by Sarina Dorie
Now that he was a man, she wouldn’t even look at him.
“Abby? What’s wrong?” He swallowed the lump in his throat.
“Nothing.” Worry touched her eyes.
“I’m still me. I’m not a different person.” He tried to smile, to show her he was her Lucy.
“I know.”
But she didn’t know, or else she would have kissed him. She would have embraced him. Long ago he had been careful not to use his incubus magic on her. He’d been afraid that might have been the only reason she’d kissed him when they’d been teens, that he’d used his magic on her unwittingly. He couldn’t stand the idea of accidentally coercing her and tricking her. He wondered whether she feared touch magic now that she’d had years to think about it. Then again, he probably still smelled of vomit even if he had washed.
That couldn’t be helping him.
“I would like to brush my teeth,” he said. “Do you have an extra toothbrush?”
“Sure.” She dug under the sink again, bringing out a bag of toothbrushes she saved for guests. “Would you mind if I trimmed the ends off your hair? Just the tangled parts?”
“You can cut off as much of it as you like. My beard too.” Anything so she would see he was the same boy she had once loved.
She trimmed his hair and beard, dropping handfuls in the rubbish bin. He rinsed off while she brought him a T-shirt from the other room. It was the biggest shirt in the house, one Clarissa had purchased at a garage sale because it said “Slytherin,” and she adored it, even though it was five times too big for her. It smelled of Felix because he’d borrowed it the night before, but Lucifer swallowed his contempt and pulled it over his head anyway. Abigail wrapped a towel around his waist and secured it in place with a clip she usually used on bags of chips.
“I’ll get you something to eat in the kitchen. All right?” She squeezed his arm, the gesture reassuring.
He wanted to grab her hand and make her stay, but he didn’t. He wasn’t a baby. He didn’t want her to treat him like one. Abigail left him in the bathroom, taking another armful of laundry with her.
He brushed his teeth over the sink, sneaking furtive glances at himself in the mirror. He didn’t think he looked like Felix. Except for the shape of his deep-set eyes and his long nose. That, and his mouth was set in a grim line exactly like his brother’s frown. Lucifer supposed he looked as if he were young enough he could have been Felix’s son.
The time Vega had accidentally turned Lucifer human—the only other time he’d turned into a human—she’d mentioned he looked like Felix. It had been dark, and he had doubted she’d been able to see him at all. But now he could see she hadn’t been trying to get under his skin and insult him.
Lucifer smiled, trying to change the shape of his face so that he resembled the happy young man he had once been. Toothpaste dribbled out of his mouth onto the floor. He wiped up the mess and spit out the rest of his toothpaste in the sink.
He tried again. He smiled, and he was himself. He didn’t smile, and he resembled a sulking, depressed wizard. He smiled again, wanting to be himself.
“What are you doing?” Abigail asked.
He spotted her in the mirror, her head tilted to the side.
“Oh, just practicing. It’s been a while since I’ve used these muscles.” He tried to sound nonchalant. He felt like a cat that had fallen into a fishbowl and been caught looking half-drowned, appearing silly and sheepish no matter how he tried not to.
She laughed. “You have plenty of time to learn to be human again.”
Did he? He didn’t know how long he’d be human. Last time the transformation had only lasted a few minutes. But then he hadn’t stored up magic to fry through the curse with electricity. He wanted to believe his magic had defeated Baba Nata’s.
“How about some food?” she asked. “Are you hungry?”
His belly grumbled at the mention of food. “I haven’t eaten all day.” Not since he’d gorged himself on food he wasn’t supposed to eat. “But I don’t want you to trouble yourself for me.”
“It isn’t any trouble. I didn’t have time to make anything fresh, but I defrosted some lasagna from the freezer.” Her eyes lit up the way they always did when she spoke about food. “I know how much you like human food, even though you aren’t supposed to—weren’t supposed to—eat it.”
“Lasagna! That’s my favorite.” After pizza. And bacon and lamb stew. And tamale pie. Excitement filled him as he remembered everything he had missed as a cat. “I think my favorite is everything you make. Do you have any cookies in the freezer leftover from Christmas?”
“I have something better! How about some cinnamon rolls?” Delight showed in her eyes. “I know how much you wanted some earlier. There’s one left.”
“Oh.” His belly churned at the mention of cinnamon rolls. The taste of tuna fish mixed with cinnamon rolls as he’d vomited was still too vivid in his mind. “Anything but that.”
* * *
Abigail’s eyes were tired, and Lucifer felt guilty for waking her and keeping her up so late when she had landscaping work the next day. Even through her fatigue, she bustled around the kitchen, defrosting foods for him to sample now that he was human and could indulge in all the delights that were unhealthy for cats. After he ate his single serving of lasagna—a single serving for her—he sampled raspberry cream cheese brownies, gingersnaps, chocolate chip cookies, and then a serving of tamale pie she defrosted for him.
Lucifer closed his eyes, savoring the food. “I always knew I would like to live in the Morty Realm. It was that first taste of Pizza Hut that had me hooked.”
She waved him off. “That isn’t even good pizza.”
“What do you mean? That’s my favorite!” He laughed. “It was Adam’s favorite. He might have been a dolt, but at least he had good taste in food.”
Abigail’s smile faded.
Too late Lucifer realized he probably shouldn’t have brought up her late husband, and he shouldn’t have called him a dolt, though in all fairness, that was a far more polite term than what he usually called Adam in his head. When Adam had been hit by a drunk driver, the news had come as a shock for both Abigail and Clarissa. Five years later, Abigail still hadn’t gotten over it.
Lucifer wiped his mouth on his napkin and set his fork aside. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned him right now.”
“No. It’s fine.” Tears filled her eyes. “I just . . . I know you didn’t care for him. It was hard on you that I married him.”
“He was good to you. That was what was important.” Adam had been able to give her what he couldn’t.
Lucifer appreciated Adam for that. He also had resented him.
She stared down at her hands in her lap. “Sometimes I thought I had made a mistake marrying him. I felt like I had betrayed you.”
There had been moments he’d sunk into one of his foul moods and taken his resentment out on Adam—or anyone else who was around. Sometimes it had been Clarissa or Missy. Sometimes it had been the postman or the neighbor’s dog. He’d picked fights and been ornery with people who didn’t deserve it.
Now that he was human, he wished he hadn’t been so foul tempered.
He scooted to the edge of his chair. “Being happy and living your life wasn’t betraying me. You deserved someone who loved you.”
She looked so small and fragile. Lucifer wanted to scoop her up and hug her, but it was too soon. She still wasn’t comfortable enough around him.
“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” she said. “It was torment for you. I know it was.”
“I chose to stay with you. I could have gone back to Baba, but I didn’t want to. I belong with you.”
She looked to him and then away.
He had imagined everything about this reunion would go differently. He was supposed to say all the right things to make her remember how much she loved him. She rose and took empty containers to the sink and beg
an to wash.
“You don’t have to do that. I can wash. I remember how.” He stood. “I can be useful. Now that I’m not a cat, I can help so you don’t have to do everything.”
Her smile was sad. “Tomorrow. Why don’t you go brush your teeth? I’ll give you some privacy so you can use the bathroom.” She ducked her chin down, not meeting his eyes.
* * *
In the bathroom, he examined himself in the mirror again. He didn’t think he was ugly. He was young and muscular. His face was angular and rugged, more so than Felix’s. He was far more handsome than his brother.
When he exited the bathroom, he found Abigail climbing the stepstool to retrieve pillows from the top of the linen closet. He reached past her and pulled them down for her. The clip holding his towel in place popped off and flew into the wall. His makeshift skirt fell off.
“Oops,” he chuckled and stooped to pick it up.
She rolled her eyes. “I swear you did that on purpose.”
“What? Me? An incubus trying to give a woman an eyeful of this?” He smacked himself on the rump.
She turned away as he refastened his towel, then headed down the hall to Clarissa’s room. He followed her.
“I’ve made up the bed for you with fresh sheets,” she said. “Do you think you’ll need more blankets?”
His brows furrowed together. “Aren’t I going to sleep with you?” He could feel that sulky gloom shadowing his face, probably making him look more like Felix. “I always sleep with you.”
“As a cat, yes,” she said. “But we never slept in the same bed while we were—while you were—before you were a cat.”
“We did twice. In the forest in the Morty Realm. You cuddled with me.” He was aware of how deep and husky his voice grew when he was offended, but he couldn’t stop it.
“We were both young. I wasn’t ready—I hadn’t ever—you were very patient.” She cleared her throat.
He remembered she hadn’t been ready to do more than kiss him. He’d been fine with that. He wasn’t sure what she was saying now. Did she think that because she had been married and was no longer a virgin that he expected her to be intimate with him?
He smiled hopefully. “I just want to cuddle with you. We don’t have to do anything else.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate.” She frowned, and the edges of her eyes crinkled. She radiated unhappiness.
He didn’t want to be the cause of her unhappiness. Ever.
“Are you afraid of me? Because I’m an incubus?”
She shook her head. She stared at her slippers.
“We don’t have to have sex. I just want to be near you. I feel better when I’m near you.” He dug his toes into the carpet, wishing he had nails to extend to scratch at something.
“Don’t you have any awareness of yourself at all? Don’t you understand what you look like?” Her voice rose in frustration. “Go look at yourself in a mirror.” She waved her hand at the bathroom down the hall.
CHAPTER TEN
Catastrophe
Lucifer was afraid to look at himself.
He didn’t go to the bathroom down the hall that Abigail pointed to. He went to the master bathroom in her room. She followed him there. She turned on lights as she went, including the vanity lights around the mirror above the sinks. He examined his face, wondering what fault she found there.
Hesitantly, he spoke his fear out loud. “It’s because I look like Felix?”
“You do look like him. Mostly in the shadows.” She crossed her arms, waiting expectantly. “But that isn’t why.” The way her mouth was set in a firm line, she looked angry.
“Why won’t you look at me? If it isn’t because I look like him, what else is wrong with me?” He’d wanted to turn into a man so badly, now he wasn’t certain why he had desired to be human so much. Being with Abigail and her hating him was almost as bad as being away from her and being stuck as Baba’s apprentice.
“Nothing is wrong with you. You’re—that’s not it.” She blushed and looked away.
Her reaction baffled him. He ran his fingers through his beard. “You think I’m . . . unattractive? Is that it?”
Her eyes went wide. “No,” she said quickly.
“I know I’m hairy. I didn’t think I’d be this hairy. I can shave. Not just my face. I know some men do that. Your husband used to shave his back.” Lucifer didn’t add how disgusting he thought Adam was with his abundance of body hair and lack of it on his head. He felt the top of his head self-consciously, checking to make sure he wasn’t going bald and hadn’t noticed earlier. It would be just his luck if he was hairy everywhere except where he was supposed to be.
From Abigail’s stricken expression, he feared he shouldn’t have brought Adam into this conversation.
“It isn’t that.” She waved her hand at the mirror. “Look at me. And look at you. Don’t you see what the problem is?”
“I’m . . . tall?” He couldn’t remember if he’d always been this big. He thought so. Perhaps he hadn’t been as broad in his shoulders.
When they’d met in the forest and served as Baba’s apprentices together, there had been no other children or teenagers around. He had often hoped she liked him for him, not because she didn’t have anyone better to be interested in.
Then she’d met Coinneach in the Faerie Realm, and he’d assumed she had grown to care for him because he was a plant affinity like her. He’d turned her against Lucifer. Abigail hadn’t pursued Adam; she’d told him she wanted to only be friends with him. Yet Adam had persisted and won her heart with time. Lucifer could grudgingly admit Adam hadn’t been completely ugly or horrible.
He just couldn’t understand how she could love these two other men at previous times in her life but not love him anymore.
Unless she never loved him.
Abigail gestured to his face in exasperation. “Don’t you see how young you are?”
“Oh.” He smoothed his beard so that it lay straight. “Is that bad?” Vega hadn’t mentioned to him that he was young when she’d seen his face before, only that he looked like Felix.
Abigail spoke slowly, as if she thought he was dense. “You’re eighteen. I’m not.”
He leaned closer to the mirror, examining his face for laugh lines or crow’s feet. “I’m not that young. I have to be twenty-five at least.”
“No.” She bit her lip. “You don’t look older than the moment you arrived in the Morty Realm.”
He wasn’t certain about that. He had a beard now.
“Look at me. I’m not eighteen like you are.” Tears filled her eyes. “Do you see the problem?”
He did look at her now. Truly look. He’d been living with her for thirty years and had grown so accustomed to the slow, almost invisible process of aging, that he hadn’t given much thought to her wrinkles. He cupped her face in his hands, examining the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes.
“I’m almost fifty.” Her lip trembled. “Do you understand why I can’t be with you now?”
At last he understood her anxiety. This wasn’t about him being repulsive. It had nothing to do with her feelings toward him. It was about how she felt about herself.
“I have wrinkles, and I’m . . . saggy.” She sounded like she almost choked on that word.
“No, you aren’t.” He hugged her to his side.
She shrank back like a skittish kitten. “I’m old, and you’re not. Can’t you see why this would be so wrong?”
He’d thought Baba’s curse had been complete when she’d turned him into a cat. Now he could see the full extent of the hex. She’d probably seen that he would eventually be able to free himself. She excelled in divination.
Baba had ensured one additional detail to sabotage his happiness and Abigail’s with this final twist of the knife. She’d kept him young while Abigail aged so that they would never truly be together.
Lucifer wasn’t going to allow her to succeed at keeping the
m apart.
“You are just as beautiful as you were thirty years ago.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “And I’m certain you’ll be just as lovely in another twenty years, even if you have gray hair and have to use a cane—mostly to beat me with like Baba used to.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. She ducked her chin out of his reach. He felt awkward standing there so close but not touching her.
“You’re very sweet, but that still doesn’t make it right.” She took one of his hands and gave it a squeeze. “You were the one who called your brother lecherous for pursuing a relationship with Clarissa, and by all appearances, those two don’t have even close to the age gap we have.”
His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “What can I say? I’m a hypocrite.” Now his words came back to bite him.
He could tell she meant to let go of his hand, but he didn’t release hers. He lifted it to his lips and kissed her fingers. “Are you afraid what people might think if you have a young man living in your house with you?” His lips twitched into a smile. “What is that term young people use for Morties who do that? ‘Cougars?’ Is that what you’re afraid that old biddy next door will say about you because she’s jealous?”
He could tell her resolve was softening from the reluctant smile on her lips.
He grinned, feeling success drawing near. “I don’t care what other people think. The only person I care about is you.” He circled an arm around her waist and tugged her into his embrace.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. To feel her warmth and affection after the trials he’d been through that day made it all worthwhile.
“You’re just so young. And cute like you used to be. You’re just so, um, handsome and. . . .” She studied him in the mirror. Her cheeks flushed red between her freckles as she struggled for words. “hot.”
His eyebrows rose. He’d never heard her utter that word toward a man in her life. She grimaced, and he burst out laughing.
He’d been afraid she found him disgusting and repulsive, and the true reason she’d been standoffish was because he was so attractive? He laughed harder, tickled at the idea. “You think I’m hot. Sexy. Kissable, perhaps?”
