Page 35 of The Arcane Taste of the Witchwood Boys (The Witchwood Boys #4)

Kate

Three and a half months later …

Living as a were-owl-god isn’t the easiest existence in the world. I’ve eaten my fair share of predators, gobbled up the worst humanity has to offer.

Hey, on the plus side, violent crime is way down in Humboldt County. Sex crimes are at an all-time low. My appetite for human flesh isn’t the worst thing that ever happened to our cozy little coastal town in Northern California.

I yawn, and Brooks uses magic to rap the bone he uses as a pointer against the table in front of me.

“Do you need a nap?” he asks, peering down at me from behind spectacles made out of Witchwood twigs. They’d be fairy-tale-esque if they didn’t have tiny bird skulls hanging from either arm. The charms sway as my husband leans down to peer at me with two green eyes and six red ones.

“Uh, maybe?” I reply, yawning again and stretching my arms over my head. A grimoire sits open in front of me, a quill pen jotting down a few final notes from today’s lesson. Brooks has done well, upholding his agreement to teach both our coven and Georgia’s at the same time.

My best friend slaps her own grimoire shut. Georgia has been learning how to use a bow from Tanner. She shot a white rabbit and used the fur to wrap her witchy tome. My book hisses at me sometimes when I open it. Hers screams, like a dying rabbit.

You decide which one is creepier. I can’t make up my mind.

“We should get going anyway,” Georgia says, taking my side against the men like she always does. If I was worried that belonging to separate covens would cause a chasm in our friendship, I was wrong. Has our relationship changed? Of course it has. But for the better.

These past three months have been the best, least lonely moments of my entire life. If I could keep this situation forever, I’d be happy. This is what happily ever after looks like. This is it. It’s not a single endpoint, a final turn of the page. It’s a lifestyle, and I’ve found it.

“Hm.” Brooks is displeased, rising to his full height in our sunny kitchen. It smells like fresh coffee and croissants stuffed with chocolate. Pumpkin spice cookies (actual, literal cookies) sit on a nearby tray. Maple cupcakes with candied bacon perch beside them. Everything in here today is one-hundred-percent semen free and safe to eat. “I’m the instructor, and I will decide when the lesson is finished.”

Georgia glares up at him, and I see thoughts being scribbled onto the tiny white brim of her miniature top hat. This son of a bitch. I could kill him. Ah. Ah-hah.

I stand up quickly, bumping into Marlowe who I didn’t realize was standing quite so close behind my chair. He’s got a half-eaten cupcake in hand, and he snakes an aggressive arm around my waist, tugging me close.

My cloaking cloak swirls around us, shadows dancing and licking at the warm air like uncanny fog. Marlowe slips a big hand underneath the folds and pushes up my shirt so he can press his hot palm against the naked skin of my belly.

“I want,” he growls against my ear, smelling like maple and sugar.

“You want?” I echo, rolling my eyes. I feel claws in my shoulder and glance around to see that Stix is perched on Marlowe’s massive shoulder and using mine to make biscuits. “Speak like a witch and not some mindless forest monster in rut.”

“Oh, but I am a mindless forest monster in rut.” Marlowe snarls against my ear, and then he bites me. My hat bites him back, and he curses, startling the cat. Stix takes off with her tail fluffed into a black bottle brush, bounding into the living room and nearly knocking Talia off her feet.

“Whoa there, pussy cat,” she whistles, laughing as the tiny wings on her hat flutter (I’m not sure what purpose her hat serves just yet). Her horned shadow catches her drink before she drops it, handing it politely back. “Ugh, I want a familiar so bad. You guys are so lucky.”

“There’s no such concept as a familiar,” Brooks grumbles with a sigh, taking off his glasses and closing his eyes. Just the ones on his face. The ones on his hat slide across the cone to peer sideways at Tanner.

He knows we’re not buying that rhetoric. I’m sure there’s something to this familiar thing. Tanner and Flick are inseparable now. That goddamn dog is a fluffy orange and white traitor, and nobody can change my mind about that.

Tanner whistles, lifting up his leather glove and catching Ebon when she comes diving in through the back door. Thankfully, the falconry glove he stole off his father’s corpse doesn’t smell like rot anymore. I appreciate the efforts he went to in order to clean it.

The six-eyed monster crow accepts the food he offers her, but she’s as much a traitor as the dog. Her silky black wings flap, lifting her and sending over to perch on the chair in front of me. I coo at the bird, stroking her breast with my fingers and feeding her a bit of pumpkin spice cookie while Marlowe continues to invade my space from behind.

“I’ve got a date with Hoax anyway,” Fernanda admits sheepishly, sipping her coffee with a sigh. She’s addicted to Brooks’ coffee skills. Usually, she brings a thermos over and convinces him to send her with some java to-go.

“How does that work anyway?” Tanner asks, moving into the kitchen while Tacy stays on the deck, her adirondack chair turned to face the open back door. She’s bent over her own grimoire, scribbling furiously inside. Like everything in her life, Tacy tackles witch-hood with practicality and restraint.

Fernanda is … well, as outrageous as she’s always been. She wears button-up ankle boots with charms hanging from the laces. Full skirts and corsets and lots of fun accessories, all of which are spelled in some way or another. She’s a beautiful, deadly arsenal.

“Dating?” Fernanda asks, her long earrings swaying as she sits back in her chair at the kitchen table. She’s commandeered Marlowe’s usual spot in the west. “Easy: the girls sit at the table next to me and pretend to give us privacy. Same way you do during our weekly breakfast meetings.”

“Bi-yearly breakfast meetings would be better,” Lo grumbles, still holding me against him. I savor the feel of him wrapped around me, a wall of muscle and heat and magic. “Or no more breakfast meetings at all.”

“Just because you don’t appreciate hearing Kate air her grievances about you doesn’t mean she doesn’t deserve a chance to do so.” Georgia stands up, her book clutched to her chest, chin raised. Brooks curls his lip at her, but it’s mostly for show. We’ve all been getting along well. Better than I expected, honestly.

“Grievances?” Marlowe echoes, and I chuckle, finishing off the rest of the cookie that Ebon didn’t want. She prefers raw meat, the bloodier the better. Guess you can take the crow out of the Witchwoods, but you can’t take the Witchwoods out of the crow. “What grievances? That we give her more orgasms than she can handle? That we did a better job handling crime in this county than the cops?” He snuggles deeper into me, staking his claim.

Georgia’s eye is twitching, and I see her hat writing Lo’s inner thoughts down. Apparently, Georgia also hears the thoughts as her magic quill pen is writing. That’s good to know.

“ I’m going to blow a fat load in my pants if these women don’t leave soon. I like them alright, but I’ve had enough for today.”

Yep. Marlowe’s thoughts are fucking embarrassing.

“Grievances, like your social media followings. If Kate had known the spell was only going to make the sex tapes disappear, she wouldn’t have let you post so much shirtless content.” Georgia smiles tightly at Marlowe, and then flips him off.

He snorts, but doesn’t return the gesture. He knows she’s right. I hate how much viral attention they get. My account was also obliterated by our spell, but the price was that theirs remain. At least for now. As Brooks likes to say, we’ll figure out how to get rid of it all as soon as we break this eternal curse of loneliness that you’ve placed upon yourself. Real funny, South.

“I need to get ready anyway, so you’ll be rid of me whether you like it or not.” Fernanda grabs onto Talia’s arm, but the girl’s too busy licking the frosting off her cupcake to pay much attention. Pretty sure she likes being a witch as much as Fernanda does.

Despite the high costs associated with gaining our magic, not a single person here would willingly give it up. It’s just that some have a bit more fun with it than others.

“I’m three weeks behind everyone else,” Tacy is telling Brooks, pleading with him like a student with a schoolteacher. He ignores her, tidying up the cauldrons we used to cast today. We’re building charms, resupplying our hats. Or, in the case of the women, supplying their hats for the first time.

I made one yesterday that can close all the doors in a house just by drinking the cinnamon-flavored liquid in the vial. Like, say, if you go to bed and forget to close the garage door or something. Not the most useful spell in all of the world, but I have my reasons for wanting to learn it.

That spell, the very first one I’ve ever written by myself, isn’t what’s important. It’s about the spells I’ll build in the future with the lessons I’ve learned. Brooks is a good teacher, and the system he’s come up with to write spells is brilliant. He hasn’t met a task yet that he couldn’t cure with magic.

Except for my curse.

I’m still the Hag. I’m still immortal. I’ll still outlive them, watch them age and die without me. I still have to eat people. I’m still not fully in control.

I am the Hag Wytch.

“Did you see that your stepmom has gone viral for reacting to Witchwood Boys content?” Georgia asks, backing toward the doorway that leads into the foyer. I can hear Fernanda yelling at the rest of them to hurry up.

I can’t blame Fernanda. Hoax, the YouTuber, has turned out to be very charming. He helped the guys and I set up a print-to-order merch store. It’s good money, especially since we haven’t taken on another painting job just yet. All our time, every spare second, is spent trying to break the curse. We take breaks for lessons, sex, and food. That’s about it.

“After I told Jada no, that she couldn’t be on our channel?” I clarify, aghast. Leave it to Georgia to drop that shit on me just before she walks out the door. I chase her a little bit, scooping up my mean cat as I pass by the entry bench.

Georgia is now fleeing across the front porch.

“I know Jada’s not with your dad anymore, but I bet she’d let you see your siblings in exchange for some content, even an interview or something. Just a bit of leverage. Why not use it?” Georgia turns, glossy blue-black hair falling over her shoulder, bright lips in a clever smile. Her shadow is crouched on the top of Jared’s van as it idles on the street.

That man deserves a medal for rolling with this coven stuff without even blinking. He’s happy to go with the flow, escorting Tacy and the girls around and getting paid with leaf cash to do it. He even quit his job. He’s without a doubt the best boyfriend Tacy has ever had.

“Maybe when we break the curse,” I call back. I squeeze Stix to my chest, black fluff pressed up against paint-spattered denim. I’ve got a black and orange striped shirt on underneath, and I look ridiculous. Zero fashion sense.

“Thanks again, Kate.” Tacy stumbles past, hauling her bag with her. Fernanda is already in the van, and Talia is strolling lazily across the lawn, licking the frosting off another cupcake.

“God, I can’t stand them,” Marlowe grumbles from my right, hunched over and brooding like the gorgeous gargoyle he is. Shadow wings sprout from his back. Real, feathered ones sprout from mine when I shrug the cloaking cloak off with a sigh. It puddles in a sea of ominous, black tentacles at my feet.

The cloak, useful as it is, and as much as I appreciate it, sort of freaks me the fuck out. I’m convinced it’s some weird H.P. Lovecraftian invention. Can’t convince me otherwise.

“Alright, kitten, get your ass over here.”

I turn in time to see Tanner standing in the foyer with his hand near the fly of his jeans. It’s a hint I don’t need because I’m already well-aware of today’s plan. Most of Brooks’ magic is based around sex, so … sex it is.

“ This spell won’t fuck itself to fruition, ” Marlowe adds, rolling his eyes as he quotes Brooks to me in a mocking tone. He puts his hand in the center of my back, gently pushing me inside the house. He comes in behind me and locks the door.

Brooks appears in the entrance to the kitchen, standing behind Tanner with a dish towel in his hands. His hat looks a little sleepy, like he could easily call it a night now. I’d like that, for us to order take-out and chill in the backyard with a sunset and some weed.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m okay with the sex part of the spell, too. It’d just be nice if we didn’t have to gather spell ingredients after. Bury a silver pentagram at a crossroads. Dig it up under a full moon. Gather wildflowers from the north, south, east, and west. Soak them in oil. Soak them in blood. Grind with a mortar and pestle.

We’ve wandered through the forest looking for ingredients. Walked the beaches. Visited the cemetery more times than I can count.

We’ve tested several versions of the spell so far. The last one worked so well that I only needed to spend three days in the Witchwoods this time before I came to and walked back. That’s progress.

A smile curves across my face as Tanner and I lock eyes and he flicks the button on his jeans—