Page 66 of Realm of the Wicked

I thought of all the things I wanted to say. Was I just supposed to pretend yesterday didn’t happen? How did I forget the feeling of being home for the first time in forever? How did I forget him?

‘Stella.’

Stella. Stella. You are perfection.

‘Yes?’

He’d tell me now it was all a mistake. A slip of logical thinking. He’d tell me I was merely a human, and he was the Devil and there was positively, absolutely nothing between us.

‘I’ll go find Agatha even though I’m a mess.’ I got to my feet, brushing the dirt off on my pants.

As I brushed past Damien, his hand snapped out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me close. When he dragged his mouth along my neck, I realized last night hadn’t been a dream. When he notched his lips to my ear, I realized I was stupid to ever even think otherwise.

‘Stella,’ he breathed, his words caressing my ear. ‘Even covered in dirt, you are by far the most perfect thing I’ve ever laid my eyes on.’

My breath caught, a solid block in my chest, warmth flooding through me. ‘I thought it didn’t matter to you.’

He laughed gently. ‘On the contrary, it meant everything to me. As soon as Agatha is done with you, I’ll show you just how much.’

I walked through the garden like a dream. It was real. It meant something.

I found Agatha in the kitchen, surrounded by steam. Coughing, I brushed away the fog. ‘Agatha?’

‘Oh good, D found you.’ She waved me over. ‘I’m in over my head with all these tomatoes. Can you start filling the jars while I blanch them?’

‘Uh, sure.’ Canning tomatoes. Add it to the catalog of things I’d learned under Agatha.

She pointed to a large steel bowl of ice, filled with bright-red tomatoes. ‘Those ones are ready to go. Make sure you leave half an inch of space at the top.’

I took my place next to the massive range and got to work. Agatha blanched, transferring the tomatoes from the pot to the bowl, and I filled the jars. We worked in comfortable silence, only pausing when Agatha needed to gather another basket of tomatoes, or I ran out of jars. At some point, clouds gathered over the window, a light rain beginning to fall.

‘Shouldn’t there be some kind of, I don’t know, magical way to preserve these without all this work?’ I laughed, wiping my hands on a dishtowel as Agatha tightened the lids on the now filled jars.

She smiled as she started filling the largest pot I’d ever seen with water, as the kettle sang. ‘Sure, I could ask D. But there’s something soothing to the mind about doing things by hand.’

The jars went into the water one by one with a quiet plop. Sure enough, my brain was completely absent of the thoughts that riddled it before. ‘You didn’t need my help, did you?’

‘Sure, I did. Many hands make light work and all that.’ She smiled at me, pouring two mugs of tea without asking.

I took the warm mug. My back ached, but I only felt satisfied watching the jars bob in the water. ‘Sure. And Damien is an angel.’

Agatha grinned, taking a sip of her tea. ‘Now what would make you say that? Anything in particular you’d like to talk about? Maybe a certain garden fire?’

I shook my head, a blush spreading across my face. How did she know? ‘I don’t know what there is to say.’ And I didn’t. Whatever was between Damien and I was fragile, delicate, and I didn’t want the wrong word to make it all vanish.

Agatha’s smile blinked away, only to return a moment later. ‘Well, I won’t try to talk you out of anything. I’ll just ask you to be sure. I don’t think he’d survive it if you changed your mind.’

I nodded, unsure if words would accurately describe anything I was feeling.

We sipped our tea, listening to the rain. Eventually, Agatha got to her feet, taking both of our mugs with her. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘I can handle the rest of this. Thank you for your help.’

Once I left the kitchen, the quiet doubts in my head grew louder, taking over yet again. At some point, Clarissa was coming back. We hadn’t done what she’d asked. She might take me back to Hell with her. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to leave.

I found my way to my room, scrubbed myself clean of the dirt from the garden and the tomatoes from the kitchen, and threw on a yellow sundress. The rain poured outside my windows.

I didn’t want to lose Damien.

As if of their own volition, my feet led me out of my room. Past the Nihil, hiding in their corner, down the stairs, endless and dark. Through the halls that once seemed like my own prison, but now that I knew better, offered me freedom. On and on, until I found myself standing in front of Damien’s study.