I’d suspected he didn’t love me anymore. Maybe, if I’m being honest, true love wasn’t what brought us together in the first place. Deep down, though, I believed he possessedsome affinity for me. But tonight, I searched for an emotional lever to pull, some memory I could tug to get him to work with me on this house thing, and came up empty-handed. My pleas were met with nothing but cruelty and contempt.
I wish I could say the experience made me angry. Anger is a useful emotion that can motivate, spur action, and bring clarity to a situation. I’m too tired to feel angry. What I feel is small. Tiny. Inconsequential. A fly trying to take on Goliath without the benefit of a slingshot. I have little money. No prospects. And my only remaining family member is at death’s door.
A ping comes from my dashboard. The red oil light blinking on.Fuck.My ancient Jeep is bleeding black gold. The gas is low too. “Pick some up tomorrow, old girl.” I rest my forehead on the steering wheel. She was my dad’s once. I pray there are still some miles left in her.
Things are going from bad to worse. I did manage to squirrel away some cash before I left Tony. I’m not a complete idiot. After the first time he hit me, I started secretly stockpiling every bill I could get my hands on. I have a little over two thousand dollars to see me through, but it isn’t going to last long unless I start working again.
Mentally, I movefind a jobup on my to-do list.
Once I park the car, I shuffle inside and cruise down the hall to check on Grams. The moment I see she’s okay, fresh tears start to fall. I wipe them away, returning to the parlor where she won’t hear me cry. I click on the table lamp and check my reflection in the gallery mirror. A chain of red bruises ring my neck and wrist. They’ll turn purple in time. I’ll have to find ways to cover them until they’re healed.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I promised myself thiswould never happen again. It’s why I left Tony in the first place. He’s now physically abused me three times.
More tears come. Do I havevictimtattooed on my forehead? Why did I allow myself to be alone with him? Did I really think I could convince him to give me five hundred thousand dollars worth of property? For God’s sake, Tony used to fume when I tucked five dollars into a homeless person’s cup. He isn’t known for his generous heart.
My spiral of self-loathing is interrupted when the lamp flickers, and the room plunges into darkness.
“Have you had your fun?” a gruff voice says from behind me. I turn to find the advocate leaning against the unlit fireplace in a column of moonlight. He snaps his fingers, and the light comes back on. Better to see how positively pissed off he looks.
“I thought you were coming at midnight.” I wipe under my eyes again, although there is no hiding my blotchy, mascara-streaked face.
“It is midnight, little bird.”
I glance at my watch. I guess it is. Time flies when you stop three times on the drive home because you can’t see through your tears.
“It doesn’t have to be midnight, you understand.” He pushes off the mantel and glides toward me. Darkness incarnate. The night itself in a dress shirt and trousers. At the rate he's moving, I should easily be able to follow where he is in the room, but somehow I lose track and then he’s standing behind me. Hot breath caresses the back of my neck. My nose fills with the scent of dark spice. “You’ve already cast the spell.”
I draw a shaky breath.
“We have an agreement,” he continues in a lethally quiet voice that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.He circles me, close but not touching. “You have the power to command me to visit you as necessary. I would have expected Maeve Gowdie to explain as much, but then maybe she did, and you simply didn’t understand. This evening’sspectaclesuggests you don’t understand a number of things about how a magical agreement works.” He’s in front of me, his nose almost brushing mine. Behind me again. My heart thunders. My palms break a sweat. Shadows play around us and I swear I can feel one brush my ankle. “Are you a child, playing with magic like you might play with matches?”
His words strike a blow, but I’m already numb. I’ve withstood too much tonight. My eyes lose focus. I’m here but not really. Suddenly cold, although I’m still wearing my coat.
His gaze settles on my neck, the bruising there, and he goes perfectly still. I think I see fury contort his features, then it’s gone. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, almost kind. “Our agreement still stands. The man is not beyond my reach. Say the word, and I will kill him.”
I blink slowly, swallowing through a throat still gritty from being choked. “What’s your name?”
“You don’t need it to employ my services," he counters. "The Gowdies call methe advocate.”
I slip my hand into my coat pocket and squeeze the candle. “Please, your real name. I want to know.”
A puzzled look tightens his features. "Damien."
“Damien.” When I say it, he closes his eyes for a beat, and I’m glad I asked. He is a person, maybe not human, but an individual. He deserves to be addressed by an actual name. “You’re right that I didn’t fully understand the spell. Maeve told me you were an advocate who would help me save my house, not that you wouldmurder Tony.”
He tips his head, scrutinizing every part of me with that seemingly perpetual scowl on his lips. “You knew I was a monster when you called me. I deal in death. How else did you expect I’d solve your problem?”
I want to give him some insightful retort, but in my exhaustion my mind has gone completely blank. “I don’t know. I guess I made a mistake.”
His brilliant silver gaze settles on my neck again. “Then why, when the man has made such a mess of you, won’t you free me to kill him now?”
I release a deep breath. “Because I’m not a murderer.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a sneer. “No, you are a trembling sparrow who’s been knocked out of the sky and insists on flying back into the window again and again. How many times will you smash your head into your reflection before you understand that it’s killing you?” The steely edge of his tone cuts through me.
“Now you’re being cruel.”
“Am I?” He circles me again, that scornful expression frozen in place. “I’ve lived a long time. Many of your lifetimes. I can tell you without a doubt that Denardi is evil. He wears his viciousness like armor. He stinks of festering, insufferable arrogance. If there is any man alive who deserves his comeuppance, it’s him.”
