Page 51 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“What about how I feel, Vickie? What about howyoufeel?” Az’s voice was accusatory, as though she had dismissed an essential detail. He ran a hand through his hair, and the way it stuck to the side made her think he had pulled at it. Harder than she would like.
“My heart will break every day. I expect yours might as well. But it’s a better option than you dying,” Vickie said. “If you died, my heart would crumble entirely. And the terms of my contract mean touching you will kill you, but if I don’t collect as promised, if I don’t pay off my debt, evenlookingat you will kill you after Halloween.”
“There has to be another way.” Agony lined his face, creasing between his eyebrows. “We have two months to figure it out. That’s plenty of time. Between you, me, Priscilla, and the Council, if we have to get them involved. Plenty of time.”
Vickie opened the door.
“I have to go,” she said.
Azrael nodded and snapped his fingers, and her disheveled hair and mussed clothing smoothed back to perfection.
It was as though the night had never even happened.
The thought of it broke her even more than the knowledge that everything between them had changed for good.
CHAPTER 15Azrael
Two months was definitely enough time to fix this.
The drive home gave Azrael time to think. He would give Vickie some space. Spend a weekend stroking himself in the shower to get the image of her squirming in his lap out of his brain, if such a thing was even possible.
Get his shit together. Focus on the start of the school year.
Az pulled up to Hart Manor glad, for once, that Prissy wasn’t home, though he’d realized after moving back that he was glad to live with his adult sister in a creepy old mansion, even if people thought that was weird.
The house welcomed him home as it always did, the haunted knocker moaning at him pleasantly, the door swinging open to Emily Lickinson, who yowled around his feet, hungry as always, and left a puff of little white hairs in her wake. He fed her, and sat down to put the polishing touches on his syllabus before passing out, exhausted, in his four-poster bed, the curtains drawing around him, and the comforting weight of the cat at his feet.
The worst of the gravedirt wore down somewhat after the first day, but still left him emotional and moody. He spent all of Saturday bingeing a steamy regency romance show to avoidhis sister’s interrogations and distract himself from thoughts of Vickie.
By Sunday, he was going out of his mind with longing, but he had promised himself he would focus on work.
Azrael:School starts tomorrow for students, so I might be a little scarce for a bit. Maybe we can have dinner on a Tuesday in a few weeks, once things slow down? At my place? Since you’re closed Wednesdays?
Azrael:If you want. Goddess, I hope I don’t make a fool of myself in front of 200 10th graders with my lingering honesty.
Vickie:Kids love honesty. You’re going to be great. And no worries, I’ll be scarce too. I’m backed up on Hopelessly stuff for this week already.
It was brief enough that he threw the phone onto his bed, and snapped to change into workout clothes, storming downstairs to the gym.
Thwap.The pain of his fist against a punching bag radiated outward. He was hitting too hard, and he didn’t care.
Thwap. Thwap.He one-two punched, moving to double time like the old Billy Blanks Tae Bo videos his dad used to tease his mom about loving in the early aughts.
Thwap.For his parents dying and not being around to help him untangle his shit.Thwap. Thwap.For his asshole boss, who rubbed him the wrong way.Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.For the curse that kept him from touching Vickie, and threatened to do worse.Thwap.For stupid early August Azrael, who squandered the chance to fuck her senseless immediately, while he still could.
“Hullo, Azrael? Are you well?”
It was Evelyn, clad in exercise gear so fancy that he doubted she’d be too out of place if she stepped onto the Council floor like that.
It was long enough after the gravedirt that he might have been able to at least obfuscate, but emotions always made him more susceptible to magic, and here he was, traces of the gravedirt still in his system, caught unawares, and unable to answer falsely.
“No. I’m the least well I have ever been. The furthest possible from wellness.”
He sat down on the mat, and leaned his head into his knees, crying softly.
Evelyn patted him gingerly on the back—a commitment, given the sheen of perspiration leaking through his shirt. It calmed him down a little. She must not hate him, or she must really love his sister; he wasdisgustinglysweaty.
“Here,” she said, voice gentle. She handed him a very nice moisture-wicking towel, which he took gratefully and used to dry his eyes.
