Page 40 of What The Hex (The Family Spells)
I knew who and what I would see once I passed out.
Monster.
I would see Monster.
My father and Calla joined us, waiting on either side of the spell circle but just outside of it. They both cast Monster wary looks—they’d seen me with him and the mess he’d made of me and my heart—but quickly returned their attentions to the labored breathing of their soulmate.
I sat before the spell implements with Argent on my right, Caine on my left. Spectre was next to him, then Hex, and back to Argent again. Full circle. A complete soul-circle.
I wet my lips and closed my eyes as the Oracle’s words drifted through the back of my mind. “You will prosper, Graceley Spells, when and if you complete your circle with five.”
Five.
There were five of us here now.
Or … well, I guess there were six, but one of us didn’t count.
“Pardon me, Everen Sinnes, but I must touch you to transfer my magic.” Monster placed two big hands on my shoulders before any of my other lovers could put a stop to it. I gave both Argent and Caine looks of warning, even as my body reacted to the warm feel of my ex’s palms, the heavy weight of them, his fiery scent …
Cats and cauldrons, Graceley, get it together.
I exchanged a look with Spectre from across the circle, knowing that he’d support me even if he hated my interactions with Monster just as much as everyone else. Hex … I just avoided looking at Hex altogether.
“If it’s for Abigail, we’ll allow it this once,” Spec offered, even if he was frowning all the while.
“Many thanks, Blood,” Monster hissed, the words sibilant and smooth, as if he were speaking his native tongue. The demon tongue was all soft sounds and intentional rhyming, as if every spoken sentence was a curse or a hex, as if the whole world was playing a game of deadly politics.
I filled a single goblet with the faerie wine as Caine carefully poured the sweet-smelling contents of the small cauldron over my mother’s body. He sat back on his haunches and put the iron pot aside.
We each drank our bark tea first, and I then used the tip of the athame to anoint each person in the circle with the wine. Each dip of the knife into the goblet represented the joining of masculine and feminine powers. There were other ways this could be done, but I’d written the spell out for my family specifically.
I just hadn’t been sure if we’d ever find our fifth.
My last and final soulmate.
I exhaled and then lifted the tome into the air. It floated on its own, suspended by magic in the center of the room. It tilted toward me so that I could read the words scrawled carefully across the pages in thick, black India ink.
Extending my hands to either side of me, I clasped fingers with my husbands who did the same amongst themselves and Hex.
The moment we were all joined, I could feel it, a surge of power like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was electric; it was incredible. It was the greatest moment of my metaphysical career, and I couldn’t enjoy it because …
Because my mom …
This will work. Positive manifestation, Grace. Don’t give into bad thoughts.
It wouldn’t hurt to be confident here. If I woke up, and my mother was gone, I’d grieve then. For now, we at least had a chance.
“Abigail Hora Spells,” I began, squeezing my husbands’ hands, my attention on my mother’s body and not on Hex or Monster or anyone else in that room.
This is what we were here for, the spell I’d been working on for months.
The only question now was: were we too late?
The spell circle flared to life, burning red and then gold. Our hair—and Hex’s ceremonial robes—lifted in a supernatural breeze; I could feel the reaping willow bark tea inside of me, Hael’s strange magic infusing my blood. Holy spells, I could feel Monster, too, like his hands were sealed to my shoulders.
On this All Hallows’ Eve, as a fleeting autumnal storm cracked outside, I closed my eyes and let myself drift into the magic.
My eyes narrowed to slits as I watched Grace begin the spell.
I was more than aware of the poisonous Coven Apothecary Maiden behind me, the grieving witches posted at either end of the room, and the dozens of hostile coven members in the backyard, dancing around the bonfire. As the night died down, and the children fell asleep, they’d be tucked into beds of dried leaves and spelled for warmth. The adults, meanwhile, would get naked and continue to dance, twining and twisting beneath an orange hunter’s moon.
In some covens, it turned into an orgy. In others, no sex was involved at all. Coven Apothecary put their focus on soulmates.
