Poison Fruit

I’d been planning to wear my leather jacket, figuring that whatever a date with Stefan entailed, we wouldn’t be outside long. Sure, it wasn’t exactly evening wear, but if a twenty-four-year-old hell-spawn can’t rock an edgy look, who can? Besides, Stefan was a member of a biker gang.

Although as I recalled from the Vanderhei funeral, he cleaned up nicely. God, what was Stefan wearing?

Okay, I couldn’t worry about that. But the Holiday Stroll meant ambling down two blocks of East Pemkowet, admiring the window displays, popping in and out of stores, chatting with friends. And the cold snap had held. There was no way I could wear my leather jacket without freezing, and there was no way I was wearing the Michelin Man down coat on a first date with Stefan.

I called my mom to see if she wanted to hit the thrift stores and help me find a decent winter coat. She’s got a great eye for that sort of thing.

“Funny you should ask, sweetheart,” Mom said in pleased surprise. “I was planning on getting you a coat for Christmas. I, um, noticed at the tree lighting that you needed one.”

No kidding. I grimaced. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I was planning on it!” she protested. “And Macy’s is having a sale on outerwear this weekend.”

“Macy’s?” We never shopped at expensive department stores. “Mom, no! I’m sure we can find something at Goodwill or one of the consignment shops in Appeldoorn.”

“No, I’m buying you a new coat.” Mom’s voice had that firm tone that meant her mind was made up. “It just means Christmas will come a little early this year.” She paused. “Is it for a special occasion?”

“I have a date for the Holiday Stroll tonight,” I admitted.

“Anyone I know?” she asked in a light trying-not-to-pry tone. “Cody hasn’t come to his senses, has he?”

“No.” I hadn’t told her everything about Cody and me, but enough. “It’s, um, Stefan Ludovic.”

“Oh!” Mom sounded surprised again, but not in a pleased way. “Is that . . . safe, honey?” she asked cautiously.

“I trust Stefan,” I said, hoping she didn’t notice it wasn’t a direct answer. No, the combination of Stefan and me together wasn’t safe. But apparently, I’d become someone with an appetite for risk, at least where my love life was concerned. Or maybe I always had been, and I was only just realizing it.

At any rate, Mom accepted the answer. “Well, you know I trust your judgment,” she said. “Pick you up in half an hour?”

“Sounds great,” I said with relief.

There was a light snow falling, just enough to make the drive picturesque, not enough to make the roads slippery. We headed north on the highway, and I felt a familiar intangible sense of loss as we passed beyond the range of Hel’s sphere of influence, the world becoming a little more drab, a little more gray, as magic leached out of it.

I thought about what Dufreyne had said about me carrying the underworld within myself, too. It didn’t feel like it, or at least I didn’t think so. But then again, maybe it wasn’t something you could feel. Maybe it just was. I remembered bad things happening when I had temper tantrums as a toddler.

It was one of the reasons Mom had decided to move to Pemkowet, where the community was considerably more understanding.

Anyway.

Unsurprisingly, Macy’s was crowded. Mom made a beeline for the outerwear section, slipping deftly through the throng and flipping through the racks. I checked out the price tags. Even at forty percent off, these were expensive coats. Maybe not to everyone, but they were to me, and I felt guilty.

“Mom, you really don’t have to do this,” I said in a stage whisper, pointing at a tag. “Come on, let’s go!”

She gave me an absent look, pulling a beautifully tailored red wool coat with a luxuriant fur collar from the rack. “What do you think of this one?”

“I think it’s gorgeous,” I said. “And too expensive.”

Mom held it up in front of me and squinted. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s not that bad. The trim’s fake. They’re doing amazing things with faux fur these days. Try it on.”

I hesitated.

She gave me a non-absent look. “Just indulge me. Okay?”

“Okay, okay!”

I tried the coat on. It looked fantastic. I looked fantastic. I looked sultry and grown-up and polished. Somehow the vibrant red hue worked with my black, black eyes, while tendrils of my white-blond hair escaping to spill over the glossy dark-brown fur collar made for the perfect contrast. All I needed was a fur hat and a slash of crimson lipstick to go the full Dr. Zhivago. Oh, and maybe a muff and a troika.

Behind me, Mom regarded me with a complicated mixture of pride and rue. Catching me looking, she raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

I sighed.

Sensing a sale in the offing, one of the clerks on the floor swooped down on us. “Isn’t that coat to die for?” she gushed. “And darling, let me tell you, it looks fabulous on you!”

“We’ll take it,” Mom said firmly.

We took our purchase and departed. The snow was coming down a bit heavier on the drive home.

“So when do I get to meet this Stefan Ludovic?” Mom asked, concentrating on the road. “He sounds . . . interesting.”

That was putting it mildly. Of course, she knew who Stefan was. After Stefan and his broadsword did battle against the axe-wielding specter of Talman Brannigan’s reanimated corpse last Halloween, everyone in Pemkowet knew who he was. But at Mom’s gentle prodding, I’d filled her in on a little of Stefan’s backstory on our outbound journey. Not the whole thing, but just enough to reassure her that I knew what I was dealing with.