Page 29 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

Brooks and Tanner are doing a good job acting like nothing happened earlier. Marlowe is frustrated, glaring down at the ring on his finger like he wants to get rid of it. The bad memories are still coming. My clit piercing is still in place, though it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I don’t know what happened. I was casting with the men, and then I was salivating over something delicious and chewy and— I gag now, putting my hand over my mouth. They all notice, of course, but it’s Tanner who really gets in my space to worry over me.

“Do you need us to bring you meat, honey?” he asks, as gently as he can. My stomach grumbles before I can answer him properly, and he frowns. We finished cleaning up the Pink Lady, and the men didn’t stop me from eating whatever was there. I … I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I’m pretty sure I cleaned up that space all by myself if you know what I mean.

“I … I don’t know. I didn’t feel the urge to hurt you guys, but I definitely felt the urge to eat.” I’m sitting on our bed in a nightgown with no panties on, griffin wings draped across the bed behind me.

“Did we push the aggression back and leave the rest of the curse?” Tanner asks, looking over at Brooks. “Like, she’ll still sing even with our spell. She’ll still feel the hunger.”

“Possibly.” Brooks pauses and then sighs. “Likely.”

“If you need people to eat, Kate, we can handle that. No problem.” Marlowe is stretched out on his side like he’s readying himself for a photoshoot. I’ve seen him take some selfies, so I know he’s aware of how pretty he is. He tries to pretend like he’s really nonchalant about it, but he loves being handsome.

My phone goes off, and I pick it up. Besides the usual shit (we’re still trending and we still have a sex tape out there and dozens of people randomly went missing in Humboldt after a murder spree and we’re witches so we’re to blame), I see a dick pic. Marlowe must’ve taken this down his pants just now and sent it over.

I give him a look over my shoulder, and he smirks at me.

“Our bloodthirsty were-owl,” he says, like it’s a joke. He hides his fears well, but his shadow doesn’t. It’s pacing on the wall behind him and raking clawed fingers over its head. Its eyes are empty pits carved from all of that shadow, and I see my bookshelf through the holes, all those colorful spines.

“No other symptoms?” Brooks asks, and I shake my head. He has his legal yellow pad and Sharpie going again, floating in the air beside him as he takes down plenty of notes. He pauses beside the bed and narrows so many fucking eyes at me that I cringe guiltily even though I’m totally innocent.

I sit up suddenly, carefully arranging my nightgown to hide my distinct lack of underwear. I clear my throat as Brooks lifts a brow. He reaches up to take his hat off, tossing it onto the dresser, but that doesn’t stop all those bloodred eyes from watching me.

“Kitten.” Tanner scratches his chin with those sexy inked fingers of his. “You ain’t lying to us again, are you?”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Marlowe growls out, scooting to sit at the end of the bed like a gargoyle. His arms are wrapped around his legs, and his black eyes are fixed on me. I wiggle a little, looking down at my lap. The feathers on my wings fluff with my discomfort, a dead giveaway for my emotions that I don’t need. I’m already transparent enough.

“I saw you look at a woman that was walking in the door at the bagel shop. What was that about if not hunger?” Brooks demands, putting his intimidating hands on his intimidating hips. He bends at the waist, putting his face up close and personal with mine.

“I …” I pause and stop talking, really giving his words some thought. Was I staring at a woman in the bagel shop? Like, to eat? My brow furrows. “If I did, if I was, then I wasn’t conscious or aware of it.”

Brooks stands up with a sigh, letting his head fall back. He closes his eyes. I find my fingers straying down to my clit ring beneath the fabric of my nightgown. It’s an ugly nightgown, I know that. The girls used to tease me when I’d wear it during sleepovers in high school. It’s possible that I have terrible taste in clothing.

“So we give her another piercing.” Marlowe and his shadow both are gesturing at me. He starts to list different types off, using his shadow’s fingers to keep count. “A Princess Diana, a Princess Albertina, inner labia piercings, outer labia, a fourchette—”

“How the hell do you know all that?” I ask him, mighty suspicious. Marlowe blushes at me which is not easy to get used to. When he blushes, I want to throw my body on his and squeeze him to within an inch of his life. Not … not to eat. I mean, just for cuddles and stuff. I’m not an anaconda and an owl.

“Miriam could set off a metal detector at the airport,” he admits, and we both just look at each other. I love the way my plastic star-and-moon lights make his oil-slick hair shimmer. Sigh.

“Miriam.” My eyebrow twitches as I lean forward and give Lo my nastiest look. “Uptight, khaki-wearing, lives-by-the-golf-course-in-Bayside Miriam has more vagina piercings than I do?”

“Maybe not anymore?” Marlowe suggests, curling his lip in disgust. His hat is off, too, sitting on the top of my vanity. It’s covered in poison ivy, and I’m not sure what to make of that. “Obviously, I wouldn’t know. I don’t care to know. But once upon a time, sure.”

We just keep staring at each other, and I can’t help myself.

“Nathan didn’t have dick piercings,” I say for some useless reason, and that really gets Marlowe going. He puffs up like a flash-toad and looks at me with eyes of thunder.

“Yeah, I am going to kill Nathan. You seem to want him dead or you wouldn’t bring up his dick so casually to me.”

I gape at Marlowe, getting up on my knees on the bed and pointing at him. My wings smack Tanner in the face, but he just chuckles and spreads them around him and somehow that’s sexual to me. I keep my nightgown pulled down the front of my thighs so nobody can see.

“You brought up your ex’s vagina piercings first, so screw you. I hate her. I hate Dennis.” I lift my chin, expecting an argument, but Marlowe just shrugs one massive shoulder and turns away from me to stare at the wall where he plowed me during the Numa Numa incident.

“I hate ‘em, too. Why don’t we spell them to leave us alone? Then, when we inevitably run into them around town, they won’t recognize us and we won’t have to deal with the drama.” Marlowe looks back at me as Brooks clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“I do not fucking care about Miriam or Nathan. There is only one thing that I care about, and that’s breaking this curse. So, sure, another piercing is an option, but we’d have to do the entire spell again. That means another visit to the memory hut. That means dozens of sacrifices. That means weeks of prep and planning.” He puts his hands on his hips again and turns away, looking out the window at our empty neighborhood.

“Hey, um, what was in those vials that we used to cast the new foreboding spell?” I ask, turning and sitting back on my calves. I end up smacking Tanner again with my wings, but he just grabs one and squeezes it to his chest in a hug that makes my heart flip-flop.

I look his way, and my entire chest hurts when I find his eyes soft and blue and tender for me. But wait. There’s a glint of sharp silver. He clutches my wing a little tighter, obscuring the line between love and obsession. I flip him off, and he grins in response.

“The first tears of grief,” Brooks admits, drawing my attention back to him. “My tears for Sharyn. For my mentor. I bottled them up, added some lavender for mourning, salt for purification, and a splash of sad, lonely cum in a dark void.”

He turns around and rubs his hand over his hair in frustration. I’m up and off the bed, throwing my arms around his waist as tightly as I can. I might not have a lot of time left with you guys, so I’ll take care of you while I’m here. I’m going to take such good care of you, I promise.

Brooks softens under my touch, weaving the fingers of his right hand into my hair and stroking my scalp. The sensation gives me goose bumps, and I love it. I want him to keep touching me. I want him to touch me forever.

“God, Kate,” he says, and his voice cracks so beautifully that I could die.

I know that he loves me. I know that they all do.

“The first tears of grief, that’s clever,” I murmur, and he laughs at me.

“Necessity is the mother of invention,” he replies, like this is something he’s been ruminating on for quite some time. “Come, let’s go brush our teeth.”

“Excuse me.” I step back from him and put my hands on my hips. “Are you trying to insinuate something?”

“Yes. That you ate rotting flesh in the parlor of the Pink Lady. There could be gristle between your molars so, before I kiss you, I’d like you to brush and flush.” Brooks turns me around with his hands on my shoulders and gives me a little push in the direction of the door.

Flick is already there, paws up on the wood, whining in anticipation of an adventure. I open the door and there’s Ebon, perched on the railing and watching me with a cocked head and six glowing purple eyes. My cat is downstairs, draped across the sofa and yawning just so she can flash her teeth at me in warning.

I smile and pad down the hall with my shadow creeping along the wall beside me, horned and winged and tiptoeing like she’s in the middle of a covert op. I can see the shadows of the men stalking me, too. Wings and antlers and tails with obsidian blade points. I turn around to walk backward, and wow.

“Holy fuck.” I pause and the three of them stop, too. Three enormous witches taking up my entire hallway. It feels so intimate when they don’t have their hats on, like they’re naked even when they’re wearing clothes. I tuck my lip under my teeth.

“ Holy fuck, I’m so lucky. That what you’re thinking?” Tanner asks, raising his fancy brow. I wonder if that eyebrow was always split, half black and half gold, or if that happened after the attack that gave him the scar. I bet that piercing through it is a spell, too. “Remember what I told you at the hot tub, that you should take advantage of us.” He runs his tongue over his teeth, and I shiver. “We’re certainly taking full advantage of you.”

“Lucky? I feel sorry for Kate, getting stuck with us,” Marlowe grouses as I spin away and dart into the bathroom. They’re only point-zero-one seconds behind me, filling up the space as I stare down at the toothbrushes in the ceramic hippie mug with the broken handle that sits beside the sink. Four toothbrushes, not one. Four.

Happiness hits me like a strike of lightning, a giddiness that runs from the top of my head down to my toes. I’m standing on my tiptoes now, hands clutching the counter as I stare at the mirror and the three reflections behind mine. Red-and-black haired Brooks. Rainbow-over-black Marlowe. Split black-and gold Tanner. Pumpkin orange and ebony me.

We’re Witchwoods pretty.

And then the men start to bleed from their noses, and I slam my eyelids shut.

Hag Wytch, Hag Wytch, Hag Wytch.

Somebody reaches past me for a toothbrush. The water starts to run in the sink, but I don’t think anyone actually turned the faucet on. Marlowe. I open my eyes to see Tanner adding toothpaste to my brush. He hands it over and I take it with a little sniffle.

They’ve all stopped bleeding which is nice.

“I promised you that everything would be okay,” Brooks explains as I stick my toothbrush in my mouth and really go to town. He’s right: I ate a lot of questionable meat, and I should brush like my goddamn life depends on it. Marlowe and Tanner prepare their own brushes. The former leans his hip against the counter on my left while the latter stands on my right side, arm to arm.

Brooks is directly behind me, wearing his shadow antlers.

I spit into the sink and then lift up, meeting his green eyes in the mirror.

“You promised something that nobody can promise, Brooks. It’s not possible to make a guarantee like that. Everything already went so horribly wrong …” I trail off, putting the brush back in my mouth and attacking my teeth again.

“Yes, events have taken strange turns, I’ll admit that.” He plucks the final brush from the cup and applies the toothpaste with a sigh. “We should make a spell for this,” he grumbles, but then he dutifully brushes his own teeth while I switch out for some floss. I make the mistake of looking at the waxed string and notice a bit of … is that a bone shard?! I floss harder. “But we’re here, aren’t we? One step at a time. In the end, Kate, you’ll see. It’ll be alright.”

I don’t argue with him. I want him to be right. But I don’t let myself believe it because I don’t want their noses to bleed again. I don’t want them to relive their own deaths.

We all freeze as our wedding rings flare with another bad memory, right on time. I can hear the grandfather clock chiming in the living room.

The memory pushes its way to the forefront of my mind, and it’s a new one.

The day that comes to me is random and unexpected. It’s not the day my dad left or the day of my mother’s accident or even the day she left me here with my grandma and took off. Not the day my mom died. Not the day my grandma died. Not even the funeral. It’s two weeks after the funeral.

When a person dies, there’s all this hubbub. Distant friends and family and coworkers and neighbors who seem to care. For a while, the activity helps numb the pain. The problem comes afterward. A week later. Two weeks.

That’s what I see in my head. Me, standing at the top of the stairs with my hand on the newel post, staring down at the living room and realizing that this was it. I was alone. I was completely and utterly alone. My friends had come to pay their respects, but they’d gone back to school. Tacy was just up the highway at Humboldt State, but she was working on a huge project that had her entertaining more than enough sleepless nights without me calling her over.

There was the telltale tick of the grandfather clock, and there was me.

Alone, alone, alone.

My knees buckle, and if it weren’t for Tanner, I’d have collapsed.

He turns me around and sets me on the counter, stepping between my thighs and putting my face between his big hands. I’m breathing harder than I should be, even with the memory. We’ve been doing this twenty-four times a day for a while. It’s old news. It’s no big deal. It’s … it’s …

“I don’t want to be alone.” I say it aloud, even though I know they won’t like it. I don’t hold back. I don’t hide anything. The time is now because there is no time. We’re rapidly running out. The price of the curse is that I can have whatever I want, but only at the right price. What I want most in exchange for what I want least.

To be alone.

That’s the price, the cost. I’ve given up everything I ever wanted to give them a chance, and I’m afraid that they’re not going to take it. I reach up and swipe some blood from Tanner’s face, staring down at the red and trying to decide if I’m going to black out and eat it.

We both wait there in silence, checking the edges of my limits. Nothing happens. All I feel is a sense of impending doom that I hate because it’s ruining what’s otherwise another perfect moment.

“You will never be alone again.” Tanner is fucking serious, and his stare is flinty and solid gray. All fog and storm and nothing of the sea. “You’re not allowed to be alone.” He cocks his fancy brow again, but he’s pissed.

I grab him around the neck and wrap my legs over him at the same time, tugging him closer. He finds out very quickly that I’m not wearing underwear, and stares and stares and stares at the span of my pale thighs spread open for him. Tanner wets his lips and reaches down, shoving his sweatpants over his ass, exposing himself to me.

He uses one hand to take his shaft and slap it against me a few times as I gasp and blush and cling to his shoulders.

“This is a serious subject,” I warn him, but he only shrugs.

“It is, and it’s settled. You’re not going anywhere, so stop worrying about that.” Tanner finishes that sentence by entering me, dragging me forward with a hand gripping my ass. It starts a little rough, but quickly morphs into something else.

He makes love to me that easily, in front of the other two men on the bathroom sink. It’s super quick, and not really all that interesting from a physical standpoint. We’re not spitting on each other. We’re not swallowing cum. We’re staring into one another’s eyes and falling apart.

At least, I am.

Tanner smirks at me after we’ve both finished, as I’m panting in his arms and trying not to look at Marlowe or Brooks. I’d rather share space with them than not, so … I need to get used to being watched. I need to not worry about it.

“That was interesting.” Marlowe’s voice is strange, like watching was a little hard for him, too. “Good to know you’re jealous over Miriam. ” He scoffs her name and then catches my eyes when I turn a harsh glare on him. How dare he bring her up while Tanner is still inside of me?

Then, again, I suppose that was the point.

“It’s a huge plus that you don’t remember any of your previous girlfriends,” I tell Tanner, sliding my thumb into his mouth. He bites down on it roughly, and sucks me good before releasing me.

“I never had girlfriends, which is why I’m technically more like a virgin husband than Lo is. A random passing thing versus whatever lovemaking he did with her, you know what I mean?” Tanner slides out of me, and I groan, squeezing my thighs together and glaring.

Marlowe is gaping at Tanner as our Eastwoods opens the bathroom door and whistles for the dog.

“What the fuck was that for, throwing me under the bus like that?” Marlowe pushes past Tanner into the hallway, leaving me pseudo-alone with Brooks. I don’t want to be pseudo-alone with Brooks.

I hop off the counter and he stops me by grabbing my chin and turning my face to his.

“You’ll still do it, won’t you? Run away if you think things aren’t getting better.” He purses his lips and exhales through his nose, like he already knows he’s got the answer. “Marlowe threatening to kill himself isn’t enough to keep you here?”

“He won’t be able to kill himself because he’d be too worried about me, and he’d spend all his time trying to …” I stop talking as it hits me. My heart thumps. “He—you and Tanner, too—would spend all your time trying to rescue me. No matter how impossible it seems.” I peer at Brooks, because I just don’t have all the answers and that’s okay. We’re doing this together. “With the three of you dead, did you still think there’d be a way out?”

“I knew that no matter how impossible it seemed, you’d just keep trying.” Brooks releases my chin and moves past me, leaving me in the bathroom as he stands in the hall with his hand outstretched.

I breathe through my overwhelming feelings, and the clock ticks downstairs. Flick’s nails on the hardwood floor. The creak of the boards beneath the heavy feet of the Witchwood Boys. I reach out and take Brooks’ hand, letting him lead the way into our bedroom.