“It was a misunderstanding,” he says. “I just wanted to talk.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to talk in hell,” she says, more sympathetically than he deserves.
“Talk about some trouble and strife.” Jeremey shakes his head.
“I don’t think it ishell,so to speak,” Shepard says.
“Well, you’ll be an expert,” Debbie says, “won’t you.” Kipper has sat down next to me at the table. She’s leaning on one hand, staring at Shepard. (Staring at his surprisingly fit arms, I suspect.) “I think you should help him, Mum. Translate what you can.”
Debbie rests two hands on her hips. Another appears holding a Coke Zero. She takes a sip. “How will having his bad end explicitly spelled out for him make it any better?”
“If we knew the terms of the contract,” I say, “we might find a loophole.”
“Demons don’t leave loopholes.” Another of Debbie’s arms emerges to point at me. “Sometimes they leave things thatlooklike loopholes that are actually ways to further fuck yourself.”
“We could do the translation inside a protective circle,” Kipper says. “And we could leave out any words that make you nervous . . .”
Her mum snorts. “This whole thing makes me nervous.”
“I could lend some extra protection,” I offer.
Debbie narrows all eight of her eyes at me. “Could you now . . . Debbie.”
Jeremey gets his car keys out of his pocket. “Well, I’m hooking it.I’mnot trying to get engaged to a demon today.” He pats Shepard on the back. “Best of British, mate!”
Engaged . . .
Engaged?
I look over at Shepard. He’s rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.
I cast some protection spells. Who knows whether they work.
Debbie wouldn’t do the translation in her house. (More credit to her.) She took Shepard out to a shed in the back garden and made space for him to stand in the middle of the floor. Then Kipper drew an extremely artful protection circle around them both. The plan was to write the translation out on notebook paper, apparently leaving out the most dangerous words—like the demon’s name and address, I suppose, and “with this tattoo, I thee wed.”
Shepard tried to talk to me before we left the house. I wouldn’t let him. I wouldn’t even look at him. I followed Debbie out to the shed, waited for Kipper to draw the circle, cast my spells as quickly and quietly as possible, then went to sit on Debbie’s front steps. At the moment, I don’t much care if all three of them end up cursed.
I can’t believe I put myself out like this for aNormal. . .
That I cast spells in front of strangers . . . That I spent the morning with dark creatures and criminals, all because I thought Iowedhim something. Because I thought,at the very least,that he had been honest with me.
Why am I even sitting here, waiting for him? I should hook it, too! I’m sure Old Kipper could help Shepard find his way back to my flat. Or back to hers. Or back to Omaha, for all I care.
“Hey,” he says, coming out the door behind me.
I stand up and start walking. He can follow me if he wants.
“Hey. Penelope.”
I walk a little faster.
“Penelope, are you angry with me?”
I walk even faster. I’m not having this conversation with him right now. I might not have it at all.
“Penelope . . .”
I don’t actuallyhaveto speak to Shepard again. I shouldn’t have spoken to him in the first place. I should have trustedeverything I’ve ever been taughtandevery bone in my body.Smart mages don’t befriend Normals. Even witless mages don’t tell Normals their secrets.
