But that would be a lie.
I did mean it.
I can’t pursue her. I won’t pursue her. I won’t drag her into this disastrous life of mine and this disastrous family. I won’t play with her heart when I can’t give her what she needs. If I get in the way, we could both lose. If she chooses me over a safe bet like Patrick, we could both get hurt. If she has nothing but her career to rely on to end her handfasting, and it ends up not being enough, I’ll be to blame. Then she’ll be stuck in her hometown, and I’ll be without her.
At least this way we can stay friends. She can continue to live in Jasper, and I can keep her in my life.
Even if she belongs to someone else.
The thought has my pen nib digging too deep into the paper I’d been writing on, sending a splotch of ink over the surface. Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair and crumple the sheet upon my desk. I haven’t managed to write a single decent article this week. Thankfully, I have a few older drafts I’ve kept handy for weeks when my readers provide little in the way of entertaining content.
Today is Friday and Daphne is going on a date with Patrick.
I know this because I sent a series of telegrams to Thorne, none of which did well to hide my desperation. He didn’t tease me about my line of questions, only answered them briefly. The latest of which confirmed Patrick will be taking Daphne out to dinner tonight.
I push back from my desk and pace the perimeter of my office. My lungs feel like they’re going to burst from my chest along with my heart. It’s all I can do to keep from running out of here to find Daphne, to tell her not to go.
I can’t do that.
I can’t be selfish.
By the endof my workday, I’ve done more pacing than writing and far more fretting than anything that even resembles work. I’m not even remotely pleased with the article I turned in for Monday’s issue, as I didn’t have the heart to make a single dirty joke, but at least something will go to press. Maybe by next week I’ll have my wits about me. Maybe by then Daphne will see I was right.
She’ll have given Patrick a chance and realized I was only getting in the way.
Then maybe it will be safe for us to see each other again.
My shoulders slump as I leave my office and make my way across the newsroom, papers fluttering overhead on enchanted winds as the staff hurry to finish their tasks for the weekend.
As soon as I’m outside, I extract a cigarillo and my igniter, lighting it at once. The botanical smoke only calms the sharpest edges of my nerves. Everything else simmers in my chest, too close to boiling over. The sun sinks toward the horizon, painting the business district in hazy blue, pink, and orange. The sidewalks are crowded with figures ending their workweek, eager for the respite the weekend will bring.
I wish I felt the same.
I make my way toward the edge of the business district where it meets the industrial district. This is where my apartment is located. Only when I’m a block away do I notice the rhythmic footsteps following behind me. Muttering under my breath, I whirl around and extinguish my cigarillo under my heel. There stand the two nameless thugs I have the displeasure of seeing every Friday.
“You missed last week’s payment,” says Cane, his fist gripped tight around the top of his lacquered walking stick. “Boss isn’t pleased.”
“I had to go out of town,” I say with an air of indifference. These assholes have never scared me, as they’re nothing more than their boss’ cronies. And their goblin boss deals in secrets and fixed matches, not excessive violence in public spaces. Still, I’m not looking forward to what I know they’re going to say next.
“Due date’s moved up,” says Meathands. Were I in a better mood, I’d chortle at his newest scarf—a pastel pink atrocity with a pattern of puppies and kittens. “Another payment missed means your little secret’s coming out another week earlier. Boss didn’t appreciate you skipping town without a word, though, so it’s two weeks earlier this time.”
The blood leaves my face. Two weeks earlier? I do the math in my head. The date already moved up from August 6thto July 30thafter I botched my fight with Grave Danger. If it has moved up two weeks more, that places it on July 16thnow. Good God, that’s only a month and a half away. I open my mouth to argue, but what can I say? I already knew my moneylender was a shady bastard. He can change the terms of our loan without consequence because his business model allows him to get away with it. If I go to the authorities and try to shine a light on his bad practices, I’ll be in breach of my loan contract, and he’ll reveal my secret at once without having to wait until my due date. The only way out is to pay off this debt.
And I’m running out of time. I need that contract at theGazette. I need proof of long-term employment so I can pay off my moneylender with a legitimate loan. Otherwise, the secret about my birth mother comes out and my family—my human family whose reputation relies on human virtues like fidelity and honesty—falls to ruin.
I don’t care about my father. But Angela…
I can’t let her get swept up in this. Not when this is my fault. I never should have taken out this loan. I never should have spent it so fast and frivolously, digging myself into a grave of debt.
“Fine,” I say, doing all I can to hide the anxiety burrowing in my gut. “In the meantime, I’ll work off my fucking payment tonight, same as always.”
Cane smirks. “Same as always, yes, but tonight we have special instructions. Tonight, you’re going to lose, but not until the final round. You’re going to stay in the ring until the end, and you’re not going to put up a fight. Keep your defense minimal.”
I clench my jaw. Of course. Tonight isn’t just about paying interest, it’s about paying for skipping town last weekend and robbing their boss of his fixed match.
To be honest, this works well enough for me.
Because I’m in the mood to be punished.
