Page 39 of Hopelessly Teavoted

Vickie would have to go home as soon as they were done with the spell.

There was no way she could stay the night.

She had to work in a few hours. And if she didn’t get some sleep after the enormity of finding out about the soul seal, and then actually considering the soul seal, of the emotions and longing tied up in that plastic-wrap kiss, of all of it on top of not being able to touch, on top of their fuckup six years ago, she might lose herself in real feelings.

Lose the friendship and the only family she had now.

She wasn’t willing to let him go, even if they were just friends, now that she finally had him back.

And the idea of being eternally bound to him at some point, well, it wasn’t as terrifying as it maybe should have been.

But it was awfully soon for that kind of decision.

He deserved her certainty, and if she moved forward and acted on the sneaking feelings that were about now, and more than sex, and not just history, and a delicate dance of never touching, she had to be absofuckinglutely sure. That type of certainty should take her time.

It was fine to fuck around and brainstorm creative ways to get off without fully touching until her legs shook and she screamed his name, but she didn’t want to play the part of the game where she fell asleep next to the familiar form of Azrael, on a separate bed or from the other side of a wall. That was too close to always.

Vickie didn’t want to know how much she could pretend not to be tempted to kill him just to feel his lips on hers, without anything between them, the moment before he died, for it felt earnest, and it felt like they could love each other, really love each other.

A part of her crumbled at the fear of that it was loved , and not love .

Could love go on without touch? Would it wither in disuse?

The fear that what he had done in the library—what they had done when they danced into more than just friendship—had been some sort of twisted blip, pounded into her in thigh-clenching enthusiastic rhythm from the record player.

That same part had blossomed again when he admitted that it was now too.

Fear and hope, past and present, things were complicated.

Always just a friend, though, and wasn’t it better that way?

What would happen if she let herself feel for him fully, if she bound herself to him and then he found her wanting later?

How would he feel, waking up ten years from now, or twenty, or thirty, if she agreed to solve the problem with the sort of magic that would take away their future choices to look elsewhere if it didn’t work out?

Vickie feared that choosing him, in that way, might mean losing him if they forced something neither of them was ready for.

The way she had lost him, for years, after that ill-advised incident. Which it turned out, had been even more foolish than she’d realized.

These problems were for later Vickie.

Azrael was pouring the contents of the potion over a map he’d set on a carpet near the hearth.

A few droplets hit it and disappeared; the thick shag seemed magically resistant.

The liquid settled and swirled, and drifted in giant blue and gray waves to the northern corner of the map.

Havenwall. She frowned. She had been expecting the church, or the high school.

Something to lead them directly to Chet.

Not this, which suggested that maybe Azrael’s boss was just a jackass, after all. It meant a three-hour drive, and there was no way they could do it tonight. Maybe Hazel could handle the shop, or she could open late. Close for the day if she had to. It wasn’t ideal, but it would be all right.

“I’ll scry again later, but I think what we need is in the graveyard there. You can stay here, and we can leave first thing in the morning,” he said. His pupils were blown wide, but under his eyes, shadows lingered, purple and blue traces of restless nights.

Grief had hit Azrael Hart, and she ought to respect that too.

Give him time to process. To protect her own heart by leaving.

To avoid taking advantage, as much as she wanted to see if he still had those velvet curtains around his bed, and if they could be magicked to be the only things between them.

He pulled her hand away when she went to touch. Like he didn’t need her the way she needed him. Before she remembered that what he rejected, with her touch, was sudden death.

Vickie shook her head. “I can’t. I have to work in like four hours, Az. I need to go home and change. Can I borrow your bike?”

“I can drive you again, or put you up in a guest room and take you early. I wouldn’t assume anything, and the house made you welcome here before.”

She shook her head. “I need some time to process. This has been a lot, with the break-in and the scrying. And the news about our options. Good ‘a lot,’ too, with the dancing and what not. But I need to clear my head and I need to sleep on my own pillow.”

Azrael’s eyes clouded and he opened his mouth, but then shut it again, whatever words he had in response dying on his lips. He shook his head.

“I get it. Maybe another time. Wednesday? When you’re closed? I can call in sick. We could stop by the hospital too. Check on Madam Cleopatra.”

She nodded, unable to find the right words to bridge the gap between the past, the impossibility, and what was now reality.

“I’ll drive you back. Seriously,” he said. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than she remembered.

“No thanks, Az. I’m good on the bike. Really.”

“Are you sure?” He sounded uncertain.

“Please.” She needed solitude and the chill of the night air against her face. The space to think outside of the spell of his nearness.

Az’s face softened. “Of course.” He snapped his fingers twice. “The bike is sitting out front with a helmet. There are jackets in the hall closet if you need. Text me when you get home, though?”

“Always.” It had become an unspoken tradition, sometime in early September. They texted when they went places. When they woke up. Before they went to bed.

He snapped his fingers and the remaining potion vanished. Rubbing his temples, Az said, “I’ll pick you up early Wednesday. Maybe seven?”

She nodded. “Text before you leave. I’ll be ready by the time you’re outside the shop.”

“Vickie.” Az looked at her, searching her face for something, and settled on a gesture instead. “I don’t want to give up just because it’s complicated. I want you. I want to be with you. Whatever this looks like. I’m all in.”

She sighed. He deserved her certainty. “I want to be with you too. But we need to be reasonable and think it through here. I don’t want to slip up and kill you.

And I don’t want to jump into something permanent just because our choices are limited.

We’re friends first, always. We have things to do.

Feelings, for sure, but also a mystery to unravel.

Jobs to think about. Death to avoid. We can take a beat.

See where it takes us. While we figure it out, whenever either of us needs to, we call a pretend. ”

I can’t afford to lose my best friend again , she thought to herself.

To heartache, or worse, to murder caused by her own hands.

She didn’t want to rush into forever with the person she loved most, not when the consequences of one stumble, one misstep, were too great.

She held her tears. She held them long enough to hug Azrael—a careful, chaste, gloved-riddled, arms-only affair of a goodbye—before stepping away.

She moved quickly, the physical distance between them an effective barrier for her sneaking feelings.

“Vickie,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his face and striding toward her.

“Don’t.” She held up a hand. “I just need a few moments on my way out to collect myself. Please. Stay here.” She stopped hard on the last word, and he opened his mouth as if to argue, but then closed it again, shoving hands into his pockets.

Good. It was better this way. It gave her a moment to clear her head if he didn’t fight her on it.

He mumbled about cross-referencing the location with a few other maps in the library, and she let the door slide shut behind her, shoving it back closed when it tried to reopen and invite her in once more.

Faking nonchalance, Vickie darted through the foyer to say goodbye to Priscilla and Evelyn.

The pair sat at the dining room table, a magical whiteboard between them with numbers and words and symbols spinning in Priscilla’s looping, thin script, and Evelyn’s near-perfect round letters.

The were splitting several bottles of wine over the Council business on the board.

“Hey, one of these days, you and Az should take a midnight hike,” said Priscilla, winking and not even attempting to hide it. “Like we did in high school, remember?”

“I remember you ditching us to go run off with your girlfriend.”

“That sounds like you,” said Evelyn fondly. She appeared much more relaxed after a glass of wine. Vickie wondered how much of her apparent coolness was really nerves.

“We’ll all go hiking another time, Priscilla. Azrael’s got witching to do.” She hoped Prissy wouldn’t push her on it.

“Come and have a drink, then?” Priscilla held the wine up and waved her hand so that the giant polar bear rug on the steps roared slightly in agreement. “See? Even Franklin wants you to join us.”

“Next time, Prissy. I promise. I have an early morning. Az and I are going to the hospital and then Havenwall on Wednesday. I think we can figure out what we’re missing here.

See if there’s a link between the attempted soul stealing and the megachurch and whatever the scrying found in Havenwall.

The tracing spell says what we need is there. ”

Evelyn raised a sculpted eyebrow. From what Azrael had told Vickie, Evelyn had not been pleased about any of this. Something about foolhardy actions without Council approval, but he said Priscilla had brushed it off—for now, anyway. “Anything the Council should be aware of?”

“Just buy us a little more time before they get involved. We’ll keep you posted.” She paused. “Havenwall will help us put together all of these pieces.”

Prissy fixed her with a brown-eyed stare, and though her eyes had a sleepy drunk sheen to them and her signature braid was coming loose, her severe expression made Vickie want to confess everything.

“Put a pin in that, killer. What’s going on with you and Azrael?

” Priscilla squinted at Vickie; she hoped the younger Hart didn’t have any gravedirt on her.

Evelyn grabbed Priscilla’s hands, rubbing each one separately in one of her own in a romantic gesture that, it did not escape Vickie, also prevented her old neighbor from snapping her fingers.

“Nothing,” squeaked Vickie. “We’re friends.” Whatever was going on between her and Az, it was not ready for a family inquisition.

“Really?” Priscilla’s face was emotionless, but the set of it reminded her of the way Emily Lickinson stalked Az when she was about to pounce.

“Truly. I’ll see you two later. Can’t wait to take that hike sometime.” If Vickie’s voice had shifted up an octave on one of those words, it wouldn’t be enough for them to notice.

She hoped.

“Drive safe,” said Evelyn. “And do let us know if you need the Council for anything at all.”

Vickie could feel Priscilla’s eyes on her back the entire way out.

“Your shirt is on inside out,” Prissy called as she shut the door behind her.

Vickie looked down. It was.

Fuck Azrael and his quick-snapping fingers.