LATER THAT DAY, Hadley waits for his ex-girlfriend in some Mediterranean grill place.

Does he remember Tamara? Of course he does. He remembers how she was practically a rebound, after he'd been dumped—or cheated on, by his previous girlfriend of maybe two years, Angela, with the light hair and the dark eyes—and how she knew this but was nice enough not to mention it. Remembers her surly face, serious and set in stone, whenever Hadley would look at her. The startling blue of her eyes, the way lines would appear around her mouth when she deigned to look at Hadley and smile, something that clearly indicated she used to be in the habit of smiling a lot. (Just not around Hadley, for some reason.) Her quiet, dry and husky voice, crackling like leaves in autumn. Dark, stuffy clothes, even in spring. She had a habit, too, of just gazing at Hadley like he was a puzzle to be put together, something that initially set his stomach on edge. But then he got used to it. Would stare right back, into her, at her. Fix me, he'd think. I dare you.

Why did Angela cheat on him? Because it's hard to love someone who isn't there. it's impossible. James, this isn't right. When you're looking at me, you aren't. I don't know. I can't do this anymore. It's like you don't even exist. Why aren't you angry? Do you even feel anything? Look at me. Look at me. Look at me. Please. Jesus fucking Christ, just look at me.

And that was that. When Tamara showed up, it was perfect. She spoke little, asked for little, expected little. Perfect for a boy who could apparently only exist very little.

It's not a very busy day, patrons come in and out, and idly, Hadley watches customers order food, appraise the menu, talk to each other. Be human. He turns the pendant over in his fingers, lifts it to his mouth and gnaws on it, mindlessly. It's warm, glowing with heat from within.

And Tamara shows up, a little breathlessly, looking like she walked here. Her eyes scan the place, and when she catches Hadley, she smiles—Jesus, was she always this beautiful?—and makes a beeline straight for him.

Hadley sits up straighter, drops the pendant from his mouth like a dog guiltily spitting out something that shouldn't be in its mouth.

"James!" Tamara exclaims, and Hadley has to resist the urge to get up from his seat and take her coat off for her. "So good to see you. You're looking a bit under the weather, though. Everything fine?"

"Just peachy," he answers.

She knows exactly what's going on with Hadley, and they both know this. Despite the fact, she still asks after Hadley, Gregory, Morgan, Sebastian. Asks after his plans for college, his choice in a major, keeps the word curse out of her mouth. Eyes the pendant resting at the dip of his throat.

Her eyes flicker up to meet his. She reminds him of someone—not David—and Hadley has this someone's identity right there, right on the tip of his recognition but he can't say it, or think it, for some reason. Preventing him from making that leap from suggestion to fact.

"Is something bothering you?" she asks.

Hadley taps his temple. "What did you do to me?" he asks, simply.

Tamara's gaze goes a little soft, full of fondness. Hadley wishes she wasn't so goddamn beautiful, that she didn't tug at his gut like this, just with a look.

"That's why you're here, no?" she says, and suddenly Hadley is aware that her knee is pressing against his. "To find out what I did to you."

"I didn't know that you were a witch," Hadley says.

"I didn't let you think it."

Hadley scoffs. "Jesus Christ." He traces a groove in the table, scratches his nail across the pale lines against the dark wood. "All this time."

"Three months," Tamara says. "It wasn't that long."

"I think the question I should ask here," he says, digging his nail into the wood, watching it splinter under his finger, "is whether any of it was real. Or if it was part of a scheme. Any of it mean anything to you at all, Tamara?"

Tamara doesn't answer right away. Instead she considers the words, mulls them over. When she speaks, it is with careful deliberation.

"None of it was real," she says, not looking away from Hadley. "But it meant something."

"Then why," Hadley asks, unable to keep the hurt from his voice, "didn't you tell me anything?"

Tamara says nothing. And Hadley's not angry at her, try as he might to focus his rage and disappointment at a single person. No, it's at the general state of things. He is lost, and tired, and angry, and confused. And he is tired of thinking these things of himself, tired of his own tiredness, of his own self-pity.

He misses his life. He's been missing it as long as he can remember. It is only now, after David has gone, that he is aware of that keening emptiness. That hollow core of his body that threatens to stretch into something more dangerous, more hungry, more carnivorous. It's a strange feeling, and it's new, and he's only noticed it after David left. How hollow his life is, how much of it is a farce for something he can't name.

Confusion, confusion. Hadley doesn't think he can tell up from down, these days.

The pendant is suddenly much more heavy, pressing down at his chest.

"What would you do," Tamara says, quietly, "if someone told you you weren't human?"

"Move on," Hadley says, unthinking. "Know that I am human."

"And what would you do if you knew you weren't?"

Hadley looks up to meet her gaze, and something happens. The world narrows down to just this restaurant, this table, slowly being gnawed away until it is just the two of them. Tamara's eyes haven't changed at all—still a clear and startling blue—but they have shifted. The entire world has shifted. Hadley has seen this, before. (Where? Think, James. Think.) This dangerous shift in expression, enough to twist the world like this. Or. Is it the world, or is it just him?

He has to remember to breathe.

Once. Twice. Thrice. Tamara has him pinned under her gaze, the promise of power just barely hidden beneath its surface. Beneath her surface. Lazy, and unrushed, but considering. Measuring. Hadley is being measured.

"It depends," Hadley says. He doesn't know what he's saying, only saying something for the sake of saying something. "How much does being human matter to you?"

The world untwists. Hadley untwists. Hadley touches the table, the feel of it real under his palm.

"Not as much as it should." And, as if she hasn't knocked every atom in Hadley into complete disarray, she says, "I think we should order our food."

Hadley hasn't even glanced at the menu. Neither has she.

"Yeah," Hadley agrees.

They order. Tamara gets the beef kofta kebab special. Hadley gets the gyro platter. Hummus for Hadley. Fries for Tamara.

"Did you know," Tamara says, as the server leaves and she sets the menu down. "I'm half Syrian?"

"Huh," Hadley says. "No, I didn't." And then he really thinks about it. "Is your name actually Tamara Collins?"

Tamara clicks her tongue against her teeth. (Has she done that before? Is that a habit? How very un-Tamara like of her, but then again, everything Hadley knows is wrong.)

"My name is Tamara Al-Jeratli," Tamara says. "But Collins is so much easier."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't tell you a lot of things. Lying to you just seemed so—" she struggles, for a second, to find the word.

"Convenient?" Hadley offers.

"Convenient."

"Is that why you dated me?" Hadley asks. "Because it was convenient?"

"I didn't really start out with the intention of dating you," Tamara says, tonelessly. "My orders were to get close to you, find out what your whole deal was."

"Orders," Hadley repeats. He feels nothing, really. Feelings can come later, after he's processed this meeting. After he's picked it apart, bit by bit. "Under whom?"

"I work for Charlie, technically," she says, propping her chin up on her palm. Her gaze is lidded, dark—through her lashes, her eyes seem black. "But I don't belong under anybody."

Their food arrives. Hadley doesn't have much of an appetite.

"So whose orders?" Hadley asks.

"Maybe orders is a bit harsh," she says, and she takes a fry from her plate and bites into it. "It was more of a plan. A partnership, so to speak."

"It was in your plan."

"Do you just repeat everything I say?" Tamara says, a mean smile playing at her mouth. "No words of your own, James?"

Patience, Hadley thinks. He hasn't sat through all of this just to lose his temper at Tamara at the most crucial moment.

"Who was your partner?" Hadley asks. No. Demands.

Tamara levels Hadley with a look. And then he wishes he hadn't asked.

"No," Hadley says, realization dawning on him.

"I know him as Grant," Tamara says, disregarding the way Hadley's gripping the edge of the table. "You know him as—"

Hadley laughs, his own voice sounding hollow to his ears. "No."

"—David," Tamara says. Unflinchingly.

She eats a fry. Chews on it. Watches Hadley, trying to gauge his reaction. Watching Hadley with that inscrutable gaze of hers, the one where she looked at him with the focus of someone piecing a puzzle together. Or trying to take one apart. That is what she was doing, this whole time, Hadley realizes. Not trying to put him back together, but to take him apart. David. Funny how much a name does to you.

Four months, David knew Hadley. Maybe even before that. David knew him, before he ever knew David.

"He didn't tell you," Tamara says.

"Yeah, no shit."

"He was planning to tell you," she says, like she's trying to assure Hadley.

"You knew David."

"Yes."

"How did you know him?"

"Eat your food, James."

"What?"

"Eat your food. I'll explain."

Tamara starts, while sticking a fry into her mouth. "There are people with the ability to do magic. This is something you already know. How it manifests is up to the individual—shadow-manipulation, oneiromancy, divination, and who knows what else. There are people who can do magic." She looks down, at her own hands. For a second—no, less than that. Even less than that. Hadley sees the blood in her hands. "And there are those like me."

Blood, Hadley thinks. The exact same shade as David's, those few nights ago. Human, human, blood. Except not.

"You're not human," Hadley says.

"No," Tamara says. "I'm not. Neither is David. Grant. David Grant. That's his last name. There are magicians, and then there is us. Aberrations, miracles, gods, cosmic mistakes—we've been called a lot of things, but what we are, at our core, is a dying breed. Every little thing in this world, James, has its own use and its purpose and yes, even you. I know, it seems hard to believe, given to your nihilism as you are. But me and David are tools for which a use hasn't been invented yet, and as such, we are liabilities. Maybe even a threat. By all rights, we shouldn't exist. We are, simply put, things from another plane. Sometimes the fabric of the world stretches enough that things like us pas through. Things like your curse."

"Things like the nyx?"

"Yes," Tamara says, and takes another french fry. "But the world stretched hard that night."

"So," Hadley asks, "are you a nyx?"

"I don't know," Tamara says, plainly. "Are you a dog?"

"Woof."

"Idiot," she says, but there's a smile at her lips. "Just because you come from the same world as a dog does doesn't mean that you're a dog. False equivalency."

"And all this has to do with the coven? Or whatever little club you're part of?"

"Yes. Since we're such threats, people like me and David are kept under tight leash."

"David doesn't have a leash, though."

Tamara shrugs. "That's because he's got the Coterie watching his back. Once they look away, though—" she tugs at her collar— "who knows? Maybe he won't be leashed at all."

"So why," Hadley starts, and then he stops. "Why did you—Jesus, I still don't get it."

Stealthily, Tamara dips her fry in Hadley's hummus. "What don't you get?"

"Why go through all this bullshit," Hadley asks. "For me?"

Thoughtfully, Tamara chews on her fry. She cuts up a piece of her kebab and eats it. And then she chews on another fry. Swallows.

"You've been a point of interest," she says, slow, "for some time now. I know you think your curse is new, but it isn't. It's been on you for a very, very, very long time. And before you ask why didn't anybody from the coven come forth and try to help you, think. You were in no danger before you met David. Your curse was harmless. Like a little flea, or some kind of minuscule parasite. And then after David—"

She doesn't finish her sentence, and Hadley doesn't think she needs to. Because what happened after that? Hadley let David into his house, let David into the avenues of his life he'd never paid attention to. Somehow, the more he knows, the less anything makes sense. One answer, and Hadley gets ten more questions. And still, Hadley's traitorous heart aches for David.

"All this," Hadley says, as he stabs his gyro meat. "And why'd you help him?"

"I owed him a favor," Tamara says, softly.

"Let me get this straight," he says, and he lets out a disbelieving laugh. "You lied to me, tricked me, dated me, gathered information on me, for a favor?"

"When you put it like that—"

"I'm not putting it like anything. That's what you did to me. Three fucking months, Tamara, you kept lying to me. And for what? Because you owed David a favor?"

"You don't understand," Tamara says, as evenly as possible, "what he did for me."

"Then make me understand.

"He saved my sister," she says, forcefully, with a touch of anger making her voice sound hard-edged, "he saved my sister from death. My older brother died, James, and I couldn't do anything to save him, or my parents, when it happened. But then he showed up, and he saved me, and he saved my sister. Do you know how much that's worth?"

Of course Hadley knows, the worth of family you love. Worth the world. The universe. Every breath in your chest. The absolute atom of you.

He stays silent.

"You do," Tamara says. "So that's why I helped him. Because I owed him everything."

"Okay," Hadley says. He glances down at his plate, and only now does he realize they're both done with their meals. "Okay."

Not everything makes sense yet—what was the whole point of this? why Hadley? why David? what was the endgame, here? when would Hadley be allowed to go back to his old, boring, shiny, polished life, free of magic and demons and witches and mysterious people, full of ordinary, human, banal concerns? would he ever be allowed to?—but Hadley's not sure if he has it in him to ask anymore questions. And then another realization hits him. Why Salome looked so familiar when he first saw her, all that time ago, why he couldn't place who Salome reminded him of. Why Tamara looks familiar to him in a way that went beyond knowing someone you once dated.

"She's your sister," Hadley says, and he looks up at Tamara. "Salome."

When she smiles, she looks just like Salome. "Yeah. She is."

The world gets heavier, somehow, with the realization. Just a tiny bit.

*** 

Outside of the restaurant, on the curb, Tamara offers Hadley a cigarette. Hadley refuses. Tamara shrugs, good-matured, and brings out a cigarette for herself. She puts it in her mouth, and Hadley waits for her to bring out her lighter. She doesn't. She doesn't even light the cigarette, but in a second, the tip of the cigarette starts glowing.

"You magicians," Hadley says. "Such show-offs."

Tamara smiles around the cigarette, not looking at Hadley. "We have to show-off, where we can. We're not allowed too many opportunities to do so."

If everything Tamara said was true, then it seemed such a sad life to lead. The life of a magician. The life of David and Tamara and Salome, more so. Either leashed or controlled or killed, or constantly looking over your shoulder to make sure nothing was chasing you, or catching up to you. How exhausting, to even exist.

Tamara inhales and exhales, and her mouth billows out smoke.

"Do you ever wish you were normal?" Hadley asks.

Tamara gives Hadley a sidelong glance. "Normal?"

"Without magic," Hadley says. "Or with magic, but without the burden of whatever it is you and David have to bear."

"Ah," Tamara says, and she taps her chin. "No. I don't think I've ever wished for that thing, say, in the last five years. I did wish, once, long ago. But I don't see the need anymore. Not only because it accomplishes nothing, but because I am a wondrous thing. You think that's a little arrogant of me?"

Hadley looks at Tamara, her black hair, her clear blue eyes. Salome, with her childish and snobby smile. David, with his elusive gaze. The full curve of his mouth. Taking Hadley through the unseen alleys of the world. It was wondrous. All of it. Dangerous, and terrible, but amazing. All amazing things were.

"No," Hadley says. "Not at all."

"Right?" Tamara says, plucking the cigarette out of her mouth.

It's started snowing again, and snowflakes are caught in the thick black of Tamara's hair, her lashes. Hadley wants to kiss her, flush the heat right into her body. Make every snowflake on her just melt. What is it with the women in Hadley's life being just so beautiful as of late?

"I can change the world, if I want," Tamara says. "Twist it, choke it, tear through it, step into another time entirely. Why would I wish to be anything different than I am?"

"To not get hurt in the process of changing the world?"

"If I want to change the world, James," Tamara says, holding the cigarette in front of Hadley's face now, "I should be prepared to get hurt."

Hadley waves her hand away. "You know what I mean, Tamara."

Tamara doesn't answer. She drops the cigarette, crushes it elegantly with the heel of her boot.

"Why me?" Hadley asks, and it doesn't sound as anguished as it should. Not for all the hell he's been put through, all the questions and doubts. More curious than anything. "I'm sure there must be someone else out there in this entire city, with a much more convenient curse. Or whatever my thing is, at this point."

This time, Tamara answers. She gives Hadley a sidelong glance, and painfully, Hadley feels a stab of recognition in his chest. David used to look at him the same, the same quick gaze, just on the edge of being elusive.

"Your thing, Hadley, happens to belong to you. And only you. Your curse—I hesitate to even call it that—is something strange. You're just off. I can't put it into words."

A graveyard, a ghost, a woman telling Hadley that he wasn't alive.

"Like I'm not human?" Hadley ventures.

"No," Tamara says, confident. "You're human. Just in the wrong way. Like someone forced it into you. Humanity."

"That's one way of putting it," Hadley says, smiling lop-sidedly.

"Is it," Tamara says, smiling back.

Hadley wonders if it's a sorcerer thing, to smile so guilelessly. To make Hadley's heart skip a beat, just like that. Or if it's Hadley going crazy from not having David around.

"Where is he? David?"

"I wouldn't be here, talking to you, if I knew."

Hadley gets the sinking feeling that the conversation is slowly drawing to an end. Which is just as well. If he keeps talking to Tamara, he might be in deep trouble of falling in love with her, never having done so when they first started dating in the first place.

"How'd you—last question, I swear—end up working with Charlie?"

Tamara's smile turns in on itself, rueful. "I don't work with him. I work for him. He's my—" her expression twists—"handler. Since he had prior experience with other sorcerers, people like me."

"Like David?"

"That is a story," she says, her smile disappearing off her face, "that you won't be getting out of me."

Another pause, another conversation dropped. She drops the cigarette onto the ground, and Hadley's about to tell her off about littering, but when he looks, the cigarette's disappeared.

Hadley looks at her; showoff.

She lifts an eyebrow in response, daring him to do something.

"You should get back to wherever it was you were before you came here," Hadley says. "Unless you enjoy my company."

"Hardly."

"But you do enjoy it?"

"Don't try and flatter yourself, James," Tamara says. She pulls up the hood of her jacket, shoves her hand inside her pockets. Getting ready to leave Hadley. Again.

There's no point in asking her if she wants to meet him again, because Hadley knows that they will. Regardless if either of them want to or not.

"You take care, James," Tamara says. "It's a tough world for people like us. Tell Salome I said hi."

Tell her yourself, Hadley wants to say, but Tamara's walking away. Not looking back. She turns a corner, and she's gone.

He waits, for a minute, another. Waits for his resolve to harden. It's strange, because he has no idea what he's doing, when he's pulling his phone out of his pocket and punching in a number he knows is only bad news. But Hadley wants the whole story, and Tamara won't give it to him, and David's gone somewhere else, and Jesus goddamn Christ, Hadley wants answers, he needs answers—

He presses his phone to his ear. He gets an answer on the third ring.

"Charlie?" Hadley says. He closes his eyes, the burned of his choice slowly starting to settle on his shoulders. "I'd like to talk."

A pause. Hadley holds his breath.

"Of course," is the patient, almost kind answer. "You have no idea how relieved I am. What would you like to talk about?"

The slow glide of the glow of a street-lamp over dark brown skin. The ruinous, almost scalding hurt that Hadley feels, when he thinks about everything that's happened so far. Who the fuck knows what Hadley wants to talk about?

"Actually," Hadley says, squeezing his free hand into a fist. "I'd like to talk in person." 

***

HELLO DOES ANYBODY READ THIS ANYMORE hi how are you (: i dont check wattpad that often (at all LOL) cuz im busy with college and whatnot but this bitch has been haunting me for like so long and oh my god im so old. im sooo old. its so weird being on here because everyones like. four and i feel like an old woman but you know what sometimes you just gotta plow thru