COINCIDENCE WORKED IN mysterious ways. Where would Hadley have been a month ago, if his friends hadn't decided to stop at some fifties imitation diner? Where would he have been, if he never left that diner in the first place? What would have happened if he showed up back at home half an hour too late, completely missing David? Would he have suffered less under the curse, or more? Would he have died earlier or would it not have made any difference?

He sticks his fork into the pancake on his plate, contemplating the possibilities. There are no nightmares, at least. David is doing something—it's just hard to tell what.

"You don't like your breakfast?" Marzia asks, appearing out of nowhere. She puts a hand on Hadley's back.

"No, I love my breakfast," Hadley says, and cuts up a piece of pancake and puts it into his mouth. "Shee? I luf it."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," says Marzia. "You are spilling food all over the table."

He swallows. "Sorry."

"Look who joined us for breakfast," says his sister, as she walks into the kitchen and seats herself opposite him. Hadley looks at her—there's no wave of nausea, no sickness rising up in his stomach. He's grateful for that.

"What, like you come down every morning for eggs and bacon?" he says, tearing off another piece of pancake.

"I do, in fact. Every morning. Do you think Marzia just stands around in the kitchen making food for people that don't even come down to eat?" She yawns, and rubs at her eyes. It's only then he notices the dark circles under her eyes, and the red rimming the whites of her eyes.

"You look like shit," Hadley says.

"You're no prize either, asshole."

"Please," Marzia calls, from where she stands at the stove. "Don't fight."

Philippa and Hadley exchange a look.

"By the way, James," Philippa says, low enough that Marzia can't hear her, "are you going to invite your guest down to eat dinner with us anytime?"

Hadley sets down his fork.

"Well?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hadley says, looking her straight in the eye.

Philippa lets out a disdainful scoff. "What's the point of lying if you're so bad at it?"

Marzia sets a plate laden with bacon and hash brown in front of Philippa, who makes a pleased exclamation and heartily digs in with obvious relish.

Hadley watches her for a moment, before asking, "How did you know?"

She looks up, mid-bite. She tears off the rest of the bacon with her teeth and chews on it, thoughtfully. "Marzia makes an extra serving every meal. And you're not exactly slick about carrying it up to your room."

Hadley sighs. "That makes sense."

"We're not all as stupid as you. Bring him down for dinner. I wouldn't mind making his acquaintance."

"You think I've forgotten what you did to Gregory?"

For three weeks after the incident, Gregory had refused to set foot in Hadley's house. The whole business was very funny, actually, if Hadley pushed his sister out of the equation. A lot of things that happened with Philippa were funny, if Hadley didn't think about Philippa's involvement in them. Which was sort of hard, because Philippa's presence took up a lot of space. Where Hadley had a startling lack of personality, Philippa was rife with character, like she had to make up for her twin's blandness, his innate emptiness.

"That was once." She's forgone all table manners, and is now pointing at Hadley with a half-bitten piece of bacon, dripping fat all over her plate. "I resent the notion that you think I'm some sort of man-eater. I am perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation with a male without making eyes at him."

"It's not you that makes the eyes—it's the males. Besides, you encourage them."

"Only if they catch my eye. And your guest catches my eye. He's very cute."

Marzia sets down another plate of breakfast on the table, and looks at Hadley, knowingly. He stands up and takes the dish, glad to be rid of this conversation.

"Nice necklace, by the way," Philippa says. "Very ethnic."

His free hand goes to the pendant. He'd long forgotten that it was on his body—it felt like part of him, now.

"Thanks," Hadley says. "Enjoy your breakfast."

"Don't worry. I won't rat you out to mother when she comes back," Philippa says. There is something soft in her expression. Something like pity.

She's always known how afraid he could be.

"I know you won't."

He heads up to his room, thinking about his mother. She'll come back, right on Christmas Eve. How long is David going to stick around? Philippa already knows—how long till his mother figures it out? And when she does, what's she going to do to him?

He stops, right in front of his door. Closes his eyes and tries to think of anything but his mother. He thinks of last night. The pier, Vic's hand in his own, something vaguely wrong stirring the air, and James. What had they done after that? Ate at a nice little bistro tucked in the streets. He'd wanted to kiss her when he dropped her off at her house—an apartment complex that had seen better days—but thought better of it. Tame, as far as first dates went.

He turns the handle of his door and steps into his room.

"Listen, no, I understand, but I really shouldn't—" David is talking into the phone, wildly gesturing with his hands—"yo, this shit could get me in trouble, and I don't think you know what the coven does to people like me and—" he makes an expression, clearly irritated at being interrupted—"okay, I get it, it's tough, but—" his face softens, a little, and he starts pacing the floor, listening.

Hadley approaches his desk and sets David's breakfast onto it.

"Okay," David says, scratching the back of his neck. "Okay, I'll see what I can do. I'll call you later. Don't hold back on the details when I do. And I'm sorry. I really am."

He hangs up.

"So," he says. "Breakfast."

"Marzia went all out today. Sausage, biscuits and gravy, hash-brown, bacon. There's eggs and pancakes, too, if you want." Hadley offers him the plate of breakfast.

"Give me that," David says, taking the plate and seating himself on the floor, even though the table is right there. He expertly manages to balance the plate on his knee. "Thanks. Give my compliments to the chef."

It's hard to believe that the boy sitting cross-legged on the floor is a sorcerer. It's harder to believe that he's got a name not meant for human ears, when he's eating everything with his hand, and dripping gravy down the corner of his mouth. It's hard to believe that David is anything more than David.

"Where were you last night?" Hadley asks, remembering David's empty makeshift bed. "I fell asleep before you came home."

"You weren't the only one with a date," David says. "And I wasn't in a hurry to leave my lady."

That's a lie, if Hadley's ever heard one. Suspicion rears its head—what a coincidence it was, that when Victoria and Hadley were out on a date, David was out on a date, too.

"You?" Hadley says, incredulous. "A date?"

"You don't believe me," David says.

"No, I don't," Hadley says.

With one hand, David adjusts his the collar of his t-shirt so that the nape of his neck and collarbone is exposed. Hadley raises an eyebrow. There are hickeys, peppered along the line of David's throat, barely perceptible against the dark brown of his skin.

"I can show you my back for more proof," David says.

"No," Hadley says, averting his eyes. "I believe you."

Which he means. It's just hard to believe that David—of all people—has a love life. Or a sex life. Both prospects are equally baffling.

Hadley asks, "You're not going to tell me who it was?"

David makes a face. "No, I'm not going to tell you who it was. Can't a guy get some privacy? Jesus." He starts stuffing his face with biscuit.

"Speaking of privacy," Hadley says. "Philippa knows about you."

David stops stuffing his face.

"It's fine. She won't tell."

David starts stuffing again. "Great," he says, although it sounds more like gwaif. "I've always wanted hot girls knowing about me." Ahf aways waned haw gals nawin awout ee.

Hadley smiles. "She thinks you're cute."

"Cute?" David says. "Cute? I'm a smoking hot sexy beast of a man—"

Hadley coughs, holding back laughter.

"—but yeah, sure. Cute. Whatever." He pauses chewing, and looks straight at Hadley. "I need a favor."

"Does this have something to do with the phone call from earlier?"

"It has absolutely everything to do with the phone call from earlier." He finishes the rest of his breakfast in one single bite, clearly enjoying it.

"So," Hadley says, leaning his back against the wall, "what do I have to do?"

***

"PEOPLE BACK AT school are going to ask me what I did over the winter break," Hadley says, parking the car. "And you know what I'm going to tell them? I'm going to tell them that instead of biting my nails over university like the rest of the chumps, I got myself cursed, I met a couple of magicians, I went to a fucking graveyard at midnight—"

"It's not midnight, yet," David says, "and you don't have to come in."

"—let me finish—I went to goddamn graveyard to help some dude lift a curse to help some sick kid I've never met."

"I guess you can't put that on your university applications?" David asks, smirking.

"No," Hadley admits. "But it'll make for a good story."

David opens the door and steps out. Hadley does the same, and regrets it, immediately. It's frighteningly cold, a cold that slices right through air, through Hadley's clothes.

"I think I can feel my piss freeze up in my bladder," Hadley says, wrapping his scarf around him a little tighter. "Are you absolutely certain she said tonight, and not like, in the afternoon?"

"These things can only happen by midnight," David says. "They don't call it the witching hour for nothing."

"How long is this going to take?"

"You don't have to come," David points out, for what might be the fifth time. "You can just sit inside your car and turn on the heater and let your piss thaw out in your bladder."

Hadley looks at the cemetery gates, which is only five minutes' walk away. He didn't want to park too close; the image of his car being the only one sitting out in the parking lot didn't sit well with him.

"I'm curious," Hadley says. And that's the truth of it. "I want to see how you work."

"Suit yourself. If you say another thing about how cold it is, though, and I'm gonna—"

"Yeah, yeah," Hadley says, as he pushes David's back, urging him to walk. "Keep moving."

Hadley's never been to the cemetery before, but he has glimpsed it occasionally, when driving around. It's far away from the city, far away from the suburbs, and when in daylight and when it is summer or spring or fall, it's beautiful, the perfect gathering place for the dead. But there is no daylight, and it is winter. It's dark and cold and Hadley doesn't say anything, out of the irrational sense that if he does, he'll wake something up.

There are lamps, at least, and Hadley is grateful for the uncertain light they cast down. David is moving away from the path, into a part of the cemetery that doesn't have as much light. Hadley dawdles, for a moment, unsure if he wants to go where it is darker.

In the end, he hurries after David.

Hadley doesn't stop to look at all of the snow-capped gravestones, even if he wants to stop and read all of the names, all of the epigraphs out of some morbid curiosity.

David halts at a small grave. He frowns, reaches out to shake off some of the snow on top of the gravestone. When Hadley gets closer, he sees that David is taking off his gloves and placing them on top of the stone.

"Is this the place?" Hadley asks, voice lowered.

In answer, David points at the gravestone. Hadley reads the inscription. His stomach lurches.

Kevin Hall. Always loving, always loved. 2011-2016.

"The woman I was talking to," David says, unprompted. "On the phone. Her kid's sick, sicker than hell. She doesn't know what it is, but there's something off about how sick he is. So I ask her—" he reaches into his pocket—"to describe the illness. Fever. Vomiting. Bruises. Awful, awful nightmares. And I ask her—" he brings out a switchblade—"if there have been any recent deaths around her. She says—" he springs the knife open—"not to her, but to her sister. Her sister's son."

Hadley looks at the gravestone, again. "Christ."

"Car accident." David holds up the knife, watches how it glints under the night sky. "Poor kid. Would've done anything for momma. I ask the lady, did your sister say anything to you in her grief that stuck with you?" He's saying everything in a matter-of-fact way. He brings the knife to his palm. "She did. She said, I wish it was your kid."

He cuts. He clenches his fist. Blood oozes and drips onto the snow. Normal, normal, human blood.

"Of course," David says, letting his blood fall onto the snow, "she didn't mean it. She apologized. Too late, though. Damage done. Isn't it funny, how much people hurt each other when they're hurting too?"

Hadley doesn't say anything. He's looking at the red spreading out on the snow. It never occurred to him that magic could be so bloody.

Unless, it wasn't magic.

"Remember, when I said the kid would've done anything for good ol' mum? Turns out, he's doing just that. Hurting his cousin for the sake of mommy." He unclenches his fist, and kneels in the snow. "Fairy-tales have a degree of truth to them—love does have a lot of power. But, it can also be ruinous."

"Romeo and Juliet," Hadley says.

"More like Kevin Hall, mommy and poor little cousin," David says. He presses his hand onto the snow, and lets out a hiss. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I forgot how much this hurts."

"Why are you doing this?" Hadley asks.

"Breakers wouldn't help her—she didn't have the money. I'm her last option." He takes his hand off of the ground, leaving a bloody and vague handprint. "I like to be dependable." He stands up, and from another pocket, gets out a roll of bandages.

His hand is still bleeding, a deep, deep red. It's reassuring. People with inhuman names don't bleed.

David is trying to wrap his hand, but fumbling, a little.

"Need help?" Hadley asks, as he takes the roll from David's unprotesting fingers.

"Not really," David says, shrugging, "but go ahead."

They're both silent for a while, two boys standing in the middle of a cemetery. One of them bleeding; one of them bandaging up the other.

Hadley pauses, and asks, "How many times have you come here?"

"Plenty," David says. "Sometimes I get the other guys from curse club to tag along, help, if I need it. Sometimes I go alone."

"And you're never scared?"

"Buddy, if you're not scared of standing in a cemetery at midnight, then either you're crazy or you're white."

Hadley ties up the bandage one last time, and it's over.

David examines his bandaged up hand, and says, "Not bad. Would've taken twice as long if I did it by myself. Thanks."

"I help where I can."

"I've been meaning to say," David says, as he turns his back on Hadley. "You're taking all of this real well."

"All of what?"

He kneels down, his eyes on the gravestone before him. "Curses. Jumping into different dimensions. Seeing things."

Hadley looks up at the sky, at the pinpricks of light spearing through the deep velvet blue. It's a clear night. Nothing is hidden.

"I think I must've known," he says, his breath steaming in the air. "I must've always known. It made sense."

David crosses his legs, moving the snow under him. "What made sense?"

"Being cursed. At least, now I have a reason for feeling weird all the time. You know. Strange."

"Strange," David says, absent-mindedly. Hadley gets the feeling he isn't listening anymore.

"Sometimes," Hadley says, even though no one might be listening to him, "sometimes I feel like I'm living someone else's life."

David looks up. "Wait," he says. Hadley's heart wells up with the hope that David was listening. "What's the time?" Hadley's heart deflates, just as quickly.

"It's 11:41," he answers.

From the large expanses of his jacket, David pulls out a pair of binoculars. Hadley remembers those. "I want you to go back to the car," David says. "Fast."

Hadley opens his mouth to protest, but David isn't looking at him. He is staring at the gravestone, waiting. When Hadley looks at the snow covering the grave, he sees that the scarlet has rearranged itself into a pattern, something indecipherable to him. His eyes start burning.

He looks away. "Good luck."

Hadley turns on his heel, and starts walking, leaving David sitting in front of a tombstone.

***

a/n: wow! creepy. haha right just kidding also this chapter didnt take long to write its just uhhhhh something was holding me back again im like. still awed that people read this and uhhh i genuinely get so embarrassed when i read earlier chapters so like. if you notice a style shift and/or character changes thats a conscious decision i am making and basically ret-conning a lot of things. just take in stride. i mean if you've made it this far i doubt anything could phase you.

anyways questions and constructive criticism are always welcome god knows i need to work on this book's plot and characters hfgjfgj