Page 36 of Hopelessly Teavoted

“I’m not sure. It’s unclear, and things are…

a bit murkier on this side of life. Time, existence, identity…

they all stretch and contract, blur, and blend together.

I know that I love Persephone, and that she is my world.

I know that I care about my children. Dying is letting go, and there’s deep sadness there, but also a fading connection to the living world.

I’m losing small parts of the life I used to have—names, faces, memories, they’re all slipping away, to ultimately make it easier when I slip away too. ”

“It’s a gradual process, then?” Vickie had long suspected this, for the ghosts could always be summoned until their most beloved objects from their earthly lives were gone from the world.

Then they burned, whether to the more lush and lovely parts of a great beyond or to a cool and torturous damnation.

When they were ash, she always sensed they were gone, from this plane, at least.

Benedict flickered, and the wooden angel, carved in enough detail to show a craftsman’s face, trembled in her hands, growing hot. She was sad that Azrael wouldn’t get to see it. He would have loved the memento of his father.

“Have care, Vickie. Be ready when you go to the church. For now, what Azrael needs is in the family grimoire. Find out who has dealt with the devil with baser intentions than yours. And be honest with Azrael. Even when it is difficult. He puts on a good front, my son, but he needs—”

The figurine flamed out, cutting Benedict off.

Vickie wasn’t sure how long she’d stood staring at the empty desk and chair when a knock at the shed door startled her out of her reverie.

The door was refusing to open unless she allowed it.

Hart Manor could be downright loyal when it wanted to.

The walls tucked in protectively around her, bending ever so slightly to the middle.

“Dammit, let me in, you pile of brittle bricks.” Fists slammed against the door again. “Victoria! Vickie?!” Azrael’s voice was muffled with concern and the weight of the wood between them.

Vickie pulled open the door, and his face relaxed into relief.

“I thought I heard you talking,” Az said.

“I accidentally summoned your dad.”

“That tracks.” His hand came up, reaching for her, but he shoved it into his pocket. “Guess I’ll have to learn to curb that habit,” he said, smiling wryly.

“I mean, only if you want to live.” She smiled up at him and reached for the plastic bags that would do in the place of glass. “Come on.” She gestured to the door, and to Evelyn and Priscilla waiting for them.

“I’ve submitted a formal report of the stolen plants,” Evelyn announced.

“But all of the things together, well, it will take some time to process, since there’s no immediate threat.

I can only keep the Council from this for a little while longer.

You have until the end of October, but once the veil thins, it’s too dangerous. ”

Prissy glared at her. “Fine. We need to find out who else cut a deal in Hallowcross. Is there anything unusual?” Priscilla tapped a finger on her chin. “Any instances of magic gone awry, or working weirdly? It could be something small.”

A sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her that she almost knew what Azrael was going to say before he said it.

“My asshole boss.”

“Being an asshole is not a crime,” said Priscilla with a sigh. “Though if it were, things sure would go a lot more smoothly.”

“He’s not just an asshole. He seems immune to the little world-healing spells.” Azrael ran his hand through his hair, shook it out, and cracked his knuckles. So many nervous tics in a row for her handsome, angsty witch.

Prissy’s face softened. “Mom’s spells?”

“Mom’s spells. I thought maybe he would be less angry, and nicer to my colleagues. To the kids. But the only thing that worked was a very childish bit to stick a Post-it note to his back.”

“Magic didn’t work on him at all, save for attaching a note to his jacket?

” Evelyn’s voice was sharp. “But still, nothing’s tripped my alarm at the school,” she mused.

“I suppose it could be possible that he has some sort of protective spell work, but if that’s the case, then if it is him, he’s already powerful enough that we ought to tread lightly.

You’re certain the magic didn’t work on him directly? ”

“It did not.” She looked at him the same way he had looked at a student last week who had sworn up and down that he had turned in his paper, only to discover it in his own backpack later and turn it in sheepishly.

“We need to keep an eye on him. A close eye, Azrael. But be careful. He sounds like the sort we don’t want to find out any of our secrets regardless.”

“Agreed,” Azrael said. “It’s possible he’s not the person, but even so, I wouldn’t want him knowing I’m a witch.”

“Precisely,” said Evelyn. “We think we know the motives behind the fake psychic attack,” she continued, glancing at Priscilla.

“I shouldn’t be telling you until the Council rules officially, but they are dragging their feet on account of the woman still being in a coma.

They think the perpetrator believed she was a real medium.

A witch. They’re looking for who did it. ”

Tension gathered in Vickie’s chest. She really hoped this wasn’t about Chet. If it was, goddess, based on what Az had said, she couldn’t think of anyone who would be worse to add to the fray of their magical problems.

“I’ll go back to the hospital one more time. I had no luck summoning anything, but who knows. Maybe something will jump out at me.”

Evelyn sighed, dragging a hand across her face. “The Council’s been over it a hundred times, but it can’t hurt to have a nonwitch take a look.”

“I’ll go Wednesday,” she said.

“Be careful.” Priscilla looked meaningfully at her, and at Azrael.

“I’m always careful.”

Azrael coughed but said nothing. She glared at him. “You just focus on telling me everything you can think of about this. The more I know, the more likely I am to spot anything that I should be noticing.”

“There are few reasons to try to take the soul of a witch,” Az said, and Vickie knew it was for her benefit. Priscilla and Evelyn looked significantly horrified, and whatever he was going to reveal had to be something they had already considered. She needed to know, though.

Vickie stepped toward Az, stopping short of deadly distance. “What are they?”

“One is to trap it, to force a favor. Usually magic craft of some sort, potion work, or shadow craft. There’s old-fashioned bigotry and hate, of course—taking for the sake of killing. Either of those are better than the third.”

“Those are the good options?”

“There’s a reason we don’t tell people we’re witches,” said Prissy quietly.

“The third reason is to eat the soul. To consume it, and with it, its power. Soul eaters are the worst kind of monsters. They’re human, so shackled by their biases, but able to do magic undeterred.

Undetected. It’s why we sometimes wonder how an evil man in power could get so much power.

How evil could manifest in such awful ways, and how money and status can prevent human justice.

Usually, if the person is really bad, it’s a soul eater.

The loss of compassion is what kills the humanity in people. ”

“We may have time,” said Evelyn. “Not much, but some.”

“How do you figure?” Vickie was winding her hair around her finger, nervous.

“Because those sorts of ceremonies, even by a human, only take if the veil is thin between the worlds. It’s a time for the resolution of bargains. Culmination. A harvest, often physical and spiritual. A guiding bonfire directing spirits home.”

“Halloween,” she said. “Why is it always my favorite holiday?”

Evelyn nodded. “Samhain is the closest one, yes.”

“Az, can we talk about what your dad said?”

“When I was talking to your dad…” Vickie picked at chipping nail polish on her thumb, reassuring herself with the repetitive motion that she hadn’t failed Az in this. “I didn’t realize what I’d find in here or I would have come to get you and Prissy before…”

Azrael swallowed and stepped toward her in the shed, pausing a safe distance away. The torchlight illuminated his curls, and the gold speckles in his eyes were tiny flames now.

But it was Priscilla who spoke, her voice cracking just a little. “What did he say?”

“To make sure you and Azrael are okay, but also what we know: that someone else has cut a deal with the devil for a slightly different gift. And that you need to check the family grimoire for what you need.” Vickie bit back the part where Benedict had beseeched her to be honest, but it lingered, heavy on her tongue.

The truth wanted out as much as her body wanted Az. But there was no gravedirt now, and she didn’t have to give in to either.

“This is exhausting.” Priscilla gave Evelyn a lingering look.

“Absolutely. Perhaps a trip to the home gym could do you wonders? We could work off the stress.” Evelyn threaded a hand through Priscilla’s, and she nodded. The two of them slipped out of the greenhouse.

“Well, fuck.” Azrael ran a hand through his hair. “We’d better check to see if there are any tracing spells for that sort of thing. Come on, we can feed Emily Lickinson on the way.”

“I guess I was hoping for wild nights, huh?” she quipped, waiting to see if he would remember their entire month on Dickinson in high school poetry class together, and how she secretly loved it, though her parents drove her college admissions goals in other directions.

A smile snuck up the side of his face. Crooked and unfairly handsome.

“Who would have guessed a business major would take enough lit classes to whisper sweet poetry?”

Vickie smiled back at him. “I contain multitudes,” she said, smirking now.

This earned her a chuckle, and he shoved his hands into his pockets, cocking his head toward the door.

“Let’s head to the library. Emily’s unofficially taken up the role of book guardian.”