Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Horatio behaves like a perfect gentleman that night, and I behave like a woman who actually does have control of her willpower and isn’t developing feelings for her fake boyfriend.
Unfortunately, our plans to escape early the next morning are disrupted by my mother, who refuses to let us go. Luckily, we’re not forced to endure another hike because it’s raining yet again, and instead we spend the morning playing family board games round the giant dining table.
We don’t arrive back in London until the afternoon, and then we find ourselves staring at each other in the communal hallway, both standing outside our respective doors.
I clear my throat.
“Thank you, Horatio,” I say, “for everything this weekend.” His lips twitch, and I guess we’re both thinking about the ping-pong table.
I push those thoughts out of my mind. “You were the perfect fake boyfriend, and I think I gained about a million brownie points from my crazy family. I just hope it wasn’t too crazy and your sanity hasn’t been tested too much. ”
“Your family is lovely, Molly. No more crazy than any other family I’ve met.”
Which I find hard to believe, considering he had no idea about the existence of witches, vampires, magic, demons, fairy toenails, and everything else only a few days ago.
“And Molly, it’s clear to me how much your family loves you. How much they all think you’re wonderful. You already had about a million brownie points.”
I snort at that, because that, frankly, is crazy. Maybe his sanity was warped by the weekend.
“Anyway, you are officially released from your fake boyfriend duties for the time being,” I go on. “Once I have hold of those fairy toenails, I’ve brewed the potion, and you’ve drunk the antidote, we can officially break up and the contract will be null and void.”
“How about my birthday?” he says.
“Your birthday?” I repeat.
“Yes, on Wednesday. You’re coming, aren’t you? With your sisters?”
“Oh yeah.” I squirm on the spot. “I’m really sorry about that. I’ll find a way to get out of it.”
“It’s fine,” he says, and seems to shuffle on his feet too, mirroring my action. “I’d like you to come. And your sisters too,” he adds hurriedly, probably hoping that Tiggie will be there. Boys always fall in love with Tiggie.
“But if my sisters come, we’ll have to continue the whole pretence of the fake–”
“That’s fine,” he interrupts.
I tilt my head to one side and look at him. It’s the love potion. Obviously the love potion.
I don’t know what to do for the best or what to say.
In some regards, not being at his birthday party while he’s under the influence of this potion could cause him much distress and a lot of emotional damage.
Then again, having to play-act fake boyfriend and girlfriend would surely be stressful in front of all his friends.
I chew on my lip. Then there’s that added little problem: those niggly little feelings.
“It is my birthday,” he points out.
And I am a sucker for birthdays. I couldn’t possibly leave a man heartbroken on the anniversary of his birth.
“Okay. We’ll be there.”
“Nine o’clock at the Nightjar.”
I give him a little salute, and then me, McGruff, and my suitcase retreat into the safety of our flat.
We find Damien spread out on my sofa watching Antiques Roadshow. It’s his favourite programme. He says it brings back lots of happy memories. I have no idea what that means.
“Hey,” I say. “How many times have I told you? No boots on the sofa.”
I point to where his black Doc Martens are resting up on the arm of my sofa. He’s coupled them with a green sarong and a white vest.
“Ugh!” he groans. “That dog climbs all over this sofa with his muddy paws all the time.”
“That’s different,” I tell Damien as he swings his feet to the floor and sits up, looking longingly at the television before he shuts down the programme. “I love him.”
“You love me too,” Damien points out.
“Sometimes. It depends. So what exactly are you doing here?”
“I’ve come with news.” He holds up his thumb. “Good news.” Then extends his forefinger. “And bad news.”
“Oh no,” I say, slumping down into the armchair. “Better hit me with the good news first.”
“Julian the Faun can get you some fairy toenails.”
I spring forward in the armchair. “Really?” Thank Morgan le Fay and all her sisters. The sooner this potion is brewed, the sooner I can get out of this dilemma, one that is becoming increasingly complicated.
Then I remember there’s bad news. I slump back.
“Am I going to be arrested?”
Damien shakes his head.
“Give it to me, then,” I tell him.
“The earliest he can get any is next Monday.”
“As in tomorrow?” I say eagerly.
“No,” Damien says. “As in eight days’ time.”
“Oh Titan’s testicles!”
“It’s only a week. It’s nothing,” he says. “Just a little blip of time. Blink your eyes and it’ll all be over.”
Which is an easy thing for a demon to say who has no concept of time or mortality and who’s been around since the beginning of creation.
For a human being with feelings for her incredibly hot fake boyfriend, a human being who is trying not to be detected by the authorities, a week is going to feel like forever.
I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. I can almost feel Damien’s penetrating gaze on me.
“Wanna tell me about your weekend?”
“Nope, I absolutely do not want to tell you about my weekend.”
“You know that only makes me want to hear about it more.”
I tip my head forward and stick my tongue out at my best friend. His eyes flash.
“You know I have ways of making you talk.”
I point my finger at him like a gun. “Don’t even think about it, Buster.”
He grins, showing off several gold teeth.
“Fine,” I grumble. “You were right. I was wrong.”
He shrugs. “Tell me something I don’t know, Sugar.”
“I may or may not be developing feelings for him,” I mumble, hoping maybe my friend won’t hear. Or even better, that he won’t care. I chew on my lip. “Maybe it’s just the potion. Maybe it’s affected me too.”
Damien shakes his head. “You know that’s not how it works. You made the potion. It doesn’t work on you. And it was designed for a man, anyway.”
“Bloody broomsticks,” I mutter. “You know, he would actually make a suitable boyfriend. The first suitable boyfriend I’ve ever actually had.”
“What, him? That grouchy, prickly hedgehog?”
“He’s not grouchy and he’s not prickly. He’s very nice, actually, and funny. And I hurt my ankle and he carried me for half an hour, through the rain, back to our hotel.”
“Like in the films?”
“Yep,” I say. “Just like the films.”
Damien stares at me, open-mouthed.
“You still bewitched him,” he points out, “even if he would make a suitable boyfriend.”
“Exactly! It’s not fair. Life’s not fair. Life is shitty and screwed up and simply sucky.”
“What do you expect?” Damien says, with no sympathy at all. “You’re human. It’s not meant to be easy. We’re meant to make it difficult for you.”
“You’re not making it difficult for Tiggie or Prim.”
Although, as soon as I say that, sisterly guilt swims through my stomach, because neither Prim nor Tiggie seem particularly happy at the moment. I’m not sure their love lives are thriving either. I have a feeling life is screwing all three of us Eccleston sisters over.
“Maybe once you’ve fed him the antidote,” he says, “once the love potion’s worn off, you could start from the beginning. Maybe he’d develop genuine feelings for you.”
“Have you seen me?” I say, dragging my finger down my form. “And him?” I point towards the front door. “I am not his type. We are nothing alike.”
“Opposites attract,” Damien points out.
“He’s a banker. He wears a suit to work. He has a pension, two Ferraris and a mortgage. I have McGruff.” I point towards my dog, who’s currently chewing on his own tail.
“You could do that thing they do in the movies. You know, like Grease. Where you swap it up. You could get a little twin set and a string of pearls.”
My friend grins at me wickedly, obviously finding the idea amusing.
“Even if I got the outfit, even if I looked the part, I still wouldn’t be the part underneath, though, would I? I’m not made for a world like that. I am made for a world of chaos, conundrums, and calamities.”
Damien taps a claw against his lips, thinking, then something sparks in his eyes. An even more wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans forward.
“You could tell a little lie.”
“What do you mean?”
“You could give him a potion, tell him it’s an antidote, when really …”
“When really …”
“It’s not,” he says, meeting my gaze.
I consider the idea for one second. It is tempting. Very tempting.
Then I dismiss it. It’s also immoral. Completely immoral. And while my demon best friend may have no issues with that at all, I unfortunately do. Damn me and my morals.
“No,” I sigh. “I couldn’t do it. And besides, I’d just end up feeling guilty for the rest of my life. You know what guilt does to me – brings me out in hives.”
Damien frowns with disgust. He’s not a fan of the problems humans experience with their flesh, or any kind of bodily fluids either.
“Then I can’t help you, Molly,” my friend says, spreading his arms out wide in surrender.
“No,” I sigh again. “You can’t. I’m just going to have to accept the situation. Maybe a bit of unrequited love will do me some good.”
There have been two occasions where this predicament has been extremely enjoyable. More than enjoyable. The kind of occasions I’ll still be thinking about and reliving in my old age. I can’t say there are any occasions with my actual ex-boyfriends that I would want to relive.
“No pain, no gain,” Damien says. It’s one of those positive-affirmation phrases he’s picked up from humans, along with ones like ‘you are enough’ and ‘happiness is a choice’.
I’m not sure it really relates to my present predicament, but I manage a smile anyway.
It’s just one more week. One more week and then Mr Horatio Hottie can go back to hating me, and I can go back to avoiding him.