“I mean, potentially a tattoo of an anti-demon sigil? But I don’t have proof that that works, so I would hate to put that on you and have it fail. It’s ugly as hell.”
I kick him lightly. “Any other theories? What about a way to null that possession consent contract?”
Kit looks away, meaning there is a way to do that.
I jerk up in my seat. “How?”
His shoes must be the most interesting things in the world, the way he’s staring at them. “There’s a list. A do-not-possess list for people whose bodies are not…able.”
“That’s…considerate?”
“Hardly. It’s just to make sure demons don’t end up harmed, or stuck in ‘weaker’ bodies. People on the Prohibited Possessions list have severe allergies or conditions where simple things could kill them. Technically ableist,butI don’t think anyone would be too upset that a demon wasn’t allowed to possess them.”
The realization clicks. “So, with the bee allergy, I could go on that list. That list nulls the contract. And, what, makes a new binding contract saying that I cannot be possessed ever?”
“Yes, but?—”
I stand, pulling away from him. “But nothing. Put me on the goddamn list.”
He stands with me, now looking down at me. “I’d have togo to Hell to do it, Lace. I-I can’t. I’m sorry. Ican’t.”
“You can. You’re just choosing not to,” I spit.
“Lacy…”
“No. No. I’m tired. I’m done. Goodnight.” I turn as he fades away.
twenty-six
. . .
I lieon my back in the bed and stare at the emptiness that surrounds me. I wish I could conjure clouds, or fireworks, or something to look at besides the dark.
Eventually, I head for the window. Kit has a notebook and a pencil in front of himself. He’s sketching something. It takes me a second to realize that he’s sketching me. My hair is wild around my head, my lips forming a slight smile, my eyes mine and not his.
It’s beautiful.
I’m about to say so when he rips the sheet out of the notebook and tears it up. He keeps doing that. Creating things and then destroying them. Like he’s not allowed to do anything but destroy.
He grabs my laptop from where it’s set on the coffee table in my living room and opens it. He’s researching haunted placesnear us. He’s still trying to help. All he’s done is try to help.
I understand why he doesn’t want to go to Hell. He’s scared. He’s traumatized. I mean, I wouldn’t want to return to the place where I was tortured for centuries. I shouldn’t expect that of him. Honestly, it’s horrible that I did. He doesn’t owe me that. He doesn’t owe me anything. He made a choice to save me using the only method he could think of. I appreciate that. If it weren’t for him, I would be dead.
Though the question begs, is death better than being a prisoner in your own mind? Many would say yes. I’m not sure how I feel, because…well, because I’m not alone.
He pulls up a discussion page about an abandoned house a couple of miles from here. I am a specialist in haunted abandoned houses. People started reporting paranormal activity at this place back in the ’70s, and it’s only gotten more frequent since. Slamming doors, disembodied voices, cold chills, sharp smells. Just what I like to find.
“That place looks cool,” I say.
Kit flinches at my voice. “I thought you would give me the silent treatment for longer,” he grunts.
“It’s been long enough.” My fingers drum on the window. “Kit, I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me the truth to begin with.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“You never gave me the chance.” However, he’s correct. I would not have believed him.
Kit sighs and closes the laptop. “I really am sorry. If…if you want me to go to Hell and put you on that list, I will. I just… I need a bit of time to psych myself up. Okay?”
