Page 116 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“Did you just say ‘the transitive property?’” I sputter.

“I can be smart,” he says, “once in a while.”

I chuckle and then go silent as I follow his train of thought. The curse has always been a bit of a misnomer, like he said. It’s not a true curse. Not in the way that curses usually operate independently of their casters. The Nightingale Pearl protected us from Aemon, as far as I understand it, not from some automatic spell triggered by certain actions, like leaving the wards.

Now that we have the context of my mother’s journal, I can see that’s the reason he told me to drop the wards to let him in. The logic doesn’t fully make sense to me. But I assume it’s because the only way he can force me to marry him is, theoretically, is by getting in my face about it and trying to intimidate me.

So... that means...

It takes a few moments for the dominoes to tumble. For the picture to take form.

Damien’s right.

I’m not cursed. And Aemon fucking needs me. He’s not going to do shit to me. Not when I’m the ticket out of his own bargain. Of course he wanted me back in my house. He would know exactly where I am at all times. If I let down the wards, he could put new ones in, locking me in and everyone else out.

Holy shit.

“Damien, you are a fucking genius,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Holy fucking shit.”

My boyfriend’s face lights up with mirth. “It’s because I said, ‘transitive property’, isn’t it?”

I take my mother’s journal out of his hand, flinging it somewhere behind me as I climb on top of him. His hands rest easily on my hips as his brows lift in interest. “Oh?” he says. “Round two?”

I crush my lips to his for a deep, long kiss. When I part, my lips cling to his for just a few milliseconds as I brush my nose against his.

“Damien,” I say.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, his eyes hooded and dark with freshly whetted desire.

“Get me the fuck out of this house.”

ㅤ

Lillith has been getting ready for about two hours and I am more than happy to wait. She’s a smokeshow, quite literally at all times, so I can only imagine how hot she’s going to look after she’s made a point of obsessing over every tiny detail. I was sure to tell her that I’d take her out in a trash bag, but I wasn’t at all surprised when she gave me a funny look and vanished into her bedroom to pick out something to wear.

As for me, I’ve been lying on her couch and making some subtle moves behind the scenes to make sure the night is an awesome fucking time. It’s crazy I haven’t seen her outside her house and in town since the day I met her. That day feels like forever ago even though it’s only been a little over a month.

It takes me a while to get everything sorted out, which is good, cause it keeps me busy. I really want to spoil her. Sure, we’ve gone out a couple times in The Buried City, but it’s always... weird there. People give us free meals because she’s a Nightingale. Or they want something like a secret, and, as invasive as that might be, it doesn’t feel the same as going out and buying her shit.

Our label has covered pretty much all of our meals and our gas and where we’re staying. I mean, we’ll be paying it back with record sales, but in the meanwhile it means that I’m just kind of sitting on quite a bit of money. When we first started getting paid out of our advance, I was going crazy buying new gear for my kit—doing every upgrade I ever dreamed of. Then we wound up on the radar of SJC and Zildjian, and I haven’t had to buy a piece of gear in months.

Crazy how as soon as you get money and a bit of notoriety, you start getting everything for free.

While I’m finishing up messaging someone on Instagram about one of our date activities, I get a text message.

How fancy should I dress?

I smile at my screen, already shifting some plans in my head.

How fancy do you want to dress?

Really, really fancy. Like a dress and heels?

Sounds hot. Do it.

I let my daydreams and ideas flutter in my mind about what she might wear, but, as usual, the actual thing is so much better than I could imagine. I picture frilly dresses with lots of layers, dark purple sundresses that show just enough of her perfect tits. Slinky sleeveless dresses that bunch up around her wide hips and ample thighs.

I’m wrong on all counts, and I’m so happy about that.