminder as to why Ambrosius was there in the first place.

All self-involved in the acquisition of an object, and oblivious to the real nature of his Antiquarium.

Even now, as a familiar man burst into his antique store, Ambrosius felt disgust.

He hadn’t bothered to wipe his feet on the welcome mat, the only reason Ambrosius had one was for that single purpose.

“You have to take this back!” the man said, slamming a golden, digital wristwatch onto his register counter.

Lot 391 shined beneath the lights of the antique store, looking much newer than it had the day it left.

The human, on the other hand, looked like hell.

Or more accurately, he looked like he had been through a hell of his own making.

The same man who so boldly came into Ambrosius shop several days prior, only to leave supposedly empty handed.

Both Ambrosius and the Antiquarium knew this man had taken Lot 391 that day.

They had allowed him to do so willingly.

Still, Ambrosius had seen this kind of soul many times before.

Had seen the same script play out decade after decade, century after century without fail.

And so, Ambrosius chose to play along.

“Hello, sir,” Ambrosius said with a plain smile.

“I see you’re back again. Is there something I can help you with?”

The man looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

Which Ambrosius knew to be true, not just because of the redness of his eyes or the dark circles underneath.

He looked sallow, sickly, and had a distinct aura of paranoia about him .

“ Look ,” the man said, out of breath, “You have to help me. You have to take this back!”

The man slapped the golden wrist watch again, as if trying to bury it into the countertop.

Ambrosius looked down at the item and feigned ignorance as he looked back at him.

Like he had told Gwendolyn, he wasn’t entirely responsible when it came to the strange occurrences one might experience with an item from his shop.

So, he felt no need to clarify.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I have never seen a golden wristwatch like this before,” Ambrosius lied.

“I feel that I would remember such a distinct item, as I have records for every single antique in this shop. I have no record of this one.”

Desperation and panic flowed from the man in a way that Ambrosius was also used to, though he didn’t quite understand it on a human level.

His more demonic self, on the other hand, was enjoying it immensely .

Ambrosius could already tell that the corruption of this man’s soul was on the cusp of harvest.

The man—becoming increasingly more frazzled—ran a hand through his messy hair.

“No, you have to listen to me! Ever since I got it from the store, strange things have been happening to me! Every time this watch beeps, something fucking weird happens!”

Ambrosius believed him, but he tilted his head and feigned more confused ignorance to the man’s plight.

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re having a difficult time right now, sir. But like I said, I have never seen this item before in my forty-four years on this earth,” another lie, but Ambrosius was certain his human form was approximately that old.

“But if you want, I can pull out the ledger, and we can go over it together.”

An empty promise.

Ambrosius knew that the ink that once listed Lot 391 had vanished the moment the item had left the Antiquarium.

He was in the process of placing the ledger onto the counter when the man broke.

“Look, do you want me to say it already? Fine, fine! Okay, I took this from your store. I stole this from your store right in front of you. Okay? And I need you to take it fucking back already!”

An admission of guilt was always good in Ambrosius’ opinion.

He appreciated brutal honesty from humans, as they so rarely gave it.

Though an admission of guilt under duress was not nearly as good as a voluntary one.

“Stolen? Well, that is a problem … however, as I’ve stated before, I have never seen this golden wristwatch in my store before. But even if I had, I’m afraid you don’t know about our store policy. To put it plainly,” Ambrosius continued with a cruel smile.

“All sales are final.”

“No, no, I didn’t pay for this! I stole it. I stole this! It’s not the same!” The man shouted.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t matter if the item was stolen or not. This item is yours now,” Ambrosius explained.

“And it will be yours for the rest of your life .”

The man cursed Ambrosius and vanished out the door as quickly as he could.

Yet another reason why Ambrosius detested humans.

Their misguided belief that they could run from their problems—just like Gwendolyn, who was still trying to weasel out of their agreement—this man was trying to escape his own fate.

But it didn’t matter .

Ambrosius stared at the golden wristwatch as it slowly melted away.

Wisps of its existence dissolved into nothing, like vapor.

While humans might have made a habit of running from their problems, their problems had no trouble chasing them.

The demon knew he would be hearing about the man’s death very, very soon.

If Ambrosius was lucky enough, his next customer would come in with a newspaper that they would conveniently forget on his register counter.

It was how Ambrosius had discovered exactly where he was.

Everett, Washington was a place that Ambrosius had never been before, but he wasn’t a stranger to the state itself.

It did help Ambrosius place where he was in the world, which brought a small amount of comfort.

If Ambrosius knew where he was, he knew where they were too.

And he knew that they were close .

He could sense them, the same human fools who thought they were so much better than the rest of monster-kind.

The ones who thought they could save humans from becoming monsters.

But that was something Ambrosius would have to put on the back burner for now.

What he really needed was for Gwendolyn to finish the doll.

For her to accept the gifts Ambrosius had given her.

As to how he would persuade her of such a thing was still elusive to him.

Emotions were out of Ambrosius’ wheelhouse.

He couldn’t remember what they felt like before, and even now, in a human body, they were vague.

Distant. What little familiarity Ambrosius had with them were the emotions most monsters were familiar with.

I don’t have to understand how she feels , Ambrosius thought.

I just need to know what I can do to get her to be more agreeable .

Ambrosius thought about Gwendolyn as he went about the rest of his day.

He thought about her anger.

He thought about the small gap between her two front teeth.

He thought about how she slapped him, and ignored the small tremor that went through his spine.

He ignored the flare of pain that came from his hip, and he ignored his surroundings as he kept thinking about it.

About her.

Yet for all his thinking, impulsivity urged Ambrosius to act.

To stop thinking about everything and do something .

Because the truth was, Ambrosius was angry at Gwendolyn in a way he had not been anticipating at all.

And anger in a demon could easily bleed into hate, which made for a very messy professional relationship.

Ambrosius couldn’t afford for the contract to fail.

The Demon Pact had to succeed, or else he would have to wait for the next town to try again.

He was sick of fucking waiting.

Fine, he thought. If you’re going to behave like a brat, then a brat is how I will treat you, my bittersweet girl.

Ambrosius made a fist and placed it onto the countertop.