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“I'm the one with the magic tongue. The one who's been tasting the Dead for twenty years. And it was me--- not you--- that brought one of them back. What've you ever done, Spiritual Artist? Burned some incense? Shuffled some cards? Made a snap judgment about someone and used it to give them bad advice?" Maura glared at him for a deafening moment, something hot simmering behind her eyes. "You have no idea the things I've done." "Try me." "Hard pass." She gave a small, mean smirk. "Fine. Whatever." He slid his chair back, stood up. "But if it'd been me," she added, "tasting those spirits? I sure as hell wouldn't wait twenty years to do something about it." "That's not fair." "No? You just said you didn't try anything till last week. And the result got you so spooked you're, what, consulting a party psychic? Well. You already got my advice, so here's a snap judgment. You're a coward, Konstantin. Afraid of your own potential. More interested in self-preservation than making any sort of meaningful connection. You're paralyzed by--- oh, I dunno?--- something in your past? Death of a loved one? Am I warm? Yeah. And now you think this ghost thing makes you special. That messing with the Afterlife can somehow undo all those shitty years you've chosen to have instead of just moving on. But it won't. It'll only make it worse. So you need to just stop.”

“You used me. Seduced me. Fucked me to get what you wanted. All these months, you made me think--- God, I'm such an idiot!--- you had me believing you actually loved me! And now you claim some shit went down with ghosts and a veil and you're blaming me for it? And--- and Frankie? Who's dead, by the way, so I'm not exactly sure how he figures. That about sum it up?" "That's not fair." She felt like she was falling. "Something did go down. I saw them. I do love you." "Bullshit." He stood up, everything itching inside, that sick sensation like he was about to hurl. "You love not being Hungry. You love yourself. You love that you can hitch a ride to the Afterlife whenever you feel like taking off my pants." "No! Konstantin, that isn't--- that might be how it started, but it isn't how it stayed! I fell for you. It would have been so much easier if I hadn't." "Glad we're just doing what's easy now." He walked around the station, angry-clearing plates. The glasses of champagne. He needed to move. To keep busy. To not look at her. Maura steadied herself on the edge of the counter, the steel a block of ice beneath her grip. "It wasn't easy. Any of it. I'd give anything to take it back." It was hard to breathe; she couldn't get enough air. "The Hunger... it took so much from me---" Konstantin slapped a wet kitchen towel down, the sound so loud it made her jump. "Yeah? As much as tasting the Dead for a couple decades? Or thinking you're insane every time some mystery flavor appeared? And let's not even talk about my assorted paranoias and trust issues. But hey, you're the only one who's ever suffered, right? At least you know what you did to deserve it. My mouth just happened to be me.”