Page 78 of Hexed Up

I don’t know what to do for the best or what to say. In some regards, not being at his birthday party while he’s under the influence of this potion could cause him much distress and a lot of emotional damage. Then again, having to play-act fakeboyfriend and girlfriend would surely be stressful in front of all his friends.

I chew on my lip. Then there’s that added little problem: those niggly little feelings.

“It is my birthday,” he points out.

And I am a sucker for birthdays. I couldn’t possibly leave a man heartbroken on the anniversary of his birth.

“Okay. We’ll be there.”

“Nine o’clock at the Nightjar.”

I give him a little salute, and then me, McGruff, and my suitcase retreat into the safety of our flat.

We find Damien spread out on my sofa watchingAntiques Roadshow. It’s his favourite programme. He says it brings back lots of happy memories. I have no idea what that means.

“Hey,” I say. “How many times have I told you? No boots on the sofa.”

I point to where his black Doc Martens are resting up on the arm of my sofa. He’s coupled them with a green sarong and a white vest.

“Ugh!” he groans. “That dog climbs all over this sofa with his muddy paws all the time.”

“That’s different,” I tell Damien as he swings his feet to the floor and sits up, looking longingly at the television before he shuts down the programme. “I love him.”

“You love me too,” Damien points out.

“Sometimes. It depends. So what exactly are you doing here?”

“I’ve come with news.” He holds up his thumb. “Good news.” Then extends his forefinger. “And bad news.”

“Oh no,” I say, slumping down into the armchair. “Better hit me with the good news first.”

“Julian the Faun can get you some fairy toenails.”

I spring forward in the armchair. “Really?” Thank Morgan le Fay and all her sisters. The sooner this potion is brewed, the sooner I can get out of this dilemma, one that is becoming increasingly complicated.

Then I remember there’s bad news. I slump back.

“Am I going to be arrested?”

Damien shakes his head.

“Give it to me, then,” I tell him.

“The earliest he can get any is next Monday.”

“As in tomorrow?” I say eagerly.

“No,” Damien says. “As in eight days’ time.”

“Oh Titan’s testicles!”

“It’s only a week. It’s nothing,” he says. “Just a little blip of time. Blink your eyes and it’ll all be over.”

Which is an easy thing for a demon to say who has no concept of time or mortality and who’s been around since the beginning of creation. For a human being with feelings for her incredibly hot fake boyfriend, a human being who is trying not to be detected by the authorities, a week is going to feel like forever.

I lean my head back and look up at the ceiling. I can almost feel Damien’s penetrating gaze on me.

“Wanna tell me about your weekend?”