Clicking off the lights behind me, I leave the suite, using the elevator ride down to gather myself and call a car home.
Tomorrow feels simultaneously impossibly far and much too near.
When I slam a bleary hand on my phone the next morning, I barely register it’s not my alarm dragging me from the delicious dream I was having. It’s ringing. I sit up, rubbing my free hand over my eyes, and trying not to sound like I just woke up. My curtains are still drawn, grey light winking through the gaps.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. You must’ve been up with Seraphine again last night.” Meghna’s voice is now almost as familiar as my mother’s.
“S’alright,” I mutter, flopping back onto my pillows. “How can I help you?”
“Well, I know we agreed you’d have showings for me next week, but Seraphine invited me to join you both tonight.”
I sit up straighter, pulse slamming as if I have just run a mile. Her promised tomorrow is here, and I’d been so sure I understood her intention—her hungry gaze, the way she’d nearly devoured me then and there.
“Oh.” It’s all I can say, the only weak noise rattling in my skull.
“Is that alright?” Her reedy voice is thinner than ever, if that were possible. Of course, it’s not alright. Tonight was supposed to be the night I fuck Seraphine’s brains out, not show her yet another condo with some old friend of a nebulous nature. Buteven I can read the tone in Meghna’s voice, the apprehension, the fear of rejection.
“Of course!” I throw as much fake nicety into my tone as I can, startling myself at how loud and cheery it comes out. “It’ll be great to meet you face-to-face before we work together.”
“What a relief! I was so worried I’d be imposing.” As if bolstered with confidence, Meghna now comes clearly through the line. “Seraphine says such lovely things about you. I’m really looking forward to it.”
We agree on a time, and I give Meghna the address of what I’d hoped would be my final grand gesture to Seraphine—an entire top floor with roof access in the heart of downtown overlooking the water and 360-degree views. But I guess if Meghna likes it more, a sale is a sale.
Hauling myself out of bed takes Herculean effort—how does anyone work nights? I don’t bother changing out of my pajamas before throwing on my puffer jacket. I pull a beanie over my unbrushed hair, ignoring the smeared makeup under my eyes from the night before. I’m going to need a triple this morning if I’m going to function.
Around the corner, down the street, into the coffee shop. It’s the same walk I’ve taken countless times in the last five years, once a smart clip in my step, slowing to a crawl when I realized no amount of attitude or expertise would make the monster roster diminish faster. They met with me when it pleased them, sometimes not even answering my first three weeks of calls. I used to think this would never end, that I’d been caught in some fairytale curse that not even Princess Charming could break.
I’d always envisioned this day—the morning of my final showing for my final monster—as one of triumph. I’d get a blowout, get my nails done, treat myself to a long-awaited new outfit. I’d strut to the coffee shop, tip outrageously after years ofbarely a dollar, then waltz off to hand the keys to my hundredth monster.
Instead, I slump into Bilz, unshowered, exhausted, defeated. All because Seraphine invited another woman to our showing. A woman whose specific breed of monster I don’t even know—she could be another godforsaken yeti for all I know. Three dry cleaners and the stench of the last one still lingers on my poor suit.
The barista hands me my usual order, and I don’t bother making eye contact when I leave the exact change and a few extra quarters on the counter.
Maybe I’ll leave the city. I could buy a huge acreage in the country somewhere with the money I’m expecting. I’d never have to wonder if Seraphine and Meghna were fucking in the sky above me or in the new penthouse suite that I sold them. I’d never have to fear running into a monster I helped house who wants to talk to me about ingrown claws or matted fur or the difficulty of showering with a ten-foot wingspan. I could return to a normal human life with only humans, never have my heart broken again. And I wouldn’t have to worry about bumping shoulders with?—
“Madeline.” I gasp at the smartly dressed woman on my stoop, familiar sharp teeth flashing in a smile.
“I got the strangest memo yesterday.” She tilts her head toward my door. “We should talk.”
Inside, Madeline leaves her tightly wrapped camel coat and well-worn rubber boots on, hands shoved firmly in her pockets. “I won’t keep you,” she says as I shrug out of my puffer, flopping onto the sofa. My coffee bubbles and spits through the to-go lid, sloshing down my arm. As Madeline watches, I lick the spill off myself, then arch my eyebrows at her in a “well, continue” gesture.
“I see you’re doing . . . well.” She frowns. “Care to explain why this fluttered onto my desk?” Her claw-like hands produce a yellowed piece of paper scorched around the edges. I take it, coughing at the brimstone scent.
“‘Rebellion from contractees violates agreement 74A(b) clause G wherein true love’—Madeline, what the fuck is this?” I flop my arm uselessly against my leg, not bothering to finish the memo. “If you want to trap me longer, just say that.”
“Keep reading.” Her face is stone, eyes alert and flickering.
I roll my eyes as hard as I can, heaving a sigh. “Wherein true love with the subject of the contractee’s punishment negates the curse, rendering the terms null and void immediately.”
My heart stops as I read the sentence a second time, then a third.
“Wait, so . . .” Madeline’s face is all the confirmation I need. Hands shaking, I pull up my bank account on my phone. The stacked numbers nearly make me vomit. I duck my head between my legs and breathe. I feel the couch dip next to me, and when my vision clears and my head steadies, I straighten to Madeline sitting primly on the edge of the seat next to me.
“In my long life dealing with these terms, I have never seen a human take so long to come around.” I open my mouth to defend myself, stopping when The Witch raises a gnarled hand for silence. “But despite your thick-headedness, I’m glad you came around, regardless.”
She stands, turning toward the door, and a fresh wave of panic slams into me. I leap up, sloshing more coffee across the room. “Wait! But what if she doesn’t?—”
“Do you think my contracts spontaneously combust?”