Page 19

AMbrOSE

T he last three days have sucked. I don’t think I’ve ever been so worried in my entire life.

Not much gets beneath my skin. Most things roll right off my back.

Call me a dickhead, a loser, get up in my face and spit, and it will take a whole lot more than that to rile me up.

Seeing Piper writhing in pain and not being able to do a damn thing about it was agonizing.

I had to stop myself from driving over to Tucker’s to beat his ass multiple times.

It doesn’t matter that this curse comes from the Briar Witch, Tucker still deserves to have his ass kicked.

Not wanting to leave Piper’s side was the only reason I didn’t go.

Piper is wrapped up in one of my old t-shirts and a pair of sweats.

She didn’t even blink when I handed her the clothes to put on.

It’s idiotic and completely unlike me, but I needed her to wear some piece of my clothing.

What happened between us the other night after the Hollows was probably a slip in her judgment.

I’m not counting on it occurring again any time soon.

With Piper, pressing the issue won’t do anything but make her flee, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s not safe in this house.

Especially now, with everything that’s happened with the coven and her uncle.

We spend the rest of the day in bed after I put on fresh sheets.

We watch terrible reality TV, nap off and on, and eat the collection of snacks I brought up.

I should make Piper a full meal, but she seems to be limiting herself to crackers and sports drinks.

I don’t want to push anything if she’s still not feeling well.

I may not have been sick, but I’m exhausted too. My sleep was fitful at best over the past few days. As soon as I’d nod off, I’d jerk awake, afraid Piper would stop breathing. I don’t even know if that’s a justified fear, but I couldn’t stop picturing it.

Piper is snuggled under the blankets, her hands under her cheeks as I lay down next to her, the TV softly flickering in the background.

“Are you feeling better?” I murmur quietly, feeling like we’re in a little bubble that I don’t want to burst.

“Yeah, thanks to you.” Her eyes search my face, dropping to my mouth and then darting away. How I wish I could kiss her. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

I brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind her ear. “Anytime, Pipes.”

We fall asleep with mere inches between us.

The soft sounds of someone moving around in the room wakes me. I reach out for Piper, but her side of the bed is empty. I crack my eyes open as she comes out of the bathroom, brushing her teeth.

“You’re up? Are you feeling better?” I ask through a yawn.

Piper darts into the bathroom and comes back out without her toothbrush. “I feel like myself again.” She leans against the door frame, gnawing on her lip.

I fold my arms under my head, propping it up so I can see her better. I stretch my whole body and flex my toes. Something pops and another something cracks.

“Sick of being in bed?”

“Actually, yes.” She chuckles softly. “I was thinking of going to see Fitz today.” Piper cringes as she says the witch's name. Fitz is definitely one of the good guys, but that doesn’t make her any less intimidating.

That woman would hex you in a second if you got on her bad side.

It doesn’t matter that she’s older than dirt, and not an official member of the coven, she’s probably the most powerful witch in town.

She’s definitely the scariest. And the most knowledgeable.

I grab a pillow and shove it over my face as I groan. I pull it down to look at Piper, who’s smiling as she shakes her head. “You don’t have to come with me.”

Sitting up, I slap a hand over my heart. Piper’s eyes drift down to my naked chest as the sheet falls to my waist. “You wound me. I would never abandon my wife to see the dragon Fitz alone.”

“All right, get up and get ready then. I should probably go see Morty after we see Fitz.”

Piper does some work for Morty, creating potions and mixing up elixirs that he sells in his shop. I don’t know for sure, but I highly doubt Piper needs to work at all. The Beaumont family is very wealthy, although I have no idea if Piper has any of that money or if Tucker inherited it all.

My family runs Roth Entertainment in Mystic Hollow, which means we control pretty much any entertainment venue in the city and surrounding areas.

Bars, nightclubs, the theater, and even larger venues that hold concerts and bigger events.

I do work. But I’ve also hired very competent people to run these places for me so that I don’t have to do the day-to-day business grind.

My parents peaced out of running any of the businesses the moment I could legally take control. I spent years burning myself out trying to do everything myself, then I realized I didn’t need to. I hire competent staff and let them do their jobs with little interference.

“All right.” I push out of bed. “Give me fifteen minutes and we can go.”

Agatha Fitzsimon lives in a beautiful cottage on the edge of town.

It’s a sweet French rustic style house with a natural stone exterior, an arched doorway, and sloped roofs.

The picturesque cottage has overflowing flower boxes on the windows regardless of what time of the year it is.

Fitz has an affinity for earth magic and plants.

If I didn’t know her, I would imagine a kind old woman lives here instead of a witch with a razor-sharp tongue.

Fitz is waiting on her front porch when I pull up, like she knew we were coming.

She’s at least a hundred years old and has long white hair that I’ve never seen out of its braid.

Fitz's wardrobe consists solely of velour track suits.

Her closet must be a veritable rainbow of velvety matching pants and zip up hoodies.

Today’s suit is a bright purple. On her feet is a pair of Spider-Man slippers. An irritated look on her face rounds out the whole ensemble.

“Has she been waiting for us?” I hesitate after I turn off the car.

“I told her we’d be here at ten.” Piper gulps.

I look at my watch. “It’s one minute after ten.”

“Oh God, she’s gonna turn us into hedgehogs or something,” Piper mumbles under her breath.

“No, she won’t. She’ll just verbally flay us with her words.”

Piper swallows loudly. “Let’s face the music.” With a sigh, she opens her door. I feel bad that I don’t rush around to get the door for her, but I’m being a big chicken and dragging my feet to get out.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Fitz says as we approach her porch, a hint of an Irish brogue giving a lilt to her words.

No one knows where Fitz is from. She’s been in Mystic Hollows for as long as I’ve been alive, but she wasn’t born here.

She’s pointing her cane at us. The one with a dragon's head on it. It’s probably fashioned after Fitz’s inner spirit or something.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if the witch turned out to be a shapeshifter and that was her other form.

Piper stares blankly at the woman. I wrap an arm around her shoulder and give her a little shake.

“She’s talking about our wedding.” I have no clue how Fitz found out, but the Mystic Hollows magical community is full of gossips. I’m not surprised she’s already heard the news.

“Oh, thanks.”

I simply smile. It’s weird to accept congratulations on a wedding that was essentially a favor. We didn’t do it because we’re madly in love with each other. It’s an arrangement to help Piper.

“Idiots.” Fitz rolls her eyes and stomps into her house.

“Why are we idiots?” I frown at Fitz’s back.

Piper shakes her head and trudges up the steps like she’s walking to the gallows. I put a hand on her lower back, guiding her up the steps. She turns and glares at me. “Are you pushing me so I go first?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Maybe.” I flash Piper an innocent smile and she scowls at me.

“Get in here,” Fitz calls out from inside the house and the two of us hustle through her front door.

Much like the exterior of the house, the inside looks like it was decorated for another person.

Except everything in Fitz’s house is quintessentially witchy.

The walls of the living room are lined with shelves.

Some are stacked full of books, others have carefully organized bottles of dried herbs and disturbing liquids with unidentifiable things floating in them.

Bundles of flowers and bones tied together with red string dangle off hooks on the ceiling, and candles litter every flat surface.

There’s an orange, brown, and cream floral couch that’s definitely older than I am.

Across from that is a rocking chair with a fuzzy blanket thrown over the back.

It’s sitting next to a wood-burning stove.

Despite the possibility that Fitz is actually a demon, her house smells really inviting.

The scent of something savory cooking warms me to the bone.

There’s also a hint of cinnamon and spice, like she’s baked something too.

I peer around the living room, but I can’t see into the kitchen.

I doubt she’s about to offer me a cookie anyway.

There is, however, a cauldron–literally a giant black tub of a thing–dangling from a hook over the top of the wood-burning stove.

It’s boiling and bubbling from the flames licking the bottom of the pot.

Fitz shuffles over in her slippers and stirs whatever is in the cauldron. She grins down at it like she’s ready to use it to smite her enemies. No, she probably needs a bigger pot for that.