Page 42 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)
Erik…
I’m going to keel over and die from the heart attack LeLe just gave me by jumping out of Bessie—and then spend eternity haunting her.
But first I’m going to save my wife.
I can hear my dad in my head yelling at me that I should be thanking the fates that my powerful and wealthy wife decided to sacrifice herself—like a chump—to save the husband she’s trying to divorce and get the spell book to the secured facility.
And no, it doesn’t matter that she’s got a protection spell working, judging by the scent of warm donuts lingering in the air; it won’t keep her safe against the Council goons’ combined magic and the Aetos werewolves’ sneaky cleverness. It’s a suicide mission.
The smart move is to drive away now while we’re still married.
When it comes time at the power sharing ceremony, I can show off the handfast tattoo to prove the connection to the Sherwoods and force their hand to back me instead of my father.
It’s the strategic move. It’s the smart thing to do.
It’s the most logical choice. But we all know I’m not gonna do that.
Why? Because I’m an even bigger chump than she is.
Watching LeLe pull a stupid stunt like this to save me is like having someone use a spoon to dig my heart out of my chest. I don’t know how to process it—not just the giving a fuck about someone other than myself but having someone moving between me and the line of fire.
It’s not that Cy and Sigrid don’t care—I know they do—but I’m their big brother, and therefore, standing between them and my father’s rage and cruelty is in the job description.
If there’s one thing in the world that makes me a tiny bit less of an unsalvageable asshole (and yes, I know that’s a big if), it’s that I’ve never shirked my responsibility to keep my brother and sister out of harm’s way.
Still, knowing that no one will ever try to save me is the first lesson I learned as the Svensen heir.
And yet, there she goes, doing some action-hero move to protect me.
Me!
It’s at this moment that I realize two things.
One, I love this woman, and I’m going to figure out some way to keep my father from double-crossing me at the power transfer ceremony without me having to force LeLe to use her family magic.
Two, there is no way I’m letting either the Council goons or the Aetos werewolves get to my wife.
Yeah, losing possession of the spell book would mean spending the rest of my life—if I’m still breathing after this is over—exiled into The Beyond, but that isn’t important, because the only thing that matters is saving LeLe.
Before she even hits the ground, I’m slamming on the brakes and spinning the wheel to turn Bessie so she’s parallel in the road smack-dab between LeLe and the Council goons.
I can barely hear the Aetoses’ motorcycles over the pounding of my heart in my ears when I look down at LeLe.
She is curled up into a ball with her arms around the bright blue suitcase, really selling the idea that something valuable like the spell book is inside it.
“Get in the car, wife,” I say, all the anxiety speeding through me making the words come out as a snarl.
Her head jerks up and she glares at me.
“What are you doing?” she asks between gritted teeth. “Get out of here!”
“Not without you.” Then my magic scents the air and my whole body practically vibrates with the intensity of the spell brewing inside me. “Volare uxor currus.”
LeLe’s eyes go wide with surprise half a heartbeat later and then she shoots up in the air and lands with a soft thump in Bessie’s passenger seat, still clutching the suitcase to her chest.
“That was the only way to ensure you’d get out of here,” she says, fury making her eyes shine bright. “You could’ve gotten away.”
“There’s always a loophole when it comes to getting out of a jam,” I say as I try to figure out what in the fuck that loophole is this time. “Always.”
The Council’s goons are to the left of us, gaining ground by the second with enough malicious intent wafting off of them to be a tangible force.
The Aetos werewolves are to the right of us, so close the roar of their motorcycle engines makes my teeth rattle.
The Killjoy Forest is straight ahead of us, looming like monsters found only in the kind of nightmares that make grown adults sleep with the lights on.
LeLe is about to light into me again for ruining her plan to save my sorry ass, and judging by the strength of the donut smell smacking me upside the head, that lecture is going to come with a large side of magical fuck-you.
We, however, don’t have time for that, so I hit the gas and Bessie goes speeding forward, because, as I learned at my father’s knee, if all the choices are bad, pick the one that will scare the shit out of everyone opposing you—and in this case, that choice is the Killjoy Forest.
What makes going into the forest such a perilous option that even the Council and the scariest pack of werewolves in Witchingdom will hesitate to follow us? Five-inch-tall, green-haired, flying pixies.
You see, pixie spells are pure chaos. The closest nonmagical comparison I can make is that witch magic is to pixie magic what skiing the bunny slopes is to doing shots of tequila while blindfolded and speeding down the black diamond slopes on greased-up skis while wearing a jet pack.
They really are the kind of magical creatures who say why add a pinch of cemetery dirt when you can add a whole grave’s worth just to see what happens?
Since the dawn of time, they’ve done what they want to who they want because they’re willing to roll the magical dice with reckless abandon.
And if you are foolish enough to put a toe past the edge of the Killjoy Forest where they live?
Well, no witch, troll, unicorn, or other magical creature comes back the same as they went in.
As for what happens when someone goes blasting straight into the heart of the forest doing a hundred miles an hour in a bright yellow classic convertible that’s impossible to miss?
No one’s been fool enough to try it—until now.