Page 78 of Devil

I tell her that, a low murmur in her ear, promises that she’s safe now, that I’ll keep her that way, that only I’m allowed to be her worst thing. She slowly relaxes back against me.

“I don’t know his name,” she says after a minute or two. “And it’s been years, so I don’t think I could give you enough detail to go by to try to find him.”

Ah. So she knows what I’m thinking about. “Perceptive girl,” I say, still with my face in her hair.

“Lucky guess.”

I don’t push it now. Later, when we’ve been together longer, when she trusts me more, I’ll see what she does remember. And Busy—she should know who it was. Though knowing my Birdie, she probably never told her sister what had happened. Birdie the martyr.

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” she asks.

It’s definitely an attempt to deflect from this, and I almost don’t want to let her. I want to spend the next week nuzzling her and stroking her hand, crushing her to me until I’m sure she’s okay. I want to dedicate my life to finding the person who did this and breaking three bones for every bone of hers he broke—but I hear the tremulousness in her voice, and I can’t make myself do anything that will make it worse.

I take in a breath, box in the rage, shelve it away for later.

I kiss her and step back, and she turns to face me, looking shy as she nervously handles the chisel. She looks like she’s worried I’m going to tell her no. Like I’m going to punish her for something someone else did.

I reach for one of my easy smiles, wanting to reassure her. I almost tease her about feeling timid about asking this but not about snooping through my office…but then I’d have to confess to the cameras in the house, and I’m not ready to admit to that just yet. Not when I need her anxiety to melt away. Not when I’m getting big smiles and softly spokenI like having you near mes like I was before I saw her pinkie finger.

“I’m in a bit of a lull with this skyscraper redevelopment my firm is contracted for,” I say, “so I’m working on a side project.”

She sets the chisel down and scoops up Lilith, who starts gnawing on Birdie’s knuckle right away. “Can I see?” she asks.

One thing about me is that I’m always happy to show off, and I happily gesture over to my improvised desk in invitation. I walk over and take a seat, waking up my laptop, and she comes to stand next to my chair. A purring Lilith is swiping at a free strand of her hair the entire time.

“It’s a proposal for turning an unused fulfillment warehouse into a citywide shelter, run by the city itself, with temporary beds, temporary family units, a hygiene center, and a hub for city and county services. The shelter’s phase two would include transitional housing and a permanent clinic.” I’ve got the deck pulled up—a deck made by me, since neither Sean nor Aiden can do any graphic design worth a damn, and I’m forever cursed by my own gifts. I tap through the pages, showing her the mock-ups, floor plans, and then the proposed services that could be officed there.

“This is incredible,” she says, giving me a surprised smile. “Ry, this could help so many people.”

Lilith gives up attacking Birdie’s hair, jumps down to the desk plank, and starts attacking my Apple Pencil.

“You know this because of everything your sister has been through, but getting help in this city is a patchworked mess, and most of that patchwork is made up of faith-based organizations. Some of them require guests to pray or go to chapel in exchange for a meal or a bed. Some of them are staffed by volunteers who evangelize or discriminate. I think that’s stupid. I think the whole system is stupid and the stupidest thing is that it’s a choice—we’re choosing this. We wake up every day, and we choose to make help difficult to find and dehumanizing to receive. But the corollary to that choice is that we can wake up and choose differently.”

Birdie’s looking at me while I’m looking at the screen, and I turn to her. Her nose has a little crinkle in it, and there’s a curious lilt to her mouth. “I didn’t expect this to be the kind of thing you cared about.”

“Because I’m the devil?”

She touches my face. Her fingertips are warm, a little rough from the years of working with wood. I think of that barely curled pinkie, the two fingers next to it. I want to burn down the entire world for the sake of those fingers. I want to rain down stars of fire and boil the seas.

“Yes,” Birdie says. “Because you’re my devil.”

I smile up at her. I think most people would find it insulting, but I like that she’s clear-eyed about me. It’s better for her. And her soft, clear voice, her attention, her touch…

I can breathe again. I can put the anger somewhere for later and just be an ambitious boyfriend for the moment.

“I’m not as naturally empathetic as Aiden or Tyler, but I am…irritated by problems that feel fixable to me. Exactlywhatare we so beholden to that we can’t change how we do things? Why are we trapped doing things the way they’ve always been done when the way they’ve always been done means people are still suffering? I may not overflow with empathy, but I don’t lack imagination, and I’ve imagined a city where we don’t have to let human beings go cold or sick or hungry just because the alternative involves something new. I’m not going to imagine something duller and meaner simply because it’s more convenient, more comfortable for people who are very comfortable already.”

Birdie weaves her fingers into my hair, and I didn’t realize I was getting tense again until my muscles unwind at her touch. “Is that what you were talking about with your brothers last night? What you want to do at this gala?”

“You heard that? Sneaky Birdie.” I tug playfully at the linen of the practical button-up blouse she’s wearing. “Yes, that’s our dastardly plan, to use being good-looking and tall for our own ends. Sean works with several nonprofits in the area, as does Aiden, and Elijah has the gift of making rich people desperate to impress him. We’re hoping to pick off the city council members one by one at the gala because if we can get them, we get the mayor, and if we have the mayor, the city manager will fall in line.” I press my head into Birdie’s touch, like I’m Lilith, craving more and not above head-butting a hand to get it. “My brothers adored you, by the way. My dad too.”

“Really?” I can’t see Birdie’s face, but she sounds relieved. “I’m not good at first impressions. Or any impressions. I was worried they wouldn’t like me.”

“You were sweet to the kids and you sculpted me as Lucifer, so basically you’re perfect to them. They want to know if there are any other monsters you can turn me into.”

Her fingers are deft and soothing as they twist gently through my hair—just enough pressure, a steady rhythm. I’m wood, and her touch is carving me into something docile and content. “Not at the moment,” she murmurs. “Hard to see you as a minotaur or a werewolf. Maybe a satyr.”

“You should have seen me in college before I transferred. There was nomaybeabout being a satyr then.” I lean my head forward so she can play with the hair behind my ear and at the back of my head too. “My brothers were all the same until they fell in love with someone. Or joined the Church.”