Page 21 of Hopelessly Teavoted

The week passed in a haze of customers, and on Az’s first staff day, Vickie got so busy that she didn’t see his text until she was already closing and too tired to reply at great length.

He had sent a picture of his cat, sitting on top of his newspaper, looking disgruntled.

Azrael: Much madness from Emily Lickinson when I don’t feed her immediately.

Azrael: She doesn’t want to be old news

Vickie: She could never

The next morning, she saw that he had tried again, undeterred by the brevity and delay of her response. His persistence, and his messages, made her smile. This part of the friendship, this unwavering loyalty from him, and the unquestionable desire to talk to him herself, this had once grounded her.

His friendship had been the charm against a cruel world, the right words to murmur, a small, secular prayer to make the more stressful bits of living more bearable.

She had missed him, more than she’d allowed herself to remember.

Azrael: I think my department chair might be, like, a vampire or something.

Azrael: No, not suave enough to be a vampire.

Azrael: But he gives me the heebie jeebies even in the group text, always replying with things like “I shan’t be participating in that, Mr. Hart.”

Vickie: MY STARS! The Heebie Jeebies? Az, your Uncle Larry called from Sunnyhallow Senior Living, and he said your slang is so old it wouldn’t even fly there.

Azrael: It’s not me, it’s HIM.

Azrael: *I* am a professional wielder of words, a connoisseur of language.

Azrael: so what I’m saying is I’m a nerd, sure. But he’s kind of an asshole.

Vickie: hate that. What’s up with him?

Azrael: He just—he’s so terse. Yesterday was the first day for new teachers, and he showed up and gave us this talk about how adults are too soft on children nowadays.

I don’t think he likes kids. Or people. In fact I’m kind of confused about why he would want a job interacting with other humans at all.

Vickie: Ew, hate that. Are the other teachers at least nice?

Azrael: They’re great! Super helpful, and a good range, so some are fairly new, and then there’s the lifers, and the people kind of in the middle of their careers, like Chet.

Vickie: That is an unfortunate name.

Azrael: Yeah I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt; can’t be easy with a name like that, and a stick up his ass, etc.

But get this; he got all bent out of shape at the introductory meeting today when they made us do icebreakers with the staff.

Said it was beneath him as a professional.

And I tried to do a quick tension tamer spell; you know, the shoulders back and relax, deep breath one?

Vickie: I sure do, that saved a lot of asses on standardized test days.

Azrael: It did nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. It was like I hadn’t even snapped.

Vickie: That’s weird. Does that happen?

Azrael: Only when I’m stressed, or once, super high, in college. But the thing is, I’ve been feeling pretty on top of my anxiety. And I’m definitely not stoned.

Vickie frowned. That was strange. She wondered if it had anything to do with the warnings.

They still needed to investigate what the ghosts had said about the town’s fake psychic, Madam Cleopatra.

Though why Benedict Hart’s ghost would have wanted her to look into the local palm reader, who they all knew to be entirely nonmagical, was beyond her.

Her to-do list grew longer, and Vickie was too busy.

It would have to wait for a day off. Though she and Azrael kept texting, they never brought up the almost kiss.

For the best, she was sure. She had mortal and otherworldly obligations, and three souls to reap.

By the time Friday rolled around, she knew Azrael was ready for the day off.

The local school system followed the four-day summer workweek, which meant that this was his last free Friday for a while.

And he had spent it all here, in the corner, at the coffin-shaped table—not to be confused with the casket-shaped one—eating muffins and reading a romance novel.

It was hard not to catch feelings for Azrael Hart. Again.

Today, Azrael lingered past closing, lounging at one of the sofa seats with a paperback copy of what appeared to be a romance novel about baseball.

She hoped he was here out of longing to see her, but suspected that it was to ask more questions about the investigation, or worse, her soul debt.

A thread of worry knotted in her stomach, reminding her of her obligation to the devil.

She didn’t have time to sort through long-buried feelings for a friend.

Perhaps Lex could be summoned by mere thought, though, for when she locked the door and hung up her apron—black, with cheery little red skulls clustered like cherries, which would have made Persephone Hart proud—she heard a low laugh from the back.

Azrael sprang up from his seat and was at her side instantly, hands poised to snap.

“Let me take the lead,” she hissed, and he frowned but nodded.

She pushed open the swinging door, and Lex was there, clad in all black, smoke billowing dramatically in his wake as he leaned against her desk. He laughed again and inspected his long, graceful fingers, wisps of gingery, warm air trailing in their wake.

“What is it that you need now, devil?”

“Ah, Victoria, my dearest, can’t I just long to see your lovely face?” He was frustratingly handsome, even in his unwarranted intrusion.

“Unlikely,” she said, rolling her eyes. Next to her, Azrael tensed.

Lex’s smile curled up, a catlike, sensuous thing that shouldn’t have been allowed. Vickie supposed it was his right, as a devil, to be charming as hell, but she didn’t have to like it.

“Fine, pet , if you must know, I do have some business with you, of the sort that all lesser devils do with their debtors. But I am additionally pleased to see you. Who is your friend?”

Azrael opened his mouth. “How dare you call—” Az began. Vickie grabbed his arm, shaking her head.

Lex was trying to vex her. He saw it work on Az, and mischief flitted across his face.

“You have no right to spy and sneak up on us.” Vickie crossed her arms, not breaking eye contact. Devil or not, she was unafraid. Lex held up a hand, tossing and catching a pear. Hallowcross was known for orchards, but this wasn’t just about sampling the local delicacies.

“Don’t worry, Victoria, I wasn’t sneaking. I just couldn’t miss the scent of pining lingering here. I can pick up traces of heartbreak, too, so it must be rough for him, poor chap. You little minx.”

“My parents died,” Az muttered. Steamy magic lingered at Azrael’s fingers. She needed to get control of this.

“His heartbreak is not about me,” she cut in. “And he always smells like that. Burnt lemons and wood.” He always smelled so good, like home, the kind she’d never had in her parents’ house.

Lex sniffed. “Like Pine-Sol?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Azrael bit out, but he stopped again at her grip. Lex’s eyes flickered down to her hand, narrowing.

“No,” said Vickie, unable, as always, to pipe down. “Sweeter. Lemonade. Warm summer evenings and a crackling fire.” She needed to tread lightly here.

“Well, in that case, it’s a shame he’s so cross with you.

” He winked and bit into the pear once again, but there was an edge to his voice now as his eyes darted between them.

Juice dribbled down his chin, and he wiped it with a finger slowly enough that sensation curled in her stomach and lower.

This was going beyond sympathy for the devil.

“You must be the Hart boy, then. Sister just won a seat on the Council. Parents just died. Bit of a local tragedy, I hear. Very sorry for your loss, handsome. The Harts were exceedingly good witches.” His gaze flitted over Azrael. “And, obviously, exceedingly good-looking.” He winked.

“Um. Thank you?” Azrael’s brow tensed tightly into the beginnings of a permanent line, though she noticed his eyes dart up and down the devil’s body, and the tips of his ears redden.

She glared at Lex, and he wiped pear juice off his lips once more with a look like he’d very much prefer to run those long, pale fingers across anything soft and secret. Her. Azrael. Both of them, maybe at once.

She shoved that thought out of her mind.

Azrael was looking between them now, crossing his arms. “And what does a devil care about the Witchery Council?”

“Now, now. Watch your words. We mustn’t throw around names. Do call me Lex. There are greater devils than those of us tasked with rounding up souls and keeping them orderly.” He turned to Vickie, stepping closer. “Which, by the way, my pet, is why I need you tonight.”

“How did you know who Az was?” Vickie asked, trying not to feel his words thrum a little, forbidden and delicious. “And what do you mean about greater devils?”

“Ah, pet, I forget sometimes that you are mortal.” He smirked, smile crooked with temptation.

“There are three greater devils, who reap body and soul. Lucifer, who you so ignorantly mistook me for when last we met, is one of them. Four lesser devils, like me, who reap souls and can bestow gifts. Our bargains are less…” Lex’s mouth ticked up for a moment, and a shiver of fear slipped down her spine.

“Consequential.” The word was lascivious in her ear, inappropriate as that reaction might be, and she suspected there was more he was not saying.

If bargaining with a lesser devil meant she owed three souls, she could only imagine the price of a bargain with a greater one.

“What does that mean?”

Lex rummaged around in his pocket, pointedly ignoring the question.

Sighing, he pulled a star-shaped box the size of a fist from deep within his pocket, which had to be magical. His pants were snug, and he’d reached his hand far enough down that he ought not to have been able to fit it. The box glowed, a cool copper that radiated death.