Chapter Thirteen
DEVLIN
She absolutely knows I’m here.
Can’t be helped. In a town where the news is so non-existent they cover elementary school sports, a newcomer will always draw attention.
This, despite my attempts to blend in.
Granted, I’ve yet to see anyone else reading a print newspaper before the fire, wearing a bespoke Italian suit with a rose-colored silk pocket square, so maybe I’m a bit rusty in the blending in department. But Violet insisted I wear clothing today—health code violations, public indecency, blah blah blah—and I refuse to lower my standards. When in Rome, yes, but we’re not in Rome, are we. We’re in Pumpkinville, where flannel is the new black and the Devil is forced to set a higher bar.
Besides, how else am I to evaluate the tourist clientele for a soul or two teetering on the edge of self-destruction? If I’m to attract the wealthy, the beautiful, and the immoral to my den of iniquity, I must also look the part. Like Finn said, corrupting the townsfolk is probably too much of a stretch goal, but I can certainly send a few malfeasant tourists into a downward spiral. Just a nudge, that’s all. Pave the way for them to continue walking the path they’ve already chosen, one foot in front of the other, straight on to Hell.
By the by… That whole ‘good intentions’ thing? Yet another lie perpetuated by dear old Dad to keep his flock in line. The path to Hell is actually paved the same as any other—with greasy fast-food containers, used condoms, and broken dreams.
Thankfully, the lovely ladies of Wayward Bay have already spread the word on the socials about Violet’s new houseguest, and ever since I established a no-selfies-without-purchase policy, we’ve been seeing a steady stream of paying customers, including at least two tourists from Manhattan who will definitely get a visit from Azazel with an invite to our next Hollywood Hills soiree.
Still, me as K&C’s celebrity mascot is not a long-term solution. Once I’m gone, the attention on the shop will wane, unless we figure out how to capitalize on it.
“Pretty good day so far, huh?” Taking advantage of a momentary break, Violet joins me by the fire, cheeks flushed from the morning rush, curls tamed into a low ponytail. Today’s shirt features three birds perched atop teacups dangling from a tree branch, stenciled with the message, Make Like a Tea and Leaf!
I fold up my newspaper and return her easy smile. “You should’ve hired me ages ago.”
“Right? From now on, I’ll keep you on drunk-summon speed dial.” She laughs, light and unburdened, that adorable snort popping up at the end. “I think my two new blends are going over well too. And Emmie brought in some new pastries to try—also strong sellers. Things are definitely looking up.”
“That they are.”
“Anyway, how are you holding up? Do you need a cup of tea? With all the unexpected guests today, I didn’t even think to ask you!”
“You’re the empathic witch. You’re supposed to tell me if I need some.”
Violet laughs again, and damn if I’m not getting hooked on putting that sparkle in her eyes. “Doesn’t work like that exactly.”
“How does it work? Can you sense what I’m feeling right now? What I’m thinking about?”
“It’s… complicated. Thinking, no. I can’t read minds. Feeling… Sort of? I get impressions of people’s emotions and intentions. General things, like fear or happiness or deceit. The stronger they’re feeling the emotion, the easier it is for me to sense it. But let’s take the fear thing, for example. It’s not like I can tell what the person is afraid of. Or with deception, I don’t know whether they’re about to lie to me or someone else, or maybe just feeling guilty about something they’ve lied about in the past.”
“Still, you must have some kind of deeper inkling beyond the vague generalities. I’ve seen you make a different brew for everyone who’s come in today.”
“Sure. I always try to sense what a customer needs—what will help them at that particular moment, or bring a smile to their face if I’m picking up on stress or sadness. If it’s an obvious physical ailment, like a cold or a cough, I focus on that. Most of the time I’m just offering a cheerful pick-me-up. A little warmth on an otherwise cold day, you know?”
“Wayward Bay is lucky to have you looking out for them.”
“Mayor Singh tells me the same thing. I’m just waiting for the rest of the town to get the memo.”
“They will. We’re going to make sure of that, yes?”
Violet tucks a loose curl behind her ear and nods.
“So tell me,” I say. “What does the Devil most need at this particular moment?”
She scrutinizes my face, that tiny wrinkle forming between her eyebrows—her contemplative face, I’m coming to learn.
“You’re lonely,” she whispers, and we both gasp, as if the revelation is as shocking for her to discover as it is for me to realize how transparent I am.
“Oh, goddess.” She covers her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. I’m probably way off base. It’s… not always a perfect science.”
Sounds pretty damned perfect to me. In fact, it feels like an accusation. A knife pressed too closely to the tender heart behind the bone, and I recoil, shuffling my paper open, scanning the headlines for an escape from this conversation.
“I quite enjoyed the cup you made on our first morning together,” I say brusquely, not meeting her eyes. “Perhaps another of those, if it’s not too much trouble?”
“That was my Welcome to Wayward Bay brew—with a few minor customizations.”
“Sounds delightful. I’ll take a double.”
“Devlin?”
“Hmm?”
She’s quiet for so long, I’m certain she’s shuffled off to make the tea. But when I glance up again, I find her still standing there, just watching me. Calm and sweet and sincere.
“I just wanted to say… thank you.” She offers that cute shrug. “I know you have to help me in order to break the spell, but still. I appreciate you being so chill about the whole thing. I’m… working on another plan to set you free.”
“We have a plan, mushroom. Wrangle up some business, make some money, save the shop—Bob’s your uncle, we’re on our way.”
“A different plan. You’ll see.” She tries to wink at me, fails miserably, laughs again, and then she’s off.
It doesn’t take long for her to brew the tea, but before she can deliver it, the next wave of customers sweeps in. I’m contemplating getting up and retrieving it from the counter myself when someone else does the honors instead, delivering it to me with a dark, foreboding glare, no extra charge.
“How’s it hangin’, Horns?” the woman says.
Olivy.
I fold up my newspaper and sigh. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re a bit spooky?”
“I don’t know, Satan. Has anyone ever told you that?” She sets the cup and saucer on the table, then sits across from me, uninvited.
“Don’t you have a job? A hobby? A body to hide beneath your floorboards?”
“You’d think so, right? Alas, I’m on team good guy. I help the cops take down assholes who hurt women. Which is, not coincidentally, why I’m here.” She folds her hands in her lap and grins, interview style. “So tell me, Devlin Pierce. How do you feel about keeping your cock attached to your body?”
“I’m very much attached to the attachment.” I sip the tea—perfection, as always, almost enough to dim the threats. “How can I help you, Olivy?”
“We need to have a chat about this whole ‘unlocking the heart’s desire’ business. Lay some ground rules.”
I don’t bother hiding my derisive snort. “The only rules I’m beholden to, witch, are those set forth by the laws of magic. I’ve also agreed to honor your sister’s wishes as a courtesy I rarely offer. Beyond that—”
“Beyond that, if you value your attachments, you’ll hear me out.”
“Oh, for fuck’s…” I place the folded newspaper in my lap and give the vile witch my full intention. “Carry on.”
“I don’t know how much Violet told you about our family, but we’re a tight bunch. Five of us girls—sisters by choice. And the Aunts.”
“The Aunts?”
“Joslyn, Althea, and Lorelei. They run Three Sisters B&B up on Raven Hill.”
“Sisters by choice as well?”
“They’re our aunts by choice, but the three of them are blood-related. Waywards, actually, descended from the town founder, Agatha Wayward. And like I said, we’re close. Closer than blood.”
“Which explains why you’re threatening to chop off my favorite appendage to use in your dark workings.”
“Dark workings?” A lopsided grin twists her black-painted lips. “Do you have any idea how much I could get for the Devil's actual dick on the dark web?”
“No, and I don’t want to know. Merciful Hell, why are you so vicious? Your sister makes a calming tea. Perhaps you should indulge in a cup. Or eight.”
“And dull the edges of my sharp and scintillating personality?” Olivy laughs, but it fades quickly. When she speaks again, her voice is soft, laced with a tender affection I didn’t even know she was capable of. “Violet… She’s the best of us. Biggest heart, biggest dreams, first in line to help an old lady across the street, first to fall in love, first to get crushed when life drops a bomb on her head. It kills me that she’s in this predicament with the café, but you heard what she said—I’m bound to secrecy. She won’t let her family help her. Which means it all comes down to you.”
“Your point being?”
“No offense, but I don’t trust anyone outside the inner circle.”
“As well you shouldn’t.”
“I don’t want her to get hurt. Period.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about there. The spell prevents me from harming so much as a hair on her head, lest the magic think I’m trying to cheat my way out of our deal.”
Her eyes blaze—an even more terrifying sight than her black lipstick. “That’s not the kind of hurt I’m talking about.”
It’s admirable, the way she looks out for her sister. Which is the only reason I’m even entertaining this conversation instead of roasting her alive. Loyalty goes a long way with me.
“I’ll say this, Olivy, but only once. You have no reason to trust me, but despite the circumstances of our meeting, I harbor no ill will toward Violet. I’m not sure whether the Devil's word is worth as much as his severed cock on the internet, but I’ll give it to you anyway. I promise I’ll take care of her and do everything in my power to help unlock her heart’s desire, whatever that entails.”
“Fair enough.”
“But you need to do something for me in return.”
“A Devil's bargain?” She laughs. “I don’t think so.”
“No. A sisters’ bargain.” I extend my hand. “Don’t count Violet down and out just yet. Yes, she’s in a bind, and yes, I’m going to do everything in my power within the confines of the spell to help her. But she’s a strong woman in her own right. She’s already brainstorming new ideas, coming up with new brews, making an effort to analyze her competition. So no, saving the shop does not come down to me. She’s a fighter, and she’s bloody well got this. Understand?”
Her eyes widen, then drop to my hand. She stares at it a few beats, brow furrowed as if she’s having some raging internal argument with herself. Then, finally, she shakes.
“No mission creep,” she adds. “Like you said, you’ll operate within the confines of the spell to help her unlock her desire and save the shop, but that’s it. No other… entanglements.”
“Olivy.” I return to my paper and laugh, not out of derision this time, but genuine amusement. “What other entanglements could there possibly be?”