I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I shook my head.
“The marks,” he explained, like I was new to language. “You are claimed by the Wolfe clan, you are protected by the Valkyrie. And, it should go without saying that I am…minutely fond of you.”
“Minutely,” I breathed, in a sort of wonder.
He almost—almost—rolled his eyes.
“But that doesn’t really mean anything—the marks,” I added quickly, watching the thunder roll in. “The marks don’t change the spell. He’s bound himself to me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He’s bound to my soul.”
“Yet the moment I add my claim to you, the spell will be broken.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Is that not why you came here this evening?”
“You can break it?”
“It’s rudimentary demon-soul, three-ingredient hellwork, Reed Daughter. He claimed the power of wood, feather and sweat. When wood, feather, and sweat claim you instead, the spell will be broken.”
“Claim me? Is that why Granny and Bertie did this?”
“I wouldn’t guess to know their ultimate intentions, but the facts remain.” He reached over and drew the controller off my knee as if expecting me to bite his hand.
“If I want the spell broken, all I have to do is let you claim me?”
He lifted the remote and pointed it at the screen. “Comedy, you say? With music?”
“Than.”
He lowered the remote. “It is, I believe the quickest way to break the spell. Is that not why you allowed the other marks?”
“No, I was apologizing. This is what they demanded in payment. They could have pressed charges. Put me in jail.”
“For a demon binding himself to your soul?” Hetsked.
“For theft. I stole the Heartwood and Bertie’s Feather.”
“You stole the sweat of my brow too. Should I prosecute?”
“You could.”
“I see no reason to engage in foolishness.” He pressed the remote and the movie began, declaring the new Vista Vision High Fidelity over orchestral music. “Is it a stage play?”
“It’s a movie from 1956.”
“Ah. And there is the fool.”
Danny Kaye was on screen in his jester suit singing about how life couldn’t be better.
“About you claiming me,” I said.
