Note: Ash did apologize to her: once. When he was alone. He gave that memory to Newt. They all do.

In Which Ash Still Isn't Sorry

It's true; you can never go home again.

Especially when you've done your best to forget that demons blew most of it up the last time you were there.

OK, so they hadn't blown up the entire loft. I'd been hysterical at the time, so the memories were a little distorted. Al had focused on destroying my spelling kitchen, because he'd given me some fairly dangerous and valuable ingredients over the years which he didn't want falling into the wrong hands. Or rather, which he wanted to save for the kind of hands, wrong or otherwise, who would pay out the nose for such rare goodies. He'd also raided my shelves for other rare magical knick-knacks and books… before declaring my meager stash of such a real disappointment.

Ash, on the other hand, took great pleasure in destroyingboth of the beautiful, expensive slate summoning circles that I used to bind him and protect myself, ostensibly to kill any hope I'd had of repeating my teenage escape from him. They were the best quality protection circles money could buy, with precision laser-cut rings inlaid with some proprietary blend of salts within heavily ensorcelled resin, and Ash had freaking melted them. The melting point of slate, I'd been reassured by the manufacturers, was 2300 degrees Fahrenheit, well able to withstand any spell or curse known to witch- or demonkind. But while I was protected from magical energy, physics still applied: the sheer heat transfer through the stone would have quickly turned demon-proof protection into Ash's personal Easy Bake Blast Furnace. And the point was that he could have done that at any time he'd been free and I'd been smugly sealed in my little bubble, thinking myself safe. It only cemented the point that demons played games with their summoners. All the wheeling and dealing and restraint were simply self-imposed rules the demons used to make their games more challenging.

Now, staring at the deformed remains of the two "demon-proof" slabs, I was tempted to go and demand my money back. I guess the manufacturers probably didn't get much customer feedback from clients whose demon-summoning circles had failed them, did they? "Did you have to melt my circles?" I crabbed. "Do you know how much I paid for those things?"

"It was worth it to see the look on your face," Ash said, giving me a fond squeeze. "And you could buy better ones at the mall with a single tulpa."

It had been bothering me for some time. "I get why you had fun playing with me, but why didn't Devi or Al just do the same thing, first time they had the chance?"

"You mean why didn't they force you out of your circle with heat or cold? That'd be cheating. The game is that you either find an obvious weakness in the construction of the circle itself, or you entice them to come out willingly." He grinned, that cheeky, roguish grin that always melted me, even when he was discussing terrifying subjects like this one. "We're going to have to add a rule about cell phones, soon. It's getting too easy."

I snorted. "Can't have that, can we?"

The rest of the place had been swept and emptied, with no sign of a new tenant. Squinting up into the darkness of the open upper loft where my living quarters had been, I made out stacks of cardboard boxes labeled esoteric things like "clothes" and "books" and "misc" that presumably held my stuff. It made sense that my landlady wasn't in a hurry to replace her demon-napped tenant — whenever I'd gotten a large windfall, I'd put it toward rent. The place was paid up until the end of the year, and few folks would be eager to rent a place that still reeked of burnt amber. Maybe she held out hope that I'd come back. I'd been alive and kicking when I'd been dragged off, after all.

While I was relieved that she hadn't just chucked the leftovers of my life into the nearest dumpster, the tidy, empty place didn't feel like home anymore. Truthfully, nowhere felt like home anymore. Ash's offer of the empty room suddenly plucked at my throat, and I swallowed. Assuming it didn't collapse in the near future, could I build a real home of my own in the Ever After? Did I want to?

I climbed the spiral staircase to the second floor, which took up only half of the space of the apartment and left the rest with a lovely high ceiling. Up here I had my bedroom and study. The minifridge, freezer, and microwave combination had been my "real" kitchen, as I was no chef. They'd been emptied and unplugged. I caught sight of the empty perch near the bed and sighed. Until now I'd mostly managed to not think about the fate of my old familiar, a sulfur-crested cockatoo I'd named Miette. I'd learned not to get too attached to my familiars, as I had a terrible habit of accidentally killing them by drawing too much power through them — something that made sense in retrospect, since I wasn't actually a witch, but a demon. The lifespans of my familiars had increased when I'd taught myself my faulty spindling technique, and Miette had been with me for nearly six years. She had been a messy eater; thus her name, which meant "crumb."

Trying not to think about poor Miette— whether she'd starved or pined away, or whether the shock of separation from her "witch" when Ash had taken her place as familiar had killed her suddenly — I began digging through the boxes marked "clothes." After several months of wearing Ash's modified menswear, goofy academic robes, and scratchy Mesopotamian blankets, I figured I would happily wear just about anything. But my functional, uninspired wardrobe was utterly depressing in comparison. Really? Did I own pants in any color other than black? Did I even own a funny T-shirt? Damn. Nothing but sober, straightforward, drab garb that screamed "unmemorable" and "unimaginative." I'd spent my money on booze and casinos, when I wasn't saving up for worthless witch protection circles. The clothing came from thrift stores and catalogs. It hadn't fit me well at the time; it certainly didn't go well at all now with my new, younger face and youthful figure.

I didn't mourn my old life. No sadness, no longing to go back to what I'd been. For thirty years, I'd focused on vengeance… then, giving that up, I'd focused on helping others to atone for my sins. The guilt had always defined me, kept me from forming real relationships with anyone. I'd establish a place, dig in, and hide myself from the world. Sure, there had been friends and high points, and I'd enjoyed teaching at times. But there had also been countless dark nights alone, some spent absolutely pissed and puking, others spent shivering under the spell of the stalking panic that never really slept.

No wonder I hadn't missed my old life. Had it really been all that much of a life, anyway? Was there even anything worth keeping?

Well, if I survived all this, I'd treat myself to a new wardrobe. I didn't need to hide under a layer of camouflage and personal neglect any longer. It was time to start living — and who knew how much time I had left, anyway? As I ditched the blanket-thneed and got dressed, my eyes were drawn to the small set of shelves near my bed, where I'd kept a few things I valued. These, too, were presumably packed up somewhere in the boxes.

I jumped when Ash put a hand on my arm, and realized I'd been standing still, idly staring at the empty shelf for a few minutes. "Evie?"

Why was I staring at that stupid shelf? I'd come here intending to retrieve these things, too, but couldn't dredge up enough energy to care now. They were meaningless. I let out a sigh, feeling myself blush. "I was so stupid. I, ah, I kept some things here. Stuff I got from people I'd helped. As a reminder that I've done some good things." I felt strangely shy telling Ash the next part. "I also kept some stuff you left behind over the years. The story I told myself was that I was going to use them in spells that needed a focus, if I ever got mad enough at you. The truth was, I needed them near me. It made life more bearable. It kept me from calling you, during the times I wasn't quite awake or in control."

Ash was quiet for a long moment. "The compulsion," he said, voice toneless.

"Yeah." I stared hard at the empty shelf, then turned to him. "I hate that you did that to me, Ash."

He looked back unflinchingly. "I know."

I waited, but he had nothing else to say. "Do you wish you hadn't done it?"

"It was a mistake in many ways, but it would be disingenuous for me, when I have benefited from it so greatly, to say that I wish I hadn't done it." His eyes traveled to my lips, which I could feel were tight with displeasure, then back to my eyes. "In my defense, when I discovered I was mistaken and that it had in fact taken quite well, I undid it immediately."

I folded my arms, but I knew he wasn't going to offer any more apology than that. "I couldn't understand why I wanted you. I couldn't understand how I could be so freaking messed up!"

He lifted a hand. "All I did was give you a mild subconscious addiction to the venom. You wanted more of it. Your mind supplied the reasons to explain it, not me."

I thought about the strange urgency my mind had always had toward him. He was right, that was all it was. Minds are good at playing such games. I'd read somewhere that we've already made any decision seconds before we consciously realize it, and it's the job of our conscious minds to come up with the logical reasons why our purely emotional subconscious decision was correct. My brain had explained the attraction to Ash in any number of ways, telling me I deserved punishment by him, telling me I hated him, telling me I desired him… And perhaps now it told me I loved him. Had I already decided the feeling was love, and everything I'd done since was an elaborate justification?

My irritation only increased when Ash added, "Had we not been compatible, it would have had no effect."

"It was still messing with my head. It was still wrong!"

"It was. Though all communication is manipulation, in more subtle ways," he said, eyes intense.

My mouth was beginning to ache and I forced it to relax. "I'm still addicted," I said, thinking of the venom floating around my system even as we spoke.

His lips twitched a little. "No, you are an adult now. The effects are lessened." His face grew more serious. "It is taboo to expose a child." I waited with raised eyebrows, but he just raised one in return. "Had I known your true nature at the time, I would not have done it."

I bristled. "You're not going to apologize, are you?"

"No." He smiled, and it wasn't mocking, but amused at how riled I was getting.

"Immortality means never having to say you're sorry?" I asked skeptically.

"What difference do two words make? They change nothing. I can't change the past. None of us can."

"It'd let me know you care that you hurt me," I snapped. "That you regret it—"

His smile was almost gentle now, because I'd seen just how idiotic that statement was. Demons don't feel regret. "I care. But 'sorry' would indicate a remorse I don't feel," he said, hand brushing my hair. "You know we never apologize. Everyone would know an apology for the lie it was."

I opened my mouth to snap something thoughtless, then closed it again, because the concept of an entire society that never apologized was as baffling as a society that never said "I love you." "Seriously? Then what do you do when you did something to piss someone off without meaning to?"

"It takes a lot to really piss off a demon," he said. "Look at it this way, Evie. We've all known each other for millennia. We all loathe and love each other in equal measure. And we're all predictable. There's just no point getting murderously bent out of shape about petty annoyances and backstabbing and gossip. Those of us who did couldn't survive the centuries."

"OK, what if you did mean to hurt someone enough to really piss them off?"

Now his grin turned feral. "Then it was a calculated move in the great game that never ends."

I shook my head, conceding the point. "It sounds exhausting."

"It's entertainment. Boredom kills."

"I can't just let things go like that."

"You must, if you want to survive immortality."

"You've taken your anger out on summoners," I pointed out.

"They," Ash said, taking my upper arms in a gentle but firm hold and pulling me against him, "are playing a different game. They think they are the masters and we are the slaves. That can never be forgiven or forgotten."

I contemplated this, looking up at his now familiar red eyes with their goat-slitted pupils. "Ash, I never treated you as a slave."

He tilted his head. "No…? I seem to recall you trapping me in circles several times during our acquaintance. Not to mention all the summonings—"

"You came to me! You gave me your name! You as good as begged me to summon you, damnit!" I poked him in the chest for emphasis. "For Pete's sake, I was your friggin' secretary for years! Appointment book and everything!"

"You still played the game, my sweet Yvette," he murmured, leaning forward to brush lips against my temple. "Better than most. I drew out the game for longer than I ever have before, with you… but all summoners lose in the end." This last was breathed into my ear, making me squirm inside and out.

"Only because you cheated and broke your own rules." My voice was a lot breathier than I'd intended, and I felt Ash grin against my ear. "You could only kill me or let me die, but you never actually caught me. I gave in and went with you willingly."

Ash pulled back and fixed me with his smolder, and I started going achy and warm from the inside out. "I outsmarted you," he said, smirk fading into soft-lipped intensity.

"I let you." So many veils had fallen from my eyes today, and standing in my old apartment, and here was one more. It had always been about Ash, myriad justifications be damned. I helped people, I cultivated relationships with other demons, all to hide my single-minded desire under the trappings of another occupation. The woman who prided herself on seeing so clearly, on being above petty games — how could I have been so blind!? "I was only alive on the nights I summoned you, held you wrapped tight in my circle, only a molecule's width apart. But I couldn't just give in. I'll never choose to be a slave, and that's what you'd have made me."

"Had you been a witch, yes." Ash maintained the smolder, though there was a thoughtful crease between his brows. "Although… perhaps I was looking for more, myself. I cannot otherwise explain the depth of my rage, the night I finally brought you home."

I couldn't help the grimace that accompanied that memory, though I warmed all over at the thought that Ash really had been partial to me before all the craziness started. I still had trouble really believing it. "You've never apologized for trying to steal my soul either, you know," I said, giving him another playful poke.

"I will never apologize for the action that lead me to discover your true nature, thus keeping me from making matters irretrievably worse," he countered reasonably, a little quirk teasing his lips.

I humphed, though secretly I was crowing inside, because I'd just realized why I wasn't bothered by his honesty. Because it meant that he'd stopped with the games and the petty deceptions meant to keep me ignorant and dependent on him… It meant that he was finally treating me as another demon, someone worthy of his respect. Lust is one thing, emotion another, but respect and trust are truly the treasures of all interactions, human or otherwise. "I didn't lose," I insisted. "In fact, I'd say we both won."

I could actually see his fangs extending now as he smiled, felt the tightening of his grip, and heard the catch in his breath. "Oh, no. I won. I always win, and now I am going to do something I've wanted to do for years, little summoner: I am going to drag you down those stairs, bend you over that damned circle of yours, and take you until you are hoarse from screaming my name."

Oh, God. Every muscle I had turned into so much goo from the heat that spiraled from my core up into my cheeks. But his cheekiness couldn't go unanswered; I, too, had fantasies that had never been voiced, and now I was finally free to indulge them. "The hell you are, demon." His eyebrows shot up as I gave him a little shove. His knees hit the bed and he sat, blinking. "I'm going to seduce you, on my own bed, and make you come until you can't move a muscle from sheer exhaustion."

Ash's eyes went a little glassy as he glanced at the bed, then back at me, and his lips parted in a low, throaty groan. The kiss held a storm of emotions made all the more untamable by the release of acceptance. I pushed, intending to force him down, but he resisted. He glanced back again, then took a firm grip on my hair so he could get better access to my throat. His lips found the little wound he'd made earlier, and his ministrations there finally did make my knees collapse in a rush of sheer, exhilarated pleasure. But then he unexpectedly lifted me up in an unbreakable grip. The world blurred and whirled perilously, ending with a jolt that shook me to the bone. Ash had skipped the stairs and simply leapt over the rail that separated the floors. "We'll do your fantasy later," he growled, as I felt cold, warped stone slab beneath my heated skin. "It's not your bed anyway. Not anymore."

…aaaand that's when Madam Lavallière's Haunted History tour group strolled in.