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A stone-faced guard slid a crumpled paper bag through the hatch, his expression as lifeless as the flickering fluorescent light overhead.

It was heavier than I expected. The weight of the last nine years pressed into my hands as I clutched the paper bag against my chest, my fingers tightening involuntarily.

Inside, I already knew what I’d find: a tattered checkered backpack, my wallet, a pouch of crystals, a change of clothes, my ID, an old iPhone, a tin of trinkets, my trusty tea flask—which I prayed to Hecate they’d cleaned out before storing—and a photograph of my parents.

My getaway bag.

The one I barely remembered packing.

The one I’d planned to escape with after murdering my parents.

Even now, the thought made my stomach lurch.

I still didn’t understand why I had done it. A tingling numbness crept into my fingertips every time I tried to unravel the reasoning, as though my mind recoiled from the truth. I could remember the act in excruciating detail, but the why ?

I had nothing.

I loved my parents. And aside from the odd teenage-witch tantrum, our relationship had been as strong as any familial bond could be.

But the summer I turned eighteen, everything that could have gone wrong did.

Our family belonged to the Briar Coven witches, an old and peculiar coven. Centuries ago, our ancestors had struck a bargain with a clan of incubi, binding our fates. As a result, every Briar witch had the power to summon their fated incubus mate on Samhain for the past four centuries.

It was a rite of passage.

And one that I had been obsessed with. Sex-demon fated mate? Yes please!

I’m not even going to blame the fact that I was part succubus for being so eager to meet my fated mate.

It wasn’t just about the mind-blowing sex that awaited me, though I was certainly looking forward to that part.

I was a hopeless romantic. And I couldn’t wait to start a whirlwind romance of my own.

Until that summer, my succubus side had remained dormant.

Some of my friends had been under the influence of their succubi for years, like my friend Lex.

From the age of sixteen, she’d been sneaking off to the mortal cities to party and play, and had decided to put off her summoning indefinitely to live among the mortals.

Which was just utter madness. Who in their right mind would give up their fated mate for a stranger?

Most of my peers had shared my excitement, spending the summer preparing their homes for their mates, hoping a magic house would either open for them or poof into existence entirely.

Me?

I had been dragged off to Headless Hollow for our annual family vacation.

“Sweetie, if you’re going to summon your mate this Samhain, then this is the last summer vacation we’ll have as a family,” my mom had said.

Guilt had been a powerful weapon. So, while the other witches in the coven prepared their homes, whispering excitedly about their mates, I had been dragged away on our family vacation.

But, as it turned out, we didn’t have any time to spend together when we got there anyway.

Our elderly neighbor in Headless Hollow, Ms. Cadmus, had become forgetful. Her husband was struggling to care for her and leaned on my parents for help. So, what should have been a last family vacation before I shacked up had turned into me spending most of my time moping about the house on my own.

And then there was Rowan.

A cinnamon-roll orc with a heart of gold. My friend. Part of my Headless Hollow trio, alongside Brooke, a stunning water nymph.

Rowan was harboring a major secret crush on me.

Which would have been fine... if it hadn’t been for my newly awakened succubus side.

I had been warned about the succubus touch a thousand times.

A sex demon—the full-blooded ones, that is—fed from sexual desire, their touch enhancing existing feelings of sexual attraction to almost feral levels.

My touch was a diluted version, being only part succubus.

But one innocent greeting hug had been enough to turn Rowan from smitten to stalker overnight.

Not that I’d realized, my own obsession with my soon-to-be-summoned fated mate the only thing filling my mind.

I didn’t realize that it was a date he was after when he wanted to hang out and conveniently forgot to ask Brooke.

The fifty million texts he’d send a day?

I skimmed through them while thinking of the summoning.

Catching his huge form watching me from outside my house—yeah, in hindsight, that was a pretty big clue—but it still wasn’t enough to pull my thoughts from my mate.

We only realized the problem when my dad came home to find Rowan had broken into our house (though, is it technically breaking in if the house willingly opens its doors for you and makes you a cup of tea?) and was lying on my bed, surrounded by my underwear.

So... yeah.

It had been a pretty stressful summer, all in all. And it was the only tangible reason I had to explain why I’d snapped.

The day was a bit of a blur, aside from the act itself.

I had spent the day alone, even though mom and dad had promised they would be at the Cadmuses’ for no more than an hour, and they would absolutely be back in time for dinner and a movie. But when four hours had passed with no sign of them... I was reeling.

So, I lay in bed, shoveling handfuls of cheap, stale chocolates left by Rowan mechanically into my mouth—because, y’know, he might have been stalking me, but dark chocolate paired well with dark thoughts—growing angrier with every bite.

And when Mr. Cadmus called to say my mom and dad had offered to drive his wife to the local healer instead of coming home to at least catch the end of the movie, I snapped.

I walked out to my parents’ car, popped the hood, and cut their brakes.

I remember numbly lying in my bed, listening to heavy footsteps as they approached. They didn’t even pop their heads in to say sorry. And I didn’t flinch when, a few minutes later, the crash of their car was loud enough to rattle the windows in the house.

And when the mortal police came to the house, I told them everything.

“Miss Myers,” the guard said, snapping me back to reality.

I clutched my bag tighter as he tapped his pen against a form and slid the clipboard through the hatch. I didn’t bother reading it—everything was present aside from the wire cutters, and I definitely didn’t want them returned. I signed and slid it back.

“It’s time, Jen,” said a soft voice from behind me.

I clutched my bag even tighter to my chest and turned to face the warden. Her golden hair was slicked to her head, tied in a neat bun, her clothes crisp and pristine as if she’d only put them on, and hadn’t just finished a twelve-hour shift looking after the incarcerated.

The guard behind the desk narrowed his eyes at us, his disapproval of the warden personally escorting a murderer out only seconded by us being on friendly terms.

“It was fun while it lasted, Lobato,” I joked.

Her liquid gold eyes flickered, amusement dancing there for a fraction of a second before she gestured me out the door.

It might be hard to imagine how a reasonably powerful witch such as myself could allow themselves to remain incarcerated for so long in a mortal prison and not use their magic to break out.

The answer was twofold.

Firstly, and most importantly, I didn’t want to escape. I might not be able to fully understand what had led me to murder my parents, but I had done it. I deserved every moment of my sentence tenfold.

Secondly, I couldn’t have escaped even if I wanted to.

I hadn’t felt a flicker of magic for over nine years now.

The second I’d set foot on Chumana Women’s Correctional Facilities’ grounds, my magic had been suppressed.

Confused, I’d been immediately escorted to the warden’s office and found Lobato waiting for me, her head tilted in curiosity as she told the guards to leave us.

The moment they’d closed the door behind them, she’d said, “It’s not often a witch crosses my threshold.

I thought you sorted these things out among your own kind. ”

Over the following nine years, Lobato hadn’t once divulged to me what kind of supernatural creature she was or how she had blocked my magic. Despite that, I’d come to think of her as a friend.

“Where will you go from here?” she asked as if she didn’t already know the answer.

I would, of course, eventually have to return to my coven.

I might have served my punishment in the eyes of the mortals, but I’d still have to face the coven’s judgment.

And the battle-ax head of Briar Coven, Ms. Lily Cole, was more than I could handle at this time.

A trial would be inevitable. Not only would I be expected to write down my version of the events leading up to that night, but I’d also be forced to relive it when my memory would be projected from her magic crystal ball for all to see and judge.

However, not only did Lobato’s magic suppress my own, it also prevented other magic from affecting me, at least until it wore off. Which could be anything from a week to a month, according to Lobato.

So, yeah, I couldn’t exactly go back to my coven, tail between my legs, and then demand that they hold off the trial until the crystal ball would work on me.

Besides, I hadn’t exactly done myself any favors by refusing to see the coven when they tried to visit me in prison over the years.

My guilt and shame were so consuming I couldn’t face them demanding to know why I’d done it when I couldn’t even answer that for myself.

After a while, they stopped trying to visit me.

My cousin, Caitlyn, was the only witch in the coven who still religiously wrote to me every month, but I’d never had the heart to open any of her letters, no less respond to her.

“Home,” I replied.

If my home was still where I’d left it, that was.