Chapter Twenty • Eureka • Lillith #3
As if on cue, the small, furry creature blurs into the room with a series of chirps, parkours off my bed and the tapestry on my wall, and then zooms out again. We both look at each other and laugh before I press my brow against his chest, taking a centering breath.
“I’m a witch,” I say, still hiding there. “A real one—like, Practical Magic style. Brooms, and love spells, spooky rituals—the whole thing. “
I still don’t look up, but I get the sense he’s nodding slowly. It feels easier to tell him these things while not looking at him. It feels easier than watching his expression change in real time.
“And... you think you’re cursed?”
“I don’t think it. I know it,” I say. “This is something I was raised knowing. And that necklace...” I finally look up at him, meeting his eyes; they flicker as they take me in.
He’s listening raptly. There’s no change in his expression, no hint that he’s skeptical, even now.
“You know the pearl it had in its setting?”
“Sure,” he says.
I swallow dryly. “That... that pearl was made from little bits of ashes from each of the matriarchs of the last nine generations.”
I think about it for a moment and amend, “Actually, just eight generations. My mother’s remains weren’t in it. That’s why the demon was able to break the protection it kept on me. The absence of her power in the pearl—in the city—weakened it.”
He nods again, his fingers drawing a soft line up and down the channel of my spine. “Alright. So, what does that mean?”
“It means I can’t leave the house,” I say.
“What will happen if you do?”
“I don’t know. But nothing good. And—well if you’re nearby you can get really hurt, Damien. We’ve had the protective charm for over a century, but Nan always seemed to think that if we lost it, going outside could create Final Destination-level horrific accidents.”
“And it’s different here because...”
“Because the wards are quite literally carved into the bedrock and the frame of the building,” I tell him. “And the same thing with The Buried City.”
“Hang on. The what?”
“The Buried City. That... that’s where Wren and Bastion both live. It’s a sort of liminal-trans-dimensional city that exists underground. It’s where a lot of magic folk live to avoid the persecution we faced in this realm in the seventeenth century.”
He nods again, but this time his expression shifts.
Not to anything skeptical or scared but...
perhaps... overwhelmed? He’s gone pallid.
His hand has stopped its path up and down my back, and I can do nothing but wait as he continues to nod and not quite meet my eyes.
My chest tightens. I try to just keep breathing.
This is a lot of information to take in. Whitman comes to mind again, and I try to remind myself again and again that Damien isn’t Whitman.
But my fear has me starting to spiral.
“Damien?” I ask in a strangled whisper. “Please say something.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, finally looking me in the eyes again.
My heart plummets into my stomach at those first two words.
It’s happening again. I’ll always be too much for this world and never be enough for the one beneath us.
I nod as that cold heat rushes through my veins, dropping my eyes to his inked collar bones.
That pang of rejection is sharper than ever after he promised me that I couldn’t scare him away.
I should have known. I should have known.
“So, like, would it be rude of me to ask you to do some magic shit?” he asks. “Would it be too hard after the seizure? Does it require energy? I’m sure you’re still tired after that grand mal.”
I blink, staring up at him. “Wh-what?”
“I should probably talk to you about some stuff too. I mean, I’m stoked as hell that we can fuck now, but we should discuss limits and stuff.”
“Damien—”
“Right, bad timing to bring that up, I guess,” he says, sighing.
“Damien—you’re not—you’re not leaving?”
His brow furrows like he’s baffled by what I just asked him.
“Lillith, I promised you that there was nothing that you could do or say that would make me not want to be with you,” he says. “Does it sound fucking insane? Yes. One hundred percent. But you said you would show me, and I believe you.”
“But... I can’t leave.”
“A bit of a drag, but we’ll figure something out,” he says. “I mean, I assume you’re trying to break this Final Destination thing, right?”
“Yes,” I say a little breathlessly.
“Cool,” he says, resting his head on my doorframe and looking down at me. He brushes his fingers through my hair and gives me a lazy, crooked smile. “What’s the date?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“The date, what day is it?” he repeats.
“Uhm—June sixth, I think,” I say.
“Nice,” he says with a grin.
“Why?”
“Because I’ve gotta make sure I know when our anniversary is,” he says, leaning down and pressing his forehead against mine. “Since you’re my girlfriend now, right?”
My smile is so bright that it makes my cheeks hurt. “I mean... yeah. If you still want me,” I say.
“Oh, I want you, sweetheart,” he says, claiming my mouth in a brief, but breath-stealing kiss. “I want you more than ever.”