Page 50 of Head Witch in Charge (The Sherwood Witches #2)

LeLe…

Fuck the werewolves. I’m not going anywhere without Erik.

I may not be a Svensen anymore, but they aren’t the only ones who can sniff out a loophole when necessary.

But first, I have to deal with the werewolves.

Wiping my tears away with the back of my hand and willing my nose to stop running, I scramble up from the ground.

Doing my best to ignore the sound of the motorcycle engine getting closer and the rush of blood in my ears as the adrenaline spikes in my veins, I pick up the golden apple from the rock and hold it tight against my chest as I call on my magic to pour into it so it can amplify it.

The scent of warm donuts is weak, but it’s there, fighting against the pixie prohibition against witchy magic in their forest as I summon everything I’ve got.

Beads of sweat slide down the back of my neck as I dig deep, focusing on the apple to unlock its power.

But nothing happens.

Letting out a deep breath, I try again. And again. And again. Each time I get the same result. Not a damn thing.

There’s not a thrum or a quiver coming from the apple, nor does it give off even a single wattage of light, let alone enough to keep the world’s darkness at bay. Instead it’s just magical pyrite—a heavy, cold metal dud.

“It’s a one-time-use object,” Addison says.

“And more trouble than they’re worth,” Asher adds. “Especially since I’m an oak tree, not an apple tree.”

“It’s called the wonder of magic, Asher,” Addison sighs. “Do you have to suck the joy out of everything?”

As they continue to bicker, the sound of the motorcycle goes from distant thunder to a tornado.

Squaring my shoulders, I ready myself for whatever fresh shitstorm is about to rain down.

Honestly, after everything that has happened since I saw Erik at that pool bar in Vegas, I’m prepared for every possibility.

Check that, because I’m definitely not prepared for seeing my older sister behind the handlebars of the alpha Aetos’s motorcycle while he keeps pace beside her in his wolf form.

Looking like some kind of avenging goddess with her long dark hair flying in the wind as she guns the engine, Effie swerves around trees and dodges the animals scurrying to safety as if she’s been doing it her entire life.

The motorcycle roars as it heads straight for me, turning at the last minute and coming to a hard stop.

She’s off the bike a second later and sprinting over to me, wrapping her arms around me in the kind of hug only a sister can give.

“Who are you?” I ask when she lets go enough for me to get a breath in.

“Your big sister, you lucky witch.” She narrows her eyes as she takes a step back and holds me by the shoulders as she gives me a serious once-over. “If you offed him, I know how to hide the body.”

The huge werewolf lets out a low growl and bares his teeth before sitting down next to Effie.

Completely unbothered by the massive werewolf acting as her shadow, she rolls her eyes. “Just because I watch a lot of true crime shows. Don’t get your fur in a twist, Darius.”

He lets out a wolfish huff and then turns his eerie golden gaze on me.

He contemplates me for a second before the air shimmers around him, taking on that wavy look the road gets on a hot day that gives you an idea of what’s ahead without giving you a clear picture.

There’s a distinct cracking sound as he starts to shift, going from wolf to man in less time than it takes me to order my morning elderberry tisane at the Alchemist’s Bookshop and Tea Emporium.

I try not to notice that he’s buck-ass naked, but there’s really no way to avoid it.

Werewolves are kind of known for being clothing optional, but it’s overwhelming when you’re not used to it.

He walks past my sister to his motorcycle, reaches inside the leather saddlebag attached to it, and pulls out a pair of jeans.

Lifting a single dark eyebrow, he grins at Effie. “Get a good look, or should I wait to put these on?”

She shrugs one shoulder as if there weren’t a naked six-foot-seven man standing in front of her. “Like I care either way.” Then she turns back to me and gives me another hug. “Ignore him. He’s just my ride.”

“Effie,” I say, my voice sounding as broken as I feel. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“Short answer? I used a hot-wire spell on his motorcycle and came after you before he could stop me,” she says. “Long answer? Considering I arrived with the scion of Witchingdom’s criminal underworld, it’s better you have plausible deniability on that one. Trust me.”

Speaking of our dear mother…She pulls a burner phone out of her jacket’s inside pocket and hands it to me. “She sent me with this.”

The phone rings as soon as I take it. “Hello?”

“Darling, I’ve been worried about you. How are you?”

I am a grown woman, yes, but in this moment, hearing my mother’s voice, all that age and experience fades away and I’m twelve again, pouring my heart out to my mommy.

I tell her everything—almost everything—about my secret marriage, the road trip with The Liber Umbrarum, and the realization that I am in love with my no-longer husband.

“I was curious about how all of that would work out,” Mom says. “He is a rather interesting match for you. Not expected, but very, very interesting.”

Dumbfounded doesn’t begin to explain how I feel as my legs give out and I plunk down on the flat-topped boulder. “You knew? Is that some special power the family magic gives you? Could you see the handfast mark?”

My mom snorts. “I knew the moment you came back from Vegas because I am your mother and I know you.”

“I’m so sorry.” My voice shakes as I barely get the words out. “You’re disappointed. You made all those plans for me, for the family, for Witchingdom and—”

“Oh, Leona,” Mom interrupts with a sigh.

“It’s me who is sorry. I’ve failed you because I never taught you the most important thing about being the family matriarch.

You can’t take care of anyone else if you don’t take care of yourself.

It’s that whole in-case-of-a-magic-carpet-losing-altitude-put-your-oxygen-mask-on-first thing.

You can’t save the world or your family if you’re suffocating. ”

It makes sense, but I can’t shake the weight of expectation and responsibility that comes with being the heir. I’ve been carrying it my whole life and it’s not like I can just shrug it off. The entire family is depending on me. “But our family needs me to—”

“Do the right thing?” Mom cuts in and then lets loose with a wry chuckle.

“No one ever does the right thing every time. It’s just not possible.

And what’s right may not always look that way at first. That’s why it’s so important that you listen to that little voice of truth inside you.

It’s the itch you can’t reach, the feeling you can’t explain, and the certainty that has no basis—it just is.

And you’ve always had that in you. The magic saw it the moment you were born and glommed on to you, making you the Sherwood heir because it knew it would always be safe with you.

” She lets out a weary sigh. “No one can ever understand what that’s like, the joy and fear of being responsible for an entire family and its legacy—except another heir, of course.

It’s quite a gift when you can find someone who understands you at a level no one else ever could—someone named Erik Svensen, for example. ”

Am I crying hard enough at this point that Effie is fast-walking over to me?

Yes. But even through the tears I can see something that I somehow missed before.

My family—annoying, demanding, hilarious, quirky, always in my business, who I will spend the rest of my life looking out for—watch out for me just as much. Being the heir doesn’t mean I’m alone.

Effie sits down beside me, wrapping me up in her big sister love as I say the one thing an heir is never supposed to admit. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Of course you do,” Mom says, her voice so full of confidence that it fills me up a little too. “You save your husband.”

She says it like it’ll be easy. Maybe for her, the family matriarch. But for me? I’m just the witch who slips coming out of the shower and ends up with Barkley roosting on my ass.

“Now, the pixie queen should be there any second with The Liber Umbrarum. Lucille and I go way back, but that doesn’t mean you should trust her, and whatever you do, don’t accept another challenge from her.

It was hard enough to negotiate terms for the last three so they could actually be accomplished.

Those pixies do love setting the odds in their favor, which is why we only play our weekly poker game on neutral ground, so I’m up six hundred dollars on her. ” She chuckles. “I love you, Leona.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I no sooner hang up than an earsplitting crack of thunder echoes across the forest and ten pixies appear, hovering in the air while holding the queen’s throne. She peers down at us and mumbles something about interlopers and double-crossing werewolves who can’t be trusted.

“You owe me a golden apple,” she says, pointing her delicate gold fan at me before turning it toward Darius, standing next to his slightly dinged-up motorcycle from Effie’s daredevil driving.

She shoots him what must be the pixie equivalent of a flirty smile that shows off her point-sharpened teeth.

“And you were warned to never come back here again.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Darius says without looking up from his motorcycle as he checks it over, grumbling under his breath with every new ding or scratch he finds that my sister must have given it during her wild ride through the forest.

The color rises in the queen’s cheeks. This is a woman who is most definitely not used to being ignored.

Stepping forward before things get nasty, I drop my head in deference. “I need your help.”