Cupid & The Cursed Cup (WAYHAUGHT)

Chapter 13

Waverly woke to Nicole's snoring about to nudge her when she remembered why they were there. She leaned over, kissing her on the forehead, Nicole stirring. "See, can't keep your lips off me."

That earned her a thump. "I'm not doing this every time you're about to die, do you hear me?"

"I hear you. And, back to those lips."

"In a moment. I've got to say this. It's been on my mind all night."

"That I'm a fantastic kisser. Best you've had."

Waverly howled. "N, stop, I'm being serious. I nearly got you killed. I can't do this. Whatever this is, I'm in over my head. I'm ringing my editor, telling her I'm stepping away from the story."

"You're already in too deep. Now, let's focus on those lips shall we."

"What if you had died? What then?"

"Tricky. Wouldn't get my lips. Mind you, Rosita quite likes you. Could have hers, I suppose."

"That's really hurtful. My whole life is upside down. I'm...and, all you can do is make fun."

Nicole knew she had gone too far, her hand reaching out, the gesture brushed off. She attempted to sit up, wincing, lying down again. "That was cruel of me. I spoke out of turn. And, with a little jealousy."

"Of Ros?"

Nicole could see a smile forming. "What? Tell me."

"Oh, nothing," Waverly replied. "Only, you'd better be nice to me from now on. Otherwise..."

"Otherwise?"

"Otherwise, I might just go find myself a demigod who treats me better."

"Don't you dare. I'm all the demigod you need."

"Prove it."

With that, Nicole pulled Waverly down towards her, making sure she knew she was adored.

Nicole managed to make it downstairs by the time Auntie arrived, looking drawn, her side still throbbing, Nan refusing to give her any of her special vodka. A few choice words from Auntie and Nicole relented, looking like a chastised child much to Waverly's amusement.

Waverly offered to give Auntie a lift back to the boat. She thanked her, saying Nan would do so later, hugging the pair, instructing Nicole to rest. Nicole was still weak. The wound inflicted had taken a greater toll on her body than she wanted to admit to Waverly. She knew she needed more time to heal, that this injury was different, drawing on her reserves, pulling her down into the dark world. She would do her best to shield Waverly from the oncoming storm, but she feared those who sought to harness the powers of sixty nine imprisoned demons were growing too strong for her and the others to fight on their own.

Holliday wanted answers. First to arrive at the police station, he paced his office, a third mug of coffee almost finished, increasingly frustrated by everything going on at the cathedral. He had little to go on. Tenuous leads at best. A supposed lodger of the warden's mentioned in passing and those mysterious figures in cahoots with that journalist. He called Waverly's phone again, a futile exercise, given she left it on her desk in the rush to Nan's.

Waverly opened the door to her house, a single plain white business envelope on the mat as she entered. Picking it up, she studied it, not entirely sure why someone would have hand-delivered it through her letterbox. Possibly from her editor, or someone at the newspaper, she guessed, although her name and address had been typed on what appeared to be an old typewriter. No one at the Mercury owned a typewriter, as far as she knew.