Chapter 3 #3
Was he . . . was he smiling? She felt herself starting to gape and snapped her mouth shut. His smile wasn’t large, really just a tip at the corner, but it was more than she’d seen before.
Maybe if she kept going on about her car, crack a few more jokes, she’d see that smile get larger. Would there be crinkles by his eyes? Creases in his cheeks?
Not that she cared. This was purely a scientific exploration.
Her phone buzzed in her purse, putting a pause on any further discoveries, and Pippa pulled it out to a message from Jules.
The Crown Jules: Okay but, like, how do they *work*
Pippa tapped out a response.
Pippa: How do what work?
The Crown Jules: Penises.
Pippa: What am I, your cock encyclopedia?
The Crown Jules: Yes, because you actually like them. Unless you don’t?? Pippa if you’ve put me on for the past three years I swear
Pippa: I haven’t put you on, promise.
The Crown Jules: Okay, well if that changes, I’d better be the first to know. SO precum. Tell me about it. Is it different than cum?
Nope, she couldn’t talk about cum now, especially with Maxim sitting two feet away.
Pippa: Use an incognito search. Don’t do images.
The Crown Jules: Boo. Also where are you?
Pippa: On my way. Are you working on your story at the dinner??
The Crown Jules: Yeah, it’s boring as fuck right now.
Maxim drummed his fingers on the wheel. “You were, uh, talking about demons earlier?”
Pippa froze halfway through returning her phone to her purse. Panic raced along her arms and twisted tight in her stomach.
She’d been such an idiot to talk about her hunting at work. Why did she think no one would overhear?
Her thoughts tumbled around in her head, each one growing increasingly spiked.
She could spin some story about how it was all part of a book.
But what if he didn’t believe that? What if he told someone else?
The coven would come down on her for this, surely.
Humans were like lambs, they always said.
Brittle in both body and mind. Witches had to protect them from the demonic threat just as much as they had to protect them from the existential dread that would come from learning their nightmares lived right down the street.
Pippa braced herself and started an excuse just as Maxim spoke.
“It wasn’t really what you—”
“I used to game, too.”
Her excuse fizzled off her tongue. “Game?”
Maxim cleared his throat. “I mean . . . I assumed that’s what you meant. I overheard ‘Player’s Handbook’ and jumped to conclusions.”
“Yes, yep, that’s . . .” Pippa said, the words rushing out of her in relief. “That’s what I was talking about.”
She’d never participated in said game, since fighting pretend monsters always felt like taking her work home with her, but she’d seen enough online tidbits and references to grab for an innocuous-sounding name.
“My favorite character was a bard,” Maxim said. “At least for the longest campaign.” He huffed a short laugh. There it was again—that almost-smile twitching up one corner of his mouth. It was like seeing a crack in stone. “I had to really sing, and not just say I was singing.”
“That sounds awful,” Pippa said honestly.
“Not at all.” His smile grew slightly and she caught a glimpse of his white teeth. “I used to love all of that. The adventure. Fighting evil.”
How hard would he break if he found out the truth? Fighting evil was all well and good behind when it happened over books and dice, where the only threat was someone else’s imagination.
“Sure,” Pippa said, not managing to sound even partially enthused.
Maxim’s smile faded. The stony countenance Pippa had learned to hate returned and covered any hint of emotion.
“But it was a long time ago. I was young.” He shifted in his seat, and Pippa got the sense he was uncomfortable to have revealed this part of himself, as if she would think less of him upon the discovery that he used to have fun.
It was tempting to try and delve deeper into the man beside her, yet even though these new facets of his personality sat her perilously close to “not hatred,” she wasn’t getting paid to analyze his history.
Pippa watched the city flash past the passenger window.
They spent the rest of the drive in silence.
The partners at Ivanov, Barry, and Cruz loved anticipation.
Dinner first and then the announcement before dessert.
The firm would celebrate Doris Ivanov’s innumerable accomplishments with gusto while at the same time basking in the anxiety of every associate waiting to hear if they were the one to be promoted.
Jules leaned over, chucking Pippa’s shoulder and nearly making her choke on her pasta.
“So wait, he what?” Jules whispered.
“Gave me a . . . ride,” Pippa said around a mouthful of penne.
Someone at the other end of the table shouted congratulations to Doris, then began to tell a meandering story about how she earned the nickname “Ironteeth.”
“But why?” Jules hissed.
“What, so he saves puppies but can’t let me in his car?”
“I implied that, at one point in his life, he saved puppies. Toss a dog in front of that man now and I bet he’d tell it to sign a contract before he pets it.”
“He also used to play Dungeons and Dragons.”
Jules pinned Pippa with an expression of such shock that a piece of unchewed broccoli fell out of her mouth.
“Oh, gross, Jules,” Pippa said as Jules scrabbled for the floret in her lap and popped it back into her mouth.
“Whatever, I’ve seen you do worse.”
“Please. When?”
“When you forgot your lunch and ate someone else’s forgotten science experiment in the fridge. Don’t you shake your head, I saw you. You sniffed the container, almost barfed, and then tried some of it.”
“So? How’s that a character flaw?”
“It isn’t, and you’re doing a great job of trying to derail this conversation.” Jules shook her head in disbelief. “Mad Maxim is a nerd. Goddammit. I love nerds. This is terrible news.”
“He used to play,” Pippa said. “Used to. Really emphasized that part.”
“Like that makes a difference. Once I know someone’s tasted the sweet, sweet elixir pouring forth from the loins of geekdom, I gotta respect a little.”
“You’re still having trouble with that sex scene, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jules muttered unconvincingly into her wine glass.
Pippa sipped her own drink and glanced over to where Maxim sat. The restaurant had slid several large tables together to accommodate everyone, and he was between two other associates who were currently talking around him.
He had excused himself to the bathroom almost as soon as he and Pippa had arrived and returned with his hair looking as put together as it could with only water from the sink. More professional than the rumpled relatable mop of dark blond, not quite the magazine cover coif of previous days.
Maxim rolled the stem of his wine glass between his thumb and his forefinger while he sent a calculating gaze around the table. What turbulent thoughts battered his mind? What judgments was he passing upon his coworkers based on their food preferences or eating habits?
Pippa’s attention snagged on the hand that held the wine glass. The slow spin of the glass stem between his large fingers would have been hypnotizing if not for her concern for the glass. With hands like those, she was surprised the stem hadn’t already snapped in his grip.
He shifted and scrubbed one hand through his hair.
For a brief second, dismay flared on his face at the realization that he’d wrecked whatever careful arranging he’d done in front of a bathroom mirror, and Pippa remembered that little almost-smile, the joy in his voice when he talked about things he’d once liked.
“How are you doing in the face of these discoveries, Pip?” Jules said, yanking Pippa’s attention back to her side of the table.
Pippa smoothed her napkin over her skirt. “He might not be a total asshole. It’s weird. I’m not sure how to feel about it.”
“Good. We should feel good.” Jules didn’t sound as if she had convinced herself.
Idle chatter accompanied the bustle of plates being cleared away and the clink of refilled drinkware.
Daniel Barry pushed his chair away from the assembled tables and stood with all the care of someone who had discovered a decade ago which knee was the bad one.
The chatter ceased. It was time.
Pippa wished only slightly that she was excited about all of it, because that might make this speech more bearable.
Not all of Daniel’s speeches were awful.
He always began with a hearty thanks, followed with a reminder about any upcoming firm events (next Monday was Joclyn’s birthday, and Michael would be bringing a cake from his nephew’s bakeshop) then rambled about a topic in the way that implied he’d once attempted stand-up comedy.
“Wow,” he said now. “Wasn’t that delicious? The last time I saw such a gorgeous dish, I was getting married. And the food wasn’t bad that day, either!”
Pippa joined the forced laughter and mentally began a list of the places she would scope out tonight. Last night, she’d gone as far north as Caldwell street, but maybe tonight she could head downtown.
“. . . thank you, I’m here all week! Nah, not really; no one wants me pouring wine. Anyway . . .”
There were rumblings of a few upstart succubi who’d set their designs on New Hawkshead’s university and had taken full advantage of freshmen who were simultaneously high on gullibility and low on sense.
She could give the demons a visit and make sure they understood the local laws.
Succubi were some of the more easy-going demons, and confrontations typically ended in long conversations comparing bad sexual encounters.
Plus, for some reason, they always made the best mixed drinks. Maybe it was the demonic magic.
After last night, Pippa could use an easy evening.