Today had been another typical Christmas Eve celebration, but somehow, because of the outrageous turn of events of the past few days, the mundanity of it all felt good. It had felt like putting down an exciting novel to go and get a snack, knowing you could dive back into your swashbuckling story later. Ayers no longer felt stifling and oppressive; it felt comforting and solid, the only thing keeping her afloat after this wild week.

That night she put on her favorite red reindeer pajamas, looking forward to pancakes and presents tomorrow on Christmas Day. Her parents usually gave them some pocket money, and Bianca had her eye on a couple more anti-djinn talismans.

Crack! The sound echoed through her room. She flinched. What was that? Then it came again, another loud crack! that came from her window. She climbed out of bed and tentatively inched across the floor, clutching her evil eye necklace. Should she get the esfand? She peeked outside, drawing apart her bloodred curtains.

There, below her windowsill, was Steve Rosenberg in a surprisingly normal outfit, about to launch another pebble at her bedroom window.

Bianca opened the window. “Steve!” she hissed. “What are you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Do you wanna get some pie?” he whispered back up to her. “I promise it’s really good pie.”

Out of all the things she thought he was going to say, inviting her to eat pie was not one of them. She looked back at her room, thinking. Steve wasn’t what she’d expected. The way he’d pulled himself together after the djinn attack and wordlessly taken the keys to her manual truck had impressed her. Plus, Steve Rosenberg wearing gray sweats and a hoodie intrigued her after seeing him in all-black getups for four years at school.

Pie sounded good.

“What the hell,” Bianca said back to him. “Sure.”

“Yesss!” He fist-pumped as quietly as he could.

She hastily threw on some clothes and tiptoed her way down the stairs. It felt like their whole home was holding its breath on Christmas Eve, even the glowing Christmas tree. It felt comfy and right, and Bianca basked in this feeling.

She met Steve in their gravel driveway, where, even more surprisingly, a gray Honda Civic sat along with her truck. “This is your car?” Bianca asked, confused. “I thought you drove a hearse or something.”

Steve shrugged. “Nope. Leighton drove my car while I drove your truck back.” His eyeliner, she noticed, was gone. He handed over her car keys.

“Leighton?” Bianca asked, grabbing them.

Steve shrugged. “She was in the one-acts with me. Junior. Sweet kid.”

Bianca rolled her eyes, feeling weirdly jealous over Steve’s theatrical fan club. She got into the passenger side of the Civic and buckled her seatbelt. “So,” she said, changing the subject. “Pie. At midnight.”

“Pie.” Steve nodded back, completely serious. He didn’t elaborate, which added an air of mystery to the whole thing that Bianca had to admit she found, reluctantly, attractive. If only June could see me now.

“Any reason you threw pebbles at my window instead of texting me?” Bianca asked.

“Just felt like it,” Steve replied.

Well. This was the least talkative Steve had ever been in her presence. Instead of searching for more answers, Bianca was content to just sit and watch the shadows of trees fade past as they made their way to downtown Ayers. He pulled over on the quiet brick-lined Main Street, where Bianca recognized Granny’s Pie Shop.

“They’re open this late?” Bianca asked.

“They are for me,” Steve replied cryptically.

“Not a real answer, but okay.”

Bianca followed him out of the car and into the biting winter night. But she wasn’t cold for long — Steve quickly opened the folksy front door and they stepped inside. The warm, cozy pie shop held a glass case where multiple kinds of pie glimmered like precious jewels.

There was blackberry, pumpkin, apple, lemon meringue, and ones she hadn’t seen before with intricate latticework on top. Her mouth watered. For some reason, they were the only people in here, and she couldn’t see any staff or servers.

Steve, however, did not seem as entranced by the pies. In fact, he stepped right behind the empty counter and, in a completely different voice from Drama Club Steve, said, “Hi, welcome to Granny’s Pie Shop, can I take your order?”

Something in Bianca clicked. “Wait, you work here?”

Steve bowed dramatically. Ah, there he is, Bianca thought to herself. “My family owns it.”

“So, there’s no granny?” Bianca asked.

“Bubbe lives in Naples, Florida, and would keel over if she saw what we’ve done to her rugelach recipe,” he answered.

“Whoa,” Bianca replied. She had seriously miscalculated Steve Rosenberg.

“What?” Steve replied.

“Nothing,” Bianca said, trying to regain her footing. She eyed a blackberry pie. “I just… well… you’re surprising, that’s all.”

“I contain multitudes!” Steve shouted into the empty shop, using his theater-projection voice.

Bianca winced. “Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” Steve asked.

“Put on that Shakespeare front! There’s no audience. It’s just me, okay?”

Steve chewed the gray tie of his hoodie, something Bianca could have sworn he had never done in his life if you’d asked her yesterday. He just said, “Yeah, okay.”

The silence this time was awkward, but not in a bad way.

“Blackberry pie, please, with extra whipped cream,” Bianca said.

“Coming right up.”

Bianca watched, fascinated, as Steve expertly cut a slice of pie, plated it, and added whipped cream like he was on autopilot. It felt similar to finding out your friend knew how to drive stick or was secretly fluent in another language. She tried not to stare at his forearms while his back was to her. I can’t believe I’m on a date with Steve Rosenberg. Then — Wait, is this a date?

He set the plate on the two-person table by the window, where they could watch Main Street, and the twinkle lights gave the pie shop a warm, romantic glow.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Bianca asked, sitting down. The pie looked seriously delicious, and she found she still had room despite a heaping Christmas Eve feast.

“Nah,” Steve said, sipping a cup of coffee. “I ate way too much pie over Hannukah.”

“Fair enough.” Bianca took a bite and moaned, finding a second stomach to tuck the pie into after all her Christmas Eve desserts. It was so, so good. The tart blackberry mixed perfectly with the flaky, buttery pie crust. Topped with whipped cream, it was perfection. “Yum,” was all she said, forgetting to be self-conscious on this maybe date.

Steve looked on approvingly. “My mom’s favorite is blackberry too. She doesn’t like things to be too sweet.”

“Same.” Bianca nodded. “This is seriously incredible.”

Steve smiled. “Thanks. I made that one this morning.”

That’s really hot, Bianca begrudgingly thought to herself. Multitudes, indeed.

“Any reason why we’re having pie in the dead of night?” she asked casually.

Here, Steve shifted in his seat, his back stiffening. “Well, I wanted to say thank you.”

Bianca frowned. “For what?”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Are you kidding me? For saving my life!”

Bianca froze, the cozy moment evaporating. Right: djinn had practically kidnapped Steve at the party. So, this wasn’t a date. This was a thank-you meal.

“Ah,” was all Bianca said, disturbed by how disappointed she felt.

“I mean, that was wild, right?” Steve asked, getting animated. “I wanted to ask you about it but didn’t know how. I mean, I can’t exactly text you that kind of stuff.”

Bianca, completely deflated, just replied with “Yeah.”

“So, what were those things? Genies?”

Bianca exhaled. Snap out of it, Bianca! You don’t even like this guy!

“Djinn,” she corrected, launching into her two-second definition. “They’re beings made of smokeless flame. There’s a bunch of different kinds.”

“The satanic gates have opened!” Steve bellowed. He punched his fist in the air, projecting his voice into the small space. Every time Steve pretended there was an invisible audience, it felt awkward. Bianca shifted uncomfortably.

“Why do you act like that?” she asked, her mouth half-full.

“Like what, exactly?”

She put her fork down and leveled one of her trademark scathing looks at him. “You look like you’re in a one-man soap opera.”

Steve looked away, embarrassed. “I thought you liked it.”

Bianca blushed. So, he does like me? “Why would I like it?”

“You know,” Steve began. “Trying to stand out in this boring town. Like you.” He gestured to her all-black outfit, her black boots, and trademark black lipstick she had hastily swiped on.

“But… this isn’t an act, Steve. This is just how I look.”

It was Steve’s turn to give her a scathing look. “Uh-huh.”

“What? It’s true! I’m a winter, Leila’s a summer. These are the facts.”

Steve sighed. “I really do like theater. There just aren’t many opportunities here. I was just hoping to make my mark.”

“You don’t have to be that way with me, though, okay?” Bianca said softly. Even if she and Steve only stayed friends, she wanted him to know that.

“Okay,” Steve said. “But I look really good in eyeliner.”

“Let’s not ruin the moment.”

“And a cape,” he added.

“Aaaaand the moment is ruined.”

They both laughed. For Bianca, it soon morphed into a belly laugh. Then it turned into a weird, desperate cackle where she couldn’t stop, the absurdity of the week’s events taking over. What else could she do but laugh?

Steve gave her a worried look, his chuckles ending much sooner. Bianca finally caught her breath and dabbed at the tears forming in her eyes. Were they from laughter or fear? Who knew.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” Steve asked.

Bianca toyed with her fork. “It’s all been so weird ever since our birthday last week.”

“Happy birthday,” Steve said, with a flourish of his hand.

“Thanks,” Bianca replied. “The Elmhursts’ barn caught on fire, but we’re pretty sure it was because of a djinn. Because of us.”

“Aha!” Steve said. “There is foulness afoot.”

“Foulness indeed,” Bianca said, grimacing. “Can I have more pie? It’s a long story.”

Steve saluted and hopped up from his chair. She watched as he cut another slice of pie, his shoulders illuminated in the fluorescent glow of the pastry display. She could feel the back of her jaw start to salivate all over again.

Because of the pie. That’s all. Just from the pie.

Steve slid the new plate in front of her. “Okay, pie has been refilled, now the show must go on.”

Bianca tried not to laugh. Steve was funny. It felt good to just chuckle and decompress with someone. She shoved another forkful of delicious blackberry into her mouth instead.

“Okay, so, at the barn fire there was this demon thing, which we now know is a djinn, and he kept talking about some debt. And then he totally rushed Leila with his fire and like, possessed her the whole week!”

Steve shivered. “It just poured out of her. At the party, the dude walked out of her skin like he’d been there all along.”

Bianca shook her head. “I should have been a better sister. A better friend. I wish I knew how to help her, but now, I don’t think she needs my help anymore.” She said the last part a bit glumly, her shame from her failed jaunt around the world adding to her internal list of failures.

Steve gave her a sad look. “You had no idea what you were dealing with. You can’t blame yourself.”

Bianca warmed to his words, but still, she did blame herself. All those moments when Leila looked strange, her eyes glassy. All those instances of Bianca wondering if something was going on, the times she let herself be convinced by Leila’s “fine.” She felt lower than low, in that moment, and vowed to be a better family member.

Her family. Bianca gasped and looked down at her hands.

“What? What is it?” Steve asked, his face coming closer to Bianca’s.

She swallowed, looking back at him. He smelled like sugar and pine, like the coziness of the indoors and the wild winter woods behind them. Bianca gulped.

“My ring,” Bianca said, gesturing to the iron band on her finger. “This all started with the birthday present our dad gave us. He has the same one.”

Why had their father given them an iron ring that had suddenly become incredibly useful? What did he know that Bianca and Leila didn’t?

Steve bit his lip, deep in thought. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.”

Bianca nodded, knowing she had better get back. She needed to ask her father about the rings. About all of this.

The second Bianca sat in Steve’s car, she felt all the adrenaline she’d been buoyed by flee her body. All she felt was a deep, bone-weary exhaustion now.

I think I just went on a date with Steve Rosenberg? Bianca texted June while Steve backed out of their spot.

June called her immediately, despite it being the middle of the night. Bianca quickly declined the call.

Hold your horses! I have so much to catch you up on, Bianca texted back.

June just responded with a knife emoji and the words You better call me!

They sat in companionable silence as Steve led them onto the dark roads that would take her home. Bianca was comfy and sleepy, her body full of pie and whipped cream.

“You awake over there?” Steve chuckled.

“Barely,” she replied.

She looked out the window, letting her thoughts drift. Then she saw it: a quick burst of flame in the forest, keeping even with Steve’s car like a galloping horse. Bianca sat up quickly, peering into the dark.

“What the…,” she began.

“Did you see a deer?” Steve asked, worried. Out here, it was common for deer and cars to collide.

Bianca thought fast, not wanting to freak him out anymore. “Yeah, but it went the other way.”

“Phew,” was all he said.

But Bianca knew what she saw.

It was more djinn.