Page 32 of Bewitched By the Voodoo King (The Bewitching Hour #7)

My head pounded like I’d spent all night drinking, but really, I’d spent the rest of the night crying.

I’d thrown the beautiful gown into the corner of my room and scrubbed my body as if I could remove everything I felt with water alone.

My phone sat on the counter in the bathroom, and every few seconds, my eyes bounced to it.

All I wanted to do was confront my parents, but I couldn’t. I knew I had every right to do so, but… what would it accomplish? I had a feeling it would only embed another knife even deeper into my soul, and it was the last thing I could handle at the moment.

More than anything else, I wanted to leave. I wanted to run away and never look back. Wife? Not me. I would change my name and live out on an exotic island. I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

No.

It was time they saw just how powerful I could be… even without magic.

I ran a brush through my hair, which did nothing but stand it all around my head before I yanked a beanie over it and called it a day. My face was still a little puffy from all of the tears I’d cried, but it didn’t matter.

The halls were mostly quiet as I made my way toward the library.

Most of the compound was preparing for the full moon rituals.

They’d be lighting candles, drawing circles, braiding intentions into each other’s hair.

Tonight was the full moon and Halloween.

Sadness coated my insides as I thought about being back at home, preparing food for my family, and getting ready on the sidelines.

The old Maple would have requested to be in the kitchens with Maggie.

This Maple no longer cared about where she should be.

The library doors groaned as I pushed them open. The room was dim, early morning light filtering through the high windows. The smell of old books and dried herbs wrapped around me like a cloak.

I dragged the heavy books I’d stacked over the last week onto one of the long tables. Pages and notes, theories and history—dozens of potential cures for whatever was happening to the wolves. I’d stumbled upon a few curses, but it kept leading me to dead ends.

They thought I was nothing because I couldn’t cast a spell. But I could read. I could connect the dots. I could fight for this coven in ways none of them had considered.

And I would.

Even if Rune never looked at me the same again.

Even if Adelle never apologized.

Even if I walked out of here the second this war was over and never returned.

I would finish what I started.

A shadow moved near the doorway, and I froze, spine stiffening.

“How are you feeling?” Rene’s voice was a soothing balm to my wrecked soul.

Tears pricked my eyes at her calming presence. I shrugged, not at all trusting my voice.

Rene stepped fully into the room, closing the heavy door behind her with a soft click. She crossed the space without hurry, her bare feet silent on the worn wooden floor. Her long robes whispered around her ankles as she moved.

“I heard what happened,” she said gently, placing a hand on the back of a nearby chair. “And I wanted to check on you.”

I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. “I’m fine,” I lied.

Rene arched a brow, her gaze drifting to the open books, the scattered notes, and the dark circles under my eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept.”

“I didn’t.”

She didn’t press. She just eased into the seat across from me and folded her hands in her lap. “You’re angry.”

“I’m everything,” I whispered. “Angry. Hurt. Betrayed. Embarrassed. I trusted them. I let myself believe I finally belonged somewhere.”

Rene tilted her head. “You do.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Do I? Because it seems like everyone knew more about me than I did. They signed me away like I was a bargain deal. Gave me to a man who didn’t even want me until it served his purpose.

And I thought…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

“I thought maybe something real was forming between us.”

She nodded slowly. “Maybe it still is.”

My eyes snapped to hers. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Obviously, she was siding with her son— which wasn’t surprising. “After what he said? After what he hid?”

“Love,” Rene said softly, “is not always born in truth. Sometimes it’s forged through the fire of our failures.”

I chewed on my bottom lip. “I don’t think he wants me here after all of this is over with.”

Rene leaned forward and held her hand out to me. I hesitated before I finally placed my palm in hers. I knew she could read me, but I didn’t care what she would find. Not now. What else was there to hide? I was pretty sure she’d known my secret since the beginning anyway.

“Magic is such a funny thing,” she whispered as she looked down at our joined hands. “You have it in you, even if you can’t feel it.”

I blinked.

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a breath.

She looked up at me, eyes glowing with the kind of knowing only a mother, or maybe a witch, could possess.

“Magic doesn’t always look the way we expect it to.

Some power is loud—flames and lightning and spells shouted into the wind.

But some…” Her voice softened even further.

“Some is quiet. Subtle. Rooted in intention and in the soul.”

My brow furrowed. “I don’t cast. I’ve tried. Nothing happens.”

“Have you ever stopped trying and just listened?” Rene asked. “Not forced it. Not feared it. Just… let yourself be?”

“I’ve been told since I was a child that I was nothing. That I had nothing.”

“Then they were wrong.” Her hand squeezed mine gently. “I’ve felt your energy since the day you arrived. It hums around you like a song waiting to be sung. Null, Maple? No. You’ve been suppressed. Caged. You are not powerless.”

My throat tightened. “But Rune—he said—he was expecting something when we were together . When it didn’t happen…” I shrugged. How did I even explain this? Especially to his mother?

Rene’s lips twitched, not quite a smile but something knowing.

“Because he doesn’t understand yet. Men, even magical ones, often mistake performance for power.

” She released my hand and tapped the center of my chest. “What lives here? That’s where the magic truly is. And it’s stronger than you know.”

A quiet beat passed between us. My heart thundered with so many emotions I couldn’t separate them anymore.

“I don’t know what happens next,” I admitted.

“You listen to your heart, you pore over your notes, and you will find what you have been looking for all along.”

Rene left me to my notes and the dusty books, but I swore that the longer I stared at the words, the more cross-eyed I became. Not to mention, I could hardly focus on anything with Rene’s words bouncing around in the back of my head.

Caged magic? Yes, I wondered if I was cursed… but maybe I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself just yet either.

I rubbed circles on my temples as I tried to clear my head. Maybe she was just trying to soften the blow her kids had delivered. Maybe she was just trying to make me feel better. She seemed like the type… kind of. The nurturer who didn’t want anyone hurting.

I leaned back in the chair and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. Dust drifted lazily in the sunlight streaming through the high windows, and the silence of the library wrapped around me like a blanket. It was comforting. But not enough to silence the storm inside my head.

I didn’t want false hope. I didn’t want comfort for the sake of comfort. I wanted the truth.

And yet… part of me, a part I’d kept buried for years, stirred at the possibility.

What if Rene was right?

I’d always assumed my magic was broken. But what if it wasn’t? What if it had been locked away somehow—by fear, or family, or something else entirely? What if all these years of trying and failing weren’t a lack of magic…

I shook my head hard. I’d given myself enough hope over the years. I’d tried my best to fit in for long enough. It was useless and wouldn’t do anything to help me.

I unfolded my body from the chair and stretched out my stiff limbs.

I scanned the scattered pages across the table, my notes a chaotic mosaic of lines, arrows, and scribbled thoughts. Somewhere in this mess was a truth no one else had bothered to find. I wasn’t looking for magic anymore. I was looking for answers, but they weren’t in my notes.

Maybe I was looking for the wrong thing. I turned back to what seemed to be never-ending shelves of books and ran my fingers over the dusty, worn spines until I stopped on the one I’d seen a few days ago.

Curses and bindings.

It couldn’t be that easy, could it? It wasn’t something that had ever occurred to me before, and it was also something I’d never seen a book on in my family’s library back at home. A coincidence, or was it done on purpose so I could never find out?

The spine cracked as I opened the book, and as quickly as I could, I skimmed through the pages.

My breath caught as my eyes snagged on a passage at the end of the book.

“Magical bindings are possible but only through familial bonds. Bindings not only require a powerful witch, but also require a sacrifice of one’s own magic or even their life.”

Only through familial bonds.

My throat went dry. I read the line again.

A sacrifice of one’s own magic.

“To bind another’s magic through blood, the caster must believe the magic to be dangerous or undeserved. Motivations vary—fear, control, protection—but the result is the same: the subject’s connection to their power is severed. Oftentimes, it can be regained, but not usually. ”

Was this what had happened to me? Someone thought I was undeserving of my magic, and they took it from me? My head swam, and the room spun.

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

I scanned the page further until I found another line that stood out.

“The only magical affinity that can remove another’s magic is death magic.”

Relief seemed to crash through me. My mother and father weren’t death witches. The relief quickly disappeared as I frowned.

The realization slapped me in the face. I physically reared back as if the thought struck me. My grandmother was the last death witch, and she disappeared with my grandfather after my magic claiming ceremony, when everything went wrong… They didn’t practice magic again.

I bit into my fist as the thoughts raged war inside of my head.

My own blood had done this to me, and then they left.

There weren’t books on death witches in my coven.

There weren’t books on magical bindings or curses.

My parents knew. They’d left me to believe something was wrong with me all of these years.

The room spun faster and faster as I gripped the back of the chair and tried to stay upright. My magic wasn’t lost or gone… It had been stolen from me.

A strangled sound clawed its way up my throat. I didn’t know if it was a sob or a scream.

All those nights begging the heavens for a spark, a flicker—anything.

All the shame. The silence.

The aching loneliness of watching everyone else rise while I stayed still. The pity glances and the sneers.

It wasn’t my fault.

It had never been my fault.

My knees buckled, and I dropped into the chair like my bones had crumbled. I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, willing myself not to fall apart again.

I’d cried enough.

I’d been lied to enough.

Did my parents even know? Was it worth it to ask them?

With a frustrated growl, I yanked the book back up into my lap and focused on the words again, except there were none. That was where it ended. So how did I get my power back?