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The paper he handed me was an acceptance letter to the fellowship program at Boston University’s anthropology department. The official letterhead at the top prefaced the invitation with his name scrawled across the first line.
“You applied to Boston’s program? When?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Last month. I wanted to surprise you. We’re going to Boston, baby.” He balled his fists and excitedly pumped them, then clapped his hands together. “We need to go out and celebrate. Get dressed.”
“I am dressed,” I said, looking down at my jeans and T-shirt.
“Yeah, but you know what I mean.” He pulled me into his body. “Wear that sexy little dress I like and get all dolled up for me.”
“Duncan.” I pushed him away then rounded the coffee table to put distance between us. “I’m not transferring to BU. Why would you assume I would do that? What about the fellowship? You haven’t even heard back from the board yet and you’re just bailing on our plans?” The questions started falling out of my mouth louder and louder. “What about my courses? Or our research thesis partners? We can’t just up and leave them.”
“You’re acting really childish and selfish right now.”
“Selfish?” I coughed out.
“Yes. You’re acting like a total bitch. This is a great opportunity for us both. You’re not going to get the fellowship; we both know that. I’m trying to build a future for us, Celeste, and you’re always getting in the way with your hyper-independent feminist bullshit.”
The pressure of my blood pounding against my eardrums was building in my head, pushing hot tears to my eyes.
We’d had this fight often. Though we’d met during my last year of the masters program, Duncan always assumed that once we got married, I would become a housewife and mother. He called me the perfect partner for his future genius children.
“I’m not going to Boston.” My voice cracked, and the river of tears burned my cheeks.
“I know it’s scary.” The anger in his voice melted into a calming parental tone. “But you’ll do great there. I have a guaranteed spot. We can’t pass that up.”
“Duncan—”
“I just got home. I’m tired and don’t want to fight. Will you please go get dressed so we can celebrate my win?”
I didn’t answer.
Instead, I gave him a small smile of defeat and went to our bedroom closet to put on the dress he wanted me to wear and get ready to bite my tongue all evening. There was no use fighting with him until the next day. If I said no, we would be awake for hours, screaming at each other until one of us finally locked ourselves in the bathroom until the other fell asleep on the couch. It was a toxic pattern I’d been stuck in for years.
My eyes strained against the urge to look out the window and search for the most radical solution to the war raging in my chest. I’d asked for the fellowship, but why couldn’t I ask for a clean break from my boyfriend?
Because that was cowardly, wrong, and dangerous.
Vassago was a demon, not a fairy godfather. Not only did his help come with strings I hadn’t found the end to yet, but he would likely kill Duncan rather than peacefully remove him from my life. And as much of an asshole as he was being, I did love Duncan.
Didn’t I?
Chapter6
Vassago
Iwasn’t going to let Celeste out of my sight, especially with that man back in town and under her roof. Another man’s hands on my gift was a surefire way for him to meet a premature death. The only reason he was still breathing was that I didn’t want to be the cause of Celeste’s sadness or pain. But I could sense his stained soul and salivated at the thought of being his eternal punishment when Celeste finally left him for me.
The radiation of their argument clouded them as they got into Celeste’s car. Whatever the fight had been about, Celeste was hiding her true feelings for the sake of an evening out. Her face was covered in makeup, but it didn’t erase the disappointment from her eyes.
I followed them to the packed nightclub in downtown Manhattan, where Duncan took several shots one after another, hollering between each one like he’d won some sort of lottery. Celeste ordered a vodka cranberry and sipped at it for the first hour as Duncan danced like a fool. He was too immersed in his own ego to notice when she slipped from the crowd to the ladies’ room.
The music being pumped through too many speakers followed us down the dark hallway. Her long black hair covered a small tattoo on her shoulder. The thin line work spelled something out, but with the distance I kept between us, I couldn’t read it. That was about to change.
My hand flew out to the bathroom door and held it open. Celeste’s bulging eyes followed my arm up to my face and all color drained from her cheeks. I took a step into her, my chest backing her into the single-stall bathroom. I flicked the light on then locked the graffiti-covered door.
“What are you doing here?” her thin voice croaked.
“Are you afraid?” Keeping my hands low at my sides, I showed her my empty palms in good faith.
