Chapter 17

Kate

Marlowe steals the keys before I even have my shoes on, leaning against the stained-glass window near the front door and swinging them in a circle on his finger.

He’s wearing his witch hat, a glowing mushroom on it that wasn’t there before. Same type of mushroom that’s sprouted from the floor next to the entryway bench. Big, wide hot pink cap with white spots. A snail as big as my fist resting on the top. It has six eyestalks and stripes. The color scheme screams touch me and die a horrific death.

Okay then.

It’s pretty clear that the gate is opening wider and wider as time goes on.

The Hag. That song. My friends.

Despite my stubbornness with Brooks, I do know how lucky we were to survive. It’s why we’re taking the day off to finish up with the spell supplies. Time is of the essence.

“Get your own car,” I tell Marlowe, but with very little heat. He raises his brows, like he can sense that I’m only protesting for the sake of protesting. I’m fine if he drives today, especially since it’s going to take half an hour to get to where we need to go.

And then another forty-five minutes to our second destination.

And then … God, collecting ingredients for these spells really is a pain in the ass, isn’t it?

The other night, I sat outside on an adirondack chair and played with another one of my poor dead plants, conjuring it back to life with just my fingers. No spell ingredients needed for that, but I was starving afterward. Am still starving. Seems like these sorts of basic elemental spells can be done with our energy alone.

“What did you guys have to do in order to have that spell ready to cast?” I clear my throat and try to push the implications out of my mind. That ritual, our dark wedding. “The one that made me a part of the coven, I mean.”

Marlowe answers right away which is still a weird phenomenon to me. We’re getting along. Me and Marlowe. Crazy.

“Brooks started it before Tanner ever met him. It’s beyond complicated.” Lo cants his head at me, swiping his thumb over his mouth as he frowns at me. He looks as confused as I am, like what do I do with her now if I’m not being a dick? “Thankfully you were … you. If we’d ended up with another guy in the coven, it would’ve taken at least two more weeks to finish the spell prep.”

“Or, you know, you could’ve just fucked him?” I shrug my shoulders and try to steal the keys from Marlowe’s hand. He lifts the keys up and out of my reach which is supremely annoying. I said he could drive, but if I wanted the keys, he really should hand them over.

“I was born with an aversion to dick.” Marlowe smiles tightly. “Unlike you, of course. You seem to really love it.”

“You seem to really want to never have sex with me again,” I snap back automatically, but it’s honestly a pretty funny joke. Also, it’s true. “You seem to really love pussy.”

“I do really love pussy,” he replies, snatching the keys in his hand and glancing over as Tanner and Brooks emerge from the kitchen together. They’re signing to one another which makes me think they don’t want to be overheard. When Marlowe signs back, and then they’re all signing? Ugh.

“If you’re keeping secrets from me, then I suggest that you don’t.” I’m looking at Tanner, but he only smiles at me. He’s not going to tell me either. His wolf ears swivel playfully, but I can’t help feeling like our conversation in the bathroom only made things weirder between us. Brooks’ hat-eyes narrow, like they can sense the tension.

“I really love pussy, too.” Tanner shrugs. “What the hell sort of conversation did I wander into that you thought you needed to say that?” His voice is weirdly sharp, but I like it. Feels real. Honest. He’s annoyed. Okay, fine. We can deal with that.

“Kate’s pretending she doesn’t like dick.” Marlowe turns and opens the door as I gape at his back.

“I never pretended not to like it. What the fuck? Just when I’m starting to think that I might like you —” I grunt as I slam into Marlowe’s back. He’s stopped walking suddenly, spinning around to face me.

Somehow, I end up with Brooks right behind me and Marlowe right in front. The setup makes me wonder about other, more carnal applications for such a position. What about all three guys at the same time? Even better.

I blush—but not with embarrassment. Excitement. Anticipation.

“You like me?” Marlowe asks curiously, almost like he’s surprised to hear me say that. “Even after everything? After the way I’ve treated you?” He stares down at me like I’ve lost my mind, eyes wide, dark in the center with too much white. His hat sprouts sprigs of fragrant lavender, and the glowing mushroom falls off with a splat of glitter on the porch floor, leaving a pretty spore print.

“If I didn’t, then I would’ve made you leave already. I know you guys think you’re here because you demanded to be here, but that’s not it at all. If I don’t want you around, then you’re gone.” I cross my arms, but when Brooks grabs me by the shoulders, I startle a little bit and drop them to my sides.

“Whatever helps you sleep,” he murmurs in my ear, forcibly scooting me to one side so that he can step out of the house. “And don’t take your hat off unless I tell you to. These hats store energy, and we need them fully charged for the spell.”

“I’m not wearing a witch hat with teeth on it into the Seascape,” I tell the men, reaching up and poking one of the glowing white fangs. My hat licks me, and I taste myself. Uncertainty, happiness, lust, confusion, fear. I’m all of those things at the same time, and with my hat’s newfound sentience, I can feel it on the air.

The men, too. Brooks is frustrated. Marlowe is bewildered. Tanner is … angry. You’d never know, but somehow my hat does. I’m tasting emotions on the breeze. Cool as hell. Doesn’t mean I want to be filmed wearing an oversized leather witch hat in public.

“You can’t eat a crab sandwich with a hat on?” Tanner slaps the droopy tip of my hat as he passes by, grinning. See what I mean? You’d never know. “Why do you care so much what people think?”

I don’t really know how to answer that. I don’t generally care what people think. It’s just that we’re already viral, and if we go order fish and chips while wearing hats decorated in bones then we’re going to attract more attention, more tourists, more people who shouldn’t be anywhere near those woods.

Besides that, we still have the police to worry about. They might be avoiding that tree without knowing why, but that doesn’t mean they’re not going to come question me at some point. That doesn’t mean that someone might dig even deeper into the disappearances of Brooks, Tanner, and Marlowe. What if the government finds out about all of this shit? We’ll disappear to some secret facility somewhere so they can run tests on us.

The thought makes me feel physically ill.

Marlowe is still giving me weird looks as we climb into the car. I take up the back seat and, frustratingly enough, Brooks sits back there with me. I think he did it on purpose.

I’m a capable adult. I can handle this.

My hat licks my cheek, a small but very welcome comfort.

Yeah, I think we’re going to be friends, me and the hat. And I certainly wouldn’t say no to expanding my social circle.

The truck is dead silent, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat, wondering if I should break it. I can’t seem to find anything to say, so nobody talks until we arrive in Trinidad thirty-minutes later.

Marlowe drives us through the small seaside town and down the winding road to the beach. The parking lot adjacent to it swings around and connects to another beach, a harbor, and a pier. The restaurant is perched just above it, supplied from boats that have just come in off the water.

“I haven’t been here in … twenty years,” Marlowe whispers, and then he shudders like that’s a horrifying realization. “Twenty years.” He looks around the parking lot at the eclectic mix of cars. There’s my truck, which is from Tanner’s time. There are a few vehicles from Brooks’ decade. Plenty from Marlowe’s. A spattering of brand-new models. “Christ.”

He climbs out and stalks off, like he’s upset about something. He is, I think. He’s pissed, but not at me, at Tanner . Our Eastwoods is staring after Marlowe, so he doesn’t notice me looking at him.

“How long do you think before he’ll forgive me?” Tanner’s voice is strange, and my hat feeds me all of this new information about him. Not angry anymore, but wistful. In the midst of an internal struggle. I love this goddamn hat.

“How long did it take you to forgive me?” Brooks retorts, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He looks at me as he passes by, and I pretend not to notice.

“Have you forgiven him?” I ask Tanner, and he shrugs.

“Nothing to forgive. When you’re trying to survive, you’ll do insane things to keep your head above water.” He turns to look at me. “Once, when I was a kid, my cousin started having trouble in the river. He used my head to climb up, pushed me under and nearly drowned me. Anything for that next breath, right?” Tanner steps a little closer to me, reaching up to brush some hair away from my face. It’s fairly windy out here, the sound of waves and gulls mixing with the shouts from the beach. “That’s how you know you really love someone, you know? When you’d willingly give your life to offer them even the smallest fighting chance.”

“You’re not trying to tell me that you love me, are you?” I ask, my stomach exploding with butterflies. All of a sudden, Tanner loving me becomes the most important thing there is. I want nothing more. What the hell? My attraction towards him has transformed into something else, something far more dangerous than lust: I have a crush. It feels hard to breathe, so I turn away before he can answer.

He seems … surprised to hear me ask that. Now I wish that I hadn’t. He’s going to have to tell me that he doesn’t love me, and it’s going to get weird. It’s already weird with Brooks and Marlowe, so I’d be a fool to sour this easy companionship that Tanner and I have.

Too late. I did that in the bathroom this morning, didn’t I? I hate being a socially awkward weirdo. It sucks. Shouldn’t I have grown out of this by now?

“Hey, kitten.” He grabs my arm, and I cringe. Shit. Here it comes. I look back at him, standing there in a black Iron Maiden t-shirt, jeans, and a witch hat with a glowing spider hanging from a web of hot pink string. It dangles near his right ear like an earring. Tanner reaches up and pinches the web, plucking the spider off and putting it on the railing instead. “I was trying to tell you that I saw what you did with your friends, that you willingly risked your life for theirs.”

“Awesome, thanks.” I slip away from him and hurry into the restaurant, cursing myself in my head. Marlowe and Brooks are already seated at a table around the corner, one with a great view of the inlet and the rocky shore.

I choose to sit beside Marlowe which surprises him. He looks pleased though as he leans against the wall, half-twisted in his seat and staring at me. His giant hat blocks out half of the window, but I don’t care.

I’m not looking at the view either. I’m peering surreptitiously around the restaurant to see if anyone is looking at us.

Everyone is, but they’re all older so they’re pretending not to.

Fantastic.

Tanner slips into the seat across from me, tapping his fingers on the tabletop and frowning like he’s perplexed. Yeah. I’ve gone and done it, made it awkward with all three men at the same time. Consider it a superhero power of mine.

“And this is why I never date,” I mumble under my breath, yanking my menu up to cover my face.

Brooks is the one who curls his fingers around the edge of it and drags it down to rest flat on the table.

“What was that?” he asks, like maybe he heard me after all.

I shrug and pretend to be immersed in the menu of a restaurant I’ve been to so many times that I’ve eaten everything on it at least once.

“I said: can’t we do an invisibility spell for these hats?” That’s a lie, obviously, but also a very valid question.

“Sure,” Brooks says dryly, “right after the spell for the bed and the binding spell and whatever else comes up between now and closing that goddamn gate. I’ll add it to our very long list.”

“You’re a prick, you know that?” I snap back at him, and Marlowe snorts. Tanner openly laughs. I ignore all three of them. “Pancakes with blackberry syrup it is.” I slam the menu closed and toss it aside, trying to look past the men and their giant hats. No luck. The windows behind and beside them are pretty much blocked off.

“I thought you said you were having a crab sandwich?” Tanner asks me, still perplexed. I try to look right at him, to show that I’m not ashamed or embarrassed whatsoever, but it’s difficult. Of course he doesn’t love me—yet. That’s the important part, that he’s willing to try. I’m doing the same. I don’t love him yet either.

All of that is okay, but why did I need to ask the question aloud and force him into such an awkward conversation?

“I changed my mind. I want pancakes now. My hat will have the crab sandwich.” I fold my arms and lean back in the old booth, ignoring Marlowe and the way he’s peering quizzically at me, like I keep pleasing him without even meaning to do it. “I know it sounds weird that this place serves seafood and pancakes, but it’s all good. Everything here is good.”

“I used to come here all the time with Miriam and Dennis,” Marlowe admits, shrugging one massive shoulder. The sheer scale of these men is impressive at all times, but with the three of them tucked into a single booth? They barely fit. Tanner’s legs are spilling out into the aisle, and I’m basically straddling the edge of the bench on my side.

“I used to come here with women for breakfast.” Tanner grins, like that’s supposed to be funny. Spending all his time with two other dudes, I suppose it might’ve been. The reminder of his promiscuous ways is not soothing to me however. He seems to get that pretty quickly, and his grin drops off like it was never there. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Brooks says with a scoffing laugh, closing his own menu and tossing it to the end of the table. “I used to take my sister to the beach, and then bring her here for lunch. It was brand-fucking-new at the time, and now …” He looks around at the well-cared for, but very outdated restaurant around us. “It’s ancient.”

The waitress appears in the nick of time, breaking up what could be a very awkward moment.

This whole a€?getting to know one another’ bit is far more difficult than fucking each other in the woods. Go figure.

“I was going to ask if you were headed to a costume party or something, but I recognize you guys. The missing Witchwood Boys.” The waitress looks like she’s about to fangirl over us—over the guys—and I don’t know what to do about that. “Mind if I get a picture?”

“Yes,” Brooks says, and then as she pulls her phone from her apron pocket and turns around, trying to get a selfie with the four of us, he elaborates. “Yes, I mind. Meaning, I don’t want to be photographed.”

“Oh.” The girl drops her phone by her side and turns back around, looking confused. I put my face in my hand, embarrassed. “Sorry. Are you guys ready to order?”

“Coffee and pancakes with blackberry syrup. Also a crab sandwich with fries,” I mumble, letting the guys place their orders before I look back up at them. The waitress hightails it out of there. “You have zero people skills, you know that?” I’m looking right at Brooks when I say it.

Marlowe gets cranky, but I can see potential in him. He could totally be social if given time. Tanner is almost too social, outgoing and attractive and … I can see why women flocked to him back in his era.

Brooks … oh, Brooks.

“That’s nonsense. She asked if she could take our photo—which I appreciate—and I told her no. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He sits back in his seat, slinging an arm across the back of the bench and staring out the window at the pier. “My dad had a crab boat. Used to drive my mom crazy with worry when he didn’t come home on time.”

There’s a flash of sudden vulnerability in Brooks that I didn’t expect, enough to move me away from the subject of his rudeness. Until that waitress secretly films us from somewhere else in the restaurant and posts it online.

Sigh.

Marlowe keeps sneaking glances at me while Tanner openly stares, and the table falls quiet again. It remains quiet until we get our food, and then the four of us eat like we’re starved. Using magic is expensive, calorie-wise. I’m losing weight which I suppose just means I need to eat more. No problem there.

My hat very much appreciates having its own meal. I don’t know how the other restaurant patrons perceive it using a long tongue to slurp up the food, but they definitely can’t see it. If they could, they’d probably run like hell. Or … film us. That.

We finish, and I hand over my card to pay, a move that makes all three men distinctly uncomfortable—especially Brooks.

“Once we’re done with this Witchwoods shit, we should knock out as many jobs as we can, get an income stream coming in.” Marlowe swipes his hand down his face like he’s tired.

“Sure you don’t want to go back to the woods?” Tanner teases. “No bills to pay.”

“No bills,” Marlowe growls back at him, like he’s annoyed by the joke. “Just firewood to cut. Animals to hunt and then dress down. Food prep and food storage. Running from the Hag. Dodging gore-bears. Avoiding flash-toads. Collecting spell ingredients. Angry jerk-off sessions and meaningless orgasms.”

He pauses there, like this is a speech he’s given before. His gaze slants to mine, but I avoid meeting it by taking my card back from the waitress who appeared just in time to hear him say a€?meaningless orgasms’.

I tip her extremely well, sign the check, and then get the fuck out of that restaurant.

Once we’re at the truck, I realize that my bladder’s full and that I should’ve gone to the bathroom inside the restaurant. I’m not driving another half-hour to Fern Canyon without going. Luckily, there’s a really nice public bathroom next to the parking lot that’s intended for beachgoers.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell the men, forgetting briefly that we’re all basically leashed to one another.

I step inside and Marlowe is right behind me.

I turn to look at him, grateful that there’s nobody else in this bathroom, but, um …

“Women’s bathroom, Marlowe,” I tell him, but he just stares at me.

“Do you think I give a crap? You’re not coming in here alone.”

“It’s—ugh.” I could argue with him, but I have to pee too badly to bother. Instead, I turn away and slip into one of the stalls, watching his boots as he moves forward and then, based on the way the door jiggles, leans back against it. “Seriously? I’m trying to pee in here.”

“Then pee. You’ve had my cum in your mouth. We’re way past this. Also, is your bladder the size of a walnut or something? You piss way more than I do.”

I grit my teeth, but I go anyway, finishing as quickly as I can and then finding the door blocked when I try to leave. Marlowe waits for me to stop shoving at it before he opens the door for me and then steps inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I demand as he drags the door shut behind him and locks it. The stalls in here are all designed for disability access, so there’s a decent amount of space, but … he swallows it up. He consumes it. With that mountain of a body and those black eyes of his.

“I want to fuck you, Kate,” he says, like we’re not in a public restroom, like the other two men aren’t waiting outside for us. “God, I can’t … I’m having trouble functioning here. I can’t stop looking at you. All I want to do right now is touch you.”

My hat swipes its tongue across his face, but Lo doesn’t flinch. I taste desire and affection on the back of my own tongue.

I swallow and take a step back, my calves bumping into the (thankfully) clean white porcelain of the toilet. Marlowe steps forward to meet me, his toes to my toes, his shadow falling over mine. On the wall, I can see his shadow grabbing my shoulders, his face dropping to my face. He wants to kiss me, and it’s written there in illicit magic and explicit stardust.

“Why?” I ask him, but he doesn’t say anything.

Marlowe grabs my face in his huge hand, and he kisses me with a mouth that’s equal parts hungry and tender, the brims of our hats crushed up against one another.

He kisses me like he wants the same thing that I want: to be loved.