Page 30 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Once, two years into their relationship, they had fought over her taking a job he thought was underneath her, and she thought he’d leave her out of frustration. He had insisted she was better than it, she had insisted that it would be easier, and they didn’t speak to each other for almost a week.

This scowl reminds her of that.

“Ex-boyfriend?” he starts, like that’s the upsetting part of all of this. “Just like that?”

She stares at him, and he doesn’t look away.

“You were never planning on telling me,” Delina says finally, and the yellowing kitchen lights do nothing for his complexion.

“I couldn’t,” Maison says, leaning back against the fridge.

“Bullshit,” Delina informs him, and he bares his teeth at her in an almost smile. “You could’ve and we could’ve figured something out.”

“Yes, that would go well,” he says, and if he’s using that sarcastic tone he must be really upset. “‘Hey, Delina, your mother was an evil magician and I have dubious parentage and you might be magical, but we don’t know, wanna get frozen yogurt after work?’ That’d go over just peachy.”

“I dunno, these two nerds managed to show me some proof pretty quickly,” Delina shoots back. “Your eyes were fucking glowing, that might’ve convinced me.”

He crosses his arms again.

“You listened to me talk about my mom so many times, and you never even said ‘oh hey I know her,’” Delina continues, a bile taste in her mouth. “Instead, I had to find out from a letter.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, where the only sound is the continued hum of rain on the roof and the faint purr of the cat on the couch.

There’s a brush of gold where she had touched the espresso machine that morning, weakly glittering.

“You would’ve left,” Maison says, his voice awful, “you would’ve left and then the College would’ve sent someone worse your way, or just…arrest you.”

She stares at him, and he has the gall to look like he thinks he’s in the right. Gold still glints around him, through his soft brown hair and around his jaw.

“You should probably rest more,” he murmurs, after shifting under her examination for a good minute. “You’re new to this, don’t do anything rash or make any fast decisions for a bit.”

“You’re just trying to get out of this discussion,” she says, because he totally is. “You’re uncomfortable because you lied to me for five years and you’re trying to convince yourself that it was the right thing to do.”

That makes him look away, and she wants to thrill in the little victory of it, but the sour taste doesn’t go away.

It never does, whenever they’ve fought.

“I can’t believe you would do that,” she whispers, and her voice breaks, no matter how hard she tries to keep it under control. “Five years, and it was fake the entire time.”

Her head pounds, and she squeezes her eyes shut again.

“Do you think they went in the other room just so we could fight?” Maison asks, his voice low.

“You’re the one that’s known them for longer than you’ve known me,” Delina says, and it’s just as bitter.

“Then probably,” Maison says, shifting uncomfortably. “Gurlien hates emotional situations, even before…whatever happened, happened, and Chloe follows the lead of those around her.”

“Right,” Delina says, then shrugs. “Yes, ex-boyfriend. Just like that.”

There’s still the well of hurt inside of her, bubbling forward and mixing with bile, at her saying the words. At her actually speaking them aloud, as if she had kept silent the last two days wouldn’t have happened.

So instead of seeing that terrible expression over him, she turns on her heels to leave, her throat aching with something else unsaid.

Before she can take a step away, Maison catches her by the hand, like this is a normal day and he’s pulling her in like he always does.

But the moment his fingers grasp her, a loud snap echoes through the tiny kitchen, and a single spark of gold arcs from her hand and nestles into his skin.

Delina flinches, hard, and Maison jerks, his hand tightening around hers.

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