They stopped by a few familiar stalls to collect food for their picnic, Dicentra on Uly’s arm and a wicker basket looped through Dicentra’s elbow. The shopkeepers turned pink whenever Di spoke, pleased as punch whenever they were rewarded a smile or laugh. They snagged the odd free item that way and got a discount for others—all to see Dicentra glow. Dicentra was effortlessly charming even without the use of her magic.

Some recognized her and reached out to touch her hand as they passed food into the basket’s mouth. “Miss Rosenthal, we missed you. Your family said you’d taken ill.”

Dicentra beamed. “No need to worry, I’m ill no more.”

There was a difference for Uly, too. She hadn’t gone into town much since the ritual, preferring the seclusion of Jhira’s cottage and its fields or beach while they adjusted to their new body. 

Ulysses used to disappear next to Dicentra. It never bothered her, but now people spared her a glance—apprehension, other times curious or admiring, sometimes even jealousy, but always with something. It reminded her of when she’d first arrived on the Material Plane, how people could just sense the off-ness about her. 

Having Dicentra on her arm made her feel like the luckiest person on the peninsula. With the surety of their bond and the devoted affection of a devil, she felt unstoppable. Nobody could overlook her anymore. Power had a tangibility, and some of Dicentra’s had shed off on her. It was in her blood now.

Goods collected, they broke away from the town along the road—north from Flora Isle, away from vacationers and tourists. When the murmur of civilization receded into the whispers of birdsong and wind over willowy grass and distant waves, Dicentra sighed.

“I’m sorry I was delayed,” she said, squeezing closer. “You probably already guessed, but it was my father. Logistics and things. He expected me to eventually return to the Hells, but not because I'd be regenerating.”

“I thought so.”

“He was displeased about the sword, to put it mildly—but he doesn’t know enough about the magic to risk unmaking it in case it could harm me, and as I said before, it’s easier to ask for his forgiveness than permission. I knew he wouldn’t punish me or even blame you for making a pact with me. I think a part of him privately thinks I’m using you, or hopes so.”

“So he won’t turn up and try to kill me?”

“Not without a better cause. He knows you’re more useful now than before. I expect him to turn up, just not to hurt you.” ‘Again’ hovered in the air like a biting fly. 

"What can I expect, then?"

"He may want to use your new magic for different work here on the Material Plane."

Ulysses sighed. "Anything to get in his good graces."

Dicentra stroked their arm. "Don't say anything. Save that for me."

"Jhira wants to know when we'll head back to Port Damali."