Chapter 15: Tea with the Ex and Other Catastrophes
Lucien had battled spectral kings, danced with flame sprites, and survived a dinner party with three cursed dukes and a possessed harp. But nothing—and he meant nothing—prepared him for the tap-tap-tap of long nails on the enchanted oak door of Ashvine Manor that fateful morning.
Maribel, wearing one of his oversized robes and sipping honeyed nettle tea, opened the door with her usual grace.
The visitor smiled like mischief bottled in mortal form.
"Hello, darling," she said. "I'm Vespera. Lucien's ex-fiancée."
Maribel blinked. "His what?"
From upstairs, Lucien groaned. "Oh gods, not again."
Maribel raised her cup and took a slow sip. "You have ten seconds to explain."
Vespera swept into the foyer like she owned it, trailing a cloak of black feathers and perfume that smelled of sin and cinnamon.
"I brought scones," she added. "And maybe a death wraith. But mostly scones."
Lucien appeared moments later in a half-buttoned shirt, a long list of curses under his breath. He stopped cold when he saw Maribel standing with arms crossed beside Vespera, who was already helping herself to the cursed marmalade.
"You faked your own death," Maribel said. "To get out of marrying this?"
"In my defense," Lucien muttered, "she tried to make me into a decorative crypt."
Vespera smiled fondly. "It was a symbolic gesture."
"You threatened to mount my skull on a velvet cushion."
"It matched the drapes."
Maribel raised an eyebrow.
Lucien raised both hands. "We were engaged. My mother arranged it. I didn't love her. So I faked death, relocated my bones, and performed a one-man show called I'm Not Into You That Way in the spirit realm."
"I got front-row seats," Vespera added. "Five stars."
Maribel took another sip of tea. "And why, pray tell, are you here now?"
Vespera leaned back on the antique sofa, which promptly growled and tried to bite her. She kicked it calmly in the leg.
"I heard the universe is trying to kill you two. Thought I'd help. Also, I may have dropped a cursed ring in your wine cellar."
Lucien rubbed his temples.
Maribel, to her own surprise, laughed.
The death wraith turned out to be a gangly adolescent specter named Calvin who spoke exclusively in existential poetry and wept ash when complimented.
"I am the echo of regret / Screaming in your cutlery drawer," Calvin sobbed as Maribel read his latest verse.
"That's… evocative," she said gently. "But maybe try fewer screaming spoons."
"I'm uncutlery-able!" Calvin cried, flinging himself against the manor wall.
Lucien handed him a blanket and some sage. "Go haunt the attic like a normal ghost."
Calvin sniffled. "Fine."
Maribel patted his head. "We'll read your next draft next week."
That night, Vespera hosted a dinner.
"I figured we should have a civilized talk before the next celestial horror drops by," she said sweetly, stirring soup with a dagger.
Lucien eyed his bowl. "Is that… glowing?"
"It's passionfruit and latent chaos," she said. "And maybe just a hint of soul fragment."
Maribel took a polite bite. "Tastes like sarcasm."
Vespera beamed. "I missed you."
"I've never met you before."
"Exactly. So refreshing."
Three days later, as if summoned by the universe's most spiteful scheduler, a rift opened in the sky.
Out of it descended a creature made of law, logic, and malicious paperwork: the Auditor of Cosmic Affairs.
It looked like a humanoid pile of contracts with teeth. It spoke in bureaucratic thunder.
"YOU HAVE VIOLATED CLAUSE 8-B: ILLEGAL INTERPLANAR AFFECTION. REMEDY: TIMELINE PURGE INITIATED."
Lucien blinked. "You're sending a… cosmic accountant?"
The Auditor raised a celestial ledger.
"ONE OF YOU MUST BE ERASED."
Maribel grabbed Lucien's hand. "No."
"NONCOMPLIANCE DETECTED. INITIATING PARADOX PROTOCOL."
That's when Vespera threw her soup bowl—exploding it midair—and lunged.
"Not today, pencil neck."
What followed was less a battle and more a high-stakes magical debate with occasional explosions.
Vespera fought with cursed ribbons and burning sarcasm. Maribel rewrote sections of the Auditor's contract mid-spell. Lucien animated every inanimate object in the room—including a surprisingly heroic teapot.
The Auditor faltered.
"You are not authorized—"
Lucien cut in, flipping pages in the spellbook of Forbidden Rhetoric. "According to Sub-Clause 72-F, we are."
The Auditor shrieked as the words turned on him.
"ERROR. ERROR. LOVE LOOPHOLE DETECTED."
With a final scream, it vanished.
Maribel and Lucien collapsed into each other's arms, covered in ink, feathers, and magical glitter.
Vespera flopped onto the sofa, triumphant.
"I am never this helpful twice," she muttered. "You owe me pie."
"You saved us," Maribel admitted.
Vespera yawned. "Only because you two are ridiculous. Honestly. Love? In this economy?"
The next morning, Lucien found Maribel staring at the sunrise.
She turned to him, soft-eyed. "Why do you think we keep surviving?"
Lucien kissed her temple. "Because we're stubborn. And maybe… because we're what the world needs. Even if it doesn't know it."
"And her?"
Vespera appeared in the doorway, holding a mug that said "Hex First, Ask Questions Never."
"She's the chaos we didn't ask for," Lucien said. "But maybe the one we need."
Maribel smirked. "I'm still not letting her in the spell lab."
"Agreed."