Page 39 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)
LeLe…
I’m barely awake and I’m giddy.
It’s weirding me all the way out.
Usually I wake up in the morning and my brain is only sort of maybe a little bit working until I’ve had at least three elderberry teas. This morning? I am on the ball as soon as I roll over and find the note.
GETTING SNACKS FOR THE REST OF THE TRIP. MEET ME DOWNSTAIRS WHEN YOU’RE READY.
E
So that’s how I ended up in the bathroom post-shower grinning my face off and brushing my teeth, which doesn’t seem like a problem until you actually try to do it.
Have you ever tried to brush your teeth with a permagrin?
It’s much harder than you would think. I’m finally getting into the groove of things in the mirror above the sink when the reflection gets all wavy, sending my oh-shit meter into action.
The next thing I know, my sister Effie is staring back at me, scaring me out of my mind.
Heart racing, I spit toothpaste all over the mirror before I realize it’s just an astral reflection.
Grumbling about how it’s not polite to barge in on people, I start wiping away the mess with a towel while my sister laughs her face off at me.
“Little bit high-strung, sis?” Effie asks once she can form words.
Rinsing my toothbrush off, I give her a tight-lipped smile. “I was thinking about something.”
“Well, going by your aura, I don’t need three guesses to figure out what that something was—or more correctly, who that someone is.”
“You and your aura reading can go jump in a lake,” I grumble.
Effie makes a tsk-tsk sound. “Oh, somebody is testy this morning. Has it been an orgasm-free road trip?”
I manage to keep my expression neutral, but my cheeks feel like they’re as red as my aura. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She snorts. “Yeah, try lying to somebody who isn’t your sister and hasn’t known you your entire life. So I take it that means you haven’t murdered him in his sleep and become a gorgeous widow?”
“You’re always so bloodthirsty.”
My older sister shrugs. “Only when it involves family and somebody who can potentially hurt them.”
“I am not going to get hurt.” Which would probably sound a lot more convincing if I weren’t pressing my hand against my belly as if I need to protect my vital organs from attack.
“This is different,” I go on. “My eyes are wide-open. I know who Erik Svensen is. I am under no illusions. I am just having fun.”
And if I’m whacking my toothbrush against the faucet to get the last of the water drops off of it before I snap the travel cap on it, well, that just means I’m back to my normal not-a-morning-person self.
“If you say so,” she says, managing to fit a whole lot of you-are-so-full-of-shit-and-we-both-know-it in four words. “I’m warning you now that if I get even a twinge that something is wrong through the sisterly SOS signal, I’ll be there before you even get a chance to ask for help.”
I’d like to say she’s kidding, but I know she’s not. I might be the Sherwood heir, but Effie is the oldest Sherwood child, and despite her wild ways, she takes her duties as big sister very seriously.
“I appreciate that,” I say, meaning it wholeheartedly.
“But Erik says we’re about a day out from the secured facility.
We should be there tonight. We’ll get The Liber Umbrarum tucked away where the Council can’t access it.
Then we’ll knock out the divorce spell and I’ll come home single, ready to do what’s expected of the heir and marry whichever politically expedient husband Mom wants—it’s not like the who really matters to me.
The important thing is that the family is taken care of and the Council never gets the chance to turn Witchingdom into their own version of a fascist utopia. ”
And I am not blinking away tears or swallowing past the emotion clogging my throat or clasping my hands so tightly together that my knuckles are white because I’m afraid I’ll fall apart if I don’t.
And if I was feeling like that, I’d stuff all that frustration and sadness into that deep, dark hole where all the other feelings I am ignoring go.
Judging by the sympathetic look on my sister’s face, though, she doesn’t believe any of that.
“Leona, I’m probably the last person in the world who should be saying this since it’s not like I can do anything to change it,” she says with a sad sigh, “but I think you’re getting a raw deal out of being the heir. There has to be a way for you to be with who you want and be a good heir.”
“Want has nothing to do with anything when it comes to my life, and that’s fine.
It is what it is.” Straightening my shoulders, I dig deep for my best impervious Mom expression.
“Anyway, all of the husband candidates come from families who are the only ones with enough power to help us defeat the Council.”
“The only families?” Effie asks.
I know exactly where she’s going with this, but it doesn’t matter that the Svensens have as much family magic as we do. They aren’t to be trusted—not even Erik, which makes me want to go back to that giant four-poster bed, crawl in, and never come out.
“Whatever you say, sis. You know best.”
“Exactly.” I nod emphatically even though I’ve never hated being right more in my life. “Give everyone hugs for me. I’ll be home soon.”
Ignoring the way “soon” weighs in my gut like a lead balloon, I finish getting ready and head down the stairs to find Erik.
And there’s no doubt about it this time, the fauns etched in gold on the blue silk wallpaper are definitely swapping partners and positions.
By the time I reach the landing above the lobby, Sil is waiting for me, this time in a sage-green-and-silver hooded kaftan, their eyes lined with a dark kohl.
“The wallpaper really is something, don’t you think?
” they ask as they link an arm through mine and walk with me down the rest of the stairs.
“Our guests often tell us it’s quite inspirational.
I like to think of it as a reminder that there really is no end to the possibilities that life offers. ”
It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to all the extra light.
Whereas last night the lobby was bathed in a soft, romantic candlelight, this morning it’s bright with natural sunshine coming in through the three walls of windows that had not been there before.
They give a gorgeous view of a massive inner courtyard that’s filled with a manicured garden.
“I guess I’ve never really thought of that before.” No need for therapy to dig deep and figure out why that is.
Sil chuckles. “Youth really is wasted on the young.”
I take a closer look at Sil, and there’s not a single wrinkle to be found on their face. There’s no way they’re old enough to be making a comment like that. Then again, satyr magic is a unique vintage for sure.
“Can I ask how old you are?”
“Of course. Why would I be ashamed of that?” Sil beams at me, obviously proud of every one of their years. They stop at the check-in desk, which this morning is underneath a flowering magnolia tree. “Do you know how much experience someone can gain in 632 years? Soooo much.”
Before I can ask for more details, Erik and the inn’s chef come out into the dining room singing a dirty limerick about a witch, a gnome, a unicorn, and a pair of mischievous pixies, the lyrics of which would put the inn’s wallpaper to shame.
They are each carrying an oversized picnic basket that is so overstuffed with edible goodies that the lid won’t close.
“Wife,” he calls out, and lifts his basket. “Beware of satyrs saying they just want to add one more thing to your picnic basket or you’ll end up like this when all you wanted was a few sandwiches.”
While he and the inn’s chef pack the baskets and our “Mr.” and “Mrs.” matching luggage are brought out by the porters to Bessie, Sil pulls me aside on the front porch.
“I have a feeling you’re going to need this; you just have an aura about you and a mother always knows,” they say as they press a gold amulet in the shape of a sand timekeeper into my hand.
“It’s a rewinder. If the Council gets too close—or something else happens—all you have to do is turn it upside down and say the spell engraved on the bottom.
You’ll rewind time by three minutes, but it can only be used once, so make sure to only use it for what matters most.”
My gut twists. Satyr magic is different than our witch magic.
It’s more ancient, and some argue more powerful—making it more coveted than even the rarest of spells.
My training as heir kicks in and I’m trying to figure out what to give in return as protocol requires, but nothing I have is as precious as the amulet.
“And I don’t want to hear anything about not being able to accept it,” Sil says as if reading my mind—but I’m pretty sure that’s just a rumor and satyrs can’t actually do that, at least I hope not.
“It’s a gift, and I’ll be highly offended if you don’t take it, and no one wants a satyr mad at them. ”
This is true. The stories of satyrs taking their revenge are legendary. Let’s just say they’re very creative when it comes to getting even. Trust me, you don’t want to know more than that.
Accepting my fate, I loop the long gold chain around my neck and tuck the amulet under my sweater before giving Sil a hug. “Thank you. This is a precious gift, and I appreciate it.”
Sil squeezes me back tight and even though they only come up to the middle of my chest and their horns poke into my boobs, it’s one of the best hugs I’ve ever had in my life.
They break the hug and look over at Bessie.
The car looks as shiny and new as if she’d just been driven off the showroom floor this morning instead of decades ago.
There’s not a speck of dust on the white leather seats or a single leaf stuck in the grille after our race through the woods to stay ahead of the Council’s goons.
Erik is leaning against the passenger side of the car, his arms crossed, and looking even better than Bessie.
Those forearms of his really should be illegal, and I’m pretty sure wearing the sleeves of his sweater pushed up like that so I can’t help but look at them is definitely against the law.
Sil lets out a sigh and when I look over, they just shake their head at me. “You better go get in that car with that good-looking husband of yours, or I might be tempted to work a little illusion magic and take your spot.”
My cheeks feel like I’ve just gotten too close to the Fall Festival bonfire. “He’s not my husband,” I say right before a wistful sigh escapes. Yeah, way to really sell it, Sherwood. “Or at least he won’t be for much longer.”
“Uh-huh,” Sil says with a snort of disbelief. “Whatever you say.”
I could argue with them, or I could just pretend my pants are on fire while I walk over to Bessie.
It shouldn’t take you three guesses to figure out which one I’m gonna go with.