Victoria Schmidt was doing so well in life. She really was. She was weeks away from finishing her doctorate thesis on the Reanimation process (something only her dad had previously studied) and she loved her part-time job asa librarian while she finished her studies. She had awesome friends, a newly repaired, albeit complicated relationship with her emotionally distant father; and she was happy.
She didn’t need anyone or anything.
Miranda Vanderbilt; her old high school frenemy turned true friend, thought otherwise.
“Come on Vicky, you really -“ Miri paused as she was shushed by several library-goes, including Vicky, “you really need a significant other!” She finished in a stage whisper. “It is not fitting for the advisor of a princess to be unmarried.”
Vicky was not an official royal advisor, but arguing that with Miri always proved to be useless.
“I don’t need anyone Miri, and besides,” Vicky pulled a very heavy reference book down from a shelf and placed it in the cart she was pushing along, “I’m too busy with work and my thesis. I don’t have time for dating.”
Something in Vicky’s second-hand brain clicked. This was exactly how every rom-com starts; and she had just cast herself and the overworked and quirky lead! Crap; what if-
She was being ridiculous. Life wasn’t a movie.
Still...there were certain universal constants, like how it always rained after you washed your car, or how the dogpark was always trashed the night after a full moon.
“You’ve been saying that since LaVey turned you down for prom,” Miranda sniffed.
“Ah yes, please, let’s talk about that,”
Miranda glanced at one of her surfs, this one a green-tinted merman with wide, terrified eyes that sat too far apart on his head. He held up a laminated sign with the word sarcasm on it, and Miranda turned back to Vicky.
“You do not wish to discuss your most painful memory, I understand.”
Actually, her most painful memory was probably her dad giving her the talk. Puberty was very different when you had to actively sew your body together as you grew up. But, Miranda was trying.
“Thank you.”
“But I remain firm in my decision. You need a spouse.”
“Absolutely not.” Vicky gasped out only to be met with more shushing. She winced and continued with her work while Miranda trailed after her.
“Just because you and Amira are happy-“ Vicky still didn’t understand how that work. Fire djinn and mermaid princess seemed like a clash of interests to her, but her friends were happy, so she didn’t really have anything to say, “doesn’t mean I need a partner to be happy.”
“Of course you do. You need to get over LaVey’s brutal rejection and grow up,” Miri picked up a book from Vicky’s cart with two fingers and held it up like it had personally offended her, “stop hiding in your books and experience the real world.”
Vicky was pretty sure the merprincess had surfs who experienced the real world for her.
“You can’t dwell on the fact that he set you on fire forever, Victoria.”
“Great, we’re talking about this.” Vicky groaned. “He didn’t just set me on fire, Miri. We went on three dates, during which he told me - or pretended to anyway - his dreams and ambitions and secrets, and when I brought up prom, he lit me on fire and told me he’d rather fuck an iron maiden. In front of everyone. And laughed while he did it. It took my dad weeks to find matching arms and legs to replace my old ones.”
She was also two inches shorter now, had had to replace a lot of her chest, and the lower half of her face (finding a new lower jaw that fit without replacing the rest of her skull had not been fun) and her hair had been so badly singed she’d needed to wear it in a pixie cut for a year. She’d also graduated late, and had only been able to start studying at Spooky U a year later.
“Thanks for bringing it back up.”
Vicky stormed off with her cart, leaving a confused Miranda in her wake, glaring accusingly at her sarcasm surf as he held up his sign with trembling hands.
~*~
“Okay so before you say no,” Amira sat down in front of Vicky, iced coffee in hand, “Dahlia is definitely your type.”
“Amira...” Vicky started. She had agreed to coffee with Amira because her best friend had always been level-headed (despite her flaming hair) and fun to talk to. But apparently being princess-consort had rotted her brain.
“No really, she’s badass, she never shies away from a fight, she’s fucking amazing in bed - don’t tell Miri I know that -“
“She turned me down at monster camp because of her rivalry with Damien, Amira,” Vicky said softly, eyeing her own Americano with a lot less enthusiasm than when she’d purchased it.
“Ah. Well, what about- Vicky?”
“I don’t know why everyone is so determined to get me a date lately, but you need to stop, Amira.” Vicky rarely spoke like that. Years of her father believing that a challenging tone meant disrespect had honed her into a kind, quiet, and fairly subdued monster. But sometimes she needed to remind those around her that she had been born from electricity.
“Okay.” Amira said simply. And that was that.
~*~
That was not that. Miranda refused to let the subject drop, and kept hounding Vicky for her to finally find a life partner. She’d employed (a term used here loosely) a new serf who’s role was entirely to study Vicky and suggest ideal partners for her. This serf - a too-tall, too-thin, blue tinged mer with tentacles erupting from their back was quiet and studious - always making notes and following Vicky around endlessly, more terrified of Miranda than of Vicky’s own annoyance.
Brian had asked Vicky out again (for the third time in as many years) and even Milo, the reaper-slash-influencer had suggested they get coffee sometime. Vicky had no idea who had pulled those strings, but she was not about to see her ex after nearly four years, so she politely declined. (Milo had been another disaster, although they’d never treated her badly themself, but their online following hadn’t liked Vicky at all, and the 24/7 harassment on her social media had gotten to be too much.)
Finally, six weeks after Miranda had decided that Vicky needed a spouse, it all came to a head.
“I will fire you as my advisor if you don’t go on this date. My serf has determined the perfect person for you and I have planned everything.”
“Fucking-“ Vicky nearly threw her coffee cup at Miranda. She’d been in the middle of a breakthrough with her research and Miranda had just thrown her train of thought out the window.
“One date! One date, and you never bring this up again, understood?” Vicky stood, her bolts cracking with electricity.
“Yes,” Miranda said smugly. She sounded like she’d won. Her stupid pink lips tugged up into a smirk. Vicky felt something like lead settle in her stomach.
What had she just agreed to?
~*~
No one would tell her anything. Vera herself made a rare appearance for the occasion; “I owed Miranda a favour, I don’t actually give a damn about your pathetic love-life,” she’d made clear as she pulled Vicky’s closet apart and declared it “out of style and better off in a vat of boiling acid.”
Scott drove her to the venue; which...everyone liked Scott, but he and Vicky had never been close. The whole thing felt like a surreal high school reunion straight out of her nightmares.
“Miranda says you gotta be blindfolded,” Scott insisted as he tied the cloth around her head, despite Vicky’s protests. She was in an uncomfortably tight black and gold dress, strapped gold heels so high she couldn’t walk, and her hair was twisted painfully against her head in an elegant up-do, and she couldn’t sit comfortably in Scott’s spots car because of all of the above factors.
She tried to make small talk on the way to wherever, but all Scott wanted to talk about was how great her date was going to be tonight and how they’d see so much of each other once she and “his friend” hit it off. Vicky really hoped she wasn’t about to be set up with one of the wolf pack.
Finally, Scott helped her out of the car, up some stairs - okay, a lot of stairs - and into a building. He guided her into what she was pretty sure was a lift, and then into a room that was warm and smelt of lit candles. She was seated on a wooden chair at a table she could feel in front of her. She was pretty sure they were facing the doors.
“Alright, I’m going to stay with you until he arrives, but you have to keep the blindfold on. Miranda says he has to remove it; or your deal is over.”
He. So her date for tonight was a man. Vicky hadn’t actually dated a lot of men, but maybe - just maybe this would be good for her.
“It will be,” Scott answered her, making her realise she’d said at least the last part out loud. “My psychology course at Spooky U didn’t teach me much. But it did teach me that in order to face to future, you have to face the past.” Vicky’s blood ran cold.
What was Miranda up to.
She wouldn’t. Surely- no. No way.
Scott perked up, exclaimed “he’s here!” And left the room.
Vicky heard Scott exchange words with someone outside and was sure her heart would beat right out of her chest. Her stomach was in knots and she briefly contemplated breaking the rules and running for it.
Before she could rise out of her chair though, the doors opened.
“Well hello sexy,” Damien LaVey greeted her.
Vicky’s bolts sparked and her hands flew to her blindfold.
“Nuh-uh,” the demon tutted at her. “I’m supposed to do that, babe,”. Vicky heard the sound of heavy footsteps headed towards her, and had to force herself not to squeak.
Once upon a time, she’s earned Damien’s respect though boldness. She was still bold. She drew in a shuddering breath and waited.
She felt large, warm hands at her temples as they followed the blindfold back towards the knot at the base of her skull, under the fancy hair twist.
Vicky blinked to clear her vision; and there he was. Red and missing a horn, and grinning like he’d just blown up the cafeteria. She swallowed hard, but it did nothing for the lump in her throat.
“Hello,” she’d meant for it to sound smooth, like she wasn’t scared out of her wits. Like she wasn’t looking at the man who had broken her heart and her body. Like she didn’t want to tase him and then run away and never look back. Instead it came out softly - shyly. Like a girl on a first date with a stranger.
“Hello,” Damien returned, matching her soft tone, and wasn’t that a surprise. That Damien could even mimic softness. And then he spoke again, and his next words threw Vicky for a loop.
“Damien LaVey, at your service. And you are?”
~*~
He didn’t recognise her. He didn’t recognise her!
Vicky’s thoughts were running like someone had thrown a ball for the Wolfpack (apparently everything traumatic from Highschool was coming back to haunt her)
“Call me V,” she managed to choke out. How dare he not recognise her! Was this a Good thing?
He’d lit her on fire! And then he’d forgotten her? That ass!
“V, simple, I like it,” Damien grinned, and finally pulled back from her, and sat down in his own chair across from Vicky.
“I gotta say, when Miri called and asked if she could set me up with something, I almost said no, but it’s been a while since I got any action and-“ he stopped himself short. “No. That’s not right. I’m trying for honestly tonight. See how it works out. I want something like my dads have, and I figured I’d see if Miri had the answers she was promising me. And you; you V, are beautiful, and I’m hopeful for tonight.”
Honestly? Damien was being honest? He was looking for love like his dads? What- what the hell?
Vicky wanted to scream. This had to be a trick. The cruel sequel to her high school humiliation.
“What about you?” Damien asked.
Vicky said fuck it, and stuck to the truth.
“Well, if we’re being honest, Miri thinks I spend too much time working and hounded me until I agreed to this,” she laughed nervously, wishing her hair was loose so she could tug at it. She settled for tugging at the gold earring that hung from her left ear instead.
“Yeah? What do you do?”
This was...normal. First date kind of questions. Vicky leaned into it, into the familiarity of an awkward first date.
Except she and Damian had already had a first date.
She was definitely going to kill Miranda when this was over though.
“Librarian huh?” Vicky braced herself for the sexy librarian joke she’d heard too many times. “I have always had a thing for the nerdy ones,” he winked. “Not much of a reader myself - barely have time for it with the salon, really.”
“You’re a stylist?” She squeaked.
Damien nodded and started talking about how styling hair had always been his passion, and how he’d kept it secret from his dads for so long because he was scared of them not approving. It was...almost sweet, but the fire of the flickering candles in Vicky’s peripheral made it impossible to forget why Damien LaVey was the literal worst.
“They’re the best, actually. It took me forever to see that,” Damien sighed. “I spent so much of high school rebelling and trying to prove to the world that I was this badass Prince of hell, when really, I was just an angry kid.”
Fuck. Vicky found herself wishing this was their first date.
“Are you okay? You keep looking at the candles nervously.” Damien asked and Vicky nearly broke then and there.
She took a deep breath and went to answer, but he stood suddenly. “I’m such a dumbass. You’re a Frankenstein, and here I am, planning a date for us with candles. I’ve seen how flammable you guys are. Shit, I’ll just...”
With a snap of his fingers he plunged the two of them into darkness before he flicked the overhead light on. Vicky blinked into the sudden brightness; trying to convince herself not to cry or scream.
“Frankenstein was just the guy that built my dad,” She said calmly instead. “We usually just call ourselves The Reanimated. Or monsters. That’s pretty apt too.”
“Your dad’s the original monster? That’s badass,” Damien said as he sat back down, completely unaware of all the conflicting emotions in Vicky’s second-hand heart.
“I - I need to go!” She stood suddenly, wobbling on her heels, and made a dash for the door. Damien stood too.
“Are you okay? What-“
“Fuck!” The door was locked. She banged on it with both fists, hard.
“Miranda I don’t give a fuck about the deal I can’t do this. You bitch! You fucking bitch!” Vicky slid to the floor; in front of a very confused Damien, her head in her hands.
“Why the fuck did it have to be you?” She nearly sobbed.
“Vicky Schmidt?” Damien asked, and of Vicky didn’t know any better she’d have guessed that he sounded scared.
Before she knew it she’d been gently pushed aside so that Damien could try his hand at the door. It didn’t budge.
“Fuck! Someone must have put a spell on it.” Damien let loose more explicatives before finally taking a deep breath in and out, and looked over at Vicky.
She was watching him, wide eyed, her mascara a little smudged across her cheek.
“Why didn’t you run when you first saw me?” Damien wondered.
“You didn’t recognise me,” Vicky answered.
“Fuck. I - owe you so many apologies and explanations and - I never would have wanted to do it like this.” Damien LaVey, in his sleek black, tailored suit, with his fancy hair cut and perfectly winged eyeliner and broken horn, looked ashen and vulnerable standing in front of Vicky - still seated on the floor with her legs out straight in front of her (she couldn’t bend them at all without fear of flashing him).
“What?”
“C’mon. I think everyone else decided that we have to talk, so let’s talk. Or rather, let me talk.” Damien held out his hand to Vicky and wondered why he hadn’t recognised her before.
Hesitantly she took his hand and stood up.
She was older than the geeky 19 year old he’d sort-of dated at spooky high, sure, but she was also, shorter (she used to come up to just under his chin, now, he’d have to bend down to touch his chin to the top of her head) and her jawline was sharper, less rounded. She was also dressed a lot more maturely, her boxy sweaters and frizzy static-filled hair gone in favour of that sexy black number and a sleek up-do.
“Vicky Schmidt,” He said softly. Just her name. He was a little in awe of her. Back then, back in high school, back when his vision had been all red, he’d thought he’d killed her until his parents had reassured him that she was making a good recovery.
Her mouth twisted into a scowl, and her big, sad eyes hardened and Damien finally saw the hatred he’d been expecting.
He also flew across the room with the force of the electric shock she administered to him. He landed against a marble statue of Venus, and considered briefly, deliriously, that his penthouse flat might not have been the best venue for a date with a stranger.
“Shit - I didn’t mean to- fuck. No. You deserved that.”
He’d always liked how Vicky’s first instinct was kindness, her second self-preservation.
Even electrocuted and aching on the floor of his own flat, he still liked it.
“Yeah. I did.” He stood up, but stayed where he was, a good six feet between them.
“Will you hear me out before I do that again? I made us lasagna? And I have booze. We definitely need booze for this.”
Vicky gave a jerky nod, but her bolts were still sparking.
~*~
Damien decided to move them to the balcony. It had a great view of the Spooky City skyline, and he thought some fresh air would help both of them.
He was also very impressed with himself for being so calm about all this - including being locked in his own flat. Miranda and Vera were going to pay for this big time when he got out. He smiled a little at the thought of tortures involving lava and pointy things.
“Here you go, a South African pinotage,” he set a glass of deep red wine in front of Vicky, who looked like she’d been lost in thought. She started to thank him but thought better of it and remained silent.
Damien sat down across from her again, but this time he knew who he was talking to. And he had a lot to apologise for.
“I was a stupid kid.” He started. Vicky snored but said nothing. “I was angry at everything and everyone. I thought I had this big secret, that I was a prince of hell and no one could know I liked girly things like hair and make up, or that I had feelings other than anger. I don’t know where I got those ideas from; my dads were never like that. But I...I panicked when you asked me to prom. And none of that excuses the way I reacted.”
“You set me on fire!” Vicky screeched and Damien winced. Yeah. He had. Sort of. It had been his fault.
“I’m not...I’m not excusing anything Vicky. I was an idiot. But...for what it’s worth, I never meant to set you on fire.”
“What?”
“I...I was in the middle of setting up a prank when you asked me, and it was a stupid prank, but it wouldn’t have hairy Joy at all - I mean, maybe a little, but she knows spells to put out fires. But you, you were all big blue eyes and this shy smile and I got distracted and panicked and Liam and Scott were with me, and I said all those mean things, and then you turned to leave - fuck, I’ll never forget the look on your face. I’ve had nightmares about it. But when you turned away I stepped back and it activated the spell Liam had helped me cast and you were in the middle of it.”
Vicky was watching him now with wide eyes. He looked...genuinely remorseful. Open and vulnerable and so sad. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to stay mad at him. She should stay mad at him. He had delayed her plans for an entire year; had ruined her life.
“You’re not that scared, angry kid anymore though, are you?” She asked softly and damn it all to hell. The hope in his eyes would absolutely break her.
“I’ve lived every day of my life regretting everything I’d said and done that day.”
Vicky took a sip of her wine. It wasn’t to her usual tastes, but it was alcohol and it would do.
“My life was damn near perfect.” She said. “I’m being awarded my PhD in two weeks. My thesis was approved just days ago. I have the best friends. I have a great job. I’m already getting offers of funding for my research. I just...” she sighed. “Miranda was always so adamant that I needed to get over what happened with you. Settle down and find a spouse,” her nose scrunched up in disgust when she said spouse, “did she know?”
“I...I told everyone I could that it was an accident.” Damien admitted, gulping down his own wine. “No one would let me talk to you, and your dad threatened to use my body to fix you if I ever called again, so I think she did.”
“My dad?”
“Yeah, he was...honestly, he was terrifying. Made the book version of him seem tame.”
“I’ve had enough bombshells dropped on me for tonight, I think.” She finished the dregs of her wine and put the glass on the metal table in front of her. “I’m going home.”
Damien stood. “I don’t know if -“
“I don’t care. They will let me out.” Vicky stormed inside. Miraculously, the door opened under her hand.
“Wait Vicky,” Damien couldn’t just leave it like this.
“Will you - can we...will I see you again?”
Vicky turned to him, still off balance in her ridiculous shoes. Her expression was unreadable.
“Maybe but...I need time, Damien.”
He nodded, and just like that, she was gone. He hoped that this time, that it wouldn’t take them six years before they saw each other again.
~*~
Scott wasn’t waiting for her. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought he would be. Vicky hobbled down the sidewalk, trying to find her cellphone in her tiny purse. It blinked with messages from Miranda, Amira and oddly enough, Oz.
Oz’s message was the most promising. Vicky wondered why she hadn’t thought to check her phone when she was locked in with Damien LaVey. She blamed it on trauma.
Oz’s message read “M just told me. If you need a rescue, call.”
Vicky called him.
As his ancient yellow bug pulled up to the sidewalk next to her, she glanced back the the glass and steel building she’d exited. At the very top, she imagined she saw a red and black figure standing alone on the balcony staring out into the night.