Page 85 of Succubus

I catch his wrist. He pivots, seizes my shoulders, and holds me too hard, like he’ll throw me next, like he’ll cast me into the night. His voice drops, freezes over. “I said don’t follow me.”

“What’s happening?” I ask, this time out loud, and I hear the bewilderment in my voice. I need to focus. I need to act.

“Go away, Tempest.” He steps into the house, tugs his hand from my grasp like I am a paper chain, and my grip tears just as easily.

“I can’t let you hurt them,” I whisper. “I can’t let you.”

“Then tell me where your father is. You said yourself that he’s evil. Let him go.”

“I don’t even know him,” I hear myself say.

He’s going to shut the door now.

I know what I have to do.

It’s the same as in the beginning, in the exam room. For some reason, we have returned to that point, when I felt his magic in me, felt my body shutting down. But I am more afraid now.

Or maybe I just can’t remember.

I was angrier then. The anger helped. The anger was better.

I’m disoriented.

The door is closing; it is a knife that cuts us in two—the house and him, the night and me.

I gather myself, I launch myself, hit with my shoulder. I tumble inside, bones dry and fragile, fall against him. He is much, much too strong, but he isn’t fast enough. I kiss him. He lurches back from me, I surge forward and kiss him again. He makes a frustrated sound, half fury, half lust.

And here we are again.

But it’s different this time. This time, it’s the wrongest yet.

CHAPTER 27

Your hair looks different, T,” says Alice. “Did you dye it? It’s sort of glowy.” She touches it.

We’re doing a Day of Thanksgiving at the park where the homeschool group meets. We’ve already shared our gratitude poems and now the kids are running around searching for the glass gems we’ve hidden. (One of the moms brought a book about magical gems that inspire kindness in everyone who encounters them.)

“I love it down,” says Harini. “You never wear it down.”

“Oh,” I say, “well, it’s so boring, I just never— ”

“It’s not boring!” they protest at the same time.

I wave this off, laughing. “Okay, okay.” It’s nice to be back, but I’m having trouble standing still. I feel jittery, charged up, hyperalert. I’m not sure how long I can stay here, watching kids play with twigs.

I am strong again—last night’s fit of vulnerability and unwellness was cured by the sex that followed, during which I didn’t allow myself to think at all. I went for a run at dawn, but I’ve been amped up all day, fidgeting through Ms. Nancy’s patient explanations of key signature at Ella’s violin lesson—which got annoyingly rescheduled for this morning—checking my phone compulsively.

I wonder if I should talk to Dee about a babysitter for Ella. I need some time off.

Or maybe Mom can do it.

No. There must be some camp I can sign her up for, when the schoolkids have their winter break.

She’ll never go. It’ll be too scary.

She’d adjust.

She didn’t adjust to school.