Fiend looks at Felix with an expression of sudden, delighted interest, like a cat who has just noticed something moving in a corner. “Felix,” he says, as if the name itself is interesting. “The witch.”
“The witch,” Felix confirms, entirely unbothered. “And you are?”
“Fiend. Future ruler of the Shadow Realm.” He says it lightly, as if it’s fact and not a boast.
“Right.” Felix nods. “Tea?”
Fiend stares at him for a moment. Something moves in those purple eyes. “You know,” he says, “I think I like you.”
“Everyone does eventually,” says Felix, and gets up to put the kettle on.
I watch him go and then look back at Fiend, who is now examining my coffee table with seemingly great interest. He picks up the gold ring sitting by the candle where I left it this morning, turns it over once, and sets it back down with a precision that feels deliberate. His expression doesn’t change at all.
I look at Hex. Hex is looking at the ring. Something has shifted in his face but it’s gone too quickly for me to read.
“Why are you here?” Hex asks Fiend.
“To see how you’re getting on.” Fiend leans back into the sofa cushions with the boneless ease of someone who is entirely comfortable everywhere they’ve ever been. “The answer is, very well, obviously. Better than expected. Better than Dis expected, certainly.” A pause. “He knows you haven’t faded and he’s not happy.”
“I know. Night and Dark told me”
“I’m saying it again because the degree of unhappiness is increasing and the timeline is accelerating.” The lightness in Fiend’s voice doesn’t change, but something underneath it does, very slightly. “You have less time than you think, my darling betrothed. And more resources than you know.”
The last sentence lands differently from the rest. Quieter. More precise. Like the difference between a joke and the thing the joke was covering.
I look at Hex. Hex is looking at Fiend with the wary, calculating expression of someone trying to work out whether they are being helped or played and not being able to determine which.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Fiend looks at me. Those purple eyes are very steady, which is somehow more unsettling than any of his theatrics. “It means,” he says, “that the things you need are closer than they appear.” His gaze drops briefly, pointedly, to the gold ring on the coffee table. Then back up to my face. “I’d keep that close if I were you.”
The kettle clicks in the kitchen.
Fiend stands. He is, in motion, even more extraordinary. All that hair moving with him, the dark impractical outfit somehow exactly right. The whole impression of somebody who knows precisely how beautiful they are and has decided it’s a useful tool and they are damn well going to use it.
He looks at Hex, and for just a moment the performance drops entirely. Underneath it is something old and tired and much more complicated than anything he’s said out loud.
“Take care of yourself,” he says quietly. “For once.”
Then he walks to the front door, opens it like a completely normal person, and closes it behind him.
Hex is across the room in an instant, wrenching the door open.
The hallway is empty. No footsteps on the stairs. No trace of cold air or displaced shadows. Just the ordinary smell of an ordinary Bristol building on an ordinary Thursday afternoon.
Hex stands in the doorway for a long moment.
Felix reappears with four mugs of tea, looks at the empty doorway, and sets one mug down on the coffee table where Fiend was sitting. “Polite,” he says, and sits back down.
I look at the gold ring on the coffee table. I pick it up and put it in my pocket.
Then I look at Hex, who has closed the front door and turned around and is now looking at me with an expression that is trying to be composed and not entirely succeeding.
My brain cells begin to function again. Slowly, very slowly, but thoughts are forming and opinions are taking shape and sheer and utter outrage is starting to form.
“My betrothed,” I say. “That’s like a fancy word for engaged, isn’t it?”
Hex opens his mouth.
