Midway through the pizza and the television episode both, I chance a quick glance at her, surprised to find she’s already watching me. Assessing, in that curious way of hers. Wild auburn curls falling out of the bun to frame her face, the enormous glasses magnifying all the shades of blue in her eyes.
The sudden desire to hug her is strong and nearly overpowering, which is obviouslynotsomething I can act on, nice things not falling within the Devil's purview, see above.
I return my attention to the pizza, peeling off a pineapple ring and popping it into my mouth. “I’m sorry the spell didn’t work. For what it’s worth, I really believed you’d be rid of me tonight.”
Violet sighs her cute sigh, shoulders slumping. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, however misplaced it may be.”
“Faith in your abilities is never misplaced. Just because it didn’t work out this time doesn’t mean you don’t have the skill or talent.”
Her cheeks darken, the hint of a smile playing on her lips, but I can tell she’s still out of sorts. Still sad, her small frame swimming in her too-big sweatshirt, hot sauce staining the corner of her mouth, chamomile flowers clinging tenaciously to her hair.
Plucking another one loose, I say softly, “You claim your heart’s desire is to save Kettle and Cauldron. Is that all you wish for? Truly?”
She sighs again, a tiny wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows. I resist the urge to smooth it away with my thumb.
“It’s the only thing I’ve got that’s all mine,” she says, emotion filling her eyes. “My dream, my sweat equity, my magic. The money I’ve invested so far, for all the good it did. I know I made some big missteps, got in way over my head. But I just… I can’t lose this, Devlin. The Kettle and Cauldron… it’s everything to me.”
I reach for my wine, give it a swirl. Down it. Conversations like this… I’m not used to them. The honesty. The vulnerability.
I’ve spent the last several centuries doing my damndest to encourage people to give in to their baser instincts. To follow their darkest urges right off the cliff, straight into the fires of Hell.
Because my father made it a condition of my return. Because I’m good at it. Because some dark, depraved part of me fuckingrevelsin it.
Then a witch ensnares me in her trap—accidental, sure, but absolutely grounds for a good smiting. Yet somehow, all I can think about is helping her. Not because I’m bound to it, not because I’m getting something out of it, not because it brings me some twisted sense of pleasure.
But because I genuinely want to.
“If I’m to help you do this,” I say now, forcing myself to meet her eyes, to see the pain and hope in them and not shrink away from either, “without my Hell magic or influence, as your sister instructed us, I need to understand what we’re dealing with. I need to see you at work, Violet. You can’t just lock me away upstairs and hope for the best.”
A smile finally dawns. “Clearly that wasnotthe best, as you so demonstrated with your naked day-drinking victory speech.”
“Not the best? The ladies of Wayward Bay would beg to differ.”
“At least one of them will be begging for a new bra. Lingerie isnotcheap.”
“I’m well aware.”
The wrinkle appears once more, and Violet rises from the couch, heading into the kitchen for another slice. She returns with one for me as well, takes her seat, and un-pauses the show.
At the end of the episode, she finally turns to me and says, “Here’s the deal. You can hang out at the shop and take a few notes, maybe give me some pointers. From a safe, non-distracting, non-annoying distance.”
“Excellent. I’ll be on myverybest behavior.”
“Fully clothed,” she hastens to add, which is smart on her part, loopholes being the Devil's love language. “And before you even ask?No, leather chaps don’t count as fully clothed. Same for gray sweatpants.”
“What? They’re both perfectly—”
“Fully. Clothed.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll have Finn portal in with some additional selections from my wardrobe.”
“Normalselections,” she says, gesturing at my current ensemble. “Not this creepy-old-man-lurking-about-the-billiards-room getup you’ve got going on here.”
“Excuse me, but this is imported silk from—”
“No cameras, no lighting, no social media.”
“Cut off my right arm, why don’t you?”
