Page 72 of Too Hexed to Handle

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says. It’s the firmest I’ve heard him. ‘If you still want to take the cure for yourself, fine, but it’ll change nothing between us. I told you, I don’t look at you and see a Souleater. I just see you.’

‘So why –’

‘Because of me. I’m the problem. I’m broken, Daisy; I can’t . . . I can’t love anyone.’

It’s his turn to wipe his face. He blinks, studying the wet droplet on his hand like he doesn’t recognise what it is, and he doesn’t smell spicy any more but – well, he’s a jumble again. Spice and citrus and salt and rose petals.

He really is confused. But confused doesn’t mean broken, or incapable of falling in love. If I could just . . . there’s so much goodness in the way he smells. My fingers twitch. I think of the way I brought that girl’s fear to the surface in the maze and imagine what I could bring to the surface in him. Where she was sharp and bitter, he’d be soft and sweet. I’m sure of it. I swallow an onslaught of saliva and take a step towards him. Another.

His shoulders rise and fall to the rhythm of my heart; quick, rapid bursts that only seem to intensify as I get closer. I dig my nails into my palms, trying to hold my breath, but his scent is unavoidable now and all I can think is that I’m hungry, and he’d be so very, very lovely. Nobody who was truly broken would ever smell this lovely. I wish there was a way to make him see that, for him to share in the way he tastes.

My next step has more purpose now, my arm rising, fingers reaching out –

The sound of a throat clearing jerks my focus.

I jolt. Blink. Shake my head.

Astin is shifting, lying back on the bed, draping one arm over his eyes. ‘We should get some rest.’

I don’t move. Hexes, if he knew what I’d been thinking . . . well, he wouldn’t be confused any more. I’d be proving him right.

I scrunch my hands into the tightest fists they can make, reprimanding myself for nearly losing control, for ever thinking of Astin like that, before retrieving my nightdress from the floor.

But after slipping it over my head, my gaze falls on my cloak. One pocket bulges with the package containing Ozias’s golden potion, and when I breathe in Astin’s scent again, I can’t help but wonder what kind of magic there’d be in emotions that smell like his.

23

I wake to find the bed empty.

This is not a cause for alarm, I tell myself as I dress. He’s always been an early riser. He didn’t show any signs of noticing my finger twitching last night. In fact, as far as last night goes, we’re going to pretend none of it happened – from the touching, to the argument, to his conviction that he’s unable to fall in love with anyone, let alone me. Everything is fine. I twist my hair into a plait that I hope says I’m a strong, adventurous person, capable of entering a potentially dangerous temple, and continue to not feel any alarm that Astin isn’t here.

And I certainly don’t sigh in relief when the door opens to reveal him standing in the entrance, dawn rising at his back. The purple rings beneath his eyes have faded, but his hair remains tangled from my ministrations last night. It suits him. Black strands sticking up at odd angles, falling in floppy waves over his forehead, the lack of perfection somehow making him more perfect. Which, on second thoughts, is kind of annoying.

‘Good morning,’ I chirp regardless.

He eyes me warily. ‘Morning.’

‘It looks like it’s going to be a lovely day. The sun must know we’re about to finish our quest.’ I grin so wide my cheeks hurt, and in turn the crease in his brow deepens.

‘Daisy.’ He pulls a handful of berries from his pockets and sets them on the counter. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m preparing to leave. And now you’ve brought us food! What a lovely, lovely day.’

My hand absolutely does not shake as I grab a berry and shove it in my mouth, and if it was shaking slightly, I would say it’s down to adrenaline-fuelled jitters.

‘You’re acting weird. More so than usual.’ He stops me before I can take another berry – it’s unclear why he brought them if he’s going to let me starve – and I quiver as his hand covers mine. Certain parts of me clench at the memory of where that hand was last night, and I’ve run out of space to increase my smile. I simply have no more cheek left to plump upwards.

‘I’m not acting weird. Shall we go?’

He narrows his eyes. ‘You’re not going to start a fight about last night? You’re going to . . .’ He waves at me. ‘Pretend everything’s fine.’

‘Everything is fine,’ I tell him, despite the fact I’m struggling to look at him. It’s Thursday, and he’s wearing brown. Astin doesn’t wear brown on Thursdays. But if I think about how wrong that is, I’ll think about the other things that have gone wrong recently, and letting my mind drift to those will make it harder to fake this smile. ‘Shall we go?’

He stares at me, clearly conflicted. If he pushes me on his suspicions that I’m lying, he might be forced to talk about his dreaded feelings some more. Eventually, he gestures towards the door. ‘There’s no sign of anyone else yet. They must still be holed up somewhere.’

Good. That means we have a chance.

Outside, the sunlight reflecting off the snowscape is blinding, but once my eyes have adjusted, I can see the houses we missed last night, a few dozen of them dotted around a level section of the mountainside. Several are smeared with red paint. The place we slept has been lovingly named Souleater Scum by whoever came here to drive them out, and scorch marks are burned across some of the wooden panels. My smile falters.