Page 76 of The Devil She Knows
Sam looked down at the picture Daphne was pointing to and laughed. She was wearing a red gymnastics leotard over a pair of tights the same color. A pair of plastic horns sat cattywampus on her head and the pitchfork in her hand was actually a granny fork Mom had spray-painted red for the occasion.
“It was Halloween. I was nine and I wanted to be something scary, and the devil was the scariest thing I could think of at the time.”
“You wereadorableis what you were,” Daphne cooed, holding up the scrapbook in front of her chest. “Look at your horns! And—Sam.” Her bottom lip jutted out. “You have a little tail.”
Sam pressed a hand to her cheek, her skin feverish beneath her fingers, radiating heat like she had a sunburn even though she couldn’t remember the last time she’d lain out for longer than five minutes. “You know, this all feels very unfair.”
Daphne flipped the page and giggled, delighted that there were more pictures from the church’s trunk-or-treat that year. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t see a scrapbook full of pictures of you lying around, do you?”
“I’m over two thousand years old,” Daphne said, looking at Sam like she’d lost her mind. “What do you want? A Kerch vase?”
“No.” Sam snorted. “I’m not talking about two thousandyears ago. I’m talking about … I don’t know, the seventies, the eighties. Where are the embarrassing photos of you in bell-bottoms or with Farrah Fawcett hair? I want to see you in hot pants or—or a Day-Glo tracksuit.”
Daphne snorted. “I’d sooner die than be caught dead in Day-Glo.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Exactly,” Daphne said like that was some kind ofgotcha. “As for pictures, I sat for Rembrandt once. The portrait is in the Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister in Dresden.”
“One painting.” Sam frowned. “That’s all you have?”
“What am I going to do with a bunch of pictures of myself? Post them on Instagram? Send one as a Christmas card to all my friends?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “I don’t exactly have anyone to share pictures with, Sam.”
“That’s not true.” She grabbed her phone off the coffee table. “Come here.”
“Wait.” Daphne held up a hand. “You should be in it, too.”
“Oh.” Sam went warm all over. “Sure.” She flipped to her front-facing camera and held up the phone. “Okay. So, smile, I guess.”
Daphne laughed and Sam snapped a dozen pictures in quick succession.
“Let’s see.” Sam swiped through the photos in her gallery.
“That one’s a keeper, I think.”
“Definitely,” Daphne whispered, and something about her voice prompted Sam to look at her.
Daphne wasn’t looking at the screen. Instead, she was looking at Sam.
16
“CAN I ASK you a question?” Sam slid over, making room for Daphne to crawl under the covers next to her. “It’s kind of a weird one.”
Daphne snuggled up behind her and tucked the blankets around them, cocooning them in the warm bedding, which smelled like fabric softener. Her palm pressed against Sam’s belly, dragging her back, even closer, her knees tucked behind Sam’s, breasts smashed against her back, their legs tangled, not even a scant inch of space between their bodies. Looking at them, it probably would’ve been hard to know where one of them started and the other ended.
“Demon,” Daphne murmured, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to her neck. “Weirdis sort of in the job description.”
“Mm, and debauchery?” she asked, tipping her head to the side, giving Daphne more room. “What about that? Is that in the job description, too?”
“No.” Daphne smiled against her throat. “That’s all me.”
Sam huffed a quiet laugh and laid her hand atop Daphne’s, threading their fingers together. “Coincidentally, that brings me back to my point.”
Daphne hummed.
“What happens when … when, you know, you get your soul back?”
