Page 5 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Vickie shrugged, ignoring the threat. It was typical of her mother to play dramatic. “I’ll take out a loan.”
“You’ll finish school, or we will formally cut you out of the will. I’ll have our lawyers on the phone as soon as you step out of here.” There was no arguing with Maximillian.
Vickie sighed. She had suspected it would come to this.
It was part of the reason she had stowed two suitcases in her yellow Volkswagen this morning.
The car had barely made it back here from school, but it would do.
There was an apartment above the shop, and she had already put in an inquiry at the bank. Prissy could be ready today, she said.
The Starnberger name would help her with getting what she needed. If she hurried.
“Call your lawyer,” she said, her voice as cold as her mother’s eyes. Her father stood up.
“Victoria,” he began, but she held a hand up.
“Don’t bother. Cut me off. I’ll do this on my own.”
She walked before she caught any reaction. If she knew her parents, their first move would be to make good on the threat with their family lawyer, and it would take him some time to draw up the documents, even for his wealthiest clients on retainer.
Vickie was counting on it, because it would give her enough time to sign the paperwork at the bank before anyone caught wind that she was no longer a wealthy heiress.
She hadn’t been raised by sharks for nothing.
When she pulled up to the Loanly Officers’ Club, the town bank, and the teller ran out to greet her, she knew she had made it.
She would save the tea shop that had meant so much to her as a child. And if she ran into Azrael Hart, she would get to see an old friend again.
She would not think about that one time at college.
She would not think about the brief moment where she’d recognized that her body against his body was the closest she’d ever come to religion.
It had been a blip. A one-off six years ago.
A strange convergence by a meddlesome universe with a perverse sense of humor.
She was absolutely not thinking about Azrael Hart at all several hours later, as she stood with the little bronze key to his mother’s shop in her hand, staring at the bells above the door.
This was her dream, and it was the closest thing to coming home that she would ever have.
Shaped like tiny silver skulls, those doorbells reminded her of her old neighbors in a way that made her heart twist. Benedict and Persephone were really gone.
Vickie was about to turn the key when a voice startled her enough to drop it.
“Hello, Victoria,” he purred.
She turned around, but the man who stood in the doorway was unfamiliar to her. Yet there was something about his face that said she knew him. That she wanted to know him.
“Can I help you?” Vickie kept her tone neutral and stooped to pick up the key.
The man shook wavy black hair out of his eyes, which were quite unfairly violet blue. He cracked a breathtaking smile that she was willing to bet had destroyed its fair share of people.
“I believe you can, but it might be better if we went into this quaint little establishment first.” His smile was insouciant, and she scowled at him.
“Just what exactly makes you think I’d invite a man I’ve never met before inside?”
“Ah, pet, that’s not precisely true, though, now is it?”
Victoria prickled at the nickname, and at the sense that he was not lying.
“What could you possibly say to me that would make me change my mind?” She crossed her arms. People were out in the bright morning sunlight, and the street was crowded enough that she had nothing to be afraid of so long as she didn’t go in the store with him.
Which she most definitely was not going to do.
“I regret to inform you that as of 11:05 this morning, your parents, Maximillian and Amelie Starnberger, have cut you off legally, severing all financial and otherworldly ties.”
“Otherworldly? What are you, the world’s most macabre lawyer?”
He smiled wider now, and she cursed her stomach for betraying her by flipping over the beauty of the expression.
“You could call me that. I’ve been called worse. Demon. Scoundrel. Fallen angel.”
He winked at her, looked around, and waved his hand.
Flame jumped from his fingertips, in a hue she recognized precisely as that which consumed the objects she touched when the ghosts were gone.
“Fuck,” spat Vickie. “You’re an actual devil, aren’t you? My devil?”
He shrugged. “Some people call me that, but I find the term a bit judgmental, don’t you?”
“Lucifer,” she breathed, the hairs on the back of her neck rising.
Frowning, he shook his head. “No, but that guy is a piece of work. The greater devils had wings and lost them. As a lesser devil, I’ve never even had wings at all.
” He sounded wistful. “I’m Olexandre,” he continued, shaking perfect, glossy hair out of his face.
“But you can call me Lex. Now, are you going to let me in, or shall I smite everyone here on the street to give us a wee bit of privacy?” His voice was smooth.
Cold. She couldn’t tell if he was bluffing.
Vickie dug her nails into her palms. She had prepared to talk to a ghost today.
To outwit her parents and to be cut off if it came to that.
To find the nerve to purchase her dream.
To grapple, even, with the memory of the incident and what it might mean to run into Azrael again.
But she had not, in fact, prepared to deal with the actual devil responsible for her unusual ability.
Fucking Robbie really had picked the absolute worst time to break up with her.
Gritting her teeth, she opened the door and gestured for him to go in, following him and doing her best to ignore the view that his strut provided. It was no wonder he was magical; she figured he would have to be to get into pants that snug.
She squashed an indecent impulse to step closer, to run a hand along the pants to see if they were really leather. He was dangerous. It wasn’t her fault she found that a tiny bit hot.
“I’ll be quick, pet,” he murmured, turning to her, and raising his eyebrows, as though reading her unease. Hopefully not her mind. Devils couldn’t read minds, she reassured herself.
“The cocky ones so often are,” she said, crossing her arms.
“My, my. We’re skipping right to claws, I see. I’m game, though we do have a bit of business to square away first.” He stepped closer to her. A wicked smile cracked wide across his face, slightly crooked. She was absolutely certain that stronger people than her must have fallen for it in the past.
And yet she wasn’t unseasoned. She didn’t have to trust a devil.
“What do you want?”
“It’s not what I want, but what I need, dearest one.”
Vickie rolled her eyes at that.
“Fine, what do you need ?”
“There’s the small matter of your parents’ debt. There’s no way to put this delicately, but now that they have disowned you, you’ll need, of course, to pay the remaining balance. In exchange for your gift.”
Hot or not, she was going to strangle him, to wrap her hands around his lean neck and pull him closer. No. Her nerves were too frayed in the wake of her breakup with Robbie, and, if she was honest, with the agony of knowing she might eventually run into Azrael again.
The mere thought of that threatened to open an old, unyielding wound.
Better to push it aside and focus on the anger.
“Excuse me, but I did not make a deal with a devil. I was a child.”
“Of course not. I would never collect on a child, which is why their repayment plan did not begin until your twenty-first birthday. Standard child labor law.”
“Standard child labor law in a deal with the devil?” Vickie pursed her lips, exhaling through her nose in frustration.
“Perhaps you had better sit while I explain.”
“I don’t care how arrogant and good-looking you are, and how used to getting your way you might be. This is my shop and I’ll sit if I want to.”
The devil’s torturously pretty eyes lit up. “You think I’m handsome, do you, pet?” His voice was a purr. A trap.
“That was your takeaway?” Vickie gestured up and down. “I think you’re using an entire arsenal of charms to distract from delivering terrible news.”
Lex frowned and slid into a seat.
Vickie crossed her arms. Her legs were tired, but she absolutely could not cede the verbal battle now, not when it was so clear that he had an advantage.
He gestured, and a shimmering parchment appeared in the air, unfurling gracefully. She could make out teeny-tiny text—no one took the words fine print more seriously than devils—and her parents’ signatures at the end of the paper, which stretched almost as tall as she was.
At the bottom, under the signatures, was an addendum. He pointed, and the text at the bottom magnified as he read.
“Pursuant to the severing of all ties, mortal and otherworldly, of one Victoria Elaine Starnberger from her parents…” He skimmed over their names when she tensed, pausing.
“Don’t stop on my account,” she ground out. She might have to reestablish contact with her parents for the sole purpose of cutting them off again, the absolute bastards.
“The aforementioned owes payment in full of the remaining balance of souls, to be collected by the next thinning of the veil. Should the debtor fail to repay, the interest would be compounded, calculated at a rate of 100 percent, and ten souls, two per year, with the possibility of early collection rolling over to the following year, to be paid in full over the course of ten years.”
“You’re saying…” Her nails were digging into her palms now, the pain tethering her enough to stop from screaming or throwing something in rage. “You’re saying that I owe you ten souls by, what, Halloween? Or I’m in your debt for another decade?”
Lex put his hand to his chest, as though offended.
“Why not at all, sweetness, that would be quite cruel. You only owe me the remaining balance, and your parents did collect seven as promised. But ah, yes, the bit about the next thinning of the veil, on Halloween, is correct. As is the consequence. Can’t be helped. ”
“You’re saying I owe you three souls ?”
“Don’t worry, pet. They’re absolutely dreadful souls.
And most definitely already dead, so you won’t be killing anyone, just reaping.
” He must have seen the look on her face, because he continued, too brightly, “And just think, your powers will be paid in full, and you’ll be free to pursue whatever little fortune-telling grift you have set up here. ”
“Tea shop,” she bit out. “It’s a tea shop, you absolute ass.”
His brow furrowed. “I could have sworn there was something about a fake psychic. Well. No matter. Clearly, this is a café,” he said, winking. “And now that you say so, it’s quite charming. Care to serve me a cuppa?”
Her glare was answer enough, and he stood up, smiling at her in a way that made her hair stand up and sparks run down her spine. The lilt of his voice was ageless, an accent born of centuries of bargaining across lands and languages. It was, regrettably, incredibly seductive.
“Is there anything else I should know about what I owe you?”
He flashed her a dazzling smile. “Just that if you behold any of the remaining objects in progress after the terms of your contract, they shall be incinerated per the terms of your contract on October 31 at sunset should you fail to fulfill your obligations. So, you know. Be careful what you touch if you happen to have an object with particular sentimental value; may be best to wait until after Halloween to lay hands on it. All standard stuff.”
“Incinerating my belongings is standard?” She stared at him. He was too good-looking to be so difficult. Or maybe just good-looking enough? She wasn’t sure.
“Not all your belongings, pet, that would be dreadful. Only objects that anchor a ghost, of course.”
“Of course.” She frowned, eyebrows knitting together.
“Is that a firm no on the tea, then?” The curve of his smile beckoned.
“It’s a very firm no.” She ignored the way his eyes smoldered. Magical creatures could be so thirsty.
“Very well, then. I’ll be in touch about the first soul soon, Victoria.”
He vanished in a dramatic pufff of smoke that she was quite sure was unnecessary, and only after he had gone did she realize that part of the draw she’d felt toward him was natural.
In many ways, magical, at least, he had made her what she was.