I paused even longer this time. “This isn’t making sense, Magnus.”

“After a victim of the Evil Eye is buried, there’s a short window of time in which the body can be exhumed, and the Evil Eye can reanimate for its own purposes.” He stared at the fire for a moment. “My poor excuse for a father did that … to my mother.”

I gripped the small table, my fingers pressing into the wood like they might splinter it. “What?” I gasped. My fifth attempt.

“The Evil Eye waited until I was born, at least, before unleashing its curse. It had its billionaire and an heir … two generations of wealth.” Magnus sat quietly, swallowing a few times. “My mother was the first victim of my father … the first person to make eye contact and die.”

I got up, curling my good fist in and out restlessly. “Saba is your mother.”

His mother. Which would make her at least twenty-two years older than she looked.

We were quiet for a moment. My sliced hand was beginning to throb, but the knot in my throat hurt worse. I tried to swallow a few times, then gave up, instead going to the fireplace and spitting the nasty taste into the flames.

“That’s why you said that when the Evil Eye is cleansed, Saba will leave. It’s because she’s connected. A servant to it. She dies when it’s expelled.”

“She’s my friend,” Magnus countered, offended. “I never knew her as my mother, but she’s always been my friend. She obeys the Evil Eye because she can’t help it, because she has no defense against it. Sometimes she…” He slouched further in his seat, hugging his sketchbook to his chest. “She cries while she’s carrying out commands. She doesn’t want to do them, but her body is forced to obey. It makes me sick to see her that way.”

“Magnus…” I knelt in front of him, my hands resting on his knees. The fire made the tear streaks down his cheeks glisten. My voice still felt tight as I said, “I feel so guilty. I was holding back. I could’ve been cleansing the house more quickly this whole time.”

“I’m glad you’re not rushing it.” He leaned forward, dropping his sketchbook on the floor beside him. “I’m not ready for you to leave.”

He traced the curves of my ears with his fingers, his palms cradling my face. I closed my eyes. His hands held the perfect amount of warmth. I could sit here all day if my body would allow it. If my mind would allow it. I still didn’t trust that this wasn’t wrong.

Either way, there were more important things to think about now, so I stood up out of his reach. “I have to tell Emma about Tom.”