Chapter 21
We all ride back without saying another word.
It takes over an hour to get back to my block in San Francisco.
The driver doesn’t look at me when I exit the car, and I don’t look at Collin, even though I know he’s there, just a step behind me.
Driver Dan then motors off to deal with what I just did to him, what I made him do, all on his own.
I hope it doesn’t mess him up too bad. But it probably will.
Once back in my apartment, I kick off my shoes and go straight for the bathroom. I drop my pants to the chipped tile floor, knowing it’ll make the Avatar disappear. I don’t want to put any more effort into pretending he doesn’t exist, and I don’t want to even touch the stupid watch to remove it.
I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror.
There’s dried blood under my nose, on my chin, on my polo shirt.
My eyes look a bit hollow. And I’m covered in dirt.
But I’ve been worse off. (And not too long ago!) Almost all of the bruising from the car crash is gone.
And the Obligation is dead quiet for now.
If I can keep it from digging into me again, I should be back to normal in a couple days.
Big “if.”
I strip off the rest of my clothes and step into my second shower of the morning. Crank it up to what feels like near-boiling and try to burn off all the filth I feel.
Nothing happened, I tell myself. I stopped it in time.
But I know different. I might pretend the monster is something separate. That’s just another pipe dream, though. It’s not something “other.” Something I can pretend belongs to someone else. This is who I am.
Suddenly, it all feels like too much. My mom, the druid, what I just did, Collin, the whole fucked-up night and day.
What I am. Tears flood my eyes, and I let them come.
I press my forehead against the peeling semi-gloss wall above the tub, and choke out wailing sobs while hot water beats down on my back.
The truth is, I’ve never needed fae magic to convince me I should hate myself.
I just need to look inside to get that answer.
I let the water stream over me for ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Have myself a good full-throated little cry. But eventually, I run out of tears, and then I’m just this pathetic, useless dude, pruning up in the shower, which doesn’t change a goddamned thing.
I turn off the faucet, grab a towel, and scrape it over my face. The water did its work. I’m a long way from okay, but I’m no longer blindingly angry. I can do what needs to be done.
I finish drying off and get myself fresh clothes from the bedroom. Dark-wash jeans. Gray sweatshirt. Athletic sneakers.
The window still looks intact. I walk up to it. I can tap on the glass.
Well, I guess some things can be fixed with magic.
Time to focus on the other stuff.
I get the watch from my other pants—leaving the pointless book page it was wrapped in behind—and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans, just before I sit down on my love seat.
Collin appears immediately. He’s way over on the other side of the room, standing in the corner between my cheapo silver plastic TV and even cheaper IKEA torch lamp.
Barely glancing up at me. His eyes are red, like he’s been crying, too.
We stare at each other for several seconds. Seems he’s waiting for me to start.
Okay.
“Why did you tell me to give in to the monster inside me, Collin?” I ask, keeping my tone cold and steady.
“Ah, Alvin, you’re not a monster…” His voice is soft. Full of emotion. Rough. He has been crying. “You’re the opposite of that.”
“Really? I was going to rape that man.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No thanks to you.”
He bites his lower lip and drops his gaze.
“You were fierce sick. Probably more than you could tell. The Obligation was trying to kill you, and you needed the power to fight it.” He looks back up at me.
“You wouldn’t have hurt him. Not in any permanent way.
If you hadn’t stopped it, even his memories would be happy.
Not because of any mind control. Because it would have been a truly joy-filled experience for him. ”
I deliver my words flat and hard. “I’m not sure his wife would agree with how joyful that experience was. And I’ve heard the argument you’re making before.”
His frown deepens. “Your mom is wrong about a great many things. But not this.”
“Really? So you think forcing people to have sex is fine so long as you can convince them they liked it?”
“I told you. You wouldn’t be convincing them of something that’s not real.
Having sex with an incubus can be a divinely beautiful experience for a human.
Healing, even. And, more to the point, you don’t have to use that power to force people.
Like any other strong muscle, yes, it can be used as a weapon, but it doesn’t have to be that way. It wouldn’t be that way with you.”
This is full-on too much. I launch myself to my feet. “You don’t know that! You don’t know what this part of me wants to do! It is a weapon! It wants to consume and devour. It sees humans as food. As prey! And there’s a word for what that makes me.”
The Irish boy nods, but stays frustratingly calm.
“I get that it feels predatory, Alvin. But that’s because you’ve only let yourself feel it in desperate situations.
When it’s at its most primal. When it’s scared.
When it needs the higher parts of you—your values, your compassion—to give it guidance.
To let it know that things are going to be okay. ”
“Things are not okay, Collin!” I march forward, and I’m up to him fast, poking his chest. “I know other incubi! I know my mother! Trust me, there’s not the slightest hint of divine healing rainbows and sunshine in anything they do! They are killers! They are monsters!”
“You’re not like them,” he says, chin up, firm.
“You don’t know me,” I growl back, trying to sound as scary as I feel. I grip the thick fabric of his long wool shepherd shirt tight in my fist.
But he doesn’t get scared. And he doesn’t look away. “I want to. So, tell me. Tell me who you really are.”
I fix my gaze on him. His eyes are soft, gentle, and searching, giving my rage nothing to bash itself against. Despite my best efforts, it starts to retreat inside me, like a large frothy wave sliding back into the ocean.
“You’re never going to convince me that this power could ever be used for good.”
“All right,” he says.
“You’re never going to convince me that there’s anything good about this part of me!”
“All right,” he says.
“You might know all the facts in the entire world, but I know more about this than you.”
“Fair enough,” he says.
He doesn’t sound convinced. But he’s not fighting me.
I let go of his shirt and turn away from him.
“I’m going to find a way to get you out of the watch—to set you free—and then you can believe whatever the hell you like.
” My anger has spent itself. There’s only enough left to keep pressure on the Obligation.
But I still want distance between us. I want to push him as far away as I can.
I glance over my shoulder, and he nods, getting the message loud and clear.
We stare at each other for a few beats. His expression is full of silent despair.
And even sad, he looks cute. Just a sweet, lost boy, now in desperate need of a hug.
It’s almost enough to make me want to apologize for yelling at him.
But I don’t.
His eyes flick up and away for a second, and he says, “It’s time, Alvin. Rafa should already be at the café.” His attention returns to me. “If you still want to go, that is.”
Right. Emma. Here I am, all caught up in my own personal little pity party, and there’s a high school girl, kidnapped, alone, in the clutches of completely different monsters. Ones who probably second-guess their villainy a lot less than I do.
I know there were other questions I wanted to ask Collin. A lot of them. But none of that feels important right now. Certainly not in comparison—and maybe not at all, anymore.
“Yeah, okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”
Joe’s Café is very old-school. Worn lime-green booths.
Dim lighting, even at noon. Laminated menus.
Paper placemats covered with an outdated neighborhood tourist map.
Nothing San Francisco hipster about it. The only reason Joe’s is still around after seventy years is because it’s dirt-cheap, the coffee is bottomless, and they make a mean breakfast sandwich.
Rafa is sitting by the soot-caked window, glowering, so it looks like we’re both in a mood.
Laid out in front of him are two ice waters next to menus.
His glass is three-quarters empty. He looks up the moment I enter, and his scowl melts into that smoldering little smile of his.
Seems he’s still, for whatever reason, happy to see me.
And now that he’s in actual daylight, in actual normal clothes (heavy blue chambray shirt with a single button open at the chest, light jeans, silver sports watch, nice leather work boots), it’s hard not to be happy to see him, too.
Those Monster Hunter muscles are still bulging in all the right places, and his face practically glows in the soft, diffuse light from the street.
He pulls off “alpha male” effortlessly and then makes it stunning with sensuous lips, piercing hazel eyes, and strong, youthful proportions.
And he’s 100% human. And he seems to like me. If I were to fall for someone like him, we could actually make a life together. Get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. And he’d never, ever encourage me to give in to my monster.
Of course, we’d also never be able to actually have sex. And if he knew I was a monster, he’d probably just as likely blow my head off. So, there’s that.
I sit across from him, and he slides over one of the menus as he takes me in.
“You’re… looking better,” he says.