Page 15 of Ladybirds

And watches as the fistful of tiny crystals bounce right off him.

A moment of pause—so still, Sara can feel each trembling beat of her heart as her lungs burn for the breath she doesn’t dare take.

Slowly, his hand drops from his sleeve. His body turns. The smirk he wears is as dark—as challenging—as the gleam in his eyes. “And here you worried our time together would be dull.”

She says nothing. Her hopes are as small and dashed as the salt littering her living room.

Hands in his pockets, he steps toward her—towering over her. Sara’s too numb to move as he leans down, snaring her wide, panicked gaze with his dark one. “You will have to try much, much harder than that, Princess.”

She tries the sage next.

Smoke fills the rooms, coiling and swirling from the bundled leaves in her hand like snakes. Seth sits in the wingback, his chin resting against his palm and a subtle smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. His eyes are dark, gleaming wickedly as they follow her from room to room.

By the time it’s burnt to the stems, her apartment is filled with enough smoke to make her eyes water and her lungs itch. She tosses the remains in the sink, dousing it in water. Before she turns around, she closes her eyes and mutters one final prayer under her breath.

When she looks, he’s in the exact same place with the exact same infuriatingly smug expression.

“Well,” he hums, “you’ve made a right mess, haven’t you?”

Chest heaving, she drags in a breath—fury fueling her—but the smoke triggers a coughing fit before she can spit out the first word.

His amusement is as obvious as her anger.

“Leave,” she rasps between coughs, the venom in her voice clear despite her wheezing. She’s not sure if she’s commanding or begging—at this point she doesn’t even care so long as he gets the hell out of her life.

His eyes gleam. “No.”

She tries everything.

Nails cheap wooden crosses over every door. Plants (supposedly) purifying crystals in every room. The silver necklace she never really liked but could never manage to part with, finds a home around her neck despite the way it burns with memories of her mother. Before she left, she used to wear the matching heart-shaped pendant daily. When the crosses don’t work, she nails up iron horseshoes next to them and kisses the deposit on her apartment goodbye.

Pentagrams drawn in chalk.

Holy water tossed at his chest.

Chants and prayers in several languages, she just knows she’s butchering.

Even the priest she convinced to come bless her home (and herself) only succeeds in drawing a snicker from Seth’s pale lips.

Nothing works. Nothing helps.

She wakes up each morning teetering between stubborn hope and crushing despair, sometimes swinging between the two so quickly it makes her dizzy. Meanwhile, the days keep slipping by—time unmoved by her struggle to regain her balance. Oma calls at least three times a week, and Sara only just manages to sound convincing as she picks apart her day and shares the bits and pieces that don’t include the uninvited guest shadowing her.

Jen and Miles aren’t as easy to fool. Sara can read the worry in their voices each time she cancels and avoids making plans for the remainder of the summer.

Jen’s voice is soft, free of judgement but brimming with concern. “Are you sure you’re ok? I hate thinking of you being alone right now with everything that’s happened…”

Sara bites her cheek, glares at the man/demon lounging on her living room furniture and coaxing her cat into his lap as if he belonged there. Either he can hear Jen’s voice through the receiver or he can feel her stare, because the grin he gives her is mocking.

She wants to scream that being alone is the exact opposite of her problem. Instead, she tries to sound convincing when she says, “I’m fine, Jen. Promise. I just need a bit more time to figure everything out.”

The beat of silence, the thread of doubt lacing her voice, makes it clear Jen’s not convinced when she responds, “If you’re sure…”

Sara’s so far from sure it’s laughable, but she assures her anyway. “I am.”

Scratching under Ansel’s chin, Seth’s smile only sharpens. “Liar,” he says, the single word dripping in approval. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

It’s in that moment, more than any of the others, that Sara believes what he’s told her from the very beginning.

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