Page 29 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Benedict Hart’s gaze felt painful as he focused his golden eyes on her.
Victoria resisted the urge to duck and hide as her pulse slowed.
Nothing killed a mood like almost immolating the object of her affection in front of his dead parents.
Vickie breathed in and out slowly, trying to focus.
And to stop the awful, damning blush running up her throat and her cheeks.
“You will kill him if you are not careful,” Benedict’s ghost was saying, voice sharper than she had ever heard in life.
“It will kill him a little bit if she is,” said Persephone, her gentle whisper full of worry, clutching at Benedict’s arm. He wrapped a translucent palm around hers, but didn’t break eye contact with Vickie.
“Better alive and brokenhearted than dead,” Benedict said, and Vickie could feel tears threatening with the rush of emotions swirling in the wake of so many extremes. She swallowed.
“He’s right,” said Persephone. “I don’t think there’s any way to undo the curse, though I can’t fathom how Olexandre could make your gift function on a person when it is so clearly meant for objects. He must have spelled something to Azrael, something that could transfer on contact.”
“An objectification spell,” said Benedict gruffly. “Shadow craft. Devils may do it too.”
The ghost of Persephone Hart frowned.
“It is impossible for a witch to undo, but as long as one is careful with the terms of the contract, it doesn’t have to be deadly.”
Benedict looked at Persephone now, their shared gaze heavy with meaning.
“Victoria Starnberger,” Benedict said, voice heavy.
“You must now deal with two devils. The person loose in Hallowcross who has made themselves a worser demon by attempting to steal lives and souls in exchange for corrupt power, and Olexandre, the one who gifted you with your own power, to whom you are indebted.”
“There has to be a way to undo this. How do I keep him safe? What can I do?”
The elder Hart smiled sadly. “It won’t be easy. You’ll have to untangle the corruption here in Hallowcross. The church, and whatever bargain has been struck to cause harm.”
“Do you know anything else that could help us?”
The ghost regarded her quietly for a few seconds, precious time slipping away.
“The psychic. I would start with puzzling out what it means. For her to be unreachable like that, in a coma, well, it’s some sort of spell blowback.
Someone tried to take her soul and then stuff it back in.
There will be consequences even if you can revive her.
” His eyes darkened. “She’ll come back different. Don’t forget it.”
It didn’t make sense to her. What would a power-hungry creature linked to Brethren of One Love want with a roadside fake psychic?
“Why her? She’s a known fraud. A tourist trap. And what about the church?”
Benedict’s shade shook his head. “Everything to do with that church is murky. Shielded. I can only see that Madam Cleopatra is in danger. She was not what the evil sought, in the end.”
His wife clutched his arm.
“Please,” Persephone begged. “Don’t let Azrael get caught in the cross fire. He’d die for you. Don’t let him.”
“I’d sooner die myself,” Vickie said, moving her hand to her heart, against her jacket, to stop it from inching toward Azrael’s.
Az’s head was still in his hands, and Vickie wanted so desperately to comfort him, but to touch him would be murder.
What if he reached for her in desperation, unthinking, and touched her hand? Her face?
He would never touch her face again.
The thought slammed into Vickie, and she was crying now, slow sobs ramping up, escalating into breathlessness so different from the heady one she’d shared with Azrael only minutes before.
Benedict was looking at the flaming ring.
“The object.” He frowned. “It shouldn’t burn when you’re not touching it.” Understanding creased his brow. “Transfer spell and then objectification. An order of operations sequence spell. Very tricky. Highly personal.”
Vickie blanched.
“Olexandre must have enchanted it to capture your touch,” said Persephone.
“Devils are clever, calculating. Whatever it is he needs from you, he must need it more urgently now. Get it to him quickly.” Persephone’s eyes bored into Vickie’s, red mouth set serious.
“Be careful. Tell my son the same. And that we love him. Tell Priscilla we love her too. Do not despair, Victoria. All that is made can be unmade, and so long as you are both breathing, you may find a loophole, and a way to each other yet. Have faith in your love, darling.”
Their ghosts flickered now.
“Az,” Vickie said softly. “Azrael.”
Az lifted his head out of his hands. He looked absolutely destroyed, tear tracks on his cheeks and a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Your parents love you very much. They said we have to deal with two devils now, but they love you. So much.” Vickie’s voice broke again a little.
Azrael ran a hand down his face. “No one I love can touch me anymore. And it’s all my fault.” His voice was gravelly. Broken. It was an exaggeration, of course, but correcting him wouldn’t kill the pain, or the fact that it was, in this moment, his truth.
“Tell them I love them.” His voice was muffled by his hands, covering his face as he leaned against the steering wheel. “Tell them their memories are a blessing.”
Benedict nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching in a motion so similar to his son’s.
His parents’ ghosts clutched each other, as though they feared that they, too, could be cursed apart. “We love you, Azrael.” Persephone’s voice was already fading. “You as well, Victoria. And Priscilla. So long as you have each other, you are never really alone.”
The ring turned smoky and then disintegrated, fine ash the last remnant of the protection it once held. The love it symbolized, though, lived on. One didn’t need an object to love fully and well.
“Az,” she began, but he shook his head.
“I need to drive us home. I need to find the strength to move, knowing how mind-blowing it was to touch you, and also knowing that I can never do it again.”
The words were sharp and honest; the pain there left her almost breathless.
Azrael snapped his fingers and the windows cleared of condensation.
Moonlight streamed into the interior of the Packard, a sharp juxtaposition to the heaviness in her soul.
Vickie opened the glove box and found what she was looking for—a pair of expensive-looking leather driving gloves. Thank goddess for Persephone and her glamorous style.
Pulling the gloves on despite the August heat, Vickie slid her covered hand into Azrael’s.
“It doesn’t fix things, but this way I can at least hold your hand.”
Azrael made a choking sound, and his face twisted.
“I would give anything to kiss you right now.”
“I know,” she said softly.
He dragged her gloved hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips against the leather sheathing it.
Tendrils of longing radiated through the fabric from where they touched, but it could be enough.
It would have to be. What other choice did they have?
The rest of the drive was silent, though Vickie held Az’s bare hand in her gloved one the entire time.
When he dropped her off at Hopelessly Teavoted, she leaned forward without thinking, and he stilled, frozen, not moving away, even when she only remembered, inches away from his face, that she could never touch her lips to his again.
Vickie had lost her only surefire way to pray, losing the slide of his body against hers in the only religion she knew. Something in her broke.
A shattered glass could not be reassembled.
A curse could not be broken.
And yet here he was, holding still and looking at her, hazel eyes full of love and longing, like he’d kiss her even if he had to burn for it. Even if it was the last thing he ever did. She remembered the terms of the bargain.
There actually was something worse.
Be careful what you touch if you happen to have an object with particular sentimental value.
She had touched the saltshakers, and the ring. And if she touched him again, he would burn.
If she beheld him after the terms of her bargain, after October 31, he would die.
Vickie couldn’t allow that.
Her heart remained in the car next to his untouchable lips as she pulled away and spoke clearly so there would be no confusion.
“We can’t be together. Even with gloves. From now on, to avoid sudden death, we are just friends. Business associates.” Vickie looked away, unable to keep contact through the intensity of his gaze.
“What about how I feel, Vickie? What about how you feel?” Az’s voice was accusatory, as though she had dismissed an essential detail. He ran a hand through his hair, and the way it stuck to the side made her think he had pulled at it. Harder than she would like.
“My heart will break every day. I expect yours might as well. But it’s a better option than you dying,” Vickie said.
“If you died, my heart would crumble entirely. And the terms of my contract mean touching you will kill you, but if I don’t collect as promised, if I don’t pay off my debt, even looking at you will kill you after Halloween. ”
“There has to be another way.” Agony lined his face, creasing between his eyebrows. “We have two months to figure it out. That’s plenty of time. Between you, me, Priscilla, and the Council, if we have to get them involved. Plenty of time.”
Vickie opened the door.
“I have to go,” she said.
Azrael nodded and snapped his fingers, and her disheveled hair and mussed clothing smoothed back to perfection.
It was as though the night had never even happened.
The thought of it broke her even more than the knowledge that everything between them had changed for good.