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Eventually, Oleander couldn’t resist breaking the silence. “Do you know much about the Devil?”

Wisteria’s eyes slid to him, an appraising look crossing her features. “I might.”

“Do you think he’s essential to Hell? There are rumours,” He rubbed the back of his neck, unease settling over him. “I mean, our father always said Hell would crumble without him.”

“Maybe it would,” Wisteria agreed carefully.

Oleander sucked in a shaky breath. “Do you really think so?”

“No.” Wisteria said. “I don’t. To be honest, our father is nothing if not a mountain of shit crammed into a demon’s body. He’s also hyperbolic. I think we’d be fine... eventually, anyway.”

“So, if the Devil were actually gone…” He let the question linger in the air between them.

Wisteria turned towards him, her head tipping slightly, studying him. She cast a quick glance at her wrists before responding, “If the Devil were gone, there would be consequences. Bad ones, probably. But I think there are forces at work who’ve wanted him gone for a long time. And they’ve been preparing for it.”

His brow furrowed. “How do you know that?” There was something unusually sincere in her expression—something that threw him off balance.

She started to speak, but the words were overpowered by a dry hacking cough. She took a small sip of tea, then cleared her throat and tried again. “I was—”

This time, her cough was louder, more frantic, and after a few minutes, she let out a strangled sound, a mix of a groan and a growl that echoed through the cavern. The runic spiders, curious, came scurrying to investigate the disturbance.

Wisteria waved them off, and they scampered back to their Oleander-centred-debate. When she turned back to him, a few tears glistened in her eyes.

“I’m the first,” she said, her voice a rasp, almost broken. “The first to search for answers. But…” She sighed in frustration. “When I found those answers, it came with a geas which feels more like a curse now than anything. I—there are things that I know that I cannot share.”

Oleander’s heart clenched. He instinctively pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her in a tight, comforting embrace. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, the first?”

She shoved away from him, hastily wiping her face with the sleeve of her robe. “Ugh, it doesn’t matter. It’s just frustrating. Not being able to say what I want.” She glanced at him. “Oh, just shut up and drink your tea, already.”

So he poured them more tea and they watched the waves lap at the rocks, the quiet broken only by the soft squeaks of the runic spiders.

After a while, Wisteria let out a long, dramatic sigh. “Should I be worried about you asking if the Devil’s dead? This is a very specific worry that you’ve never mentioned until now.”

“I don’t think he’s dead, per se,” Oleander replied carefully.

Wisteria dropped to a sharp whisper. “What the fuck do you mean, per se? What do you know? Is the Devil dead?”

“No! I don’t think so, anyway.” Oleander quickly clarified. “I’m just not sure if he’s exactly what you’d call,” He cleared his throat. “...alive.”

Her eyes narrowed, searching his face. “Do you know that the flower spirits have been singing the Song of Echoes during the early morning hours?”

“Um, no?”

“There’s a line in the song,” she continued, her voice quiet. “Magic will heal, heal again. In the Lake of Fire, once the Devil meets his end.”

“In the Lake of Fire? Why there?” Oleander asked, brow furrowed.

Wisteria shrugged, a tired gesture. Before they could discuss it further, the runic spiders scuttled forward, their tiny bodies tumbling toward them.

They squeaked sceptically at Oleander, reminding him that if the bargain was broken, a new one would need to be made—one that would prevent him from taking advantage of them again. They also pointed out that with the current bargain he’d been buying only enough thread for himself, and as a result they had an enormous stockpile they’d been unable to sell to anyone else.

A new deal was struck, one that benefitted all sides, and a golden thread of magic wove itself around Oleander and the leader of the spiders. By the time the bargain was finalised and they were packing their towels and robes back into his satchel, the moon hung low, almost meeting the waves of the lake. Wisteria had grown quiet again, her gaze distant.

They used the last remnants of moonlight to guide them as they swam back to shore, the lapping of waves the only sound between them. Wisteria remained silent, her thoughts heavy as they reached the pebbled beach. When Oleander offered her a towel, she took it gently.

“I’ve been forgetting to thank you for the book,” she said softly. “The one about aquatic nymphs? It was... helpful.”

“Of course.” Oleander nodded slowly. “I wish I could have done more.”