Page 42 of Evidence of a Folktale

“Thanks for calling,” Bel said as she climbed the stairs toward the sounds of demolition.

“I’m always here for you, so pick up the phone and call me.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, love you.”

“Bye.” Bel hung up, her chest infinitely lighter, and she thanked whoever her guardian angel was for inspiring her sister to randomly call so late on a weeknight.

The crash of a sledgehammer crashed against a wall, jerking her to attention, and she followed the thunder through the peeling halls until she found the source of the rage. Eamon’s back faced her, and while his heightened senses always heard her long before she entered a room, he seemed oblivious to her return. She read the tension in his muscles, the fear in the way they coiled, the agitation in his rigidity, and he was taking his frustration out on the crumbling wood of this forgotten level.

Bel crossed the floor and captured him in her arms, pressing her cheek against his sweat and dust-streaked back. He’d stripped his shirt off, his skin filthy from his exertion, but she didn’t care. She cemented herself against his spine, her fingers digging into his chest as she pulled him closer, and his body sagged. All the tension bled from his muscles, and for a long moment, he stood hunched before her, his relief at her return so palpable that it seeped through his skin and settled in her chest.

Bel and Eamonstood side by side, brushing their teeth before the colossal bathroom mirror in the perfect image of domesticity. He wore only boxer briefs. She wore only his tee shirt, both of their hair damp from the shower as they brushed in unison. Back and forth. Back and forth. They were just a normal couple readying for bed, ordinary people hovering over their his-and-hers sinks, and then Bel destroyed the facade.

“Why me?” she asked as she broke eye contact with her reflection and twisted to face the towering wall of muscle beside her. “You admitted to softening over the years, especially after your friendship with the World War II soldiers, but by your own admission—or lack thereof—you didn’t bury the monster until you met me. Why? And are you truly different, or will the beast rear his head when I’m no longer enough to inspire goodness?”

“You’ll always be enough,” Eamon said.

“So why me?” she repeated. “It’s about what you tasted in my blood that night we met, isn’t it?” When he didn’t speak, she had her answer. “What did you taste? What about my blood made you change your entire life? And if you say we’re some sort of fated mates, I will walk out of this house and never return because I refuse to be in a relationship where I have no say. I won’t be with a man like you because fate preordained our joining. If I’m with you, then it needs to be because I chose to forgive your past. Because I love you enough to make this work.”

“We aren’t mates.” Eamon put his toothbrush back in its holder. “There’s no such thing. At least not for the sons of hell. Do I believe you’re my soulmate? Absolutely, but in a very human way. A preordained path didn’t force us together. I think fate had a hand in our meeting, but you’re standing in my bathroom wearing my shirt because you chose me of your own free will.”

“Oh, thank god.” Bel sagged against the counter, rubbing her chest as if it might slow the thundering of her heart. “So, some irresistible magic isn’t demanding we love each other?”

“No,” Eamon said. “It might make you feel worse to learn you picked a man like me instead of fate forcing us together, but nothing’s controlling you. If you love me, it’s because you want to. Some might find that unromantic, but I’m of the opposite opinion. I think the fact that you choose every day to stand by my side makes you the most beautiful person in the world.”

“It doesn’t make me feel worse,” Bel said. “I’m relieved. I want to be here of my own free will.”

“You are.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the sink.

“So what did you taste?” she asked. “What about me made you love for the first time in centuries? What about me made you kill the half of you birthed by hell? Or is this just a reprieve?”

“I honestly don’t know, Isobel,” he said. “I’ll never be a good man. I’ll always be the worst of humanity, and I can’t guarantee that the murderer won’t rear his head again. All I know is that while I’m no hero, I can be the hero in your story because I like the man you see when you look at me. I want to be the reason your eyes light up and your lips smile. The devil my father bred into me left me hollow and angry. I can never purge hell from my veins, but for the first time, I feel alive, and that’s because of you.”

“Heroes sacrifice for the greater good.” Bel stepped closer to him, the warmth of his presence kissing her skin despite the fraction of air separating them. “Villains burn the world to save the ones they love. Maybe it’s okay that you’re a bit of a villain.”

“I would burn it all down for you.” Eamon closed the distance, capturing her face as he towered possessively over her. “Myself included. That much you can count on. I can’t promise that my true nature won’t fight its way to the surface, but I can promise that I’d die before I hurt you ever again. And that I’ll do my best to never re-inhabit the Impaler.”

“Thank you for being honest.” Bel slid her palms up his chest. “I realize that wasn’t easy, and I’m sorry I freaked out. I was expecting the killing-people-to-drink-their-blood bit, but I wasn’t expecting the rest.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m no better than Ewan.”

“That’s not true,” Bel said, once again thankful that her eldest sister had impeccable timing with her words of wisdom. “And it’s why I stand by my decision not to tell Olivia. You didn’t trick me into dating you like Ewan tricked her. Unconventional relationships like ours are impossible without honesty, so if I’d told her, it would’ve meant nothing. Your teeth were on my throat the first moment we met, so I’ve always understood. You never pursued so much as a friendship with me until you confessed the truth about New York, and after witnessing Alcina’s magic force you to attack me in the woods, I was very aware of the man I’d let into my life. Your honesty helped me see past your darkness.” She rubbed his bare chest for emphasis. “My soul might be damned for saying this, but Impaler or not, you’re the person who makes me feel the safest. You’re who I want to be with.”

“Do you mean that?” Eamon tugged her closer.

“Yes… if I can forgive you for scarring my throat, I can forgive you for something that happened hundreds of years before I was born. I won’t pretend that I’ve magically flipped a switch and forgave all your sins tonight. It’ll take me time to come to terms with both your past and process my emotions.”

“But you aren’t leaving me?”

“No.” Bel caught his face in her hands. “You’re not allowed to leave me. I am bound by that same oath.”

“Then I don’t care how long it takes for you to forgive me.” Eamon’s forehead collapsed against hers, and each time she exhaled, he inhaled, filling his lungs with the breath that had once filled hers.

“You’re a good man below the darkness, Eamon Stone.” Her voice faltered as her throat tightened with emotion. History might condemn her for this belief, but she loved the Impaler. No matter the horror, she loved him, and with love came redemption. “It took a lot of courage to be honest with me, and you’ve been fighting for us since we met. You aren’t afraid to have hard conversations, either. I admit they hurt, but we need to fight.”

“I wouldn’t classify any of our conversations as fights. Disagreements or arguments maybe, but I never want to truly fight with you.”

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