It’s way past midnight by the time I get home, hours of walking through the suburbs and hiding from neighbourhood watch drones just to find a bus that’d take me to Brookline, and I still have to walk half an hour through suburbia. I do it all with a hammering heart and a smile. Either a cop is going to be waiting at my door with a pair of handcuffs, or that went really good.

  “Vern!” I shout when I get home. “Vern, you up?”

  I hear him groan, mumble something from where he’s laying on the couch, two joints rolled on the table, his guitar on his lap, half written songs on the table, and Vivi, his chocolate Lab, curled up at his feet. “I was waiting,” he says, smiling the kind of smile you get by knowing your orthodontist’s cat’s name. “How’d it go?”

  “In and out with basically no trouble. I got a couple harddrives, no idea if there’s anything juicy on them but, maybe?”

  “Nice. Take them to- um- what’s her name.”

  “Sazwa,” I remember her, he mentioned her before, and I’m not one to forget a name. I pet Vivi, who turns his head to accept scratches without opening his eyes. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

  “Where’s squishboy?” he asks.

  “I think he’s still in the cameras? He didn’t follow me out. And I met this weird- statue lady-”

  “You lost him?” He asks, and sits up.

  “He probably got chewed up by the security, what am I gonna do about it, turn around and scream and shout for him?” I ask. “This statue right, she looks like Medusa and she’s telling me about the version of the myth that she likes most and she says this thing about a textbook and someone named Emmy Noether and I looked her up and she’s like a old german mathematician-"

  “Why didn’t you wait for him to follow you?”

  “Cause he wasn’t coming. He’s a moth, he can fly home, Vern,” I say. “He dies twice a week anyways, you don’t need to get precious with him now.”

  “Yeah, but I kill him, cause he’s mine. I leant him to you. You know what the hunt can do with a live familiar? What a witch could?”

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  “Oh my god vern he got zapped by the antivirus, you could summon him again right now if you wanted,”

  He stares at me. The Kanji tattoo on his neck glows a vivid green, and squishboy pulls itself out, does a lap in the air and lands on his shoulder. Somehow Vern looks angrier, rather than relieved. “I can summon him this time. Next time, before you walk away, you text me so I can be sure. Just a butterfly emoji, or something.”

  “Okay?” I say. “I’m sorry?”

  “You want to say that with some fucking respect in your mouth?” Vern asks.

  “I nearly got shot, by the way,” I say. “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t be like that-” he whines.

  “I’m going to bed, it’s been a long day,” I say. “Are you sleeping on the couch, or am I?”

  “We’ll both sleep in the bed,” he says. “Sorry you’re upset. Tell me about this statue thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say. None of this matters. It was an errand, I did it, the end. “I’m sorry about squishboy, I’m being a bitch, sorry.”

  He sits up, puts a hand on my hip. “How sorry are you?”

  “This is not roleplay.”

  “It could be,” he says, fingers gliding under my shirt. “We could take this to the playroom.”

  “A tempting offer,” I admit. “But it’s already two, last time was four hours, and I got work in the morning.”

  “Come on, you can call in sick.”

  “I’m not losing my job,”

  “I can take care of us,” he says, between kisses up my navel. “That job pays shit, why do you go back to it?”

  “I like it,” I say. “I want to take care of myself.”

  “You shouldn’t have to, Harvey, people are gonna think I’m not treating you right.” There’s a long pause, my fingers stop combing his hair. “What?”

  “Say my name.”

  “You told me you don’t care when people use Harvey.”

  “I don’t!” I yell. Vivi jolts awake, stares guiltily at the two of us. I soften my voice, let him lick my hand and then pet him reassuringly. “You’re not people, Vern.”

  “H-bomb, we don’t gotta do this tonight.”

  “Alright, enjoy your couch, good night, my wonderful, supportive boyfriend.”

  “Babe- babe!” he calls. “Real fucking mature,” he mutters once he thinks I can’t hear.

  I toss in bed for a while, too angry to be tired. I look up a textbook company, find an employee's address, scribble up my letter, then give up on it before I go to sleep. Maybe someday, somebody will like the work I do for them.

  I’m not supposed to be where I am. Working hard, doing good, keeping clean- relatively speaking- and I’m still going to spend the night angry and alone. And tomorrow I’m going to apologize, he’s going to win.

  Because he’s got money, stability, magic, and I don’t. Because he’s a witch, and I’m just borrowing from him.