Chapter 4: Incubus Tech Support

After turning off the light, I lay down with my back to Adrian. I took out my phone, feeling heavy-hearted, and opened up the customer service chat.

"Hi, my incubus seems a bit off."

Customer service replied: "Hon, if you have any basic care questions, you can check the ‘Incubus Care Manual.’ Oops, sorry, I forgot to send you the manual last time."

I replied gloomily: "It’s fine. I feel like the manual probably can’t solve my problem, because I suspect the incubus is sick—a really serious illness."

Customer service asked: "Hon, can you describe the symptoms in detail?"

"He keeps making noises, his body temperature is high, and he always looks at me so pitifully."

Customer service: "That’s normal, it means he really likes being with you."

I sat up a little, the screen lighting up the room. "So it’s normal? I thought it was because I made him do housework every day and he got sick from overwork."

Customer service was shocked: "Housework? Wait, you make your incubus do housework?"

I was confused: "Isn’t that what they’re for? Doesn’t your manual say incubi are very capable, able to bring humans ultimate happiness every day?"

"...No wonder your incubus seems off."

Customer service hesitated. Hearing this, I started to panic again. Had I voided his warranty? Was there a returns policy for magical creatures?

"So he is sick, right?"

"Hon, he’s not sick, he’s just hungry."

"Hungry? He eats well every day."

Customer service sent a flurry of messages: "He’s not hungry for food, he’s hungry to kiss you or do other naughty things. Incubi aren’t for housework, they’re meant to help humans relieve their desires. Your incubus is in a state of extreme hunger and craving for you. All his flirting is wasted on someone who doesn’t get it."

They sent a sly-smiling emoji, like the one your best friend uses after a hot date. Craving me? Hungry? What the heck?

After speed-reading the ‘Incubus Care Manual’ I’d never opened, I fell silent. So incubi aren’t for housework. This ‘capable’ isn’t that kind of ‘capable.’ I figured ‘capable’ meant folding laundry, not folding me.

I turned around. The incubus who’d closed his eyes was awake, looking at me with big, pleading eyes—his pupils now little hearts. His tail was sneakily, stickily, touching my waist through the comforter. When he saw me turn, he froze, quickly hiding his tail, but inched closer, calling me in distress. His low voice was like mint candy—cool and sticky.

"Ma’am, I feel awful."

I had to stifle a laugh at how dramatic he sounded, but I remembered customer service’s words. He’d said this a few days ago, calling me ‘ma’am’ in that syrupy tone, but I thought he just had a cold and was acting spoiled. I poured him hot water, thinking I was helping. To be fair, it worked. He didn’t make any more noise that night, but his face was dark and gloomy, like a little dog throwing a tantrum.

But now…

Thinking of what customer service said, I coughed guiltily. Then I lifted my comforter. "Do you want to come sleep in my bed?"

Adrian was stunned, then said hoarsely: "Yes."