As the bartender stared at Daemom, Daemom stared back at him. The bartender was about thirty years old, very handsome, with features that clearly indicated his Middle Eastern origin, dark skin, black hair with some braids, and eyes of an impressive yellow hue. However, Daemom wasn't looking at the man's appearance but at his soul.
He saw a humanoid form but with inhuman characteristics. Daemom knew that the man in front of him wasn't human. He wasn't a demon or a werewolf; that much Daemom was sure of, as his soul didn't resemble either of those races.
"A Manhattan, please." Smiling at the man, Daemom spoke in a calm tone.
The man frowned, looking him up and down, clearly suspicious of something, especially since Daemom's clothes suggested that his financial situation was not exactly the best.
"Kid, go home. This place isn't for children, especially after midnight." Zafir, wiping a glass with a cloth, looked at Daemom with his yellow eyes and spoke in a calm tone, his eyes full of vicissitudes. Clearly, he had lived far longer than his human appearance suggested.
Daemom didn't respond and glanced around, soon noticing something unusual. All the waiters and waitresses had the same characteristics as the bartender: dark skin, black hair, and yellow eyes. They must be of the same race, Daemom concluded after observing for a while.
Suddenly, Zafir's eyes fell on the serpent coiled around the young man's neck. As if sensing his gaze, the pink serpent turned and stared at him with its reptilian eyes.
"Kid, do you know what you're carrying with you?" Zafir looked at the serpent for a moment and then back at Daemom, his eyes narrowing with a sharp look. To him, it seemed Daemom had sold his soul.
"The most adorable of all demons?" Daemom placed Amara on the counter and responded with an amused smile playing on his lips.
"No demon is adorable, you fool!" Amara glared angrily at Daemom and bit the tip of his finger in frustration. Demons respected strength, and being called adorable was hardly a sign of adequate strength. Although Amara was somewhat innocent and childish, she was still, after all, a demon.
"Don't get mad, it was just a joke." Seeing Amara growing more furious at being called cute, Daemom poked her scaly head and spoke in a playful tone.
Watching the scene unfold before him, Zafir blinked a few times and raised his eyebrows in surprise. In his thousand years, it was the first time he had seen such a harmonious and warm interaction between a human and a demon. If Zafir didn't know their race, he would think he was witnessing siblings teasing each other.
After calming Amara, Daemom rested his elbow on the bar and supported his head with his hand. "You're not going to serve me, Mr. Bartender."
"How old are you?" Zafir asked, looking at Daemom. His yellow eyes seemed to burn with a momentary flame.
"Fifteen, sixteen in two days," Daemom replied casually, not hiding his age.
Speaking of birthdays, he noticed that the irritation on his back had disappeared on the same day his wings emerged. It didn't take a genius to realize that the itch he had been feeling for eleven months was his wings growing and ready to unfold. He had assumed that by his sixteenth birthday, his wings would have naturally emerged. But with Amara's help and her demonic energy, his wings had appeared six days earlier than expected.
"According to the laws of this country, you can't drink until you're twenty-one," Zafir said, finishing cleaning a glass and grabbing another. He placed it in front of Daemom and began pulling out various bottles and ice. "However, someone your age in my culture is already responsible for their actions. So, here is your Manhattan. Have a good experience, Mr. Customer."
"Thank you, Mr. Bartender." Taking the glass, Daemom raised it to his lips and took a slightly larger sip than usual.
Cough! Cough!
Daemom began to cough, feeling the liquid burn down his throat. He didn't expect that, even as a mixed drink, the taste of the whiskey in the Manhattan would be so strong.
Zafir couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh at the young man's embarrassed expression. It was obvious to him that Daemom had never drunk before, or at least nothing this strong.
Curious about the taste, Amara sampled a bit with her forked tongue. Upon tasting it, she made a disgusted expression and said irritably, "Cookies are tastier."
The bartender was left speechless upon hearing the demon's comment; he had never expected to hear such words from a demon, who usually enjoys alcohol.
Rolling his eyes at the laugh, Daemom took a more measured sip from the glass and drank more slowly. This time he didn't cough and appreciated the flavor a bit more, especially the cherry taste, which mellowed the strong whiskey flavor.
"Sorry if this is a rude question, but what race are you?" With a smile, Daemom's incredibly blue eyes looked at Zafir with curiosity.
"Usually you don't ask someone something like that, but since you've probably just entered this world, I'll overlook it this time, kid." Placing the white cloth over his shoulder, Zafir looked back at the young man and spoke calmly, his voice tinged with a hint of warning.
Before Daemom could respond, he heard a female voice behind him, a voice so beautiful and melodic that it seemed like a lovely melody to his ears.
"Don't be so rude to your customers, Zafir. It's bad for business."
In the next moment, someone had sat down next to Daemom, placing an expensive-looking feminine handbag on the counter. Daemom saw a delicate feminine hand with perfectly manicured nails painted a strong red. A delicate but subtle perfume wafted into his nose—a scent that, for some reason, reminded him of desert sands.
"It's an honor to have your presence in my establishment again, my Malika." Zafir looked at the woman and bowed graciously. It wasn't just him; all the staff stopped what they were doing and bowed towards the woman. The surrounding customers didn't notice anything, as if they were hypnotized.
(Note: Malika – in Arabic, "malika" (ملكة) means "queen")
"Should I bow?" Sipping his Manhattan, Daemom asked with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, a smile playing on his lips.
Zafir looked at the boy with a hint of anger in his yellow eyes. For a moment, a flame seemed to flicker in his gaze. The boy had dared to be rude to his queen and still smiled mockingly!
"Of course not, Zafir is just caught in the sands of time; I am merely an ordinary person now." The woman laughed gracefully at Daemom's sarcasm and responded with a smile on her lips stained with red lipstick.
Her eyes, like black pearls, fixed on the young man beside her. She extended her hand, covered by a delicate lace glove, and introduced herself.
"Bilqis."
Daemom took her hand and responded elegantly by kissing it.
"Daemom."
Ordinary person? If you're an ordinary person, I'm a prince of Hell. Wait a moment… but I am a prince of Hell. Daemom thought, looking at the most beautiful soul he had ever seen in his life.