“Close enough.”
“And the invitations?”
“Think of them as milestones. Proof that the connection is real. Asking me to be your dance partner. Inviting me to dinner. Asking me to accompany you tonight.” He looks down at the bracelet. “Three invitations. Three rubies.”
“What happens when all seven turn?”
“I’m free. The contract is fulfilled. My debt is paid.”
I set down my whiskey glass. My hands are shaking.
“So this whole time,” I say carefully, “you’ve been—what? Cultivating me? Engineering situations to make me invite you to things?”
“No.” He says it firmly, almost angrily. “That’s exactly what I can’t do. The invitations have to be freely given. No manipulation, no influence, no demonic tricks. If I push, if I scheme, the stones know. The progress resets.”
“Then why me?”
“The contract… pushes me towards certain individuals.” He finally looks at me, and his eyes are bright with something I can’t name. “Isadora, I need you to understand something. When I walked into your studio that first day, yes, I was looking for someone who could help me fulfill the contract’s terms. You seemed promising because you had walls, which meant your invitations would be genuine. You wouldn’t offer them lightly.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“I know. But listen.” He reaches for my hand, then stops himself. “Everything changed. I didn’t expect... this.” He gestures between us. “I didn’t expect you. The way you challenge me. The way you see through my bullshit. The way you dance like you’re having a conversation with the music.”
My chest aches. I want to believe him. I want it so badly it hurts.
“How do I know you’re not manipulating me right now?”
“Because I can’t.” He holds up the bracelet. “It’s one of the contract’s conditions. I cannot use supernatural powers to influence your choices. No compulsion, no glamour directed at your emotions, no magical persuasion. If I try, the contract voids and I lose everything.”
“So you’ve been... what? Charming me the old-fashioned way?”
“Attempting to, at least.” His smile is rueful. “Though you make it very difficult. You have the best bullshit detector of anyone I’ve ever met.”
That’s not entirely true, I think. I didn’t detect this. A three hundred-year-old demon and I just thought he had unusual eyes.
His jaw tightens. “I’ve spent years trying to break this contract. It never works because I can never make myself actually feel anything.”
“But?”
“But then I met you.” He says it simply, like it’s obvious. “And you were so... stubborn. And prickly. And brilliant. And you looked at me like you saw right through every trick I had. And instead of running, I wanted to?—”
He breaks off, shaking his head.
“Wanted to what?”
“Stay.” The word comes out rough. “I wanted to stay. To actually learn to dance instead of faking it. To make you laugh instead of manipulating you. To be real with someone for the first time in three centuries.”
The silence stretches between us.
“Is that why you didn’t tell me?” I ask finally. “Because you thought I’d think it was fake?”
“Partially. And because I was afraid.” He sets down his untouched whiskey. “I’m still afraid. You have every reason to walk away right now. To kick me out and never speak to me again. I’m using you, even if I don’t want to be. My freedom depends on your feelings, and that’s?—”
“Complicated.”
“At best.”
I stare at the three rubies on his wrist. Three invitations. Three milestones. Four more to go.
