Juan went upstairs. I followed him, angry. I told him there was no reason to treat her like that. But he wasn’t furious: he was devastated. I asked if he felt bad and he shook his head, but I took his pulse and it was so fast I made him lie down. He put my hand on his chest so we could monitor his tachycardia together. I don’t like to talk to her like that, he said, but I need her. If she follows me, she’s going to have to keep the secret and turn against them. You’re going to follow me and you don’t mind betraying them. But Laura is different.

He put a pillow under his head and undid his pants. That summer he was wearing very dark corduroys that only made him look taller. Come here, he said, and I got on top of him. Why does Laura smell like that? he asked. She never washes well after she does her spells, I explained. She stinks like a butcher, he smiled, and I added that sometimes she also stank of death. When he entered me, I felt vertigo, a sensitivity in my uterus that scared me. I stayed still, looking down at his glorious face against the pillow; he is glorious, his body, his feigned coldness, his sweat that smells of chemicals. Don’t destroy Laura, I said, and he told me he was trying to do just the opposite. I closed my eyes and imagined the three of us on chalk circles; he could split Laura in two, she’s so little. I always pay lip service to my preference for gentle, soft men. Just two weeks ago I was arguing in class about the authoritarianism and hypermasculinity of Christianity, saying how sick I was of phallocentrism and Eurocentrism, but when Juan dominates and orders me around, I start panting like a submissive dog. He sat up and toyed with my earrings, the giant lightweight pentagrams that I always replace when they break.

Juan told me that he would like to buy this house. I guided his hand to caress me the way I like. I thought about taking a tab of acid—Stephen had brought me a lot of boxes that I kept in my drawer. I told him the house was going to be his, everything would be his, because we were going to get married. I’d been thinking about our last conversation with Florence. It’s not possible for you to have nothing. The Order owes everything to you. I asked him to bite my belly and I circled his neck with my hands to feel his irregular pulse in my fingertips. I always liked to see in his eyes that he is unafraid of dying, or, at least, that he doesn’t mind as long as he dies with me.

When Juan fell asleep, I went out to find Laura. I found her sitting looking at the river. It was hot, and she had unbuttoned her shirt. Her tattoos looked like insects on her skin.