Page 47 of Two Who Live On

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and no bakey.” Milo ripped the blanket off the bed. “Sorry, they were out. But I got you some sweet sausage.”

I kept my eyes firmly shut. Afraid to face him.

“That better not be a euphemism.” The aroma of meaty maple filled my bedroom. I loved maple sausage.

“Damn, it would’ve been so great if it was.”

I opened my eyes. Milo had a huge smile, Charlie in one hand and a bag of greasy fast food in the other.

“Told you he was warming up to me.” Milo nuzzled Charlie, who immediately leapt off and ran away, cry meowing. It was a betrayal meow he’d give when either he or I prioritized someone over each other. Charlie was quite possessive, so usually, that meow was reserved for me and my betrayals of work, Milo, or literally saying hello to the vet.

“I’d say you still have a long way to go.” Me too, given how I’d fucked up so much. I didn’t say that part, though. Couldn’t.

“Were you actually asleep or pretending?”

“Huh?”

“The glimpse I caught, I couldn’t tell, but I knew you were here.”

“And that I would fail to feed my cats?”

“You were awake.” Milo sighed. “Please don’t take away Charlie’s new toys.”

“Toys?” I frowned. “I thought you bought him one.”

“He has so few.”

“That’s because he destroys them all. He’s got to learn to make them last and value—”

“He’s impulsive,” Milo interjected, plopping onto my bed and setting the fast-food bag on the floor. “Aren’t we all?”

I froze. Damn. He’d steered casual conversation about the cats directly into how much I’d fucked up his case. Ugh. Clairvoyants. Stalling for time, I levitated the bag onto the nightstand. Also, food—bagged or not—was easy prey for Carlie to steal.

“I’m…” I took a deep breath. “I…”

“Fifty-fifty, FYI.” Milo scooted closer.

“Huh?”

“Fifty-fifty on you starting this conversation with I’m sorry or I love you. I’ve seen a lot of versions, so let’s go off script and have me start.” Milo pressed a hand on top of the blanket, delicately rubbing my thigh beneath.

“How many conversations do you actually have off script?” I fought back a little laugh because Milo really did plan everything in his life, even the things he didn’t plan for.

“One in five. Okay. One in seven.”

I stared, expression unshifting.

“All right, one-ish in ten.” Milo smirked. “What can I say? I math badly.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t blame your actions. I sort of saw it, maybe. It’s hard to get a clear picture when demons are involved.”

“You should blame me. Every friend and family of the next victims should blame me. I am selfish.”

“You’re not. Selfish people don’t acknowledge it, and when they do, it’s usually for leverage. I know you too well to think you’d ever use self-loathing words to strike a chord for empathy. You do it because you can’t sort your feelings into words, and the best way you can express yourself is to blame yourself.”

“Christ, maybe you’re a manifestation, and that’s the whole reason I haven’t been able to summon one.”

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