Page 82 of The Magic We Made

The note of despair in his voice—not to mention the fact that he finally called me by the name I prefer—is almost enough to cause me to turn around.

But I’m dealing with my own despair. I know what I have to do now, and I really, really don’t want to do it.

A part of me knew this was going to happen. A part of me knew the minute I let myself start falling for this guy, somethinglike this was going to come along and mess it all up. Well, notthis,because who could foreseethis? But something. That’s just the way my luck has been lately.

Finally get the cat I’ve been wanting? She has kittens all over my new dress.

Finally find a man I think I could be with, at least for the foreseeable future? He turns out to believe he’s descended from the gods.

I should have known.

“Frankie.”

He sounds heartbroken. And why not?

Because it’s over. It has to be. Of course, if I were one of my own patients, I would advise myself that this isn’t necessarily a deal-breaker. Two people with very different belief systems can make a relationship work. They simply need to establish a few boundaries....

But witchcraft? Sacrifices? Mother Nature?The Queen of the Dead?

This is way above my level of expertise. I’m going to have to call my own therapist and see if I can get her to squeeze Ash into her already packed schedule.

He must have seen it in my face before I turned away. He had to. My eyes are filled with tears, and it isn’t only because of all the smoke.

Weirdly, he doesn’t beg me to stay. He says only, in a tone of resignation, “I’ll call you later.”

And then he’s gone.

Oh, it’s nothing as dramatic as him disappearing into a puff of smoke, or even a fiery column of sparks. That would be welcome, because it would be indisputable proof that what he’s talking about—magic—is real.

Instead, there’s only smoke—getting thicker, though it still smells pleasantly of burning autumn leaves—through which I can see him striding toward his house, undoubtedly so he can hurry down the stairs to his dock, hop onto his vintage boat, and shoot across the lake to save Emma Bridle from being a human sacrifice.

And why should this be a surprise? He’s right: he never lied to me. He always insisted he has superpowers. Why didn’t I recognize right away that was a red flag? The first of many, all of which I ignored. It had been excusable with Richard—I wasn’t a licensed therapist when Richard and I first got together. But now?

Now I am, and I still let it happen.

“God,” I mutter with a sob, spinning around again to stomp toward my porch. “How could I have been so stupid?”

It’s only when I’m pulling the keys from my bag that I see it: There’s someone sitting in the dark on my porch swing.

My heart freezes in terror as the hulking masculine figure lifts a cigarette to his lips—the tip glowing fiery red as he inhales—then says in a deep, thoughtful voice, “I’ve never thought of you as stupid.”

Ash

Well, that’s it. It’s over.

I don’t know what else I could have done, though. I had to tell her.

Maybe if I’d told her sooner. Maybe if we hadn’t gone to her mother’s, and I’d gotten us those steaks and grilled them instead. I could have taken the time to tell her the right way, over a nice, quiet dinner, and she’d have been more receptive.

Then again, maybe there is no right way to tell the woman you love that you’re mostly human, but a little bit divine.

And yeah, I love her. I’ve been in love with her from the first time I saw her swimming in the lake, plowing through the water like some kind of single-minded torpedo.

Or maybe it was all the times I heard her calling for Violet, or caught her leaving food out in her front yard for Daisy.

It doesn’t matter. It’s over, but I can’t take the time to mourn it now. I have to go save Emma.

I’ve changed into hiking gear and am putting things in a backpack to take with me to the island—flashlight, mosquito repellent, bottled water, and, just in case things get gnarly, my brass knuckles and bowie knife—when there’s a knock on my front door.