Page 133 of Horror and Chill
I choke out a laugh, almost swerving. “Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. Relationships aren’t one-size-fits-all, Agatha. They’re hard. They’re easy. They’re sweet. They’re deadly. The dynamic and the feelings are yours and yours alone, no matter what. No matter how you feel or who you feel it for.” Her voice softens, but it’s still steel. “You can’t help who your heart wants. Or your pussy. Believe me, I tried to stop it. But look at me now. Tied to my imbeciles who drive me absolutely crazy, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know the bad shit they did and, hell, I even kinda understand the why. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that they’re mine and I’m theirs. And if I called them to slay another demon, they’d just ask where and when.”
I nod even though she can’t see me. My eyes sting, but my mouth curves up. “Thanks, Lo.”
“You’re welcome, babe. Talk to you later.”
The line clicks off. The car feels quiet again, but not empty. I drive on autopilot, past rows of houses and gas stations and the little bakery with the pink awning.
I park, cut the engine, and just sit, staring at my porch. My heart’s thudding, but my hands are steady.
I think I know what I have to do.
Inside, I toss my groceries on the counter without caring if the eggs break. My bag drops by the couch. My fingers are already reaching for my phone. I dial a number and wait.
When the call is over, I start hurrying around the house, pulling things into a suitcase without even deciding. Clothes. Toothbrush. Charger.
Before I can think better of it, I’m out the door again, locking it behind me. My suitcase bumps against my leg as I hurry to the car. The engine catches on the first try. My heart’s louder than the tires on the road.
And then I’m driving.
When I pull into the driveway, the house rises up like a shadowed cathedral, all dark wood and long porches. My fingers tremble on the handle.
I walk up the three steps to the porch and knock like a girl begging a monster to open the door. It swings open, and there stands Evander: broad shoulders, pale eyes, damp hair falling loose over his forehead, the picture of restraint and danger all in one.
“What are you doing here, Little Horror?” His voice is low.
“How could you let me just go home so easily?”
“There was nothing easy about it, babe.” His jaw ticks.
“Then why?”
A voice from inside—Garron’s—calls out, “Because we’re new at this and not real good at it.”
That hits harder than I expect. My chest tightens, but I hold his stare anyway. “You shouldn’t have let me go.”
“Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But we needed to be sure—sure that if you came back, it was because youwantedto, not because you thought you had to.”
Evander studies me again. “What are you doing here, Agatha?”
“I’m coming to stay with you for a while,” I say, chin lifting. “I don’t want to be home, and…I want to be here.”
"Who's he—” Corwin snaps. "Oh, Little Horror. Why are you on our porch with a suitcase?"
“Well,” I say, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder, “I figured you’d only be by to kidnap me again later, so I’m saving you the trouble. I’m staying over for…well, I don’t know. But I’m here.”
Corwin narrows his eyes. “How did you get our address?”
I smile, slow and devious. “I called your mom.”
“That traitorous devil,” he mutters, but there’s a smile hiding in it.
“So can I come in?”
“Of course,” Evander says.
I drag my bag inside and take in the living room—rich wood, black leather, the smell of cedar and pine. My heart kicks hard in my chest.
