We sat at a new card table with padded folding chairs. Not ideal, but cheap and easy to move around as we renegotiated space in the condo.

I drowned my self-disgust and anxiety about being part demon in work. My own and schooling my daughters.

Allie was out doing Allie things. She was due to return to Cape Cod the next day and had lots of last minute stuff to do in setting up the purchase of a house she and Steve liked.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Phonetia complained. She turned her head away and folded her arms across her chest.

I felt her confusion as a solid barrier between my mind and hers.

E.T. at least tried looking at the squiggling lines upside down.

“They do make sense if you know what to look for,” I said patiently. Back to basics. First grade level math. More like kindergarten.

I looked around for inspiration. My gaze lighted upon a bowl of apples and nuts on the counter. I grabbed it and set it in front of me at the table.

“This is one apple.” I held up the red and gold Jonagold before them.

“That’s obvious,” Phonetia snorted, arms still wrapped around her, physically separating herself from our activities.

“Still obvious if I record it on the paper.” I drew a neat one on a clean sheet of paper. Then I put a plus mark beside it. “Just as obvious if I add a second apple. I put the two pieces of fruit at the center of the table and drew a second numeral one on paper. Then I put in the equals sign.

Phonetia reached over, grabbed a pencil awkwardly, and made two randomly angled scratches to the right of the equal sign.

“Right thinking, but we have a more sophisticated method of keeping track. Two apples.” I replaced her hash marks with a neat two.

“Totally illogical.” Phonetia turned away.

“What if you have seventy-two apples? That’s a lot of marks to count. What if I sent you to the store to buy six apples, eight nuts, five oranges, and two carrots? How would you keep track?”

“I’d remember!”

E.T. continued to peer at the problem from all angles, comparing the new sheet to the first one. “There! That’s the same.” She pointed to the correct equation.

“Let’s back up one more step.” I started over listing the numerals for one through twenty. I’d just closed the zero on the last one when the doorbell rang.

“Scrap?”

No answer. Where had he taken himself off to while I worked with the girls?

“Nope,” I replied. “Who’s at the door?”

Curiouser and curiouser. He popped in and out. Go ahead and open it, he almost chattered in excitement.

“Gollum?” I asked, almost hopeful and dreading the encounter at the same time.

I left the security chain on and opened the door a minimal crack.

“Delivery for Tess Non ... non ... crux ...”

“Noncoiré,” I corrected the youngish man in striped overalls with Cooper’s emblazoned above the breast pocket. He had curly dark hair and just a hint of a Latino accent.

“What?”

Just open the damn door and see, Scrap commanded.

I sensed the girls gathering at my back, staying close. Fear wafted off them in almost visible waves. Visible to me anyway.

“Delivery of what?” I asked, getting ready to slam the door closed.

“I need a signature before I haul it all up three flights,” the man from Cooper’s grumbled. He held up a clipboard for me to see a stack of carbonless receipts. He returned the clipboard under his arm before I could read it.

But I’d seen his wrists. No demon tattoos on the inside or outside of either of them.

Cautiously, I opened the door. Scrap flashed several shades of lustful green.

“Don’t sign it, Tess,” Donovan said, clomping up the stairs. He hefted a long narrow box under each arm.

“Why not?” I wasn’t about to sign for anything I hadn’t ordered. But if Donovan said no, I needed to say yes just to be perverse.

“Because any gift from Lady Lucia comes with tangled strings attached.” He topped the last riser and rebalanced the boxes. The writing on them suggested they might be lamps.

“The only contract in this transaction is between me and Lucia Continelli’s bank. Her credit card cleared. That’s all I care about,” Doreen Cooper countered as she came up behind Donovan. She carried bed pillows with comforters and sheets balanced on top of them.

“Let me see the clipboard.” I reached out a hand for it.

The man in coveralls relinquished it reluctantly.

“Start bringing up the rest of it,” Doreen ordered him. “I’ll handle the paperwork.”

“What’s this about?” I asked, scanning the delivery order. Two twin beds with mattresses and linens, two nightstands with lamps, two dressers, two student desks with more lamps. One Craftsman-style, round oak table with six matching chairs.

I gasped as I flipped through the pages. No contracts, no subtext.

“Oh, and there’s a note,” Doreen fumbled with her awkward burden trying to fish in her pocket. Donovan reached in and retrieved an envelope of rich creamy paper, the weight and texture of a wedding invitation. A familiar crowned embossed C on a sticker closed the flap.

I reached for the note with shaking hands.

“My apologies,” I read in Lucia’s florid hand. “A small token to ease you through the transition.” Below that, her signature took up half the page.

“Small token?” I gulped. I knew how much that table and chairs cost. The rest of the stuff on the list doubled the price. At least.

When I tried to stuff the folded note back inside the envelope it caught on something. I pulled out a second piece of paper. A check. One thousand dollars in US currency, also signed in Lucia’s elegant calligraphy. On the memo line she’d neatly printed “For clothing.”

“We also have orders to help you move your office into the living room, clearing that room for the new furniture,” Doreen added. “That’s why I brought extra muscle.” She nodded toward Donovan.

There was some subtext there I was too stunned to examine closely. Not that I cared. Donovan was no longer a part of my life. And never would be again.

Still ...

He scowled. “You didn’t have to come,” he complained.

“Yes, I did. Lady Lucia ordered. I obey. May we come in, Tess?”

“Yes, you may.” I stepped back—almost treading on Phonetia’s toes—and opened the door wide.

“What’s going on here, Tess,” Donovan asked the moment he’d cleared the doorway. He totally ignored Phonetia and E.T. who had retreated to the balcony, barefoot and coatless in the chill November damp. Not unusual for them, I’d learned.

“That is between Lady Lucia and me,” I replied. No way was I going to relate our adventures in demonland two days ago.

“You can’t trust her, Tess.”

“Again, that is between Lady Lucia and myself. None of your concern, Donovan.”

“I want it to be my concern,” he choked out in a tight whisper. He finally looked at the girls. After a quick but thorough assessment, he checked over his shoulder to see where Doreen was.

More subtext. I had an idea what was going on. After my last rejection he’d gone running to the nearest willing female. A typical pattern for him. But he wasn’t banking on that relationship if he could crawl back into my good graces.

Doreen was welcome to him.

“Did you know that Lady Lucia has hired staff and rented office space in her hotel in downtown Portland?” Doreen asked.

“I know she has business in town.”

“Doesn’t look like she’s leaving any time soon,” Donovan added. “I need to know why.”

“Not necessarily. Her agenda has nothing to do with you or your grand plans.” I signed the receipts with page ripping determination and handed the clipboard back to Doreen as she prowled the rooms with a decorator’s eye. She ripped off the bottom copy and handed it to me. “At least I don’t have to worry about clashing with your décor. I can start from scratch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just planning on how to rearrange things. I suppose the television is necessary with teenagers in the house, but I’d rather not have to work around it.”

“Just dump everything. I’ll manage to put everything where I want it.” Anger began to boil up from my gut.

“I have my orders. Lady Lucia said to set it all right before leaving. You aren’t supposed to have to do any extra work.”

“That must be one huge favor she owes you,” Donovan said. He raised one eyebrow practically begging me to tell him all.

“Fine, do what you want. I expect the work to be complete when I return in one hour. Lock up when you leave. Come on, girls. Shoes and jackets. We have some errands to do. Then you can have a walk in the park.”

“Can we pick up litter?” E.T. asked meekly.