I didn’t have to think. “The door of the house. If you touch it, you win. If I catch you first…” I shrugged, but the thrill in my chest was a wildfire. “You know how it ends.”
She laughed—a sudden, delighted bark that bounced off the cave ceiling and sent a little shiver through the water. “Okay, but I want it to be fair. I get a full minute head start. And you can’t use magic, or fly, or whatever weird demon tricks you’re hiding.”
I held up my hands, palms open. “No tricks. Just me, and whatever I can do on foot.” The hunger was plain in my voice, and I didn’t bother hiding it.
She considered, then said, “At sundown?” Her eyes never left mine.
I let the smile break across my face, slow and irrevocable. “At sundown.”
We climbed the bluff together, pacing the last incline at a half-jog and trading the basket back and forth when the grade got steep. We could have gone slow, and maybe I should have, but I was wired with the thrill of the idea—and Annie, despite her smaller stride, matched me step for step, grinning with the wildness of someone who refused to be outpaced. By the time we reached the patio, sweat slicked our skin and the adrenaline was enough to make my claws itch for her again. But the clock on the kitchen oven blinked 11:32.
She dropped the basket inside the front door, then pivoted with a finger raised. “I need, like, eight minutes to shower and not look like I got sandblasted by a horny demon before the mayor shows up.”
I caught her around the waist, pressed my mouth to her ear, and murmured, “Six minutes. Or I’m coming in after you.”
She snorted, “Then you’ll have to explain to the town’s number one bureaucrat why there’s a naked demon in the master bath.”
Six minutes later exactly, she emerged in a fresh black slip dress, hair damp and finger-combed, eyes outlined with a defiant swipe of kohl. I heard the click-click of her boots on tile and felt my pulse pick up, stupid as it was. The way she stalked into the kitchen, chin up, face scrubbed and open to the day, made me want to pin her to the nearest surface and tell the mayor to come back in ten. Instead, I busied myself loading the dishwasher, resisting the urge to fix my hair, put on a clean shirt, anything to look more presentable. The last thing I wanted was to look like I was trying too hard for a goat-faced pencil-pusher and his clipboard.
I wiped my hands on my sweatpants—no time to change, so I was still in the sweatpants, still shirtless—and tried to look unruffled as the doorbell sang out its three-note jingle.
Annie shot me a look that was half warning, half mischief. “You look like a college athlete who just got up for his first ethics seminar.”
I grinned, baring teeth. “Let’s hope the mayor grades on a curve.”
She rolled her eyes and went to the door, swinging it open with a flourish.
Mayor Vepar was even smaller than I remembered, which was saying something. He stood barely five foot three, with a build like a keg of beer in a three-piece suit. His head was mostly horn and beard, the eyes beady and gold set deep behind steel-rimmed glasses. The goatee, once black, had gone to salt and pepper, but the effect was more “Satanic distinguished professor” than “mall Santa.” His hooves clicked sharply on the tile as he entered, not bothering to wait for an invitation.
He gave Annie the up-and-down, a long, unnerving look that started at her boots and cataloged every inch up to the tip of her liner-flicked lashes. Annie didn’t flinch, just arched an eyebrow and held the look, like she’d been stared down by bureaucrats before and wasn’t impressed by the horns or the tiny, cashmere vest.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, voice nasal and precise, “you seem well-rested for a woman who barely survived her intake interview.”
She grinned, baring her teeth, and I nearly flinched at how much she looked like she was ready to bite him. “Your staff made it clear I’d need my energy for the next round.”
The mayor didn’t smile. “That’s the spirit.” He produced a clipboard from the folds of his suit, along with a ballpoint pen so glossy and black, it looked as if it had been dipped in oil. He flicked his gaze to me.
He squinted at me for a long, uncomfortable moment, clicked the pen, and said, “Mr. Samiel. Everything in order?”
I braced for reprimand—maybe a comment about my attire, or the visible scratch marks on my chest, or the fact that we’d left a carnage of cheese rinds and berry stains across the picnic blanket in the entrance hall—but the mayor’s gaze slid past me, focusing entirely on Annie.
“Ms. Harris,” he said, pen poised over the form, “you are aware you may end this arrangement at any point in the next seventy-two hours? Without consequence or retaliation?”
She nodded, unflinching. “I read the fine print,” she said. “I’m not here under duress.” Her voice was dry as a Nevada summer, but the mayor wanted more.
“Can you confirm for the record that Mr. Samiel has not coerced, manipulated, or compelled you through infernal means—explicit or implied?” The question was so formal, I could smell the legalese simmering off it.
Annie blinked, then tilted her chin up so her gaze met the mayor’s dead-on. “No, sir. I let him do everything to me of my own free will. Twice.” She paused, then added, “Three times, if you count the kitchen.”
The mayor’s mouth opened, then snapped shut. For a moment, the only sound was the gentle hiss of the espresso machine.
“Duly noted,” the mayor said, and I watched the tip of his pen tremble just a fraction as he recorded Annie’s answer. “And I assume, Mr. Samiel, for the record, you are satisfied with the progress of the arrangement thus far?”
I tried to play it cool, but Annie’s words had kicked my nervous system into overdrive. I could feel the tips of my ears go hot. “Completely,” I said, voice low and uncooperative. “There have been no—incidents.” I could hear the mayor’s pen click in approval, but he kept his eyes on Annie.
She didn’t flinch, just squared her shoulders and said, “He’s been a perfect gentleman.” Then, with a sidelong look at me: “Mostly.”
The mayor pursed his lips, considering. I felt a familiar dread needle up my spine—forty years of mandatory check-ins, of always being the one under review. I’d expected it to be different with Annie here, with an actual chance at a match, but the old panic had been hibernating just beneath the surface, waiting for the moment when everything could still be taken away.
