I follow him through. The kitchen is all exposed brick, and copper pans hanging from hooks, and a range cooker that probably cost more money than I’ve ever had in my entire life. Hex is at the counter chopping vegetables with the focused precision of someone who has been alive for several centuries and has strong opinions about knife technique.
He looks up when I come in. Those red eyes fix on me for a moment. Assessing.
“Felix,” he says. His voice is that low rumble that sounds like it’s coming from somewhere deep underground. “You’re looking well.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Liar.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Perhaps. But it seemed polite to try.”
Adam hands me a glass of wine. I take it and lean against the counter, watching Hex work. His hands move with that particular inhuman grace that he has never quite managed to hide completely. The knife flashes. Perfectly uniform pieces of courgette fall onto the chopping board.
“Shadow beings don’t need to eat… food.” I remind him.
“No,” says Hex.
“Then why are you cooking?”
“Because Adam enjoys it when I cook. And I enjoy doing things that Adam enjoys.”
He says this with absolutely no embarrassment whatsoever. Just states it as a fact. As if being utterly besotted with his human is a perfectly reasonable thing to announce while chopping vegetables.
I look at Adam. Adam has gone slightly pink and is very focused on opening a second bottle of wine.
They’re disgustingly happy. It’s genuinely appalling.
I take a long drink and try to ignore the twist in my chest that might be jealousy or might be grief or might be both at once.
“How’s the coffee shop?” Adam asks, with the careful tone of someone changing the subject.
“Functioning. I hired someone this morning.”
Adam looks up sharply. “You did? That’s great! What are they like?”
I think about Brian’s enthusiastic grin and his cult backstory and the way he made another perfect flat white while discussing the spiritual significance of Monty Python.
“Relentlessly cheerful,” I say. “Possibly deranged. Excellent with customers. I’m either going to fire him within a week, or he’s going to become the best employee you’ve ever had.”
“That sounds promising,” says Adam, in the tone of someone who is being supportive despite having no idea what I’m talking about. “I trust your judgment.”
He does trust my judgment. He bought the coffee shop and immediately handed me the keys, and told me to run it however I wanted. Which was either extremely generous or extremely trusting or possibly just Adam being Adam.
Hex scrapes the courgette into a pan. The sizzle fills the kitchen. He doesn’t look at me but I can feel his attention on me anyway, that particular weight of being observed by something that sees far too much.
“You’ve been working on something,” he says. It’s not a question.
My hand tightens on the wine glass. “I’m always working on something.”
“Something magical.”
“I’m a witch. Everything I do is magical.”
“Felix.” His tone is patient. Almost amused. “I can smell it on you.”
I freeze. Of course he can. The spell work I’ve been doing for the past three months is probably radiating off me like a beacon to anyone who knows how to look.
Adam is watching me now too. His expression has shifted from casual to concerned in the particular way that means he’s noticed something and is trying to decide whether to push.
The ring on his finger catches the light. The gold band that means he’s engaged to a shadow prince. Thatsimple, impossible fact. Adam has a fiancé. Adam is getting married.
