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“Gabriel.”

“April.”

“What if it works? Just say it.”

He folds his arms. “I am worthy of being left in peace.”

I sigh. “Close enough.”

By the time we finish, my living room smells like rosemary and burnt candle wicks.

Gabriel is sitting on the sofa, looking deeply unimpressed.

I’m sitting beside him, scrolling through another website, one of my knees bent to press against his.

“Okay,” I say. “This one says curses are often tied to a specific lesson.”

He goes very still.

I glance at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“I can’t help you if you’re not completely honest with me.”

He doesn’t look at me.

I read aloud. “‘In many traditions, a curse cannot be broken until the afflicted person confronts the behavior or belief that caused the curse in the first place.’“

Silence.

I glance over at him. “That sounds promising.”

“Does it?”

“Well, yeah. You said the woman cursed you because you had a heart of stone.”

“Yes.”

“So maybe you need to prove you don’t anymore.”

He turns toward me.

“And how, precisely, would I accomplish that?”

I shrug. “Be nice to people?”

He gives me a flat look.

I grin. “Okay, I see the problem.”

“Very amusing.”

“Maybe you need to perform a good deed.”

“I have performed good deeds. Many of them.”

“Such as?”