Page 63 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

Damien’s returning to Del Lune today. He wants to come over right away. I’m excited for it, genuinely, because I can lead with good news for once.

Bastion’s little book has exactly the information I needed. It was in the most innocuous little paragraph, buried in a chapter about sympathetic magic, of all things. A tiny sentence talking about how curses don’t transfer unless the intention is there in the holder of the curse. And gods bless the author, because they had a citation that enabled me to do some further reading.

Essentially, what I’ve learned is that as long as I don’t have the intention of passing along the curse during any naked fun times we have together, Damien will be safe.

Now, that doesn’t mean that proximity to me won’t cause problems for him. I still can’t leave the house with him, because if the demon’s curse comes for me while I’m out and he’s nearby, he’ll get caught in the crossfire. But I’m hoping I can make up for my agoraphobic existence with an expert blow job and a repeat of the homemade tortellini we didn’t get to enjoy last time. Maybe.

Then I just have to... try to figure out how I tell him about the interdimensional city below Del Lune that gives Halloween Town vibes… but with more blood sacrifice and nude dancing.

My heart aches as I think about Whitman and the way his face contorted with disgust when he finally realized I was the real thing. Not just some edgy teen with a metaphysics hobby, but a generational witch with very real magic.

The idea of that expression on Damien’s face makes me want to curl up into a ball and vanish. I do my best to remind myself that he’s nothing like Whitman, and that he’s promised that there’s nothing I could do that would make him not want me. I try to remind myself that Wren has seen him knowing about it and not going away.

But cognitive dissonance is a bitch, and I know enough about Wren’s abilities to understand visions can be misleading.

I finish up pinching the last of the pasta I’ve been working on and start to work on chopping up the basil and pine nuts for the pesto. I have to grate an entire mountain of parmesan cheese, which is strangely therapeutic as it gives me somewhere to expel all of the pent-up nerves in my body. I don’t know exactly when Damien is supposed to be here, but this helps me not obsess about that fact.

Finally, when I’m working on combining all the ingredients in my blender, my phone buzzes.

Hey. En route to you.

I can’t wait! <3

I try not to panic about the fact that he’s been way less flirtatious in his texts lately, or the fact that he basically never uses emojis anymore when he used to pepper them throughout every sentence. Something in my gut tells me there’s an outside force working on him, and I worry it’s my doing for not texting him sooner that night he asked me to be his girlfriend. But maybe that’s wishful thinking. It’d be easier if he were going to dump me because of some sort of jinx or hex making him think I wasn’t into him, rather than because he’s actually sick of the runaround I’ve been giving him since we met.

I’m still ruminating on it while plating our food. I’m ruminating so hard on it that I don’t even hear the door open. Gloam’s belled collar jingles as she bolts to meet him. Nope, I don’t realize he’s there until his hand slides over my lower back and I jolt with shock so hard I almost drop our food.

“Whoa, easy,” he says. He manages to save a plate; I barely keep the other balanced in my hands. He chuckles softly. “Sorry, didn’t meant to sneak up on you.”

“It’s okay,” I pant, finally looking up at him.

He gives me a crooked grin with those pointed teeth of his, and all the panic and worry I’ve been wading through quiets to a dull hum. It’s still there, but gods, I sure do feel better now that he’s here.

I set down the plate I’m holding, then the one he’s holding. Then I smooth my hands over his chest before grabbing onto his shoulders and hefting myself up onto his body in a squeezy hug. He laughs a little more freely this time as he lifts me into his arms. I feel his chest expand against mine as he pulls in a deep inhale that rustles my hair as he breathes it out.

“Man,” he says softly, almost reverently. “I really underestimated how good it would feel to touch you again.”

“Me too,” I say just as quietly. “I made pasta.”

“I see that. We almost ruined it again,” he says with a chuckle.

“And my UTI is gone,” I say. “So we can have life-altering, world-shattering sex now.”

“No shit? Let’s get out of the house to celebrate. Let me spoil you a little. Buy some more of those lacy little things you modeled for me.”

“I don’t need you to spend money on me, Damien. I have my own money,” I say. “And you’ve already spoiled me. I thought you wanted to stay in tonight.”

His tentatively warm expression darkens a little. He nods a bit, as if confirming internally that something is true.

“Lillith,” he says in a tone that makes my stomach fall in on itself. That’s a breakup tone. That’s a I can’t keep doing this tone. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“No, of course not—” I start, but he barrels on as if he won’t get it out if he doesn’t get it out now.

“I didn’t want to press you. I don’t want to ruin things with you. I really don’t. Frankly, this has been the worst week of sleep I’ve ever gotten in my life, because I think I’m way more into you than you are me. But there was the Daniel Hawthorne thing with Bastion Bumblebee or whatever. Like, fake names, are... Wow. That’s new for me.”

“Damien, no—”

“And you didn’t want to go to San Diego—”