Page 133 of Monsters in Love: Lost in the Underworld

“Do I want to hear it?”

“Probably not.” His mouth twists in a sort of disgust.

“Tell me anyway.”

“What if the woman in the barn wasn’t Minnie? What if it was you?” He winces like he’s just insulted me. “What if you were Dylan’s temptation to wrath?”

Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“You said something about making me forget hell.”

“I can wipe away the memories of tonight… it’ll be the same as if you had gotten black out drunk, just… without the hangover.”

“Huh,” he says and I know he’s considering it.

“It would mean you won’t have to lie if the cops come looking for a missing college kid.”

“That’s true, but… I don’t think I want to forget. I think… I think it’s better to know what’s waiting for me if I don’t make some changes.”

“Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know.

He nods. “So, um… you’re actually a witch. Like the spell stuff was real, and that’s how we got to hell… how you’d make me forget?”

“Yeah.”

“And Julia is your ghost girlfriend?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” He nods, repeating the word a few times. “Hey, since I didn’t drive, could I stay here tonight? For what’s left of it, anyway?”

“Yeah.”

“In thenothaunted house?” he quickly adds.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make up the couch at my grandmothers’. You’ll be safe and sound there.”

He glances up toward the house. “I am really sorry about everything I did in hell. I like girls—which, apparently you do, too—and I may have a bit too active of an imagination.”

“We’re in college, we’re supposed to be horny, right?”

He snorts and claps a hand over his mouth while he laughs, shaking his head in a way that leaves me wondering if he’s ashamed of me for saying it, or himself for laughing at it.

“I’d still like to hang out, if you want. Just as friends. Zero expectations now or in the future. But after all of that,” he waves vaguely at the ground and then back toward Dylan’s car, “I’ll understand if you’d rather not.”

“I guess we’ll see what happens.”

“Genevieve Delany Humphries.”

I look up to find one of my grandmothers standing in front of the house, broom in hand, a scowl on her lips.

“I think you have some explaining to do.” She glances at Jonas and then back to me.

“I definitely do,” I say. “Gran, this is my friend Jonas. Jonas, this is my Grandmother Collette.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Jonas,” she tips her head toward the front door. “The couch is already made up for you.”

He looks at me and then back to her, “Th-thank you.”

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