“Pleeease,” she says, with that now-familiar twinkle in her eye, andfucking Hellfire,I’m powerless. Useless. The Council should take away my demon credentials and cast me into the eternal flames.
“Fine,” I grind out. “We’ll go to this dreadful, unbearable, geriatric pub if it will erase that pathetic look from your face. Honestly, Miss Bonnivarde. It’s beneath you.”
“Ha! But it worked, didn’t it?”
I sigh and hold up my index finger. “Onedrink, then we’re calling it a night.”
“One drink,” she promises. “You’re gonna love it.”
nineteen
MERRICK
“One, two,three!”
The witch slams a hand on the bar and downs the shot in what can only be described as a well-practiced ballet. I try to keep up, but after three attempts—the salt, the lime, the tequila, I can never recall which goes first or why humans enjoy this ridiculous sport—I’m beginning to lose both my fine motor skills and my judgment.
Pouting at her now empty shot glass, Miss Bonnivarde flags the bartender and orders us a round of beers.
Well.
In what can only be a direct violation of the laws of physics attributable to some bit of subtle witchcraft performed without my knowledge, the witch seems to be holding her liquor better than I. A shameful admission, but one I’m bound by my profession to note for later analysis. Alone. In my bed. Where I can lose myself in the indulgent fantasy where I’m still human and she’s not my student but something else entirely. Something requiring less alcohol and fewer articles of clothing and?—
“Dr. Sutherland? You know that wholein vino veritasthing? I guess it applies to tequila too, because suddenly I have a confession to make.”
Oh, no.
I turn my sticky barstool to face her, knees inadvertently brushing her leg. She doesn’t draw back. For once, neither do I. It’s not touching, exactly, but it’s close enough, and the warmth of it ties my stomach in knots in a way that’s terrifying yet not altogether unpleasant.
Again, further analysis needed.
She brushes the hair from her face and gazes up at me, open and earnest, eyes slightly glassy from the effects of the alcohol. “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”
“I shall endeavor not to.”
“No! No endeavoring. You have to promise me.”
“I can not make a promise based on such limited information. Perhaps you’re going to confess you’d like to murder me when my back is turned, or you’re planning to overthrow Hell with your magical wily ways, or maybe?—”
“Okay,fine. I’ll tell you. Just… don’t look at me.”
Barely containing the urge to roll my eyes, I close them. “Happy?”
I hear her long exhale. Feel the ghost of her breath on my hand.
Then she says, “This issuperweird but… Okay. Here goes. I sort of have a teensy, tiny, infinitesimal, minuscule, pea-sized, microscopic?—”
“Yes, I, too, own a thesaurus. Please get on with it.”
“—crush on you.” She pauses. I wait for her to explain. She doesn’t. “You can open your eyes now.”
I return my attention to her. She’s still gazing at me, her cheeks that lovely shade of crimson, her eyes sincere.
Then she laughs and says, “I mean, don’t take it personally,God!”
“Okay?”
“It’s just… I think I have authority issues? And you’re very… authoritative. In a good way. Like, that whole Emperor card thing the other day?”
