Page 74 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Was this in your College’s plan?” Delina asks, instead of poking at him, instead of any of the storm of emotion welling up inside of her. “Make you bond with me so you wouldn’t complain about being stuck with me?”

He regards her, steady, and the light hits his hair just right, casting shadows across his face and highlighting his cheekbones. “If it was, they didn’t tell me.”

“Fair enough,” Delina replies. “Is this something else I should apologize about?”

“No,” he all but interrupts her. “Not at all.”

“Just makes things a hell of a lot more complicated for you?” She ventures a guess, and he nods, something close to misery on his face. “Makes you feel shitty about me finding out and all? As if your mom wasn’t enough of a motivation?”

He lifts one shoulder into a shrug, and there are a few other things buzzing in the back of her head, implications and struggles and commitments it entails.

“So when I called you my ex,” Delina forges on, and he closes his eyes, like he’s waiting for the ax to drop, “that’s more complicated for you than it was for me.”

He doesn’t confirm it, but neither does he deny it, just taking a drink from his beer, and a smidgen of hurt worms into her.

So not only was the relationship fake, not only did he lie to her, not only was he set up to stay with her for forever, his drive to convince her to stay, the glimmers of affection she still saw in him, all of those were borne from some non-human instinct that she can’t fully grasp.

And he was stuck with it.

“Wow, yeah, this is shitty,” she says, drinking the fizzy beer perhaps a bit too fast than she should, and it almost burns down her throat. “You’re right, I don’t like this.”

“Didn’t think you would,” he responds, surly. “That’s why I didn’t mention it.”

“Okay no, stop that,” Delina says, setting her glass down with a thunk. “Stop keeping things from me just because you think I won’t like them, stop holding shit back. I don’t care if you think I won’t like it, I don’t want to be left in the dark for the rest of my life about anything. I’m tired of that.”

His lips thin, but he nods.

“Any other big bombshells? Any other bullshit that I should absolutely know about?” All fondness from the earlier conversation is erased, and she pulls herself as tall as she can while sitting on the cold metal stool. “So I can actually make informed decisions for once in my life?”

He just stares at her, a pillar of misery and frustration, his jaw tight, and drinks his beer.

On the drive back,Maison flinches, then grabs Delina’s hand resting on the shifter.

“What?” Delina asks, the knot sitting in her chest still prickly.

“Drive faster,” he says, voice strangled, and when she risks a glance his eyes are red.

So she does, pressing down on the gas, speeding the ratty little sedan down the empty, misty highway.

Maison doesn’t let go of her hand until they’re over the demon trap, and Delina guides the car to a stop right on the other side of it, and he stares at her as she clumsily puts it back together, his eyes glittery.

“What was that?” Delina asks, after the circle clicks back into place with a finality she swears echoes in her bones.

Maison exhales, finally, and shakes out his hands, his jaw tight.

“That,” he starts, and his voice cracks, just a bit, “was a blanket demon scan of the entire area.”

Delina blinks at him. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Maison replies, harshly. “Not good.”

“Did they…did they find me?” Delina asks, and they’re still standing in the mist, on the side of the road leading to the cabin.

“I don’t…” he swallows, and she can see his throat bob. “I don’t think so. I think I camouflaged you fast enough, I think.”

Delina stares at him, and he’s pallid in the mist, leaning against the ratty sedan.

“Okay,” she says finally, now even more unsure of footing. “Thank you?”

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