Page 6 of Infernal Affairs

“I just... I don’t know why you see him every week. You seem like you’ve got it together.”

“Nobody’s got it together,” Clover says, her lips pursed. She seems more amused than offended.

I bite my bottom lip, dusting it with stray powdered sugar.

“He just seems... steady. Like a mountain. I wouldn’t know what to say to someone like that.”

Clover laughs, but then she glances toward the window, her eyes drifting.

The autumn wind smears orange leaves across the glass, and for just a moment she looks softer than the town lets her be.

“He and his brother, the mayor, have been here longer than anyone. Built half the town, in fact. A lot can pile up over a few centuries.”

She draws a line of petals around the cake’s edge, each one perfect, then shakes her head.

“He and his brother helped found Blackthorn Bay back when it was three huts and a drunk selkie.”

I look at her, waiting for the punchline.

There isn’t one.

“He ever tell you about the lighthouse?” she asks.

I shake my head.

I know Enoch lives there. Everyone knows. It’s a local landmark, all black stone and ornate iron, perched on the cliff like a crow with opinions. But I’ve never asked about it.

“The demons built this town,” Clover says. “Stone by stone, after the shipwreck that nearly took half their population.”

She pauses, remembering.

“Some say it’s the only place he trusts himself not to hurt anyone.”

“He’s dangerous?”

“No.” Clover shakes her head. “But he believes he is.”

Silence settles between us, heavy as uncooked dough.

I can’t let it rise.

“Why do you see him?” I blurt, then wince at my own bluntness. “If you don’t mind sharing.”

Clover doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, she looks relieved.

“Because my sisters are impossible,” she says with a fond roll of her eyes. “You know witches. We’re stubborn as hell, and when we fight, everyone has to know about it.”

“Elowen’s passive-aggressive, Drusilla’s a manipulator, and I’m... not much better.”

She starts on the next tier, her movements brisk.

“We are the three High Priestesses of Blackthorn, whatever the hell that means these days, and sometimes I think it’s just an excuse to bicker without consequences.”

“He helps me talk it out. Keeps me from hexing my own family, which is more tempting than I’d like to admit.”

I snort, which nearly sends me nose-first into the icing-covered spoon in my hand.

“Sibling rivalry, but with global consequences.”