Yet, when I turned the page, I wondered. Before the first chapter, Seth always had a quote, something from a speech or possibly a verse from a poem that was relevant to the book. This was from a song:

And if I only could

I’d make a deal with God

And I’d get Him to swap our places

—“Running Up That Hill,” by Kate Bush

I read the lyrics a couple of times, wondering if there was more to them or if I just wanted there to be more to them. I’d heard the song a long time ago, and it had had that poppy synth feel so common to music in the 1980s. I didn’t recall this particular part. Finally, dragging my eyes away, I moved onto the heart of the book.

Before meeting Seth, I’d rationed myself while reading his novels. I would only read five pages a day because I’d wanted to prolong the sweetness of that first reading. When something was really good, it was easy to dive into it, and before you knew it, the moment was gone. You’d burned through it. I experienced that too frequently in my long existence, and a strict reading schedule was a weak attempt to slow things down. When I settled into this book, though, I didn’t really have a plan, and before long, I knew stopping at five pages was impossible.

It was exquisite. While he had a few self-standing novels, this series—Cady and O’Neill—was his flagship one. At its basic level, this was just a mystery book, yet there was a wonderful, lyrical quality to Seth’s writing that elevated him above the genre ghetto. Sure, there was action and a trail of clues, but his characters were also evolving, always growing in ways both wonderful and heartbreaking. Seth had a way of describing their feelings and their reactions in a style that was so real, it resonated with my own life and left an ache in my chest. Whether that was for his art or for the man himself, I couldn’t say.

It was only when Dante rolled over that I’d realized I’d been sniffling.

“Are you crying, succubus?”

“It’s this book,” I said.

I had just read a section where Cady and O’Neill were having a profound talk about life, and O’Neill had commented that all people were seeking both damnation and forgiveness, needing each to make sense of their existence. I was crying because it was true and because Seth had known it was true.

“There are a lot of things to cry about in this world,” Dante said through a yawn. “Not sure a book should be one of them.”