Page 102 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“Do you have a job?” I asked suddenly, surprised with myself for not having thought of this before. Most witches didn’t hold down traditional jobs. Why would we? We had magic.
Hex shook his head, raking partially inked fingers through his orange and black hair.
“My job was to marry Violet,” he explained with a loose shrug of his shoulders. “Other than that, I did whatever menial jobs the coven asked of me. Repainting the Mother’s house, planting my grandmother’s herb garden, whatever.”
“Basically, he was a useless lump. Put him to work, Ms. Spells.” Connard was curled up with Bastet on her usual shelf behind the cash register, the two of them looking as if they were an item. It made sense, seeing as Hex and I were working on a relationship as well. Familiars tended to follow the whims of their masters. “Manual labor is best since, at times, I have seriously questioned whether or not he has a brain in that thick skull of his.”
“Just as I have, at times, questioned whether or not I wanted an annoying talking cat who does little else but insult me.” Hex gritted his teeth as he glared at Connard, and I stifled a smile. Not a one of my husbands had a familiar, so this was new territory. Admittedly, I liked it. I wondered if any of our children would end up with one? Usually, they either showed up by age five or else they never came at all.
Zavier was running the risk of never having one. It wasn’t something a mixed-race witch could decide. Either your familiar found you or you didn’t get one. Not a real one anyway. Some mixed-race witches bound animals to them, but it wasn’t quite the same thing.
“As if you have much choice.” Con sniffed and thrashed his black tail in annoyance. “Think of me as your conscience in living form, Hex Sorciere. Take that box from your pregnant soulmate and get to work.”
Even as he scowled at the cat, Hex did indeed take the box from me as I smiled, swiping my hands down the front of my red and green dress with the Christmas light pattern. It was belted at the waist with a wide, flared skirt. It went well with the green witch hat I was wearing, the one whose charms were like the ones on Spectre’s sweater.
Tiny red globe ornaments made of real rubies, miniature gingerbread people packed with spells, bunches of real mistletoe, circles of tiny pine branches decorated with ribbons to look like wreathes, stars crafted of actual gold. All of it would be useful in a fight, just as the charms on my other hat had protected me from the krampus.
“Well, if you’d like, I could pay you cash under the table and you could work here until you decide what you want to do.” I looked around the store, my gaze drifting briefly up to the ceiling, fully aware that Monster was closeted away in the apartment. I wondered what he was doing up there by himself?
I returned my attention to Hex.
“Isn’t this, um, like a family business or whatever?” he asked, and I shrugged.
“The store is technically owned by the coven. For me to put you on payroll, you’d have to—” I paused because while we’d briefly touched on this yesterday, I wasn’t sure Hex was ready to hear it laid out just yet.
For him to join Coven Apothecary, three things needed to occur.
He would have to do a spell to break his connection to Coven Wyrmwood; think of it like giving up citizenship to your country of birth. Lastly, we’d need to work another spell to bind him to Coven Apothecary. In the interim, we’d have to have a handfasting ceremony aka a wedding.
“You gotta get hitched if you want to join the coven,” Caine growled, appearing at the end of one of the aisles. He had both twins on their leashes. Without asking, he dropped the leashes to the floor and took the box from Hex’s arms. “Take your kids out for a piss.”
“My what?” Hex asked, but Caine was already ignoring him and going about dealing with the candy canes instead. He set the box down on the floor beside the display—this adorable wooden rack he’d made himself with mason jars set into the wood—and unwrapped a candy cane. He stuck the end in his mouth.
“Your new kids, shit-stain. Take ‘em out for a piss. Might have to take a crap, too. There are poop bags in the drawer beneath the register.” Caine began affixing small signs to the front of the jars to describe each flavor. Cranberry, cinnamon, peppermint, hot cocoa, eggnog, sour apple, pumpkin spice, and goddess knows what else. Argent made them, not me.
I was not the chef in the family.
“Poop bags?” Hex breathed as I gave Caine a look that he ignored, removing a roll of waste bags from the drawer and offering them up to Hex.
