Page 52 of Hopelessly Teavoted
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Ev, do you want to spot me…” His sister stopped short, seeing her girlfriend crouched next to him, trying to console him. He must have looked completely wrecked, because the next thing he knew, his sister was by his side, wrapping an arm around him.
“Azrael, you smellso bad. What’s going on? How long have you been in here?”
His eyes flickered to the wall. Too long. He needed to get his things together for the week. For his first day.
And yet, he also really, really needed his sister.
Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out like smooth shards of glass.
“My heart is broken, my soul is crushed, and I doubt if I can ever be happy and whole again.”
“All right,” said Priscilla, frowning. “All right. Start at the beginning.”
“We talked to Mom and Dad. Again. Because that insufferable Olexandre object transfer cursed me.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” said Priscilla.
“I think he means that the devil transferred the essence of an object to him, thus rendering him subject to Vickie’s gift,” Evelyn explained.
Prissy’s eyes widened. “Sweet baby Beelzebub. Do you mean that if she touches you—”
“I burn,” he said miserably.
“Shit,” said Priscilla. She snapped.
“What did you just do?” He eyed her with suspicion.
“What did I undo, you mean. It was a prank that even I am not mean enough to spring on you in your condition.” Priscilla traced a hand down her braid.
He smiled weakly. “It gets worse.”
“Go on.”
“We still haven’t checked in on Madam Cleopatra, or made any progress on the church situation. Mom and Dad are still dead, and my boss is an ass. And Vickie wants space to think about what will happen when our time runs out.”
“Ah,” said Evelyn. “Of course. A curse with fine print. Go on, then, out with it. You might feel better.”
“Let us carry some of the weight, Az.” Prissy snapped her fingers again, looking sheepish. “Sorry. Forgot about the guillotine.”
“She has until Halloween to pay the devil her debt.” He cracked his knuckles, but it did little to relieve the stress.
“And?”
“And if she doesn’t, she can’tbeholdme without immolating me.”
“Clever magic,” mused Evelyn. Priscilla elbowed her, which knocked her off the mat she had been perched on the corner of. She caught herself on the floor, wrist behind her.
“Ouch. Awful, but also awfully clever.” Suddenly, Evelyn smiled, which was an odd reaction to being sprawled across the exercise room floor. “There is a solution, you know. A work-around that would prohibit her from reaping your soul, and yours alone.”
“Is there?” Priscilla’s eyebrows wrinkled and shot up. “Oh!That would be very, very serious, though. Permanent. The soul tattoo of magic, really.”
“What?” Azrael frowned. What would be the most permanent magic between two powerful creatures?
Then the answer hit him like a punching bag.
“A soul binding. You want me to magically marry my childhood sweetheart, the same girl whose heart I accidentally broke in college, who I have only just barely reestablished a friendship with for a month. Prissy, no. That’s insane. We did talk about having feelings for each other, big feelings, even, but under the duress of gravedirt, not, like, naturally in the course of a relationship. She wants to still pretend the feelings between us aren’t real. You’re suggesting an unbreakable, undoable thing that most witch couples don’t even do.”
