Page 58 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“Oh,” Vickie said. “Is that what you were trying to do before the curse?”
“No,” he said, against his better judgment. “No. I did that because I wanted to. Because of how I feel about you.”
They had reached the gates now, and Az rolled down the window to key in the code. The iron teeth lifted from above and receded into the ground, and then snapped shut after the car passed through. He began again, reaching for his pocket. “I know it’s a lot. But it wasn’t—”
But Vickie cut him off. “Don’t.”
He sighed, but he was too tense to argue, so instead he wound the car carefully down the dark cobblestone driveway and parked out front behind the hearse.
Priscilla waved to them from the porch, where she sat, a cigarette in her right hand.
That was a bad sign. She’d quit after college, and then she had said she quit again for good two years ago.
“Listen,” said Vickie as he unbuckled his seat belt. He looked over at her. She had put on some sort of shimmering lip gloss on the ride over, and her hair fell in soft curls, a few gold specks, probably lingering from the last Sultry Sunday, bouncing off her natural brown. He wondered what she had dressed as this time. It was her armor. The makeup. The hair. The clothes. She’d dyed it back to brown, no highlights, he realized. It suited her, and even better, it would suit the placesbetween his fingers where he wanted so badly to feel it. To tug it hard enough to make her pant.
Fuck, he was such a mess for her.
Again.
“Clearly, we are attracted to each other, and clearly the circumstances are less than ideal as of late. But it doesn’t have to be awkward.” She said it firmly, voice clear. “We have a lot to think about. And no rush. Grief does weird things to people.”
Az bit his lip. Willed himself to come clean. To tell her he’d rather be with her and never touch another soul again than give her up. What was better, now that the gravedirt had worn off? Harsh truth that hurt, or a tiny lie to smooth away the wrinkles of complication?
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah.” Vickie stared out the window, the dullness to her eyes disappearing as she saw his sister. Priscilla approached the car, looking thunderous, and banged on the hood of it.
“Evelyn’s inside, taking pictures of everything. You coming out of there or do I need to threaten you with gravedirt again?” she bellowed, though Azrael knew her anger was more fear and frustration than rage.
“Too soon, Prissy, too soon. You forget you’re not the only creature who favors it.”
“Itwasmy specialty, and I resent that Sexy Lexy took that away from me.”
“Ugh. Please don’t call him that,” Az yelped, climbing out of the car. “I’ve had enough of gravedirt truth to last a lifetime.”
Az ran to his sister, and when he hugged her, she returned the gesture. Even after the drive, he was shaken. He rarely sought out hugs. Growing up, they had all called him Prickly Azrael. The little cactus. But he needed a hug now.
“Thanks for coming, Vickie.” Prissy released him, pulling ahead to walk with Vickie.
“We’re hoping you can give it all a nonwitch perspective.”
Goddess, he hoped that Vickie had never had reason to tell his sister about that mistake he’d made in college. He didn’tneed anyone, particularly his sister, to point out the irony of someone using gravedirt on him.
Az had once, drunk at Uncle Larry’s retirement party, mentioned his undying love for a girl who, according to her illegally spelled roommate, hadabsolutely no interest in him romantically whatsoever.
He had never told Priscilla the girl was Vickie. His sister would have little patience if he made things awkward with their neighbor and friend. She had always been too enthusiastic in her support of their romance. Like the time right after he graduated when Priscilla ditched him for her girlfriend on a midnight hike. When he was alone with Vickie, she had dared him to help her cross skinny-dipping off her bucket list. To get naked. In the water.
He’d missed his chance then too. He had gone home the next day fuzzy, but the memory of watching her body from a few feet away in starlight had been burned onto his eyes. That’s when he had written the bloody letter, and then failed to give it to her before they both left for college at the end of the summer.
Az had texted Vickie awkwardly, and they’d FaceTimed occasionally for a few years, reliving every single word for weeks afterward. Then he’d flown to see her. And fucked everything up. How he had managed to unfuck it and then have it refucked while not being able toactuallyfuck was beyond him.
And now his sister was plotting. He could see it on her face, in the twist of her lip. She was not spooked enough by their predicament to give up meddling.
If only he had turned around and talked to Vickie six years ago. If only he had been there, maybe things would have played out differently, and she wouldn’t be indebted to a handsome, jealous devil. He could have been her handsome, jealous devil.
Az remembered what it was like six years ago.
The morning after was cold and desolate precipitation, lonelier than he had ever been as water streamed from the clouds, matting his hair and echoing his loss. Magic sizzled andextinguished, unused at his fingertips, which he kept apart to avoid misfires. He had forced his legs to keep walking, one foot in front of the other, moving forward when what he wanted to do was drop everything and stand there in the rain holding her, pressing kisses to her cheeks, and begging her to love him back even a tiny fraction of the amount he loved her.
