A fiery pit of dread opens up in my chest. I usher the mayor out as quickly as I can without being rude, then bolt out through the service entrance to find my parking lot packed with…
Nope, not customers who’ve forgotten where the entrance is.
Not suppliers mixing up our delivery schedule.
Not school kids on a field trip of all the town’s historic buildings.
This gathering is composed entirely of women. Dozens of them. All waving and smiling and yes, taking pictures.
Of the man holding court in a lounge chair on the balcony above.
Freshly showered, wet hair curling around his ears, bare chest gleaming in the sun. I can’t see what he’s wearing on the bottom from this angle, but knowing him, it’s probably just a towel.
“Has anyone ever told you,” Devlin calls down to his adoring fans, raising a glass in cheers, “that the women of Wayward Bay are among the most beautiful in the world? Take it from someone who’sseenthe world. You’re all just so kind and lovely. Truly. I couldn’t be more humbled—”
“We love you, Devlin Pierce!” a random fangirl shouts.
“Devlin’s my Daddy!” shouts another—yes, definitely a humbling experience for Devlin.
He responds by blowing a kiss and tossing down a handful of white roses.Mywhite roses, carelessly plucked from the arrangement I bought myself to brighten up my space two days ago.
That fiery dread inside me explodes into an inferno of rage.
Leaving the shop completely unattended—a thing Ineverdo—I rush upstairs and beeline for the balcony. Where I find, in no particular order:
Two traitorous cats sunning themselves on the railing, tails swishing, not a care in the world.
Three empty bottles that once contained bourbon.
One and a half empty bottles that once contained the remnants of my summer wine stash, kept on hand for guests.
The vase containing what’s left of my poor roses.
Two of those umbrella lighting thingies they have at photography studios.
A video camera mounted on a tripod, red light flashing, recording in progress.
And the Devil.
Not—as I initially feared—draped in a towel.
No. He’s draped in nothing. Nothing at all. Everything he possesses is just… out there.Reallyout there. Taking up space in the world. Alotof space. Holy shit. I can’t breathe.
“Ah, Violet!” He smiles when he finally sees me. Agenuinesmile, like he’s really glad I’m here, and his energy matches. Playful, excited, lighthearted. “Home for an early dinner, darling? Care to join me on the veranda?”
Fully aware of the ever-growing crowd below, and the recording equipment, I grit my teeth into a fake smile and whisper-shout, “Whatin the five elements of witchkind are youdoing?”
He presses his fingertips to his chest, jaw dropping, like,moi? Whatever do you mean?
My mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, but no words are coming out. I blame the shock.
“Wait… do you mean the Chardonnay?” He holds up the glass of golden wine, sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. “I know it’s gauche, but it was all I could find inside. You really should consider stocking alternate options. A pinot grigio at theveryleast, but reds are a much better choice this time of year. I’d assumed your palate was a bit more sophisticated given the penchant for tea blending, but perhaps not.”
I still can’t speak. Can’t breathe. My heart is about one more beat from exploding into a pile of red goo.
“Violet? Are you all right? Oh, and don’t mind the camera. We’re not live. Finn portaled some of my things over, and I decided to shoot some B-roll. I may be on the road, but the show must go on, as ever.”
“B-roll?B-roll!” I’m pretty sure literal steam is pouring out of my ears, cartoon teakettle style, but the Devil keeps on staring at me likeI’mthe one who’s lost the plot. “Devlin! You’renaked! On my balcony! Where people can walk right by and see you! Where peopleareseeing you! Right this very minute!”
