Page 44 of The Devil She Knows
“And bread pudding makes three.”
“Bread pudding? But I didn’t wish for—”
Time slowed, and Sam’s vision tunneled to a teeny-tiny pinprick. At the end of that tunnel was a memory. Warm, gooey bread pudding slathered in thick, hot buttered rum sauce delivered right to the elevator.
I suppose the proofisin the pudding.
“No.” Sam shook her head vigorously. “That was a trial. I only made that wish because I needed proof that you could do what you said you could. It doesn’t count.”
Otherwise, she never would have wasted a wish on something as inane as dessert.
Daphne clicked her tongue against her teeth. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch, Sam.”
Free lunch— “I hadn’t even signed anything yet!”
How could she be held liable for something to which she hadn’t yet agreed?
“Let’s take a little look-see at your contract, shall we?” Daphne snapped her fingers and from the ceiling a single sheet of loose-leaf paper fluttered. She plucked it out of the air and from it read, “Page 222, article 4, section 3, subsection 2, paragraph 8. Retroactive effectiveness. The parties agree that the terms as outlined in this contract shall be effective retroactive to October 28, 2025 CE.” Daphne offered the paper to Sam. “You can read it yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Sam cradled her head in her hands and closed her eyes. Every time she thought this night couldn’t get worse, it did. “I can’t believe this.”
How could she have been so stupid? No, not stupid. She’d waved at stupid as she passed it miles back. They were going to have to come up with a brand-new word only for her, just to do justice to the new level of smooth-brained behavior Sam had unlocked.
“There, there, Sam,” Daphne said, crossing the room to pat her on the arm. “Don’t beat yourself up too badly. Desperation drives humans to do all kinds of foolish things. Foolish things you would not believe.”
She stared down at Daphne’s hand on her arm, fingers pale and slender, her sharp nails painted the color of freshly spilled blood. She waited for the anger to hit her, and after a moment, when it didn’t, she frowned.
There was a fable, hardly cheery enough to be a bedtime story, that her grandmother had told her once. It was about a scorpion who wanted to cross a river but couldn’t swim, so it asked a frog to carry it across. The frog was rightfully trepidatious, afraid the scorpion would sting it. But the scorpion swore it wouldn’t do such a thing. The scorpion would drown, too, it argued, if it stung the frog while crossing the river. The frog considered what the scorpion said, thought it made sense, and agreed to the scorpion’s request. Halfway across the river, the scorpion stung the frog anyway, condemning them both to a watery death. As the frog was dying, it asked the scorpion why it would do such a thing, knowing it would doom them both. The scorpion replied that it couldn’t help itself; to sting was in its nature.
Trickery was in Daphne’s, so if Sam was angry with anyone, it was with herself for being too naive, too trusting, like that damn frog in the story.
“Buck up, buttercup,” Daphne said, taking back her hand. “You still have three wishes.”
Three wishes.
Sam wasn’t sure how many more times she could stand to watch Hannah walk away from her before it killed something inside her forever. But she’d wished for wealth and successand … that was what Hannah wanted from her. No,forher. She’d fixed what Hannah had griped about when they were together, what Hannah had said were her reasons for ending their relationship.
You’re not the girl I fell in love with, Sam. When I met you, you were going places. Places I wanted to go with you. But now you come home late every night, covered in flour, reeking of butter and God only knows what else you use in that kitchen. You never want to go anywhere or do anything. Nothing fun. You come home and you rot on the couch watching old episodes of that British baking show you’re obsessed with, and you know what? I’m pretty sure you love those damn cats of yours more than you claim to love me.
Don’t even get me started on how you’re delusional if you honestly think Coco’s going to promote from in-house. It’s never going to happen. I know it, and deep down, you know it, too, but you refuse to look for a job anywhere else. When we met, you had so much potential, and I’m not going to wait around a second longer and watch you continue to squander it.
Sam didn’t even know what to wish for anymore.
“If you’re looking for recommendations, like I said, Reykjavík is beautiful—”
“Would you shut up aboutfuckingReykjavík?” Sam snapped. Frustrated tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids, and she blinked hard, trying to banish them. “I don’t want to go to Reykjavík. I don’t want a vacation. I don’t want money or power or anything else you’re going to try to convince me to waste a wish on.” She clutched the placket of her suit jacket in her fists so tight her knucklebones gleamed white throughher skin, her breath coming in sharp pants. Sam closed her eyes. “I just want Hannah.”
Was that really so much to ask for? She didn’t want money or influence, wasn’t asking for power or fame. She just wanted to be enough. Enough for Hannah. Enough that maybe this time she would stay.
“You want to know whatreallymakes people stupid like none other? Love.”
Sam peeled open her eyes. Daphne had a far-off look in her eye, wasn’t looking at Sam at all but staring off into the middle distance with an intense frown on her face.
“Battles waged, blood spilled, lives lost, people driven to madness, whole empires destroyed. Hearts broken and souls bargained. For what?” She turned her head and met Sam’s eyes with a solemn stare. “To love is to suffer, Sam. It’s a curse and I don’t know why anyone would wish it upon themselves.”
Love had found Sam in a grocery store on a rainy day in March. Sam hadn’t been looking for it, but it found her anyway, found her when she’d least expected it, at a time when she wasn’t sure she would ever find it, halfway convinced her deck was missing that card.
Love had ensnared her, taken root inside her heart. Yes, it hurt sometimes, it hurt a lot of the time, but what would her life be without it? Empty, a pale imitation of what it should be. Love was the air in her lungs and the blood in her veins, the reason her heart beat, the reason it wasn’t a calcified lump of stone in her chest.
