Page 24 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
I would do whatever it took to save Abigail Spells.
“He’ll be at the Cabal Ungeist sanctum,” Monster said slowly, looking up at the ceiling of the porch like he was deep in thought. “It’s a risk, trying to break in there. But I do know where it is.”
“Let’s go then,” I said, looking back over at Grace. Now that I had my eyes on the clock, I could see that we were about six hours away from losing Abigail forever.
I stood at the altar at the front of the sanctum, the building’s shape vaguely reminiscent of a human church. But the stained-glass windows here were full of demons—and I didn’t just mean the images in the glass. No, demons of all varieties, all categories, perched on the windowsills, wings tucked in close to their backs.
The dark wood pews behind us shown like coffins as seats were taken by Cabal Ungeist and Coven Wyrmwood royalty. This is so fucked, I thought as I reached a hand up to stroke Connard’s fur. I still hadn’t told him my plan, but that was because I hadn’t exactly thought it all the way through. Sure, I had a piece of sharp ivory in my sleeve, but what was I going to do with it? Kill one demon and then get swarmed by a thousand others? Kill one demon and get murdered by the rulers of my own coven?
No, I was damn near certain I was going to have to go through with the ceremony. As much as I told myself that it was only a ceremony, that it didn’t mean anything, the thought of having to marry Violet right here and now made me feel sick to my stomach.
Well, Connard purred into my skull, I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing, because I sure as shit don’t. And it seems like you have no interest in telling me. I patted my familiar fondly but chose not to respond to him. The way Agma was staring at me, I wasn’t entirely sure that my thoughts were my own.
Shit, shit shit shit.
Of all the ways I’d imagined spending my Halloween, this had not been high on the list. I mean, even when I’d been planning on marrying Violet, I hadn’t expected to feel like a mouse trapped in a cage, surrounded by hungry cats. And my grandmother, my coven, I couldn’t even look at their side of the room. I felt like they betrayed not only me but witches as a whole. They were betraying Coven Apothecary; more importantly, they were betraying Grace.
Scowling, I turned away and tried to focus on the altar, made entirely of human bones. At first glance, it looked like a cheap prop from a Halloween store. But on second glance … there was no way in hell that thing wasn’t real. The demon standing behind the pulpit looked similar to Violet and Agma, with slightly tinted skin, horns, wings, and a tail. The same sort of demon that I was, even if I was literally blanking on my own species name. Didn’t matter to me. I damn well was a witch, first and foremost. Now that I was getting a better glimpse at demon culture, I couldn’t have been more excited by that.
The ceiling soared above our heads, dripping with chandeliers made out of bones, feathers, and other things I didn’t want to identify. This entire place gave me the fucking heebie-jeebies.
“Look,” I whispered to Con, surveying the crowd and wondering how long I was going to have to stand here. Like a sexy door prize. “I know you think I’m bitching out and giving in, but I’m not. Just follow along, okay? And try not to get in the way.”
Con huffed under his breath and muttered something about him never being the one who got in the way. He had a point. It was always me that was fucking up our lives. Me that would bring home new girls every night, who caused drama and resisted things I shouldn’t while embracing things I knew to stay the hex away from.
Yes, I was a total screwup. And the one person in my life I trusted more than any other, the only person who had access to my summoning name … had used it against me in the worst of ways. If Graceley died because of this, I knew that I’d never be able to forgive Lulu. Sure, she’d raised me, made me feel safe, loved, taught me everything she knew, but that was what made it so much worse. I was seeing for the first time that she really and truly was never going to put me first; it was always going to be the coven above her grandson.
The chandeliers dimmed above our heads, and the back doors opened, revealing Violet and her voluminous, bloodred gown. The skirt was so full that the winged handmaidens had to fly along beside her to keep it in order, and the train was so long that she was halfway down the aisle before the end of it entered the room. She walked alone, as was demon tradition. I’d practiced this ritual at least a dozen or more times, but that hadn’t prepared me for any of it.
