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“It won't be long.”

“We don't know that.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Damian—”

“And you know what you'll have to do.”

The words barely make it out. Silence stretches between us.

I stare through the window at the neighboring Victorian. Margarita Ramos's old place has been empty since she died.

Strange woman.

Powerful Witch.

Terrible neighbor.

Even worse taste in spectral houseguests.

But I liked her.

Mostly.

“I will do no such thing.”

“Grandmother.”

“I will not put down my grandson like some rabid animal.”

“If I change permanently⁠—”

“You won't.”

“If I lose myself⁠—”

“You. Won't.”

The steel in her voice could cut glass. I drag a hand down my face.

“What exactly do you think happens if my Devil takes over completely? I settle down and start knitting?”

“I think the Fates owe me one.”

I bark out a laugh.

“That's your plan?”

“My plan is to find your promised.”

“Before what? Tuesday?”

“Don't be dramatic.”

“I have fucking wings permanently attached to my back.”

“You've always had wings.”