“What isupwith me is that I’m trying to teach an inexperienced, belligerent, overeager witch how to harness hermagic and step into a very important role which she refuses to take seriously, and?—”
“No. Fuck that. You’re not trying to teach me things. Not today. Today, you’re trying to be a dick. Well, here’s a little newsflash, professor. You can stop trying. You’ve got it down pat. A+ performance. Top notch.” She glares at me with a mix of revulsion and rejection, fury and pain. It chews right through me, straight to the heart. “On the upside, at least I know why I drew the Emperor card today. God! You’re giving meseriousdaddy issues, Professor Jerkface. Quite an achievement, considering I never even had a father.”
My response dies on my lips. I turn away. Busy myself with the books on the table. Stacking, rearranging. Opening and closing. Guilt burns anew, yet I can not bring myself to face her and apologize.
Moments pass in agonizing silence, the smell of brimstone and candle wax thick and suffocating. I’m about to leave her to her own devices, to suggest we spend a few more days apart, when suddenly I sense her shifting behind me.
I stiffen, waiting for the touch she knows better than to attempt. Hoping for it as much as I dread it.
But there’s only a soft, defeated whisper.
“What aren’t you telling me, Dr. Sutherland?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, but my defense is as weak as it sounds.
“Portal energy isn’t the only thing I can feel. We’re supposed to be in this together, yet you’re keeping me at arm’s length. What changed?”
I ignore the question. Wait, in more unbearable silence, for her to give up and retreat. To seek solace in her wine, in her marijuana, in her fantasies.
But the witch remains rooted.
I finally turn. Meet her eyes, gazing up at me not with revulsion this time, but concern. The vulnerability in her face is so raw and honest it nearly makes me stumble; I can’t recall the last time I came so close to anything so bloody human.
“You’re right,” I admit, my voice low in the dim. “I’m being irrational and overly critical, and for that, I apologize.”
Her expression softens, but only a little.
“I learned some things in Hell… things that will impact the portal and your ability to safeguard it. There’s a potential threat… My colleagues and I do not yet know how to neutralize it, or if we even can.”
“What is it?”
I pause. Debate, once again, how much to share.
“Look, Professor,” she presses. “I’m not asking you to reveal your deepest, darkest secrets here. You’re a demon—obviously you’ve got some skeletons in the closet.”
I very nearly laugh. If she only knew.
“But if something’s brewing that impacts the portal,” she continues, “I need to know. It’s myjobto know—that’s what I signed up for the night you took me to the cemetery and opened my eyes to this whole world I never knew existed. I told you I was in, and I meant it. But how can I be in—trulyin—when you seem so intent on keeping me out?”
She’s right, of course she is, and I sigh, wishing I didn’t have to admit it. “I suppose I was just… trying to protect you. To keep you from worrying about the things you can’t control.”
“When it comes to the big things in life, there’s very littleanyof us can control. Even all-powerful witches and demons.” The candlelight wavers in her eyes again, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. “But the more knowledge we share, the more influence we can have. And from there, we can try to make better decisions.Together.”
I return her ever-growing smile. It can not be helped. “That’s very wise, Miss Bonnivarde.”
She offers an adorable shrug. “I’m pretty smart, professor. For a day-drinking, caffeine-jonesing stoner who’s made a long career out of making bad choices.”
“It’s never too late to make new ones.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting I quit drinking. Because honestly? I’m not sure I could deal with you otherwise.”
That does it. Breaks the last of the ice, and now we’re both laughing, and maybe, just maybe, we can still salvage this day after all.
“Tell you what,” I offer. “I’ll fill you in on everything I learned in Hell. You can fill me in on how your Tarot studies are progressing. And tomorrow, bright and early, we shall begin a proper curriculum on summoning and binding a low-level demon for small-scale spellwork.”
“Really?” Her eyes are positively glowing.
“Really.” I retrieve my hastily discarded journal and set it upon the table with the books. “And just so we’re clear, I never once doubted your intelligence, Miss Bonnivarde. Perhaps you should stop doubting it yourself.”
