Page 23 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

The events on the roof are troubling, to say the least. Marlowe and I keep darting looks at one another. He’s doing it right now, sitting on the edge of our bed as I lean back against the bedroom door and face off against Brooks. Not looking at him though, totally stuck on the idea that I sexually assaulted Marlowe.

“I’m really sorry,” I whisper, but Lo just flushes and waves his hand like it was nothing.

“I’m not. Needed doing. Guess you have to forgive me now?” he asks with this cocky little curl of his lips. The expression annoys me. It’s also hot as hell. Maybe it’s as hot as it is because he’s such a smart-mouthed bastard?

“I should’ve eaten Miriam when I was in owl form. Dennis, too.” I slip away from Brooks and he lets me go, his eyes watching as I wander over to the bed and climb on. Tanner is sitting on the windowsill, arms crossed over his chest, frowning at me with an icy stare. What’s that look for?

“Don’t apologize to that ass-hat. He had it coming.” Tanner’s ice melts into something molten, and I flush all over. More woman than witch at the moment. He’s lovely, magic or no magic.

“Would’ve saved me a lot of future drama. Why didn’t you?” Marlowe quips back, and then I just throw my arms around his neck and cling on for dear life. I know that nothing is solved here. I know that I have to pay the price to keep them alive. But I can’t help myself. I can’t help it.

I got more time, and every second counts. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.

Marlowe holds me so tight, tucking me up against him and stroking my back. He’s comforting in a way I didn’t expect. That I didn’t see coming.

“I’m not mad about the roof, okay? Was it pleasant? No. But magic is sacrifice. It was an easy sacrifice to make for you.” He burrows his face against me, and we just sit there breathing for a while. It’s nice to be this close to his pulse and not want to rip his throat out.

I don’t feel any hunger, none at all—with the exception of Brooks’ deliciously moist dessert.

Pulling away from Marlowe is only possible because Tanner is there. I go to him since he won’t come to me, but when I put myself in grabbing distance, he snatches me around the waist and pulls me in between his knees. He’s still sitting on the windowsill, wrapped around me and dirty as fuck. Metaphorically, sure, but literally, too.

We’re all nasty. In fact, Marlowe and I have already gotten blood all over our sheets.

“A shower first might’ve been more practical,” Brooks admits from behind me as I rub my cheek against Tanner’s, forcing him to tickle me with that wonderful stubble.

“Last time we’ll ever be separated,” Tanner mumbles, holding me in his strong arms. “I hope you enjoyed it. Had your last hurrahs.”

I snort against him, but I don’t move. I just need to be here. Because every second we get that feels as good as this one is something important, a memory to be kept and treasured.

“Shower sounds really good, but I’m not sure what to do about these wings.” I adjust myself and knock an old dusty vase off the corner of my dresser, shattering it.

“They’re cute as hell though,” Tanner offers, leaning back to study them. Both were sliced off during the battle but they’re already back, hale and whole. “And don’t worry: we anticipate your needs, don’t we, honey?”

Brooks tosses a cloak over my shoulders, and Tanner helps catch it so it doesn’t slide off. He hooks the metal clasp in the front for me and then leans back to take it all in. I feel the cloak settle into place, and when I turn to look, my wings are gone.

“Holy shit.”

There are shadows wafting around my legs, like the cloak isn’t really a cloak at all. It’s a nest of playful writhing shadows, like a reaching black fog. Ominous. Spooky. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

“You’ll have to wear that for a while, but the wings won’t be a problem,” Brooks explains, walking up to stand beside me. I can feel the tension between us like a torn tendon, something that wasn’t meant to stretch and so it finally snapped. It’s painful. “Not that I think other people will be able to see them. But now you won’t add extra housekeeping work to my list of chores.”

“Oh, so I’ll be fine as long as I wear a hooded cloak and a witch hat out in public everyday? Are we sure we want to fix the gate?” It’s an obvious joke—w e need t o fix the gate—but Tanner and Marlowe laugh anyway.

They always laugh at my terrible humor.

“It’s a cloaking cloak, Kate.” Tanner doesn’t seem to notice what a stupid name that is. Frankly, I’m disappointed in the guys. They had a chance to name all those newly discovered species in the Witchwoods, and I got basic terms like flash-toad and gore-bear. Yes, and cloaking cloak. So creative.

I raped Marlowe on the roof. My eyes dart to him, and we both blush again.

“A cloaking cloak?” I repeat, and Tanner reaches out to throw the hood up. My hat disappears from sight as the cloak settles on my hair, but I can still feel the tongue moving around so I know it’s on my head. A very useful illusion.

“How many orgasms did this one take?” I tease, but they all look very serious about it.

“Dozens,” Brooks admits. “Dozens of sad, lonely masturbation sessions sitting in this room and scheming clever ways to get you back. Now. Look at me.”

I turn away and let Tanner settle himself around me from behind, swallowing hard as I peer into Brooks’ face. He’s very stern today, arms crossed, the eyes on his hat disdainful. The poisonous ones on his face soften as he looks me over.

“I’m not about to scold you like a child, Kate. You did well. We all did very well.” Brooks shakes out his hands and sighs, hat-eyes closing in random order and then opening back up again. “Tonight, we’ll rest. Tomorrow, we start spell prep.”

I could cry for how happy I am to hear him say that.

The world might be asleep (Marlowe might’ve flooded my neighborhood with a tsunami), but this feels right. Downstairs, I hear the subtle signs of my friends and I feel content. So goddamn content.

Happy.

“Ah, shit.” Marlowe catches his sudden nosebleed in his hand, and I feel all of the blood rush out of my face. Not too happy though. I accept that one day soon, I’ll be alone in the Witchwoods and my men will be out here.

The only way to break the curse is to give into it.

I will need to trust these men with my literal salvation.

But can they do that? Can they be sin and salvation?

The nosebleed stops, but Brooks is looking at me sideways, and Tanner is squeezing me too hard around the waist.

We collect pajamas, make our way to the bathroom, and we shower together. Climb into bed together.

We’re even too tired for sex, but we curl up in a warm pile and within minutes, we’re all fast asleep.

I nuzzle into an armpit. Not sure whose armpit it is, but it’s warm and somehow … it smells good? I blink myself back to life and realize that I’m worshipping Tanner’s pit. His arms are folded behind his head, and I’m clinging to him like a horny sloth.

His eyes slant my way, and his expression is dark. It’s the darkest I have ever seen him look. No, not dark. Serious. This is what he looks like when he’s serious.

“Thank fuck that we showered before bed, eh, you weirdo. You were licking me down there.”

My mouth drops open at Tanner’s words.

“I was not,” I protest, adamant in order to protect my dignity. “Maybe it was my hat?”

“Which you’re not wearing,” he adds, but his voice catches, and his entire body is taut. This is our first morning sort of … after. This is an after, and we’ve made it so far together. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want him to know how much it hurts to be this close knowing I can’t keep him forever.

The Hag’s curse is like this: until I’ve paid my price, the spell to keep them alive is only temporary. I have to fulfill my end of the bargain. There’s no way around that. And yet, they’ll never stop. There is no impossible with them. It is never accepted that we will not be together, somehow, someway.

Maybe it’s a foolish, romantic worldview, but it’s why Tanner and I fell for each other so fast.

“Fine. I was licking your armpit.” I snuggle into him, Marlowe clutching me aggressively from behind. Brooks is sitting up, staring down at us with no hat on. No shirt. Naked and pretty in the sunshine coming through the window.

Holy fuck. I’m caught on his beautiful face, and he knows it. He knows what I’m thinking, too.

And it’s become a challenge.

“I’ll prove whatever you’re obsessing over wrong,” Brooks assures me, and I roll my eyes.

“Just remember that I beat you at chess,” I remind him, turning to see if Marlowe is awake. Of course he is, and somehow he looks young and soft in the morning light. There’s nothing on that face but a blank slate, a future for us to write together.

Marlowe is such an adorable optimist.

“You love swallowing cum, and you like licking armpits. We get it. You’re weird, Kate.” He scowls at me, but his eyes are too gentle of a brown for him to pull it off. “Just remember: you had your way with me last night. I expect a little bit of coddling.”

He smirks at me, that dark hair of his caught in the shadows in a way that makes it look black. No rainbow shimmer. Just silky hair and a face that’s too pretty for his own good. Honestly, if I think about everything that’s happened to me since I went into the Witchwoods, the weirdest part is how I ended up with three hot straight guys in one coven. Lucky break.

“I did, and I’m sorry.” I reach up and place my palm against his cheek. Marlowe doesn’t get as stubbly as the other two, but there’s a bit of a dark shadow on his pale skin. I rub my hand against his jaw, and he wets his lips, expression falling into something vulnerable and raw.

I’m stunned by it, and I’m honored that he’d give me a chance after being burned by his childhood friends. I couldn’t imagine Georgia, Tacy, and Fernanda ever leaving me to suffer in the Witchwoods. They’d have followed me into the tree, too. But Marlowe … he was left behind.

I slip my thumb into his mouth, and he sucks it for me, maintaining contact with those dark eyes. We have so much to talk about that it’s easy to forget that we need to fix the dark wonderland we’ve trapped ourselves in.

Because, ultimately, at the end of the day, the four of us are the ones who put ourselves here.

“I’ll coddle you,” I promise before he gets a chance to say anything else. Marlowe’s honest expression doesn’t change, but he does sigh a little. He looks gentle and affectionate toward me, and my heart swells with emotion. Too big for my chest.

My thumb slides out of his mouth with a pop, and then he sinks his teeth into the meat of my palm. Flicks his evil tongue against my skin. Uses his hold on my wrist and hand to drag me close and put us face-to-face.

I’m cross-eyed and staring at his mouth.

He, uh, doesn’t look so vulnerable or raw this close up.

His strong neck. His shoulders. The heat of him against me.

“You haven’t taken us to the bagel shop yet,” he says softly, and I realize immediately what he’s talking about. There’s a local bagel place that’s been around since the mid-eighties. Boiled bagels, hard as rocks. Because if you can’t kill an intruder with your bagel, then you’re eating the wrong kind.

I grin and lunge forward, kissing him close-mouthed with our eyes open. Marlowe is so startled that he releases me and pulls away while I laugh. He throws his arm over his mouth and peers at me in wonder from all-black irises. He has the eyes of a wild animal, but the red cheeks of a twenty-three year-old suburban boy. He’ll always have the lowest body count among us. That makes me chuckle as I sit up.

I find myself looking at Tanner’s armpit again, but I swear, it’s sort of shiny and … yeah, I probably licked it in my sleep. I start blushing, too, and Brooks snorts.

“Goddamn, look at the two of you.” He raises a brow as he squints down at us, like he’s the ninety-something-year-old man he’d be without the Witchwoods. “This isn’t anyone’s first time at the rodeo, so what’s all the blushing about? What are you two embarrassed about now?”

“I’m not fucking embarassed.” Marlowe sneers at Brooks, but the expression doesn’t last long. Lo rubs at his face with both hands. “I want to lay in bed and hold Kate all day. I want to go eat bagels. I want …” He drops his hands into his lap. “I want to see if my parents will take me back. Most importantly, I haven’t seen my sisters. Can we please fix this gate? It’s not something I need to be happy, but it’s something I want.”

“No, this is not a want.” I try not to sound panicky. I should say something funny and flippant. Then maybe they won’t see how desperate I really am. “Marlowe is right: we need to deal with the gate.”

“You’re both in trouble now,” Tanner teases, and then he sits up, too.

Just the four of us in morning sunshine in a sleeping world, sitting in a row of tattoos and obscene hair and scars. I rub the one on my chest. It’s framed by demon wings, topped with horns, and propped up by double tails that crisscross to make hearts. The center of the design is filled with a pair of antlers, reminding me that I brutalized their shadows as well as their bodies last night.

Cumcakes and cockies, what have I done? My eyes slide over to find Brooks’ shadow on the wall, its head hanging crookedly from a broken neck. Yuck. I saw it last night, but I was too tired to acknowledge how unsettling it is. Why is Georgia’s coven so precious and cute by comparison?

The spell the girls used to snap me out of my Hag Wytch owl rage involved looking into one another’s eyes and saying the most vulnerable, raw truths they could think of. They split their palms with a knife and painted themselves in blood … and then they danced naked under the shrinking crescent moon. Heh. So maybe not completely wholesome, but much better than our demonic sex coven.

“Why am I in trouble?” I ask Tanner, and he laughs at me, lifting his fancy brow. He raises the purple gem of his ring up to his face and stares down at it. Uh-oh. Is it almost time for another bad memory? These are truly unpleasant rings. I’m almost mad at Brooks for making them our wedding rings, too.

Everything has a cost.

“Because you both forgot that this is Brooks we’re talking about.” Tanner turns to me, the hand with the ring curled close to his face, esoteric and tattooed. He kisses the gem and crooks a smile at me, and I blush again. “Maybe relaxation and snuggles are part of the gate spell? He has a tendency to build in what he wants to do alongside what he has to do.”

“Don’t tell me that unless it’s true.” I’m giving Brooks a look that he returns with a curve of his lips. I groan in disappointment when he swings his legs off the edge of the bed and stands up, turning a look over his shoulder as he runs his fingers through his black and red hair.

“It’s not. Unfortunately, we’ve slept in long enough. We have thirty-six hours until the new moon. Unless you want to be around to see what happens when humanity wakes up to pure chaos, let’s get this done. I don’t have a lot of faith in human beings, and even less in the Witchwoods itself.”

I think about all of the people I killed, the piles of corpses everywhere. Did the men clean it all up? Will it still be there when the worlds separate? Ugh. My head is killing me.

“Coffee first. I’ll make breakfast. We’ll sit at the table and take a breather.” Brooks pauses, almost like he’s unsure about something. Him showing us that, his brief second of indecision, is him showing trust in our coven. “There’s one personal thing I’d like to do before we cast. The words you signed to me, from Sharyn? I’d like to take her up on her offer and meet her at the cemetery.”

I can’t breathe. I wish I could hear the grandfather clock chiming the hour from downstairs. Instead, the rings activate, and I’m treated to my hourly bad memory. It’s a new one for me: Brooks’ white and shaken face as he walked out of the memory hut with parted lips and wide eyes.

That’s a horrible memory, one of the worst, because I know that Brooks made a choice inside that hut. He considered letting us go because that’s the sort of person he is. Practical. Logical. Strong. In the end, he chose to damn us all. To risk everything to keep our coven together.

He let his sister enter the Witch’s Tree knowing what the outcome would be.

In our own ways, all four of us are monsters.

I, too, could’ve saved the world, and I turned it all down.

The memory fades, and I let out a pungent sigh of relief.

“I hate that so much,” I whine, but really, it’s no big thing. An easily endurable inconvenience to keep the curse’s uncontrollable hunger at bay. I can handle it.

Brooks is sweating, reaching out to snatch up his hat. It’s asleep until it hits his head, and then all six eyes open too wide, red-veined and looking like silent screams. They all blink in random order and then settle back into steely perfection. A man with no fears.

“Once we break the curse, the memories will stop and the rings will store power like our hats. Don’t despair, coven. This torture is temporary.” Brooks reaches up to adjust the brim of his hat, ensuring there’s this artistic little wave on the right side of center. A little tipped up portion to add style.

I move to stand up from the bed and gasp in pain. There’s a sharp, hot burning from my clit. I shove the blankets down my hips, so that I can stare at the new silver ring pierced through my most sensitive part. When I wiggle a little, it almost feels good, but it hurts, too.

“Shouldn’t this have healed already?” I ask, but Brooks only shakes his head.

“No. You’ll heal at normal speeds for the time being.” He points at me, and I gulp, shifting my wings close. This man is brutal and vicious. He shoved a bone needle through my engorged, sex-hungry clit without a single warning to me. Probably better that way, but ouch. “Do not take that piercing out for any reason at all.”

“What if I need my genitals to bleed for a spell?” I tease, since they all tore out dick piercings last night to use in combat. I remember that part. I remember way too much of that battle. I was in and out, trapped inside my body but slave to my overpowering wants.

“ For any reason at all, ” Brooks repeats as I gently flick the clit piercing and then throw my head back into the pillows. My legs clamp together instead of spread apart. I roll onto my side with both hands pressed over my pussy.

That hurt a lot actually. It’s not healed yet, and I shouldn’t do that.

“Kitten.” Tanner is poised above me, looking concerned. His shadow balances its missing head between the pair of tails, jostling it around as he tries to get a better look at me. And Marlowe’s shadow? I can still taste it. His essence was there, like I was swallowing up his magic in that delicious bite.

“Yes?” I ask, gently removing my hands with a wince.

“We can’t use salve on the wound, but let me put a loose bandage over it, just to hold the ring in place.” He traces his fingers over the scar on my right arm, where he stitched me back together only a month ago. A month. I can’t believe that I was running from them for as long as I knew them in the first place.

Two months in.

We are only two months in to this relationship and willing to screw over two dimensions to make it all work out. Coven. Coven, coven, coven.

Tanner opens the top drawer on my never-before-Brooks-was-it-organized dresser. There are quaint, useful items organized in little clay trays. A pair of nail clippers. Some tweezers. A tidy stack of bandages.

“Hurts to get stabbed in the dick, huh?” Marlowe asks, scooting down the bed so he can sit at the end of it with me. Now that the sun is up, I see how funny it was last night when I thought Marlowe was dirtying the edge of our bed with blood.

We might’ve changed the sheets, but those handcuffs are still there, attached to the splintered footboard. There’s blood and gore on the ground, but at least it’s still fresh. Not spoiled. Not smelly. No maggots or flies. One of the little hidden plus sides of using forest god songs to put the entire planet to sleep. Meat doesn’t rot!

“Gross.” I study the ground with a crinkle of my lip before looking back up at Marlowe. Maintain your cool, Kate. I know you were never cool to begin with, but this is important. It’s vital that I live this happily ever after with them, so they can function as normally as possible.

I don’t have to say it again: unless there’s an undiscovered way to break this curse without losing the magic I gained in casting it, we’re fucked. I will retreat inside the Witch’s Tree and I will seal it. I’ll block the men out here, and I’ll accept the agreed upon price.

I spread my legs for Tanner when he comes back, and he licks his lips like a wolf. Hat back on his head. The gray ears flattened. He uses a bit of rubbing alcohol, and I bite my lip, eyes flicking over to Brooks as he leans against the wall beside the bedroom door.

If cleaning and bandaging the wound were against the spell, he’d tell us.

Tanner presses a tiny kiss to my silver clit ring and then curses because he has to disinfect it a second time.

“Sorry, babe. Wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make you hurt twice.” He presses the Band-Aid on, and seals it nice and tight against my skin. I’m sure it’ll stay in place for at least five minutes before it falls off and gets stuck to some random body hair, and then hurts really bad when I try to take it off.

“Thank you,” I tell him honestly, leaning down to meet his crouched form and kissing him on the lips the way I did to Marlowe earlier. This isn’t a fuck me hard kiss. More of an I like you kiss. “Such a thoughtful stalker.”

“Hey, most stalkers give up after death, but you have the supreme comfort of knowing we still come for you from the afterlife. How’s that for commitment?” Tanner stands up, cocking a brow at me and offering the biggest shit-eating smile I’ve ever seen in my life.

What was it he said to me? That flirting with me was purely instinctual?

I dart off the bed and get myself into a pair of cozy weekend pajamas. I copy the way the guys dressed me before and wear a sweatshirt backward, letting my wings stick through the unzipped part. I’m sure I look ridiculous with the hood hanging over my boobs, but it is what it is.

“Morning everyone!” Fernanda calls cheerfully when we appear in the kitchen with our half-dead shadows oozing across the walls with a sound like nails on a chalkboard. Fernanda’s shadow has pixie wings and hops like a little songbird. Aww.

She presents us with a pan of cinnamon rolls while wearing some of my inherited floral-patterned oven mitts.

“This is my third attempt at cinnamon rolls. Yeast doesn’t rise in this place, did you know that?”

The cinnamon rolls smell amazing, but Brooks harrumphs and flicks up his hat brim with a single finger. Georgia is in his chair, sipping coffee from his mug, and swinging her massive metaphorical cock around. If I weren’t straight, I’d probably have fallen in love with Georgia Appleby.

“I miss drive-thru coffee,” she mutters as I reach back and grab one of the men’s hands at random—Tanner—and drag him into the room with me. We each take a plate and let Fernanda serve us her freshly-baked desserts. Both Brooks and Marlowe act like they can do better and opt to wait for whatever our Southwoods will make.

“Don’t worry: our food is one-hundred percent semen-free.” Talia lets us know with a bright grin and a pair of thumbs-up. Her blue hair is on the top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s wearing her Arcata High gear which is still really weird to me. “Tasty, too. Why are you being rude and refusing to eat one, my guy?” she asks Marlowe, and he gives her a comical scowl.

“I don’t trust a woman who blushes every time she sees me without a shirt on.” Marlowe shrugs and then takes a seat directly behind me on the counter. It’s not a very big kitchen, so there’s mere inches between us, if that. Tanner makes me sit on his lap, and I expected nothing less. “Except for Kate, obviously.”

Fernanda plates her own cinnamon roll and drags in one of my decorative antique chairs from the foyer. They’re child-sized, totally impractical, and really old, but I love them. She makes the chair look usable when she perches on it with that pink pixie cut and wild blue eyes. I’ve always thought that Ferndanda looked kind of fae, and the Witchwoods has only enhanced my opinion.

“As for the shirt thing, you’re objectively attractive, but I’m not a creep. I’m not even trying to look at you. You just have a tendency to flash your nipples a lot.” She offers me a look of apology, and I return it with an understanding smile. Tacy scoots her chair into the table to get a better look at me, as if I might disappear at any moment. “I would never touch your coven member. You know that, right?”

I nod, holding back a surge of sudden emotion. I love my friends so much. I’ll miss them so much. Georgia notices and narrows her eyes, but while I had to tell the men my curse theory, I do not have to tell her. I won’t. If Brooks thinks we need a second coven to fix this, he’ll say something.

Our leader rummages in the fridge while Georgia smirks. Her gloating face is the best.

“Fully-stocked, huh? That was our doing. Why don’t you cook us all a nice breakfast to say thank you, Mr. Poppy?”

Ooh. Mr. Poppy? Georgia is on fire this morning.

Brooks’ big shoulders are very tense, and his largest hat eye is twitching in irritation.

I adjust myself, my wings spread around Tanner and even Marlowe behind me. Somehow, I still manage to knock a ceramic cookie jar off the counter that’s filled with dog biscuits. Brooks tears a small mug charm from his hat and chucks it at the pile. The ceramic reforms, and the jar is whole again. Biscuits are still all over the floor, but … damn.

Talia decides to pick one up, sniffing one of the heart-shaped cookies before giving me a look.

“Cum?” she asks, and I almost choke on my very first sip of coffee. Brooks has presented me with a steaming mug, and I’m nice and warm and happy with Tanner’s stiff cock underneath me. I know it’s not appropriate with my friends here, but he can’t control it.

I smile into my cup.

“Dog biscuits,” I admit and Talia sighs, scooping the treats up and then fetching herself another cinnamon roll.

“Any chance you four can leave, so we can have a minute?” Marlowe asks, sounding annoyed as he flicks his poor chewed hat brim at her (I really need to patch that hole since it was my hat that ate it in the first place).

“No.” Georgia flashes him a look, and he returns it with a growl from behind me. His shadow, with all the bite marks in its wings, leans forward to meet her antlered one. Tacy’s curled shadow tails go ramrod straight as she studies their interaction, but her eyes are far away. I wonder if she’s missing Jared?

“After breakfast, we’ll finish the last of our ingredient gathering. Until then, we stay here.” She drops her brown eyes to mine, long lashes and raven hair that shimmers a dark blue when she moves. It was always like that, but the magic of the woods has enhanced the color quite a bit. “You are not the only ones who almost lost someone precious.”

My breath hitches, and my hands tighten around the mug.

“Be nice, boys,” Tanner says, putting his chin on my shoulder and crushing our hat brims together. Mine is licking his cheek like a dog. Embarrassing. Happiness and possession. His emotions are an odd mix inside of me, one soft and comforting while the other is harsh and unrelenting. “This is our friend group for the next however many decades.”

“This is true,” I say, gesturing with my coffee. Splashing some on the table. My hat takes care of that for me. “I don’t date guys who don’t like my friends.”

“I like your friends plenty.” Tanner.

“What do you mean you don’t date guys who … You’ve only ever dated one guy before us.” Marlowe.

“We’re not dating, we’re married, Mrs. McDowell.” Brooks.

“Mrs. Poppy,” I correct, and then cringe when I realize I added missus like he asked. Idiot.

“Yes,” Brooks agrees as Tanner chuckles and cuddles me tighter, arms around my middle and squeezing. “That’s correct.”

“So, Georgia, you think you’ve got your gate spell all worked out?” Tanner asks, an arcane version of small talk. He’s looking at Georgia’s delicate white mini top hat, with the veil and the dried flowers. No sign of sentience just yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t happen any day now.

“I don’t think anything—I know it.” Georgia sips her coffee and stares down at the paper on the table, a purple pen in her other hand. Brooks uses magic to steal the page off the table, tearing it out from underneath her palm until it’s settling in his fingers. He stirs the pan on the stove with magic and then focuses his attention on the spell that my friend has written up.

“Baby teeth?” he asks, turning to give her a look, and she shrugs.

“We all got to talking and, coincidentally, we have families who saved our baby teeth. It’s a limited resource, and painful when they fall out. Perfect spell ingredient.” Georgia sets her coffee down and tosses the pen on the table, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. “You disagree?”

“Good thing you only have to do this once,” he remarks, passing the page back. That’s as close as Brooks will get to praising someone that isn’t part of our coven. Georgia accepts his grumbled words with a sharp nod.

“We’ve got this.” She stares back at me, determined but taut. I can see it in the way her shoulders creep up toward her ears. “What are the chances of you four getting trapped in the Witchwoods again?”

“Won’t happen.” Brooks plates bacon and eggs in the shape of a smiley face. Yolks for eyes. Meat for a mouth. Very cute. He feeds me first, then Marlowe, Tanner, the women, himself. What a cutie. Arrogant, too. He turns around and leans back against the stove, eating his breakfast as we all fall silent and just listen.

The back door is open, but there’s no wind today. It’s dead quiet out there, like we’re trapped in the underworld together or something.

“We could change the history of this planet,” Tacy whispers softly, and it hits us all in that shared space. She’s right: we could. There’s nothing we can’t do right now, nothing we can’t change while the world sleeps.

But we’re out of time.

Of all the great things we could’ve achieved with life on pause, all that we’ve managed to do is preserve our love.

The most noble, selfish pursuit.

“Fuck the world,” Tanner murmurs, using his shadow to feed himself breakfast. I’m excited to see that its head is back on its shoulders … until it’s not, and then it’s hanging off to one side of its shadowy neck by a string of velvety black tendon. Uhh.

“That’s not a very heroic stance to take,” I warn him, but Tanner just snorts at me.

“Heroic? When the hell did I say I wanted to be a hero?” He seems to find the idea absurd, but these men are nicer than they think.

“And I told you: villains fuck better.” Marlowe huffs from behind me, and Brooks gives him a look.

“At least you can finally admit what you are. Hopefully we’re done with all the whining then? He spent days crying over the memory hut.” Brooks finishes his food, collects all of our plates with a whirl of his finger, and deposits them magically in the sink.

“I wasn’t crying over it; I was jerking off to it,” Marlowe grinds out, and Fernanda chokes on her herbal tea. Tacy covers her face with her hands and shakes her head. Talia pretends to throw up. Georgia gags.

“Crying and jerking off then,” Brooks corrects, eyes shining. Teasing. I love his playful side.

“Definitely both.” Tanner is nodding in agreement, tucked between my wings and snuggled up against my back. “But you were only jerking off for the spell. The crying was voluntary. Or … was it involuntary? You get what I’m trying to say.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you one day, East.” Marlowe laughs, his statement dark but his intentions light. He won’t hurt Tanner. He’s not even mad at Tanner anymore.

Ahh, my heart. My big, sappy heart.

Perfect moments in life have a tendency to pass us by because they’re so small.

This is one of those.

I feel lucky to have noticed.