“What is it?”
She boldly meets my eyes. “Obviously, I respect your choice, please don’t think I don’t, but … the longer I think about it, the more I believe the deal with the dagbato isn’t as simple as it seems. Think about it,” she rushes to add when she notices my blank expression, “this deal has been going on for generations, you said. Your mother can’t have been the first to try and end it, right? And the dagbato demands a sacrifice every ten years for every family member. Do you really think its going to sit back if you decide you don’t want to continue your bloodline, effectively ending the deal? Especially after I detach it from the house’s eshé, ruining its delicately-planned escape?”
Ihadthought about it. A part of me had known the deal isn’t going to be simple at all.
I’d never known my father. For as long as I can remember, my grandmother had also been alone. Neither of them had any siblings or cousins or other extended family. When my mother had wanted a child, she’d had one with a stranger—an easily forgotten one-night stand.
Everything in moderation.I understood why, despite that mantra—despite the fact that I secretly believed regulating my emotions had nothing to do with this endless hunger—my mother had refused to let me haveanything. Why, if she’d known about Rosemary, she would have found a way to take her from me, too.
As her mother must’ve taught her, and just as she had taught me, she knew once I let myself want, I wouldn’t stop at a little.
I wouldn’t stop until I had swallowed everything I wanted whole.
So, it hadn’t made sense. Why bring a child into this, knowing they’d be hooked into fulfilling this deal as well? And doing sofor generations? Knowing—knowingyou’re passing down this—thisthing? This “curse”? Had the dagbatomadethem? Had it been a stipulation of the deal? Or is my judgement clouded because I’d never thrust this affliction upon anyone, let alone an innocent infant?
My grandmother had been so desperate for me to continue this deal she’d let her spirit remain tethered to the house, instead of getting her soul’s long deserved rest. And just like my mother’s tight lips, I know she hasn’t told me or Rosemary everything.
She’d given me the key to the book in the coded language documenting our family’s secrets, but it hadn’t explained the dagbato’s deal in enough detail—it hadn’t shown any downsides. If there’s anything I know about deals with demons—even with my limited knowledge of all things arcane—its that there arealwaysdownsides, and the demon almost always ends up with the better end of the bargain.
But despite all my doubts and suspicions, my mind remains firmly made up. Where there should be grief, or at least some sort of inner conflict, all I feel is emptiness. My mother did train me well in the end.
It takes nearly fifteen seconds to unclench my jaw, the time ticking silently away between us. Rosemary doesn’t try to fill it, for which I’m grateful. She’s always been like that, patient and calm while I try to gather my thoughts without being emotional.
“I’m aware the deal might contain stipulations. That doesn’t change my decision.”
“Genevieve …” She bites her lower lip. God, she’s so fucking lovely. She’s not wearing any makeup, only her lip balm. Her dark skin is dewy with a faint sheen of sweat. Tiny curls line the edges of her scalp, making her look so soft, a stark painting with the edges blurred sweetly out with a sponge. So vulnerable and easily breakable. “If the deal is as complicated as I suspect, then aren’t you just going to rope more innocents into it? Like yourmother roped you. And her mother roped her. It’ll no longer be just about you.” I want her to stop talking. I don’t want to think about this any further. Ican’t. “I …” She braces herself, facing me head on, and my spine stiffens even more. “Have you ever thought about … accepting it?”
My entire body goes still. Rosemary’s pulse flutters like a hummingbird’s at the base of her throat.
“And what is it that you want me to accept?” My voice is low but emotionless.
She cringes, as she should, but doesn’t answer. It makes me angrier. She wants me to accept this shit and she can’t even say it.
“You want me to accept that I’m literally not a person?” I say with an unexpected calm; my hands are shaking. “Just a thing pretending to be one?”
“I literally can’t be killed,” she whispers timidly. “A lot of people would say that makes me inhuman, too.”
“It’s not the same and you know it.”
“I know that you’re changing—” she starts, and I bark out a laugh so loud and brash it makes her teeth clack as she shuts her mouth.
She still doesn’t understand, it seems, so I’m going to have to make her.
“Legbaju.” She flinches, then flushes and ducks her head like she’d tried and failed not to react. It fills me with grim satisfaction. “I’m notchanginginto anything.” Fuck, fuck, why are my eyes stinging? Why won’t my hands stop fucking shaking? “I’m literally a fucking folktale. A monster who feeds on the hearts of living things, using that to basically steal their forms, all so it can blend in to keep hunting. To keepeating. Over the past few weeks, my craving for blood and violence has been constant and growing. I had to hunt and kill last night, and it still wasn’tenough.” Rosemary’s eyes are wide. “The deal withthe dagbato makes it easier to ignore the hunger and gets rid of the killing intent—it’ll let me keep this human form withoutmehaving to eathuman fleshto maintain it.” She doesn’t flinch this time, her eyes fearlessly locked on mine. I grind my jaw. “If that meansonesacrifice every ten years as opposed to murdering hundreds, maybe thousands of people in my lifetime, I’m taking the fucking deal.”
The silence is loud.
“So …” Rosemary begins tentatively, and I just know she’s about to piss me off. “A creature of legend who has the inexplicable urge to kill. Who can only remain … human, when it consumes the hearts of other humans. And a human who can … regrow her heart, so to speak. I don’t know, Genevieve; it kind of sounds like fate to me.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
Then my lips twitch, despite myself. She smiles, and we’re both laughing softly.
“Fuck.” I inhale shakily. I don’t know why I’d expected a different response. Stubborn could’ve been her middle name; yet another reason I’d left. If I’d stayed, she’d have made me feel exactly like this. Like I’m the person I know I’m not. Like she loves me, still, when it’s obvious she still doesn’t reallyseeme.
No. She sees the facade of the human she thinks she knows, not the monster shamelessly wearing some human’s stolen and long-forgotten skin.
My amusement fades.
