Page 95 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
Now that we were in Lulu’s front yard, I was certain there were plenty of other generic glamours to keep the yard and house from prying eyes.
“I need you like I need a dry hand job from a banshee,” Argent snapped, and then he was moving after Hex.
The house shifted in greeting as Caine and I ascended the steps, and I nodded in response. On my wrist, a magic mark burned, offering protection from Lulu, her home, and anyone else in it. She’d assured me that, seeing as we were here to talk, Coven Wyrmwood would not be interfering. That promise, too, was sealed into our bargain.
What we couldn’t do was guarantee that Cabal Ungeist wouldn’t stop by.
I turned to look at the sky, as if I might be able to sense anything amiss by studying the clouds. Every once in a while, they offered a hint or clue that a good witch could use to her advantage.
“Don’t stress, sugar,” Caine purred, looking toward the open front door of the house. The last time I was here, Hex was tenting his sweatpants and looking at me as if I were a krampus come to crunch his bones. We’d come a long way in a short time, but I wasn’t convinced that this meeting was going to be any better than the last.
Lulu had, essentially, told me that the soulmate thing was garbage. She didn’t believe in it. Why should she? Her entire coven was founded by a crazy witch who severed her own soulmate bonds in search of power, slaughtering every Numinous within fifty miles.
“If necessary, I’ll eat granny. It’s what my big teeth are for.” Caine flashed me a toothy grin—quite literally—and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. He looked so cute, in a plaid flannel shirt and jeans. It was as dressed up as he ever got.
Spectre had on an ugly Christmas sweater—every bauble, pom-pom, and sequin on it were charms—while Hex was sporting yet another borrowed sweater, this one titled O Unholy Night from the human brand, BlackCraft cult. It was a black knit sweater with red and white designs of spiders, gypsy moths, skulls, and goat heads. From a distance, it appeared to be a traditional Christmas sweater.
Argent was dressed in a charcoal suit with a gold and white tie featuring tiny stars; his cufflinks were stars, too. Monster, well, he looked like he’d walked out of a men’s fashion magazine. No part of him was holiday themed, but it seemed he’d ditched the paladin pants for an Alexander McQueen sweater and some slacks.
I gave Caine a quick kiss on the cheek and strode into the house, surprised by the warmth and the smell of food cooking. Ham with a maple glaze, sweet potato casserole, and fresh bread. My witchy nose detected it all, right down to the pecan pie that was clearly still in the oven.
Lulu’s home wasn’t decorated much for Christmas, but there was a fire roaring in the fireplace and a tray of drinks set out on the corner of the table. Hex was already holding one in his hand, but his gaze was focused on his grandmother.
“Gram,” he said, and there was a sadness in his voice that couldn’t be faked. She’d betrayed him in the worst possible way. According to everything I’d ever read about demon summoning, it was a complete and total loss of freewill. Once his emotional wounds had scabbed over a bit, I’d love to talk to Hex about his experience, so I could understand it better.
“Grandson,” she replied succinctly, her voice tight. As soon as Monster set foot in the house, her eyes went right to him, and she shuddered. She affected a small bow and greeted him as if nothing at all had transpired between them at the shop. “Grand Prince.”
Monster offered up no greeting in return. Among the Numinous, that was like spitting in someone’s face. The move didn’t surprise me. Why would demon royalty bother giving any respect at all to a member of a coven who’d served as their dogs for centuries? He had no respect for Lulu Witch whatsoever.
“Graceley.” Aaaaand there goes her respect for me. I stifled a sigh.
“Lulu.”
If the High Priestess of Coven Wyrmwood wanted to come at me, well then, have at me, witch.
“You remember Caine?” Hex offered up, gesturing at my still-grinning husband. “Argent. Spectre. From what I hear, you already know the demon prince quite well.” Hex turned away from his grandmother and offered me up the drink in his hand. “No poison, no spell. I checked.” He handed it over to me, and I blinked in surprise. I was pleased with his level of forethought. As I sipped what was, apparently, spiced eggnog, Hex confronted his grandmother head-on. “Don’t think I’m here because I want to be here. I’m here because I need to understand why you’d choose to rat-fuck me the way you did.”
