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“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” I say.
His eyebrow ticks upward. “I’m… sorry?”
“You’re reading my feelings.”
“I’m not reading them; that would imply some level of active participation. I’m just smelling them, and unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do to stop that specific talent of mine. And for the record, the pity party doesn’t suit you, little witch.”
I scoff. He has no right to tell me how to feel in this moment; doesn’t he know I’m doing this for him? Not that I have much of a choice, at this point. But even if I could weasel my way out of it, find a loophole, I wouldn’t. Not if it’d mean leaving Tei under the thumb of the curse for the rest of eternity.
Because that’s what would happen, if I didn’t die for him. The idea that someone could love him the way I do, that he could love them — no. That’s not something I can contemplate. Not with the choice I’m making.
“Speak your mind,” he growls. “Never hide your thoughts from me, Esme. I want all of them. The good, the bad, the ugly. I can take them. What I can’t take is you building walls between us.” His hand leaves the steering wheel to find my thigh, and squeezes. “No armor. No barriers. Not between us.”
I sigh, letting my head hit the headrest and run a hand over my face. “I’m… content with the choice I’ve made. It would be stupid to say I’m happy with it, but I can deal with it. Then why am I still scared of dying?”
Tei puckers his lips, his eyebrows pinching in as well. “You’re the shepherd of souls, little witch, so you tell me. If mortals were comfortable with the concept of death, do you think they would need something to usher them into it?”
My mind travels to Bernie, to the way he feared crossing despite everything he had waiting for him in the Beyond. For a man like him, life had been nothing but a holding pattern, waiting for death to reconcile him with the love he’d waited half a century for. And yet, when it came time for it, he wavered. He was scared.
A kernel of warmth spreads in my chest at the thought of seeing Mama again, seeing Àvia. After twenty years, my mother’s memory hasn’t quite faded, but the image I conjure when I close my eyes is that my four-year-old self remembers. It’ll be nice meeting her as an adult. As a witch.
“I’m guessing the Prince of the Beyond won’t be allowed to be seen with the lowly spirit of a witch.”
Tei scoffs. “You think I care what is proper for me to do or not to do, when it comes to you?”
He would’ve, a few months ago, when he spoke of his purpose and utility to the Crown as the ultimate motivations of his life. So I just shrug.
“I love you, Esme. A witch. The heir of the creature who cursed me. I love you and feel no shame for it, nor do I feel the need to hide or change those sentiments. As far as my kind is concerned, I’ve already lost my mind.” He brings our joined hands to his lips and kisses the back of mine hard. “If I wanted to invite a lowly spirit into my bed, that ought to be the least of everyone’s concerns.”
The fact that he’s talking about me in his bed, but not in his life, frays my nerves, but I keep the unwelcome feelings at bay. One step at a time, here.
We spend the rest of the two hour ride in relative silence. Lulled by the patter of the rain, I even fall asleep for part of it. When I awake, we’re parked in front of a familiar white building perched on the cliffside. Marta stands outside, under the awning, holding open an umbrella. Did Tei call her while I slept to let her know we were coming?
“How long have we been here?”
“Just a minute or two. I was getting ready to wake you. Are you good walking, or would you like me to carry you inside?”
I shudder at the thought. That would give my cousin a show. “I’ll walk.”
Tei nods and opens his door. When she sees us moving, Marta steps out of the awning and joins us. She holds the umbrella out for me so I can step under it, leaving Tei under the rain. He doesn’t seem to mind as the water seeps into his black hair, curling the longer strands to fall over his forehead. He moves efficiently, unloading our luggage from the back of the car and holding it as if the extra weight caused him no strain at all, besides the flexing of his forearm muscles.
When Marta’s fingers wrap around my elbow and urge me forward, I shake out of my daze. “You’re in trouble,” she tells me in Catalan.
I roll my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know, cosina.”
Inside Marta’s flat, the couch has been rolled out into a bed, all made with fresh sheets and pillows. “Not a lot of privacy here, I’m afraid,” she says in Catalan, sweeping her arms around her small space, “so I would appreciate if whatever the two of you do in the dark, you could refrain from doing it while I’m around.”
Tei wiggles his brows. “Cute to think we need darkness,” he answers, his Catalan just as fluent as hers.
Marta’s face twists in disgust. “I did not need to hear that.”
Tei busies himself bringing in our luggage, setting my backpack by our makeshift bed and moving our carryons into the wardrobe Marta emptied for us. I reach for the backpack and dig out the grimoire. The moment she sees the book, Marta gasps. She grabs me by the shoulders and spins me, having us both seated on the edge of the couch-bed in a second.
“Holy Beyond, you truly found it.”
Her finger strokes the leather-bound cover of the grimoire with reverence, as if it could disintegrate if she isn’t careful enough. I pass the book to her, sitting in her lap, and Marta nearly jerks back.
“No, I…”
