Page 9 of The Entanglement of Rival Wizards (Magic and Romance #1)

I’ve seen a lot of badass magic casting in my day, but watching my mother do a spell that makes germs glow green in an apartment owned by two university students, one of whom does sports, is a whole new level of courageous. Then again, she’s a nurse who raised four kids, so what hasn’t she endured.

The radius on the spell only covers the kitchen and a little in the dining room, but the counter lets out a faint green glow in a few places, as do the stove and floor. For the most part, though, everything looks pretty clean.

Mom sighs, pulls a sanitizing wipe from her coat pocket, rubs the counter, and finally sets her purse down.

“Ghorza,” Mom says. “We can’t leave the place like this. They’ll get mice.”

Ghorza takes in the area in one swoop and clucks her tongue. “Nothing we can’t tidy up.”

I give an apologetic cringe to Orok, but he’s unbothered.

Mom takes off her coat and hands it to me as she rolls up her sleeves. “We’ll have this place set to rights in no time. With you coming home for the holiday, it isn’t sanitary to leave your home in such a state.”

What state? Did they not see the throw pillows ?

“I’m not coming home.” I hang her coat by the door.

She digs under our sink for a sponge and soap, still not making eye contact. “Run upstairs and pack while we take care of this. Ghorza, can you handle the living room?”

But Ghorza’s already there, refluffing the pillows Orok set out.

Orok takes an uncertain step toward her. “Mom, you don’t have to do this. I’ll grab my bag and we can head out, okay?”

“We’re in no hurry to get back in the car,” Ghorza tells him. She picks up the stack of unopened mail and flicks through it without hesitation at the privacy invasion. “Oh! Orok, you haven’t opened your mail?”

Any bills or important things get picked through upon arrival; the rest—letters, mailers, and university notices—gets dumped for sorting at a later date that to this day has not arrived.

Ghorza plucks out an envelope. “This is the Simpsons’ holiday card! Orok, you haven’t even opened it.” She throws a not at all thinly veiled glare—at me. “Let me guess. Sebastian is in charge of organizing your mail? You didn’t know you’d gotten a card from them, did you?”

Orok sighs. “Seb didn’t hide it from me.”

“I wasn’t implying he did.”

Yeah, sure you weren’t, Ghorza.

She holds the envelope out and Orok crosses the room to take it from her, obediently opening it while she watches on with a placated smile. It is, indeed, a holiday card; from where I’m still in the kitchen, I can see a picture of a smiling family all wearing matching red sweaters.

My mom is now fiddling with our wonky plumbing to get the hot water running. It chugs once, burbles, then spits out something I know will only be passably lukewarm.

She exhales in that passive aggressive way that says more than words ever could. Oh, why would my youngest child choose to live in poverty? What did I do to make him hate me so much?

But she gets to work scrubbing our countertops.

I give up, find another sponge, and join her. The faster they’re done, the faster they’ll leave.

“And here’s one from the Horknuths!” Ghorza presents another envelope. We seem to have forgone cleaning in favor of shaming Orok into opening holiday cards from people who go to his parents’ church. “Have you sent out your holiday cards yet, Orok?”

He fumbles opening the one from the Horknuths. “Uh—”

“You don’t want to let it get too late. People will think you’ve forgotten them. You wouldn’t want to upset the congregation, would you?”

“Our matching sweaters haven’t arrived yet, Mrs. Monroe,” I say as I throw half my body weight into scrubbing out a green glow by the fridge. “I got him one with Urzoth’s symbol on it, and I got myself one with a symbol for Galaxrien Vossen. He was important to Urzoth, right?”

Galaxrien is a demon lord who’s the sworn enemy of Urzoth. Urzoth famously locked him in a pit in the Demonic Plane, but Urzoth’s devotees still get touchy when Galaxrien is mentioned.

Ghorza’s face pales.

Next to her, Orok gives me a quick don’t antagonize her look, but Ghorza finds fault in me no matter what. It’s fun to poke her.

She must be at least sort of used to me, which is nice after knowing her for almost twenty years, because she recovers and says only, “That isn’t funny.”

I grin. “It’s a little funny.”

Mom scrubs the counter like cleaning will purge her of her snarky child.

She’s got two other sponges going under animation spells, but she tsks and holds up her own sponge.

“This is falling apart, sweetheart. What happened to the birthday gift card I gave you to Bards, Blessings, and Beyond? Cleaning supplies are in the beyond part of that. Your sister promised they don’t just sell spell components. ”

No one reacts; she doesn’t expect anyone to.

Ghorza straightens, her chin jutting out. “I’ve been praying for you, Sebastian.”

I count it as a mark of growth that I don’t laugh.

“Thank you, Mrs. Monroe.” I rewet my sponge in the sink. “I appreciate that.”

“And how has your schedule been?” Ghorza continues, now idly flipping through the mail. “Do you often go out with Orok on the weekends?”

I pause, sponge soggy in my fingers.

This feels like a trap.

Ghorza pins her eyes on me with all the intensity of a government interrogator.

“You do, don’t you? If Orok was going out on his own, to parties of his choosing, I know he’d be spending far more time around people who encourage his natural strength.

He hasn’t challenged anyone to a fight in more than a year . ”

Orok, who’d taken to propping the holiday cards on the dining room table, startles and knocks them over. “I don’t have to fight people. That’s not one of Urzoth’s commandments.”

Ghorza smiles sweetly at him. “I know it isn’t, honey, but where is your aggression? Your passion ? You’ve been more and more timid each time I speak with you.”

Orok snaps his mouth shut. “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong with not hitting people.”

“You don’t challenge anyone. You aren’t sending holiday cards honoring Urzoth. What are you doing to uphold the teachings we instilled in you?”

“We graduate soon. I’ve been focusing on that.”

“In strength lies power. I’m worried, Orok.” Ghorza faces me again, scowling instantly. “And we all know who’s to blame for encouraging you to not uphold our values.”

I’m used to Orok’s family—and, all right, my family—using me as a punching bag for bad behavior. And I’m ordinarily fine with it; I’m an easy target, and it lets Orok keep his relationship with his parents more or less copacetic.

But I flinch now. And I’m not immediately sure why.

“Sweetheart,” Mom says. “Your sponge is dripping on the floor.”

Dumbly, I plop it into the sink.

She and Ghorza probably talked about this all the way up here. Poor Orok, Sebastian’s got his claws in him.

“I haven’t been encouraging him one way or another, Mrs. Monroe.” I step out of the kitchen. “There’s nothing—”

“Exactly.” Ghorza stabs her finger at me. “In not encouraging him to follow Urzoth’s path, you have led him astray, and I am sick of your negative influence on him.”

“Woah!” Orok lurches between me and his mom.

Again, I’m used to this. After the shit I dragged Orok into when we were younger, it’s a wonder Ghorza didn’t cut off contact between us.

I take her scorn and her ridicule, and I take my mom’s, too, because it’s valid; plus, they’ll go back home soon, and it’s easier to endure it than try to convince them I’ve changed.

Because… maybe I haven’t.

Maybe there’s still a part of me that’ll have Orok bailing me out of jail again. Or worse.

I have a number of dismissive smiles on hand. I have scripts prepared to brush off judgment.

But right now, every single one of them evaporates out of my mind, and it isn’t Ghorza glowering at me.

It’s Elethior.

Judging me. Finding me lacking.

I should say something to Ghorza but all I can feel is a rising need to get away. Or to scream at her, and Mom, once and for all, Do you know why I started doing any of that stuff? Did you ever realize where it came from?

“Stop blaming Seb,” Orok barks at his mother.

My chin jerks back. I haven’t heard him use that tone with her ever . That’s his back the fuck up voice that he only has to break out when things get rowdy at parties.

“ I choose not to fight people,” Orok says. “I’m twenty-four years old, and I make my own choices. If anything, Seb’s a great influence. He upholds more of Urzoth’s traits than I do.”

“Orok,” Ghorza says. “You don’t have to lie for—”

“I’m not lying. Seb’s doing amazing . He got a grant.

He got a highly competitive research grant that he fought hard for because he’s brilliant and responsible.

I know I’ve not done nearly enough to get you to stop blaming stuff on him, and I’m honestly not sure why he puts up with me as his friend, but I’m tired of letting him get pounded on. So stop, Mom.”

Someone cast a silence spell on the room. That has to be it.

Ghorza gapes at her son. Orok’s gone red, and he pants a little, staring at his mother like repercussions will swiftly rain down upon him.

And my mom’s looking at me now, all her animated sponges halted in their scrubbing.

“You got a research grant?” she asks.

Her question is hung with such pride that it overturns me. A left hook to Ghorza’s right uppercut.

She didn’t act this proud when I told her about the job I have lined up. Then again, I told her over text, and her response was a GIF of a duck clapping, so.

“Y-yeah,” I stammer. “It’s not… it isn’t a big deal.”

“Liar,” Orok counters.

I look up at him. He smiles.