Page 94 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
After all, Lulu was one of the major players in this game.
Would his grandmother know what we were up to? If so, could we find his mother somehow? Did he want to find his mother?
Hex sighed and slid a hand over his handsome face.
“We need to talk anyway, I guess. Face-to-face though, that’s risky.” He played with the blanket in his lap. It was plaid on one side with real fur trim on the other—ethically sourced, of course. Ethically sourced from dead demons that is.
Don’t worry: they’d all deserved it.
After a moment, Hex raised the blanket to his nose and gave it a sniff. His witch half was picking up on the very subtle charcoal scent that clung to the fur, and his eyes narrowed.
“Category one,” I explained, offering up a smile. “Don’t think too hard about it.”
“You want me to text Lulu?” Hex asked, his gaze sliding over to Spec. “Set up a meeting?”
“No,” I clarified, exhaling and knowing that I was going to regret this. “Set up a dinner.”
Lulu’s familiar was waiting for us on the front porch when we arrived; the cranky old orange tabby had her tail swishing behind her as she crouched in a ball on the railing and hissed at our approach.
Connard, perched on his master’s shoulder, hissed right back.
“Dude, stop spitting in my ear!” Hex growled, slapping at him. All he received for his efforts was a nice, red swipe of kitty claws across the back of his hand.
“Do you have any idea what she just said to us in cat? Of course you don’t. You’re not sophisticated enough to speak our language. She called you a mouse-loving, dog-fucker.”
“Now you’re just making shit up,” Hex mumbled, wiping his bloodied hand on the front of his borrowed Christmas sweater. Spectre visibly cringed and swiped his inked fingers through his dark purple hair.
“First, jizz stains. Now, bloodstains. Man, could you not?” Spec snatched Hex’s hand in one of his and very quickly licked the blood off of his knuckles.
Hex’s eyes widened and he stumbled, nearly falling to his knees as Con howled with laughter. Spectre did not, however, let go of the demon’s hand. Instead, he helped Hex find his feet, and a warm smile stole over my lips. Oh yeah. Big-time bromance.
Wonder if I could get the two of them in bed together with me …
“Look, you have a boyfriend now, too!” Con said cheerily. “Never thought I’d see the day. Bend him over, Sir Spectre, and—”
“Be quiet, you furry, little rat before I have you neutered.” Hex yanked his hand from Spec’s as my vampire husband grinned mischievously and licked his lips.
“Delicious. I’ll have to try a main course instead of an appetizer one of these days …”
“You touch my neck without asking, and I will use that purple-dick spell on you while you sleep.” Hex moved down the path toward the house as I followed, his cheeks flushed, his pouty mouth turned down in a severe frown. He was acting playful enough, but underneath it all, the betrayal of his grandmother was a sharp thorn in his heart.
“Are you okay?” I asked, offering up a sympathetic touch of my fingers to his now-healed hand. Vamp saliva can speed the healing of most wounds. Pretty neat, huh? How else did you expect vampires to be able to drink from the carotid and not kill people?
I mean … they sometimes did anyway, but that was not my problem. I had enough of them as it was.
“Fuck, this is surreal,” Hex groaned, pausing just below the steps and looking up at the beautiful old home with its gray and purple accents. It was just the sort of house one might expect a witch to live in, with spires and towers and stained-glass. A wrought-iron fence surrounded the property. Likely it was as purposeful as it was decorative. Faeries and iron do not mix.
“Surreal to be a thirty-two-year-old man who just moved out of his grandmama’s place?” Caine taunted, but Hex ignored him, pursing his lips and then pounding up the front steps like he may very well flee if he didn’t get this over with.
Or maybe he was just trying to put as much distance between himself and Monster as possible?
“I still cannot believe you’ve managed a way to get yourself invited to all of our holiday get-togethers,” Argent purred menacingly, holding a large, carefully wrapped box beneath one arm. We’d come bearing gifts—quite literally.
Traditional winter solstice gifts, that is. For witches that meant spell ingredients: a single black widow spider in a jar, mistletoe soaked in winter moonlight, fresh peppermint from our garden, and a wooden box filled with broom dust from Christmas day of last year.
Really, it was a much nicer gift than Lulu Sorciere deserved.
“Until we figure out a way to keep your shiny new soulmate from being summoned while out and about, you need me.” Monster shrugged his wide shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a glamour; he hadn’t needed one. We’d taken the brooms over here while he flew beside us. Anyway, each broom was spelled with a glamour of its own to keep people from spotting us in the sky. Monster had leached off of those spells to keep himself hidden.
