Page 35 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
“No peein’,” Caine reiterated in a growly voice, his Southern accent molten enough to melt me from the inside out. Fey and Zavier giggled while the twins waggled and thrashed and finally, Argent set them down on the grass. They took off to play in the heat of the bonfire as gold, red, and brown leaves drifted around us.
I looked up at the moon.
We had officially run out of time.
Taking Caine’s hand in one of mine, Argent’s in the other, Spectre led us back through the gate.
“Touching,” Monster purred, leaning against the side of the house near the back door. I ignored him, turning to Hex instead. His expression was impossible to read, far too guarded for me to make sense of in such a chaotic moment.
His wings were drooping, pooling on the dirt behind him while his tail flicked like a curious cat’s. His familiar, Connard, was perched on his shoulder. I addressed him first.
“Could you stay with Bast and watch over the kids for us?” I asked, and he lifted a single black paw, licking it contemplatively for a moment before setting it back down on his master’s shoulder.
“I would be delighted,” he agreed, casting an affectionate glance in Hex’s direction. He was proud of his master. For what, I wasn’t sure, but that gave me hope. Connard seemed as critical of Hex Sorciere as I was. “You have the power amongst you to do this, Graceley Spells. Do not let the naysayers dissuade you from your path.”
He hopped down to the path and trotted over to the gate, easily clearing the three-foot height in a single leap. I shifted my attention back to Hex.
“Are you ready to do this?” I asked him, and he swallowed hard before giving a brief nod.
“I’m ready,” he said, his gaze drifting down to the mark on the inside of his right wrist, that magical symbol which bound him to our agreement. I knew—we both knew, I’m sure—that summoned demons are immune to the punishment of such a mark. If midnight had passed, and he wasn’t here, it would’ve faded away to nothing and he could’ve walked from our bargain without punishment.
Yet, he’d been halfway out of that church when I showed up.
That must account for something.
I headed past him, and he followed. Together, the six of us made our way upstairs. The rot smell had now permeated the entire house, obscuring the usual witchy scents of incense, good herbs, and cats. My mother had a familiar, of course, an adorable white cat with mismatched eyes named Hayan. Likely, she was out on patrol, watching the boundaries of the property.
This wouldn’t be the first Halloween that Coven Apothecary was attacked on our own soil.
The first thing I did was scout out the other complete soul-circle that Coven Apothecary had on tap (beside ours and my sister’s). The circle was made up of a distant cousin of mine and her husband—it was just the two of them. They’d taken up residence in my mother’s guest room.
We didn’t need to coordinate much; they were essentially taking on a supporting role. My circle—as large as it was—would be the only one capable of taking the lead on this spell. The other two circles would be casting in favor us, adding their magic to our own. But the technical side of it was all up to us.
I opened the door to my mother’s bedroom to find her fast asleep in bed, her covers tucked up to her chin. Her platonic soulmate and knitting buddy, Calla, was seated beside her, one of my mom’s hands trapped between two of hers.
Her eyes dripped as she looked up at me, choking on the words that wouldn’t come.
I didn’t need to hear them.
I knew what a goddess-damned crapshoot this was.
“We’ll prepare the spell circle. Once we’re ready, we’ll carry her into the room.” I turned away, fighting back tears of my own as I headed down the hall to my mother’s spell chamber. All good witches had one in their home; we did, too. After Zavier was born, we started using the one at the shop more often than not, but it was there if it was needed.
My mother’s spell chamber was neat and tidy, well-stocked, and just a tad on the old lady chic side. So far, at age thirty-two, lace doilies and pictures of dried flowers didn’t yet appeal to me, and I hoped to fuck that they never would.
“May I ask what Monster is still doing here?” Argent inquired politely as he paused beside me, his silver skin glowing enough to light up the dark corners of the room. I didn’t turn the light switch on. Electricity was little more than a minor inconvenience when it came to most spell work, but it wasn’t unheard of for it to drive a spell in the wrong direction. My mother’s house still had quite a few gas lamps that were fun to set aflame with magic instead of switches, but it wasn’t as if she had no electricity as all. This spell was so damn delicate …
