I stared at the floor, a little shocked by the story. A little sad, too. “I guess she was pretty surprised by the transmutation.”

“Not as surprised as I was when I later overheard a phone conversation with her mother, a few months into her pregnancy. That’s when I knew I’d been duped.” He looked up and gave me a tight smile. The overhead lights in the kitchen were off. A single bulb over the sink created shadows under his eyes. Low voices and music droned from the television in the living room.

“But my finding out didn’t change anything. She was still using her knack, and I was still crazy about her, even though I knew better. Told myself that I could see her for what she really was because I could hear her emotions. I asked her to marry me a couple months before Jupe was born. She refused. Twice. She only caved a couple of weeks before her delivery when her pregnancy got difficult. After she had Jupe, she still kept her ability turned ‘on’ all the time. Persuaded me to take her to the Hellfire Club and get her inducted when one of the thirteen in the Body died. A mistake, of course. When she’s transmutated, she could make the Pope himself renounce God, fall to his knees, and worship her.”

“Damn.”

His finger traced out a pattern on the counter. “That’s when things began disintegrating between us. We moved to Miami for a few years. She quit using her knack on me. Just didn’t care anymore. I couldn’t believe how different she was without it. I knew in my head that I was being manipulated the whole time she was using it, but when she stopped . . . I was suddenly living with a stranger.” He shrugged. “And you already know the rest of it. The drugs, the parties, the cheating. Her mom and I became closer the second time Yvonne got out of rehab. She was the one who convinced me to leave.”

“Hold on. Yvonne’s own mother persuaded you to leave her daughter?”

“She flew down from Portland one summer and told me stories about Yvonne’s childhood. Up until that point, I was convinced that I could save her, if I was patient enough. Tried hard enough. But I couldn’t. I took Jupe and moved back home. My parents died, I built this house. And now we see her at Christmas. Usually.”

Jupe never mentioned her, except in the broadest sense. All his retold childhood memories included Yvonne’s family—her sister, Adella, and his grandmother, who were both still actively involved in his and Lon’s lives—but never Yvonne.

A long moment ticked by. “Do you think the fact that you’d undergone the transmutation spell before you got Yvonne pregnant—”

“—has something to do with what’s manifesting in Jupe?”

“Well, yes.”

“Possibly. He hasn’t inherited someone else’s knack. Despite my doubts before he was born, he’s clearly not the milkman’s kid.”

“He’s definitely yours,” I agreed with a smile.

He pressed the heel of his palm over a brow, deep in thought. This wasn’t so bad, Yvonne’s knack. Definitely not as bad as the nightmare knacks I’d dreamed up for her. I could see that it upset him to admit the whole messy story, but it didn’t make me think any less of him. He must’ve thought it would, otherwise he wouldn’t have keep it quiet until now.

But something was still bothering me. Anxiety twisted inside my stomach—the source of it just out of reach. My thoughts tumbled and churned.

“What’s wrong?” Lon said, startling me.

“Hajo came on to me,” I blurted. “He wanted me to sleep with him as payment for the job. The potion was a compromise.”

Lon’s eyes tightened, searching my face.

“Nothing happened, of course. He tried to kiss me, but I stopped him. I just wanted you to know.”

His expression was unreadable, so I immediately felt a little silly for confessing. It’s not like I did anything wrong. Why was I telling him this now? My heart pattered a nervous rhythm as I struggled to sort it all out. “I guess if the situation was reversed, and someone had tried to kiss you, I’d be pretty pissed if you kept it secret. Does that make sense?”

He slowly shook his head up and down, then reached for me. His hand slid around my neck. He gave me a gentle smile as he stroked my ear with his thumb. It felt good. Relief rushed through me. I let out a long breath and curved my hand over his, holding it still against my neck.

“I don’t want secrets between us,” I said. “Not ones that matter, anyway. I keep secrets from everyone all day long. But not you. Okay?”

He tugged me toward the bar stool, closing the remaining distance between us. “I’ve been waiting for you to say that for weeks,” he whispered.

“You have?” I whispered back.

He pushed my hair back over my shoulder to expose my neck. His eyes wandered there. “Sometimes I think I might die if I can’t touch you.” He said this with great seriousness, his voice suddenly much lower.

A fire sparked inside my chest and lit a path downward. “Is that right?”

“I swear.”

“On what, holy man?”

“Guess the Bible’s out.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I swear on Liber Magica Daemonica.” He grinned sweetly, then gave me three kisses, placing one at the cleft above my lip and the others at each corner of my mouth. Delicate, lingering, drugging kisses. So very good.

His head bowed. He went straight for the sweet spot behind my ear. I shivered with pleasure, then reached between us and skimmed my palm over the front of his jeans. He made an appreciative noise. His hands skated up under my shirt, then dropped to unfasten my jeans.