“Look, I really can’t handle this tonight, Talia,” I said wearily, stepping into my shoes. “I’m exhausted. I just . . . I need to go.”

“Of course you do,” she retorted, scathing, though I could see the telltale glisten of silvery tear tracks on her cheeks. “Is anything else even on the menu, besides the Emmy Harlow special?”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped, already on my way to the door.

“What do you think it means?” Even in the dark, I could see the pain scrolled over her face. “That running the fuck away is what you do best.”

25

When Even Magic Fails Us

Is it remotely possible that she’s right?” Linden asked, setting down her chopsticks.

I looked at her over the wreckage of Chinese food cartons from Pearl Dragon that littered the coffee table between us, most of which I’d demolished myself, in a frenzy of eating my many conflicting feelings. We were at Linden’s place, so I could fill her in on what Talia and I had come up with for the next challenge; even with things between us in such abject disarray, I was assuming neither of us was willing to give up on the pact.

But we’d covered that part fast, and once Lin realized how supremely not okay I was, the evening had devolved into tears, wine, and an epic comfort food binge.

“About what?” I asked her, still a little tearful, though I was now too full of egg roll to muster up another proper cry. I’d also literally cried myself to sleep the previous night, not to mention having sloppy-sobbed all over Linden earlier, so the well was close to plumb dry anyway. “My apparent affinity for running the fuck away?”

“Not that part,” Lind said, making a sympathetic face. “Sounds to me like she just said that because her feelings were so hurt, and she wanted to hurt you back.”

“You don’t know that. It’s possible she also meant it. Both things could be true, and with my luck, probably are.” I took a slug straight from the bottle of pinot grigio I’d appropriated as my own, wincing at the sour tang of the warm wine. “Shit, maybe she’s even right.”

“No one ever means the nastier stuff they say when their dander’s up, Em,” Lin said gently. “Not even an Avramov. And definitely not Talia.”

“What is it you think she’s right about, then?” I eyed another fortune cookie, an ominous rumble from my guts bringing me up short before I could reach for it. I should have known better than to self-soothe with so much MSG, but dire times called for drastic measures.

Linden worked her jaw from side to side, clearly strategizing the most tactful path toward what she wanted to say.

“Do you really want to go back to Chicago, Em?” she said. “I’ve noticed it, too, how happy you seem to be here whenever your guard’s down. It’s like you have to remind yourself on the regular that you hate Thistle Grove with fiery passion, or else the real truth comes bubbling out—which is that you kind of adore this town. Maybe even more than some of us lifers do.”