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“Please. I do not 'watch porn.' I am attempting to assimilate,” he counters calmly. “I’ve been studying the Passionate Plumber archives for the last hour. Your internet suggests that if I wish to properly seduce a mortal, I must first learn the art of home maintenance.”

“It’s porn, Malachi! It isn't real!” I hiss, lunging for the device. “Turn it off. Turn it off right now!”

“You find it offensive?” He shuts the laptop with a click, cutting off a particularly loud moan. “Interesting. Yet it appears to be the primary pastime of your civilization—digital voyeurism. You throw seasoning at my face like a medieval peasant, yet you cannot bear to look at the mechanics of your own biology? How else am I supposed to seduce you if I cannot do research?”

“I don't know! Read a fucking romance book!” I shout, pointing at the stack in the corner. “Something written by a woman, preferably—no! Why am I even saying that? Why am I having this conversation with you? You are not supposed to be seducing me at all!”

The embarrassment curdles, thick and bitter, instantly turning into blind, white-hot rage.

“Exi!” I shout, voice trembling as I back up, finding my place on the phone screen again. “EXI!”

“Oh, we’re doing bad Latin now? You’ve gone from a summoning ritual to pantry-based witchcraft. Stunning progress, Eden. Truly. What’s next? Flour? Paprika? Are you going to dry-rub me back to Hell?”

“Exi!” I scream again, my voice cracking under the weight of my own hysteria.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Exīre,” he corrects with a sigh. “It’s an imperative. But yes, by all means, keep butchering a dead language. It’s a very effective deterrent.”

“Just—just stay back, and leave!”

“Oh, good. More volume. That’ll do it.” He stands slowly, shaking the rest of the salt from his hair like it’s nothing but a mild inconvenience. Then he turns his back on my eleven p.m. exorcism and wanders down the hallway toward my bedroom, completely unbothered by the fact that I am currently trying to cancel his existence.

“Hey! I’m not done!” I scramble after him, dropping the salt and snatching up a glass of water from the side table. “Discede! Discede! In nomine—fuck—in nomine sanctorum! Spiritus malus, egō tibi… prohibeo? Fugio? Oh for fuck’s sake—PROFICISCERE!”

I swing my arm and unleash the glass of water in one big explosion that crashes down the back of his head, soaking into his hair, sliding in rivulets down the length of his spine.

Slowly, he peels the wet butterfly vest away from the back of his ribcage with a sickening slap. Then he drags a hand through his dripping hair and flicks a cool spray of water right at my face, making me flinch and stagger back, the glass slipping from my fingers.

“Did you just try to baptize me?” he asks. “That’s the second time you’ve drenched me in twenty-four hours. At this point, Eden, we’re bordering on a kink.”

He nudges my bedroom door open with his shoulder and drifts inside, hooking two fingers into the handle of my dresser. “I wonder what you’re hiding in here?” he muses, pulling the drawer open with a slow wooden creak. “Weapons? A relic? Perhaps a sacrificial blade I could play with?” He pauses, his golden eyes scanning the contents. “Not quite the occult arsenal I was hoping for, little summoner.”

“Get off my things!” I yell shakily, hovering on the precipice of total internal combustion.

“You’d prefer me all-natural, huh?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder as he shoves his wet trousers down his hips.

“Oh my—! Stop—what—stop it!” I whip away from him, palms plastered over my eyes so hard I see stars.

“You know,” he says casually over the rustle of fabric, “I think you’d be pleasantly surprised if you just had a little peek. It’s a very impressive landscape.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Tragic,” he sighs. “Mortals spend so much time obsessing over bodies, yet you panic when given the opportunity to gawk at an absolutely perfect one.”

I should be halfway down the fire escape by now, but my legs feel like they’ve been filled with lead. I’m feverish, my stomach’s rippling again, and my skin feels three sizes too small.

A solid hand lands on my shoulder, turning me back to face him with a gentle tug. “I’m dressed now, your fragile porcelain majesty.”

I drop my hands, but the second my eyes lock onto my cartoon kitten vest and pajama shorts, the sheer absurdity of it sends me into a tailspin. I spin on my heel, making a beeline for the door. I don't even get two steps before the air shivers, and he’s suddenly there, blocking the exit like a wall of silver.

“Jesus Christ!” I hiss through gritted teeth, my hand flying to my chest to keep my heart from leaping out.

His smile sharpens, the light catching the glint of his fangs. “Do not say that miscreant’s name in my presence, you foul-mouthed creature.”

“What is wrong with you?” I snap, completely and utterly bewildered.

“A lot,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, smoothing down the kitten across his chest. “But we can unpack my personal issues after we deal with this exorcism bullshit—and exactly what’s going to happen to you if you try the whole 'oops-let-me-flee' routine again.”

“What the fuck are you even on about?” I ask.