Page 19 of Torn

If Love sees him one final time, he’ll feel that bliss. Then he’ll be healed. And then he’ll be able to let go.

How much is it worth?

“Hooked, aren’t you?” Malice beams. “Oh, I forgot to mention one detail: Magic has its cost. If you take up this challenge and don’t succeed, you lose all the power you have left. You’ll remain a deity but shrivel like a mortal—and so will Merry. If you do succeed, well, I’m not going to rehash.”

Anger gets back what he’s lost. And Merry’s heart will be broken.

Either way, she loses.

Which is the lesser of the two evils? Does it matter, for someone he barely knows?

The recollection of that stubborn and shine-less star causes the shift. It cements his indecision, bridging the gap betweenshouldandcould.

From across the city, Anger hears the wail of carnival rides—imitations of the real things. His request takes aim. “Tell me more.”

Target hit. That’s when Malice gives him a genuine smile of camaraderie and admiration, treasures that have been foreign to Anger for a handful of years, which is forever and no time at all.

Anger doesn’t repress himself or even hesitate. He welcomes the onslaught, the domino effect, and remembers this sensation. Companionship.

He’s consorting with an immortal who possesses a creepily gifted tenor that could start its own cult. Yet Anger’s stomach pools, filling the gulf inside him because at least he’s no longer alone. He doesn’t care how desperate that makes him.

And so Malice tells him more.

The Fate Court will accept Anger’s reappearance because they’ll have no choice. But since controlling love is such a valued commodity, they’ll see his ability to manipulate an immortal’s heart as power, as something to be respected. It will be a novelty, appeasing them somewhat.

Even better, Anger can credit the Fate Court for reinvesting in him, spoon-feeding their pride by claiming they’ve reformed him. If they wish, they can save face by spreading that narrative throughout the Peaks.

He’ll offer that in exchange for Malice’s reinstatement, the cost of having a moment with Love. A price, for a price, for price.

Why hadn’t Love won this same power when she broke Anger’s heart? Because Love had won another’s heart prior to that infliction. She’d fallen for that boy before permanently injuring Anger, losing the opportunity for immunity.

By sunrise, Anger has made his choice.

By sunset, he’s acting on it.

He strides from the library, having borrowed contemporary attire from Malice, who has the same lean, athletic frame. The demon god had badgered Anger about his antiqued fitted hose and tunic, implying that he’d win Merry quicker by modernizing himself, bringing himself down to earth rather than wearing intimidation on his shoulders.

Needless to say, Anger has never been keen to mimic human fashion, not like his peers have. Removing the fingerless gloves had been a deal breaker, but he’d relented about the fitted dark jeans and snug Henley. The cotton shifts as he moves, stalking the sidewalk beneath a freckling night sky, his longbow and quiver harnessed to his back.

The Carnival of Stars has opened its gate for another evening, a tableau of jubilant shrieks and fluorescent nonsense. The Ferris wheel spins like a disc, its diameter burdened with trolleys that dangle like big and little dippers.

He passes the site that had triggered this chain of events—the Constellation Carousel. He doesn’t know Merry. He doesn’t want to know her, especially not if she’d once been a love goddess.

He doesn’t want to be near her again, to see her magnetic hands.

He doesn’t want to see any of it. The gap in her front teeth. Those confections that pass for articles of clothing. Another view of her dancing, accompanied by the musical jutting of her buttocks. The dainty lace strapped around her hips.

The selfless smile. That bewitched look—the cramped quarters of it.

Even Love had never rendered him speechless. Fatigued, yes, but never nonplussed.

In the span of minutes, Merry had succeeded on both accounts.

She’d made him uncomfortable. She’d rankled him.

He doesn’t want to go near her. But he will.

Still, he’s not heinous. She’s done nothing to deserve an everlasting ache, so he’ll be careful, as altruistic as possible. He’ll deceive Merry, but he won’t destroy her.

---