Page 82 of Hexed Up

“Yes,” I say. “It’s his birthday. A special day.”

“Which you’re planning to spend with him?”

“Not quite,” I explain. “He’s having a party tonight at the Nightjar.”

“And you’ve been invited as his special guest?”

“Tiggie and Prim are going too!” I exclaim, trying to play down this whole thing.

However, my words cause Damien to jump right down from the counter, his eyes flaring crimson and his tail whipping through the air.

“And what about me? Am I not invited?”

“You didn’t spend a weekend with Horatio.”

“But I’m your best friend. I’m the woman he’s in love with’s best friend. I should be at the birthing-day party too.”

“Birthday,” I correct.

I dip a knife into the pot of jam and lather it across the now-cooled vanilla sponge cake.

“You really want to come?” I say, praying he says no.

I love Damien. He is my bestest friend in the whole wide world. But he’s not exactly subtle. And we’re going to be surrounded by civilians – civilians I’m already going to have to lie to about my relationship status with Horatio, and who I’malready going to have to guard against Tiggie and Prim, who are never quite as careful in revealing information as I am, because they hardly spend any time in the civilian world. They’re just not used to it.

Damien is going to be a whole different kettle of fish. Or a whole different demon-on-the-loose in an overly crowded bar.

“Yes, I want to come,” he growls. “Or is this how it’s going to be from now on?” He tosses his mane of hair. “I’m not good enough for your prim and proper boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I point out. “He’s just in love with me because I bewitched him with that potion. And you, Damien, are good enough for anyone.”

This seems to pacify my friend. He walks over, dips his finger straight into the pot of jam and licks it off.

“Revolting,” he says. “You humans and your food. Revolting.”

“But if you’re coming,” I say with a little annoyance, “you can’t go around saying things like that. You have to be on your best behaviour. The place will be crawling with civilians.”

“You know me, Molly. I’m the very epitome of subtlety.”

My best friend is currently wearing a leather catsuit. It’s bright pink with spots. And today his horns are polka-dotted too.

“Just maybe tone down the outfit a little,” I suggest.

“You don’t like my outfit?” he says, raising his hands in the air and giving me a spin.

“I love your outfit. But maybe tone it down just a little.”

“I’ve reconsidered my suggestion from the weekend. You shouldn’t change for a man, Molly,” he tells me, narrowing his eyes. “What areyouwearing? Don’t tell me, you went and invested in that twin set and pearls.”

“Nope,” I say. “I’m going to wear my usual outfit.”

Which maybe I wasn’t planning to wear. Maybe I was going to go for one of my more moderate dresses. One my motherwould approve of. An outfit that would help me to blend in with Horatio’s friends. But Damien is right. It’s never worth sacrificing who you are – not even for hot men and ‘feelings’. I am who I am and I’m not changing that for any man.

* * *

Damien hangs around while I finish off the cake because he wants to make sure I don’t have a change of heart about my outfit. When he discovers I’m opting for the tight little black dress we bought in the shops last week, he is satisfied and pops off to find an outfit of his own, promising me, with a cross of his heart, that it won’t be too outrageous.

I have to make him do this five times in a row because he keeps crossing his fingers and his toes.