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Eunji sighed. “I know it’s not fair of me to come down harder on you than I do on the others simply because you’re a better employee. But at the same time…we rely on you. You are the cornerstone of our team. So if I can’t trust you—”

“You can,” he said. “You can trust me. It was just a little hiccup. Have I ever missed a shift before this week?”

“No,” she grumbled, dabbing at her forehead. “No, you haven’t. That’s why I’m so worried about you. This isn’t like you. At least not the Bradley I’ve known. You’ve been open with me about your…past issues, and I appreciate that—I don’t want you to think I’m holding that against you. But I also can’t help but be worried. Look at you. Have you slept or showered or eaten a real meal this past week? I need to know whether I can truly rely on you going forward, or if I need to find an immediate replacement to finish out this season.”

“You don’t need to do that. Please. Give me another chance.”

“I want to. I do.” She bit her lip in hesitation. “But for your own well-being, Bradley, tell me, please…are you drinking again?”

He wasn’t drinking again. He absolutely wasn’t.

Yet the same pattern of neglect was resurfacing. When getting his next fix came before his other responsibilities. Showing up late to class, flunking out of school, showing up late to work, not showing up at all. And now he was on the precipice of losing another job, losing his ability to pay his rent. Because he’d been so focused on Devra, on solving her problems at the expense of his own.

So no, he hadn’t started drinking again. But he was certainly addicted.

DEVRA

Devra wasn’t concerned when Bradley didn’t come over after his shift. She heard his van pull up late that night and peeked through her front curtains to see him trudging up the steps to his house on feet that appeared leaden. The poor guy. They’d probably set some world record with their lovemaking, and she herself could barely walk, let alone do physical work. He must be exhausted. He deserved a good night’s sleep in his own bed.

She wasn’t concerned when she sent him a flirty text the next morning and watched the dots of his reply appear then disappear. His response eventually came in hours later. Brusque. Less flirty. But he was at work again; she could hardly expect him to send flowery sonnets during his shifts. Besides, they had been spending a lot of time together. It was healthy to take a break, nice to reconnect with Tabs and Squally. To be alone again but not feel lonely.

So she wasn’t concerned.

Finally she heard his familiar knock. She rushed to open the door and discovered only a package at her feet. She brought the box inside, cautiously lifted the lid, and found the source text for her curse-breaking spell. A sight that inspired awe.

It was a late nineteenth-century English translation of Potestas Maleficarum Mallei: The Power of the Witches’ Hammer. A copy of the original, of course, safe to be loaned out and handled by others, but even this copy felt old and worn beneath her fingertips. The pages crackled as she turned them. The edges were stained an ochre hue. A musty scent wafted out as she turned to where a letter sat folded like a bookmark.

It was only then, as she read his note, that she allowed herself to be concerned.

Dear Devra,

I’ve marked the section that belongs to your apology spell. I’m sorry I won’t be able to help you decode it. I have taken too much time off work already, and the store needs me. But I know you’ll be able to figure this out without me. You are one of the most capable people I have ever met. You can do this. I wish you the very best of luck.

Your friend, Bradley.

Devra’s skin was suddenly itchy. She scratched at her neck, the insides of her arms, and tried to gather her thoughts. Snatching up her phone, she sent him another message.

I know you’re busy but I could really use your help with this.

Dots appeared, then disappeared. She waited.

She sent another text.

You’ll at least be there with me on the 25th, right?

The dots appeared. They disappeared.

She grew impatient.

What is this, Bradley? What’s going on?

This time, she didn’t even receive temporary dots in response. Minutes passed. She dropped her phone on the coffee table and ran her hands through her hair. Her scalp still tingled from when he’d tugged her strands while thrusting deep inside her, murmuring about how good he felt when he was with her. That had only been two days ago. Two days. And now he was giving her the cold shoulder?

The thoughts scraped through her, leaving a burning sensation along their path.

Devra marched to her front door, donned her winter wear, and stepped outside. Lumbering through the melting snow, she manoeuvred around the candy cane maze. She bumped past an inflatable reindeer. She gave Frosty a shove—it was hard to believe she’d ever found this puffed-up, air-filled snowman threatening—easily darting out of the way when it flung back toward her in a physics-defying arc. Ignoring the bright lights on his porch railing and the ones that spiralled up his wood-wrapped pillar, she stormed up the steps and slid to a halt, her breath coming in audible huffs.

Steeling herself, Devra rapped three times on Bradley’s door.