Page 14 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)

And speaking of flying monkeys, the man who had a great time at the beach with the Hamadryas baboon instead of agreeing to do the dimitto spell is standing a few feet away next to a shiny canary-yellow Cadillac convertible that wasn’t there five minutes ago.

Going over there is both the last thing and the only thing I want to do. Why can’t anything be simple when it comes to Erik?

I should hate him.

I do hate him.

Sorta.

Can I hate him if I keep dreaming about him? Yes. I can find a way to make that work. It’s just my subconscious working out all the hate, along with a few orgasms, I’ll admit.

Ugh. Why does he make me like this?

Thoroughly annoyed with myself, Erik, and (let’s face it) the whole world, I leave my sister behind and march my way over, keeping my attention focused on the classic Cadillac instead of the broad-shouldered slice of hotness standing next to it.

I succeed.

Mostly.

The convertible has fins in the back, cream-colored leather seats, and instead of a touch-screen entertainment system, there’s an old-fashioned radio with knobs you have to turn to tune in to a local radio station.

Stepping closer, I can’t help but admire how the polished wood dashboard gleams in the light of the moon, and the pair of black fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror has me smiling before I stop myself and pull my bitch face back into place.

The car is absolutely ridiculously gorgeous, over-the-top, and the one thing we don’t need, since a simple spell will take us anywhere in Witchingdom that we need to go.

Still, I can’t help trailing my fingertips across the back of the passenger seat’s soft leather headrest, which is surprisingly warm and welcoming.

I can already picture how nice it will be to sink back into the seat, let my eyes close, and feel the wind rushing through my hair as we speed down the highway.

The car feels like freedom—something I’m not allowed as the Sherwood heir.

And that bummer of a thought is enough to remind me of the where, why, and who of the situation.

“You magicked a car here?” I ask, even though it’s not a question, because who else would have done it?

“Oh, this isn’t just any car,” Erik says, skimming his palm across the hood as he walks around the vehicle. “This is Bessie, and she’s going to take us to the secured facility.”

That is not going to happen. A transport spell is nearly instantaneous. Even a magic carpet could get anywhere in Witchingdom within an hour. But a car? That would make the trip take hours, or even days, depending on where the Svensens’ secret hiding spot is.

“And don’t worry about clothes,” Erik goes on, impervious to the death glare I am shooting at him as he stops at the back of the car. “I already summoned up a suitcase full of them for you.”

He pops open the trunk, and there in the middle of the ginormous empty space are two blue suitcases, each of which is monogrammed—“Mr.” on one and “Mrs.” on the other, both in gold script.

Turning to face me, he smiles. My gut drops and nervous energy starts pinballing through me, because it’s not his usual cocky smirk.

Instead, it’s a sweet, innocent curve of his lips that makes his whole face light up.

My internal oh-shit meter was already going off, but that guileless grin sent it into full-on panic mode even though I know it’s about as real as a unicorn shifter who hates Lucky Charms.

“Why are the suitcases so big?” I ask, already knowing I’m not going to like the answer.

He closes the trunk with a thunk. “It’ll take us a few days to get to the secured facility.”

“A few days?” The words come out louder than I meant, and I can feel the eyes of all the Sherwoods turning toward us.

Forcing a calm, nonchalant expression even though I’m about to commit murder, I wave off their concern, waiting until their attention is focused anywhere but on me before continuing in a tight, quiet voice that should scare the shit out of my soon-to-be ex.

“No. Forget it. You give me the location and I’ll cast the spell to get us there tonight. ”

He makes a regretful tutting sound and gives me an aw-shucks shrug. “No can do.”

The man must have absolutely zero sense of self-preservation, because instead of walking back around the car so that there are nearly five thousand pounds of metal, leather, and machinery between us, he curves around the tail fin and walks right up to me.

I’m in the process of deciding exactly which spell I’m going to use to make him poof out of my sight when he takes my hand.

Instead of the most annoying man in all of Witchingdom magicking into thin air, it’s all of my thoughts that do the disappearing act.

My breath catches. My heart speeds up. My mouth goes dry.

Without meaning to, I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and bite down on my bottom lip.

Erik’s blue eyes darken with desire as he stares at my mouth.

His jaw tenses.

He steps forward.

And for a single, solitary moment, it’s not a fanciful thought that he’s going to kiss me—it’s a fact.

But he doesn’t.

And I’m fucking thrilled about that.

Really.

One hundred million percent thrilled.

Kissing Erik is not a thing I want. Not at all. Not even a little teeny-tiny bit.

You can keep all of your uh-huh, sure s to yourself right about now. I know I’m lying, but let me hold on to what little bit of dignity I still have at this moment when all I can think about is dragging the man I hate into the nearest dark corner and fucking him senseless.

He blinks a few times and moves his gaze so he’s looking just to the side of my face instead of directly at me. However, he doesn’t let go of my hand.

“My great-great-great-grandfather cursed the secured facility so that it can’t be reached by magic.

So that’s why Bessie isn’t only beautiful, she’s necessary.

Oh, and one more thing.” He lifts my hand and runs his thumb across my wrist, sending a shiver of anticipation through me as the otherwise invisible gold bracelet tattooed on my skin as a result of the handfast ceremony glitters in the night.

“No one can enter who isn’t a Svensen by birth or”—he pauses and looks right at me—“by marriage.”

“There has to be another way,” I say, the words coming out all breathy.

“Generations of Svensens have tried and failed to get to it by magic, and we don’t exactly have the time to research a different solution if we’re going to get The Liber Umbrarum safe in the secured facility before the Council comes after it.”

Why does he have to be right?

I suck in a deep, cleansing breath as I beg the universe for another option.

If there is one, the fates aren’t sharing it with me.

“Of course,” he says, letting go of my hand, “I could go by myself if you trust me not to use the spell book for my own benefit.”

As if. “I wouldn’t trust you with a half-eaten newt muffin I was planning to toss in the trash.”

Grinning, Erik opens the passenger door for me. “Then your chariot awaits, wife.”

If there was any other way—seriously, any other way , I’d do it. But there’s not.

Fuck me.

I really am the unluckiest witch alive.