“Oh, I get it. As willyou, if you insist on being cute.”
She laughs. Miracle of miracles. Then, “Thank you, Devlin. I love it. It’s not going on a shelfever—I’m going to use it every single day. Now open yours.”
I tear into the paper, unwrapping a mug painted inside and out with her signature red-capped polka-dotted mushrooms. It’s thoughtful and adorable and for some reason brings tears to my eyes, which I quickly blink away.
“Just a little something to remember me by,” she says softly. “When you’re home, I mean. If you even drink tea at home. It’s… it’s silly. I’m sorry. I know I’m—”
“It’s not silly, Violet.” I finally meet her gaze. “It’s lovely. Truly lovely.”
Heat floods my chest, racing through my veins. Suddenly, there’s so much more I want to tell her—that no one has ever given me a gift so freely, without expectation, without strings attached. That I don’t need a mug to remember her by, but in the thirty seconds since I’ve opened it, it’s already become my most cherished possession.
That some small, insistent voice inside me is growing louder by the day, shouting down the terrifying truth I can’t seem to face:
I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to leave her.
Violet’s eyes shine with intensity, her lips parting in a gasp, and I realize she can sense my emotions. That in letting my guard down, I’ve already revealed so much more than I meant to. Than I should have.
“Devlin.” She reaches for my hand. “I didn’t—”
“Oh, but we’re not done yet!” I blurt out, forcing myself to shore up my walls. Plaster on the smile. Get this show back on the road, post-haste, before I say something that dooms us both. “The mugs were just the first thing on the cheering-up agenda, and I promised two.”
Violet sighs, and I don’t have to be an empath to feel her disappointment. “You don’t have to keep—”
“Oh, but I do.” I retrieve my phone, queuing up a video from a particularly crazy party last summer. “Here. Watch this.”
I tap the play button and hand it over.
Violet sighs again, but ultimately turns her attention to the video. I see it all unfolding, reflected in her glasses—a memory come to life. Me, Finn, Azazel, the foyer full of ridiculous people.
The horse.
“See?” I lean in to watch over her shoulder. “And this is just thetipof the mortification iceberg. I’ve been making a fool of myself for an audience for longer than you’ve been alive, and I promise you, your botched performance was not as bad as you believe. From this day forward, whenever you’re in doubt, I want you to think back to thisveryspecial video of the Devil himself riding a horse through the middle of a crowded foyer wearing nothing but a cape and a silver g-string, launching himself into the infinity pool over a burning pyre, and remember… it couldalwaysbe worse.”
The momentary heaviness that fell between us dissipates in the wake of her laughter. “You’ve definitely set a new bar.”
“Alowbar.”
“Basement, if I’m being honest. Sub-basement. Although, youdolook pretty cute wearing almost nothing.”
“No lies detected.”
“I’m still not a huge fan of the pitchfork, though.”
“Lies!” I pull her close, snuggling her against my chest and kissing the top of her head. “Youlovethe pitchfork. You’ve loved it from the very start.”
Violet continues scrolling through my greatest hits, laughing at some of them, gasping at most of them. But when she finally returns my phone, the light in her eyes has dimmed.
“That was supposed to cheer you up, mushroom. Why are you not cheered? Do I need to further lower the bar? Because I’ve got more.Lotsmore. Sub-sub-subbasement more.”
She tries to smile, but it’s pained, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft and sad and full of regret. “It’s just… kind of hitting me.”
“What is?”
“That I took you away from all this. I had one bad night, got drunk, and cast a spell that stole you away from… from everything. Finn and all your friends, all these beautiful, glamorous people, the gorgeous house and the parties and…goddess, Devlin. I had no idea this was your life.”
“No one has any idea,” I say softly. “Because thisisn’tmy life, Violet. It’s merely the face I present to the world. The show I’ve been putting on in one form or another for centuries.” I scroll through the recent videos again, see myself in all of them—surrounded by drunken revelers, laughing and hollering, all in various states of debauchery, all having the times of their lives, drinking away their nights as if they have an eternity of them to go through. As if they’re not heading straight for Hell.
But nothing about it feels familiar anymore. It’s as if I’m watching someone else play the part. Someone I’ve never before seen and have no interest inmeeting, letting alonebeing.
