by Devon Monk
“Why didn’t you ask me to be honest with you?”
His mouth jerked a couple times at the corner, like there were too many words and he was trying to keep back the worst of them. “Because I could see you, Myra Reed. I could always see you.”
“My soul?”
“Yes. And more.”
“My mind?”
“Some of it.”
“My heart?”
He paused, swallowed, and said nothing.
“Could you see my heart? See how I felt?”
Still the silence.
“Can you see inside human hearts? Other hearts?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you look inside mine?”
“No.”
That answer surprised me. “Why not?”
“It’s not…Your father…No…I don’t…” He seemed to realize he had said too much, even though he hadn’t finished a single sentence. He shut his mouth and glowered at me again, eyes burning in the black, black night. “I am done here.”
Nownownow…
“I’m sorry.” It was out of my mouth so suddenly, so unexpectedly, even Rossi made a sound.
Bathin stilled.
I’d seen dead people, corpses, ghosts. I’d seen the undead, vampires, ghouls. So I knew stillness.
But if I weren’t looking right at Bathin, if I couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of his body, I wouldn’t have known he was there. I would have thought I was standing next to empty air. Cold, cold wind.
“Why?” he asked, slow and low, that gaze snapping to my face.
I puzzled through his chopped off sentences and knew why he’d stopped talking so quickly.
He could see everything in me if he wanted, but my dad had taught him why that was an invasion, why that would never be allowed. And so he didn’t. He hadn’t. He wouldn’t.
My secrets would remain mine, had remained mine the entire time he had been in Ordinary.
Because he wanted to do what was right. Wanted to do what my father had taught him. Wanted to get that yes.
“I didn’t trust you,” I said. “At the beginning, that made sense. But you were changing, and I kept holding up your past and seeing you as that. Only that.”
He wasn’t breathing. His expression was so intense, I felt my overheated skin heat even more. Could I scorch from his attention? Be burned down to cinder and ash by the sun in his eyes?
“I’m sorry I didn’t see you changing. Not even when you were standing right in front of me.”
He exhaled, his whole chest moving, his shoulders shifting. “And now?” He took a step toward me, just one. But it felt like he spanned a mile, a hundred miles, and was there now, right there in front of me. In my space. In my world.
Now.
I’d run out of air. I’d run out of words.
Now.
For a moment, I was lost to him. It would be easy to begin here, to start new promises.
He leaned over me. Just as I tipped my head back, my neck exposed, my pulse blowing apart at even the idea of being kissed, I said, “Why didn’t you just give Delaney back her soul in the first place?”
He paused. It felt like the entire world paused. The wind, the stars, even the vampire behind me, who I thought might have snorted a short laugh, paused.
“What?” Bathin was so close his breath was hot on my mouth. The scent of him—fire and cinnamon and hot stones burning—made my knees weak.
“Delaney’s soul. You could have just given it back. Then you wouldn’t have had to use the scissors to stab yourself.”
“We’re…here. And you’re still…” He grunted and rocked back on his heels. “You couldn’t just let it be? We were having a moment!”
“Why are you yelling at me?”
“I’m not yelling!” he yelled.
I planted my fists on my hips and gave him an incredulous look.
The strangled sound that came out of his mouth turned into a growl, and he ran his fingers back through his hair over and over again. Then he wiped one hand down his face, and the scowl was a little less severe.
“I knew.” He paused, shook his head. “Look. I was…afraid. Afraid if I released her soul, you would make me leave. You would force me out of Ordinary. You had every right to do so. Her soul was—is —strong. And she did give it to me willingly. In the world in which I was raised, that acceptance is everything. Means everything.
“I knew if I gave it back to her before you…before we had a chance to…” He sighed. “I was afraid. Afraid I’d lose you.”
That last bit came out thick and chopped off. As if they were the hardest words he’d ever had to say.
“Was I wrong about that?” he asked.
No. He was not wrong. Forgiveness was not my strength.
“But if you’d just let her soul go…”
“Would you have seen me? Would you have spoken to me? Would you have let me get this close to you, to your life? Would you have forgiven me?”
I wanted to say yes. But he deserved more. He deserved honesty.
“I don’t know. I’ve been angry for a long time. For how you tricked her. For how you tricked Dad. For how you tricked your way into Ordinary.”
Even as I said it, I knew Dad wouldn’t have been tricked by Bathin. He knew the demon, knew what he was like, what he was made of. Maybe Dad had hoped Bathin would catch his soul before he died. Maybe Dad had hoped in doing so, Bathin could finally step into Ordinary and live that new life he’d been circling for so long.
“No,” I said. “I would have washed my hands of you.”
He spread his hands, accepting my answer.
We stood watching each other, letting that truth settle between us. Letting that truth shape our way forward.
Was I happy he had taken my sister’s soul and held it long enough he’d damaged it?
Hell, no.
Could I forgive him for that mistake? For trying to navigate the human world with limited understanding? For doing the wrong thing while he strived to be something better?
That—making a mistake while hoping to learn how not to make a mistake—was a very human failing.
And forgiveness was a very human strength.
“I know I fucked up,” he said. “I should have given her soul back months ago. But I couldn’t seem to find the right way, and you were always fighting with me—which I liked, so that was confusing, but nice—and I didn’t want that to change.
“I was wrong to take her soul. I know that now. Holding your father’s soul changed me. Holding Delaney’s?” He blew out air. “Nail in the coffin.”
“And the scissors?” I asked.
“Taking them away from you meant you could never be harmed by them. It would keep Ordinary safe. It would release Delaney’s soul. I had to.”
“We always have choices. There is always a choice,” I said.
“I chose. I chose you. Myra, I will always choose you.”
I leaned up and caught his mouth in a kiss.
He grunted, surprised. For a moment, he was back to that stillness, that totality of silence.
Had I made a mistake? Had I misunderstood what we were doing here?
Then he groaned and his arms locked against my back, one hand cupping my head because he was a big guy and I was not all that tall. One massive leg shifted so that I was pulled even tighter against his body, balancing on my tiptoes, straining and tight with delicious stretch, while safe and solid against his chest, between his legs, with his hands holding, searching, needing.
And the kiss. He may have been the first to groan, but I wasn’t far behind him, lost in the zinging fire that licked luxurious waves through my body.
This, this, this. Here. Now. Now.
My mind chanted while my heart thrummed just one word: Yes.
When we pulled back, it was barely an inch, as if neither of us were ready to break this connection, to shatter the perfection and wonder of the moment.
The slow-clapping vampire behind us did it inste
ad.
“You two kids are just adorable,” he crooned.
I freed one hand and flipped him off behind my back.
“You’ll have to sign a contract,” I said to Bathin, searching his face, his eyes. “That you’ll follow the rules of Ordinary.”
“I will. I will follow the rules of Ordinary.”
“You can’t possess souls.”
He nodded. His thumb stroked the side of my face as if he were amazed I was standing here. Offering him this. Offering him us.
“I won’t possess souls.”
“Your mother is not allowed to visit unless she signs the contract too.”
“Yeah, she can go to Hell. And stay there this time.” He leaned, kissed me again, a nibble, a bite, and then another kiss, deeper warmer.
There were more things I needed to tell him. More rules he would need to follow. Promises he would have to make. But suddenly none of them seemed important.
All that mattered was him, me, here, now. All that mattered was…
Yes.
Also by Devon Monk
WEST HELL MAGIC
Hazard
SPARK
ORDINARY MAGIC
Death and Relaxation
Devils and Details
Gods and Ends
Rock Candy - An Ordinary Magic Story
Paper Stars - An Ordinary Magic Story
Scissor Kisses - An Ordinary Magic Story
Rock Paper Scissors (collection of Rock Candy, Paper Stars, Scissor Kisses)
SHAME AND TERRIC
Backlash
HOUSE IMMORTAL
House Immortal
Infinity Bell
Crucible Zero
BROKEN MAGIC
Hell Bent
Stone Cold
ALLIE BECKSTROM
Magic to the Bone
Magic in the Blood
Magic in the Shadows
Magic on the Storm
Magic at the Gate
Magic on the Hunt
Magic on the Line
Magic without Mercy
Magic for a Price
AGE OF STEAM
Dead Iron
Tin Swift
Cold Copper
Hang Fire (short story)
SHORT STORIES
A Cup of Normal (collection)
Yarrow, Sturdy and Bright (Once Upon a Curse anthology)
A Small Magic (Once Upon a Kiss anthology)
Acknowledgments
Ordinary, Oregon has a special place in my heart, even if it is (mostly) an imaginary town. Each time I write a story set in Ordinary, it’s like a strange little treasure hunt. But instead of digging for gold and jewels, I uncover weird, ridiculous things about the people, monsters, and gods wandering about the place. Not gonna lie. I laughed a lot writing this one.
However, Ordinary wouldn’t be nearly as fun without the wonderful people who help make it shine. Thank you to artist Lou Harper at Cover Affairs for making Myra so sassy. That pink unicorn? Mwah! Thank you also to Dejsha Knight for her resoundingly quick beta read and fantastic suggestions. You’re the best! I am eternally grateful to Sharon Elaine Thompson for her speedy, thorough editing, Eileen Hicks, for her eagle-eyed proofreading, and Skyla Dawn Cameron for her fabulous formatting.
To my husband, Russ Monk, and my sons, Kameron Monk and Konner Monk, thank you for being the best part of my life, even when I do talk your ears off about taglines and logo designs. I love you.
And to you, dear reader. Thank you for taking one more trip to this sleepy little beach town. I hope you come back soon to put your toes in the waves, fly a kite on the breeze, or go for a long, sandy walk with a god or two. Just remember to ignore that “bear”. Because it is absolutely, positively not Bigfoot.
About the Author
DEVON MONK is a national bestselling writer of urban fantasy. Her series include West Hell Magic, Ordinary Magic, House Immortal, Allie Beckstrom, Broken Magic, and Shame and Terric. She also writes the Age of Steam steampunk series, and the occasional short story which can be found in her collection: A Cup of Normal, and in various anthologies. She has one husband, two sons, and lives in lovely, rainy Oregon. When not writing, Devon is drinking too much coffee, watching hockey, or knitting silly things.
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