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Maricruz’s lips are pursed, and her cheeks are getting steadily darker from holding back a laugh. I flash my eyes at her, and she gives a minute nod. She’s onto us, but she’s not spoiling it.
“But Ian Fleming got it mostly wrong.” Jade sits up too, pouring herself a new drink. “Double O Seven wasn’t dealing with Russians and spies, he was protecting the queen from an order of vampires who planned to use her in a sacrifice to end the sun and bring about eternal darkness so they could ravage the land at their leisure.”
Cillian’s dark eyes are almost circles, they’re open so wide. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”
“You shouldn’t,” I snort, finally breaking.
Jade cackles. “None of it was true.” Maricruz throws her head back as she laughs, though I don’t know how she knew we were lying.
“You absolute cows!” Cillian grabs a handful of crisps from a bowl and throws them at us.
“But the Joan of Arc thing was true!” I say.
“Like I’ll believe anything out of your mouth now.”
“Double O Seven!” Jade laughs until she falls over. I can’t stop either.
Cillian finally joins us. “You Only Live Twice was obviously about vampires.”
Maricruz claps her hands. “On Her Majesty’s Supernatural Service.”
“The Watcher Who Loved Me.” I laugh until my stomach hurts, until tears stream from my eyes.
Jade does too, until I realize her laughter has shifted from laugh-crying to actual crying. I turn on my side to look at her. “What’s wrong?”
She takes a few breaths to calm herself down until she can talk. “I think I really do like Doug. Not just because of the happy stuff. He’s so funny and kind. And he has the prettiest eyes. But I blew it, and I wish I could go back, and I used to know a spell for that, but it won’t work now, so it’s broken and it’s my fault and there’s nothing I can do.”
“We can never go back.” Maricruz looks haunted.
“Are you and what’s-her-face a thing?” Jade asks, sniffling.
“Taylor? No. She’s my friend. She’s the reason I was hiding outside. I love her. I’d do anything for her. Have done anything for her. But sometimes it gets too heavy, you know? I keep waiting for her to get better, and she doesn’t. And I’ll always love her and be there for her. But I’m tired. And I can’t let her know I’m tired, or it’ll hurt her, and I won’t ever be the one to hurt her.”
Cillian squeezes her hand. “You’re a good friend. How did you end up in Buffy’s army? Why did you leave New York?” Cillian asks.
She shakes her head. “There are lots of kinds of monsters. I don’t want to talk about it. I wouldn’t go back, even if I could.”
Jade is still crying. Cillian sits up and pulls her over so her head is resting on his leg. He strokes her hair gently. “Sometimes I wish the world hadn’t changed. If magic hadn’t gone away, my mother wouldn’t have left to chase it. But then I never would have known the truth about you guys. And finally gotten close to my boyfriend. Rhys is it for me. I know he is. But sometimes he gets so rigid, and it’s like he disappears behind his glasses and books, and I don’t know how to reach him.”
“It’s how he was raised,” I say, my tears real now too. “None of us were taught how to have healthy relationships.” I sniffle unattractively. “My ex-could-have-been-boyfriend stayed with a predatory creep instead of coming back to us for help. And now that he’s not dead anymore, he’s maybe dying.”
Jade’s still crying, but she also snorts a laugh. “Cheers. You win.”
Cillian nods in agreement, lifting his empty glass. Maricruz doesn’t look up.
I meet Cillian’s glass with my own. “Bully for me.”
On cue, my phone dings. I scrabble for it, thinking it’s Artemis. But it’s an angry text from Rhys, demanding to know where we are. I text back. “Drunk at the soda shop,” I mumble aloud, squinting at the screen. “Can’t drive back. Come pick us up.”
PICK YOURSELVES UP is the response.
“Looks like we’re walking.” I stand, my leg half asleep from being against the hard linoleum floor. The door chimes, and Cillian’s mom observes us with her hands on her hips.
“One of you is not old enough to drink.” She gives me a heavy look. I can feel my face burning. One thing I haven’t been able to shed from my Watcher upbringing is the absolute shame of breaking any rules. We lived by rules, and frequently died if those rules weren’t followed.
I hang my head. “Sorry.”
“I won’t tell your mother, if you promise not to do it again.”
