12. Chapter 12 #2
Because I’m looking at Evie’s face, at the tight set of her jaw and the plea in her eyes she probably doesn’t realize is visible.
The idea of reaching into her mind makes me physically ill.
I used the influence on Maddie and it left me scrubbing my palms on my jeans.
Using it on Evie would be worse in a way I can’t justify, because her autonomy shouldn’t matter more to me than anyone else’s.
Except it does.
So I’ll do this the hard way, the version almost guaranteed to fail because I’m not charming or persuasive or any of the things a demon is supposed to be.
“I won’t push,” I promise. “Not right now.”
“Not ever. I need you to drop this.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
Because it’s the truth, and the only currency I have.
Twenty-nine days from now I’ll be dragged back to a place you can’t imagine, and the only obstacle standing between me and that is a deal you refuse to make.
I could’ve tipped the odds in my favor, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
I’m fully aware of how monumentally idiotic that was.
“Because I think you already know I’m not making it up.” I say it carefully and watch her reaction. “And that’s what scares you.”
Her lips part but she doesn’t deny it.
Maddie returns, holding a monstrosity. The cup is clear plastic, revealing layers of caramel and something neon green. Chunks of candy float in it, and on top, a mountain of whipped cream is dusted with glitter.
“Nora’s latest creation.” She sets it down with a thud. “Salted caramel apple candy explosion.”
“It’s very . . . vibrant.”
“It’s a sugar coma with a straw. Bottoms up.”
I take a sip.
The artificial apple flavor detonates across my tongue first, followed by a wave of caramel so sweet my back teeth ache. Then comes a surge of salt that has no business being anywhere near the other flavors.
It is without question the most revolting thing I’ve ever consumed, and I’ve eaten cafeteria food in Hell.
Everything in my mind says spit it out. Which is devastating, because until this drink, every mortal thing I’d tasted had been overwhelmingly positive.
Last night at the bar, Maddie had shoved a basket of leftover onion rings at me before closing up, and they altered my brain chemistry.
I’d been ready to declare human cuisine the single greatest achievement of any realm.
This drink has shattered that worldview.
Maddie howls. “It’s awful, isn’t it?”
Evie makes a startled noise. When I look over, she’s fighting a laugh so hard her eyes are watering. She loses.
Beautiful things aren’t new to me. I’ve watched galaxies burn from the cliffs of Hell and seen the sky above the mortal world turn colors at sunset that I still can’t name. None of it prepared me for Evie Feywin laughing.
She makes every beautiful thing I’ve ever seen feel ordinary.
I want to make it happen again. Want to drink forty more terrible drinks if that’s what it costs. Want to spend the remaining twenty-nine days figuring out exactly what combination of words and catastrophic beverages produces that sound.
She thinks I’m either delusional or running the most elaborate bit in human history. And I’m sitting here cataloging her laugh with the dedication of a doctoral candidate because she found it funny when I suffered.
This level of fixation over a mortal should concern me. It does concern me. Unfortunately, it has done nothing to stop it, which creates its own lovely little panic spiral.
Desire isn’t unfamiliar to me. Hell is full of creatures designed to be desired, and I’ve spent years in their proximity with nothing stronger than lukewarm appreciation. This is different.
My brain, which has apparently been on vacation, clocks back in.
I’m here for her soul.
The grin falls off my face, and the sweetness in my mouth turns sour. Evie’s laugh dies in the same breath. She catches herself, ducking her head.
Maddie’s phone buzzes against the table. Whatever she sees wipes the grin off her face.
“I swear to God.” She picks up. “What?”
The voice on the other end is male, speaking fast enough that the words bleed together.
“Dad, stop talking.” She’s standing, chair shoved back with her hip, jacket in her hand. “What do you mean you already tried to fix it? I told you last time to call me before you touch the regulator. That’s literally all I asked.”
More frantic talking.
“No, I understand. I’m coming. Just don’t touch anything else.” She ends the call with a jab of her thumb.
“The taps?” Evie asks.
“The taps.” She pulls her jacket on in one sharp motion. “And my father, who’s owned a bar for thirty years, somehow can’t reset a pressure valve without my supervision.”
“Go,” Evie says, already reaching for her bag. “I should get going, anyway.”
“Wait.” Maddie holds up one finger. “Milo, do you have anywhere to be right now?”
I’ve got nowhere to be. My entire reason for being here is finding Evie and convincing her to talk to me, and both are currently happening at this table.
“No.”
“Great. Evie’s heading to market for the inn supplies. All those heavy bags she refuses to let anyone help carry because she’s pathologically self-reliant.”
“I’m standing right here.” Evie’s tone is flat.
“I know. That’s why I’m saying it.” Maddie turns back to me. “You should go with her.”
Evie opens her mouth.
“I’d love to.” The words come out far too fast. I dial it back. “I mean . . . I’d like to help. As an apology.”
“I don’t need—”
“You never need. That’s the whole problem.” Maddie pulls her keys from her pocket and heads for the door.
Evie’s eyes narrow. “Fine.”
“Perfect. And you can stop clenching your jaw now or you’ll crack a molar.” She turns to me. “Be useful, Milo.” Then she’s gone.
Evie stands there, bag clutched against her stomach. “If you’re coming, we should go.”
She’s out the door before I’ve finished pushing my chair in.
The flannel catches on the table corner as I stand, and a quick tug frees it without, mercifully, popping a seam.
This is the only outfit I own. One day in the same clothes is nothing.
Two is manageable. More than that is a problem I can’t solve.
But Evie is already half a block ahead, so clothing issues will have to wait.
I scramble after her. At this point, I’d follow her into a salt mine, which is a horrifying sentence for several practical reasons, starting with salt and ending with small spaces.