After being swept away by the current of such an abnormal conversation, I found myself desperately reaching for normality as a lifeline. So it was that we fell back into a process—we got changed, we went to dinner, and we had a pleasant time.

But now, every conversation had a third, unseen person involved. I wanted to ask more questions about Faenyx and what exactly the situation was with Magnus and the Marquis. Did they share a body? A mind? Had he always been there? And why? But I was still wrestling with the idea of even believing in this paranormal being. It went against every rational fibre in my body, every comforting logic in my mind.

Plus, though I had so many questions, I found myself becoming more and more concerned about the nervousness that hadn’t quite left Magnus’ face since telling me his secret. He held himself a more rigidly, and he kept jumping at the slightest of sounds as we walked down the city streets after dinner. He would check over his shoulder, though whether he was looking out for eavesdroppers or the shadow of this unseen demon, I couldn’t say.

It wasn’t until we were back at my hotel room that he seemed to relax.

I had curled back up on the chair that had wordlessly become mine, idly sketching as Magnus lounged on the bed and buried himself in the Goetia book. It was a comfortable and warming silence that settled between us, one that didn’t need to be broken by awkward small talk. I could barely do this with some of my closest friends, let alone a man I had only known little over a day.

I could very easily have removed the silence with more questions, but I felt as though Magnus would appreciate some control over his secret still. He would tell me more when he felt comfortable, just as he had kept his promise to explain his strange behaviour.

“Is tomorrow your check-out date?” Magnus asked suddenly, setting the Goetia next to his leg as he stretched out on the bed.

“Yeah, but my train’s not till the evening,” I replied, then stopped sketching. “Oh! The photo!”

I shifted forward and pulled my mobile out of my pocket, flicking to the photo app.

“You’re…deleting it?” Magnus perked up with hope. “You believe me about…all that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted, my thumb hovering over the delete icon of the gruesome photo. “But I don’t want to go back home with the idea that my hero hates me or is having an anxiety attack ‘cause of me. So…time for it to go.”

I rapped down on the delete icon, then turned the phone so Magnus could see the screen. The muscles on his face melted with relief. “There. Gone.”

I was rewarded with the most beautiful half-smile and a genuine look of gratitude. All at once, my fangirl heart ignited and embarrassed me with a face full of crimson.

“Thank you, Stella,” Magnus said, shifting to sit upright on the bed. He crossed his legs and nodded down at my sketchbook. “Are you distracting yourself from asking questions? You’ve been strangely quiet about Faenyx…”

Bloody hell, am I an open book already? I thought to myself as I stared down at my drawing.

“Ah, no…just had an idea in my head and wanted to get a basic sketch down,” I said. “Ideas are wonderful, but they stick on your brain. Just getting them written down or doodled out can be a relief. Besides, if you wanna talk about Faenyx, you’ll talk about him. We agreed you’d tell me the truth, and you have. It’s up to you if you tell me more. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

I angled the sketchbook so Magnus could see, though my cheeks pulsed with further embarrassment to do so. An observational sketch—namely, Magnus right now, lying on the bed and engrossed in his book. “Don’t worry. Changed the title of the book. No fangirl sleuthing will link you to demonology.”

Magnus focused on the drawing, and just like when he had flicked through my sketchbook, I saw his expression tighten with a hint of jealousy.

“That’s really awesome,” he said with a sad smile. “You’re lucky, you know. To have the ability to picture things in your head and be able to express it through art. You create ideas and you can bring them to life. That’s…that’s really lucky.”

I shrugged, considering the sketch again.

“Maybe. I can draw because I worked hard at it and poured hours into learning and studying. It wasn’t given to me,” I said. “Besides, isn’t it kind of like songwriting? You come up with beautiful lyrics in your head, and you have the voice to bring them to life. I can’t even write a limerick…”

“Ha…” Magnus huffed, averting his eyes sharply to the side. “Actually…I can’t.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at this misplaced modesty.

“Yeah? You got a million fangirls who think otherwise.”

To that, I only got a sorrowful smile, an echo of unspoken truths, and a thousand more questions to ponder into the night.