Page 15 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“You’re telling me I’m the Witch Queen?” I scoffed, as Argent moved up to stand beside me, Caine, and Spec. A united front, that’s what we were. It’d taken a lot for us to get here, too, and I wasn’t about to let it all go to shit because of Monster or … Hex.
Fucking Hex.
Where the hell was he?!
“The Witch Queen is about as real as the Easter friggin’ Bunny,” Caine drawled, raising his chin, his profile hard and proud. Pretty sure he was trying to show off to Monster.
Sigh. Men.
Monster just chuckled and shook his head, looking between the four of us like he’d just spotted something he liked … or something he wanted to kill. I wasn’t sure which, and that scared me.
I’d prefer the latter, to be honest.
“No, you’re not the Witch Queen, Graceley. Sorry to say, but as far as witches go, you’re about as middle of the road as they get.” I frowned, pursing my lips together hard, but I couldn’t argue with that. Monster was right: as far as witches went, I was a plain Jane. No hard feelings about that, just fact. “You’re not the Witch Queen,” he repeated, smiling sharply. “But the baby you’ve just conceived very well could be.”
I put my ceremonial robes on willingly as Connard sat nearby, licking his paw and glaring at me.
“I want to be mad at you,” he said matter-of-factly, “but for once in your horrible miserable life, all of the bad things happening to you aren’t your fault.”
I pursed my lips, but I had no retort for that statement: Connard was right. But what else could I really expect? Witches believed in karma, and I’d spent the large majority of my life acting like a worm. So maybe this wasn’t my fault exactly, but I sure had earned an ass whooping in karma points.
“Still, I don’t understand how you’re letting yourself be brought to heel so easily. Where’s that ornery fight, Hex? That rock-hard resistance to being told what to do?” Con stood up, arched his back, and yawned. Typical cat. We were in the middle of a life-and-death situation, and yet he wasn’t opposed to sitting down and taking a moment to lick his crotch.
“Yeah, not about to take advice from a guy who licks his own butthole,” I said, turning back to the floor-length mirror and frowning at myself.
Witch weddings … were not like human weddings. And demon weddings … were not like witch or human weddings.
This ceremony that I was about to take part in was an ancient melding of traditions that Coven Wyrmwood and Cabal Ungeist had been participating in since witches crossed over to this world from their own.
It was tradition.
But that didn’t make it easy, and that sure as fuck didn’t make it right. Just because something was done over and over again, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be looked at critically. Tradition was just another word for established habit. New traditions could always be made … old ones could always be broken.
“Why would that be a problem?” Con retorted, snapping me out of my downward spiral. But really, I’d never hurt quite this much on the inside. My chest was tight, my throat dry, and I was sweating in places I hadn’t even known I had glands. “I’ve seen you get your butthole licked by so many different women over the years—”
“Would you cut the crap?” I snapped, throwing out a fist and punching the glass surface of the mirror. It shattered, tiny pieces embedding themselves into my skin. I was bleeding now, but I didn’t give two fucks. What did it matter? My life wasn’t my own anymore. Hell, maybe it never would be again. “Grace is trapped in Hael; her mother is dying. And …”
I sat down heavy in one of the brown leather chairs of the sanctum and started to pick glass bits from my flesh. Once I’d removed the majority of them, I called up a simple healing spell and felt a strange tug, almost like my magic was asking permission. Only … it wasn’t asking me.
I belonged to Grandma Lulu, hook, line, sinker.
The spell eventually worked, and I breathed a sigh of relief as the pain faded from my knuckles.
“And … you don’t know if you want to try dating your own soulmate?” Con continued with a sigh, hopping down from the table and padding over to me. He leapt into my lap and started to purr. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Hex,” he said, kneading the thick red, gold, and white robes I was wearing. I looked like the pope or some shit. “You have a right to get to know your own soulmate. You know that, don’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing words could do to calm me down or make things right. I had to keep thinking of a way out of this. Thing was—and I really didn’t want to admit this to myself—I wasn’t sure if there was a way out.
