Chapter 23

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My eyes open to the diffused dark of our bedroom, and I turn my head, spotting Kate.

She’s half-slumped and droopy, seated beside me like she’s trying to dig her way out of a deep sleep. Her messy braid is hanging over one shoulder, that string of plastic star lights casting her pretty face in a dull yellow glow. On the wall, her shadow arches its back and yawns.

Nightmare? Is that why Kate’s awake? Dunno. All I know is why I am awake.

Because I’m attuned to Kate’s every breath .

The slightest rustle of the sheets. Her barely-there yawn. Even seemingly insignificant details are important. The way she scratches at her temple with lazy fingers. The heavy droop of her lids.

I’m a hunter with precious quarry; I see it all.

“You okay there, kitten?” I ask, unable to stop myself from using that fucking nickname. Not even sure where it came from. I guess it was the only name that popped into my mind when I searched for one I’d never used before. Something I hadn’t called any other woman—ever.

I’m trying my best here.

I want to give Kate some of my firsts. Thought that might be difficult in the beginning, but it’s really not. I work my jaw and close my eyes, hissing out a low breath. For as big a whore as I was, what could possibly be left? That was my initial thought.

Now, I see I’m missing all kinds of firsts. Emotions and romance and connection. For once, I want to stick around to see what happens after. I want to bear witness to Kate’s life. Oh, fuck, I can’t believe she got a rise out of me like that.

I open my eyes to see that she’s still sitting there, swaying a bit, like she might go right back to sleep.

“Kate.” I sit up beside her and wave my hand in front of her face. The dog perks up at the end of the bed, ears as erect as the ones on the hat I’m not wearing. It’s sitting on the dresser across the room, wolf ears pricked.

Kate isn’t answering me. No surprise. That potion she drank is powerful. If only I knew some way to brew that contraception spell without also turning it into a sleeping spell.

I try to push her back down to the pillows, but she lifts a hand, placing it over one of mine.

“Water,” Kate mumbles, crawling out of bed. I let her move away, but I certainly don’t let her go.

I could have Marlowe fill the empty glass on the bedside table with water. Hell, maybe I could fill the glass without him? I’m getting good with fire, but shit, I don’t know that I should mess around with water. Fucking Marlowe.

I make sure not to jostle him or Brooks as I help Kate out of bed. Snatch my hat up. Put it on. Sounds trickle to me, things I’d never hear without it. The sound of Witchwood mice in the attic. The tick of the second hand on the grandfather clock downstairs. The creak of the old Victorian house, and the whisper of the wind in the trees.

Kate pads ahead of me, yawning and stretching one arm above her head, the other thrown horizontally across her lower back. I stay right there with her, aware that nowhere is truly safe right now.

I can feel it, the sensation of being stalked, like we’re being watched from the corner of my eye. Goddamn Hag Wytch. Everytime I think I’ve got her, like maybe she’s right there and I could put an arrow through her eye, she leaves, like she’s fleeing.

We’re both hunters and we’re both prey, me and that ancient owl.

Not a very comforting thought, not when I’m trying to protect someone as sweet and innocent as Katelynn Poppy. This woman is a gentle soul, and I’m not interested in seeing what happens when that innocence is shattered.

Somehow, she survived what Marlowe did to her. She survived the woods. She’s resilient and kind and compassionate. We cannot let the Hag break her or this coven. It was this close before. Brooks is alive only through some sort of pussy-fucked miracle.

Ebon caws, landing on my shoulder and giving me a look.

“Yeah, I don’t think Kate is up for a visit from you right now,” I tell the crow, stroking her feathers as I round the corner into the kitchen a single step behind Kate. The dog is with us, raising his hackles at the same time I raise mine. The cat arches her back on the top of the refrigerator, letting out a vicious hiss, tail fluffed.

The Hag Wytch is in the window, but her shadow is much clearer tonight. Sharp. Hungry.

Ravenous.

She looms over Kate as I step forward, wrapping an arm around my wife’s waist and leaning down. I park my chin on Kate’s shoulder, and I hope my gaze matches the predatory glint in the Hag’s eyes. We stare at one another, unblinking.

Behind the owl’s reflection, on the wooden deck, there’s nothing but empty space.

Still just a reflection, but … closer, like something creeping.

A slithering from one reality to the next, forcing the gate wide like a knife reopening a wound. Like a break-in. Like an assault.

“ Brooks, are you in here with me? ” the Hag whispers, leaning down in such a way that if she were in this world with us, her forehead would be pressed to the glass. Long lashes flutter over those massive blue eyes, her breath frosting the door as her human lips turn up at the edges in a smile, flashing blunt enamel and scraps of decaying flesh wedged between them.

I’ve never seen the Hag Wytch smile before, and I hope to God that I never see it again.

Using Brooks’ dead sister’s words to taunt us? Wish I could say we’ve never experienced that before. I’m just happy he isn’t awake to hear it.

“ Hey, I’m over here!” A man’s deep voice, sung from the Hag’s lips next. “Let’s meet up.”

“ I’m so fucking lonely. I want her to kill me.” A woman’s words, quivering and laced with fear.

The Hag runs through the final words of her victims. Some of them innocuous, like they never saw it coming. Others …

“ This isn’t real,” the Hag continues in a garbled scream. “No, no, it is real! ”

It’s gruesome, the way she chokes those words off, like she’s swallowing something.

“ I can’t—” A gasp and a wet sputter, like a person choking on blood.

And then, the worst .

The Hag Wytch laughs hysterically, the sound cutting off in another moist gargle.

My skin crawls, and my teeth clench. My shadow swirls around me and Kate, like a protective shield against the outside world. All I want is a safe space to land, a coven to call home. Kate deserves all of that. It’s owed to her.

“Mm.” Kate is swaying, and her knees give out, like she was never really awake at all. Part sleeping spell, part influence from the Hag? I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. This is worst-case fucking scenario, this monster trying to talk to my wife.

Which is pretty much a perfect reason for why she isn’t taking even a single step away from me.

Not until we deal with this.

If Kate thought I was a stalker before, she ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

Since when do you stop and have conversations with us, huh old bird? I wonder, and the wild god tilts her head to the side, like she can hear my thoughts. Her beak opens and maggots fall out, spattering on the wet wood planks below.

Real maggots. As big as my thumb. Fat and white and crawling.

My blood chills as I redirect Kate to a chair, moving over to the sliding door and throwing it wide.

There’s nothing but maggots in the rain, my breath fogging hot in the cold dark, fingers curled around the jamb. I register that Brooks and Marlowe are on their way downstairs, turning just in time to see them enter the kitchen.

What the fuck is going on down here? Brooks signs at me, but I don’t move and he doesn’t press. Asshole that he is, he also trusts my judgment.

My gaze returns to the fog-drenched backyard.

I’m searching the trees for any sign of the Hag, a direction that I could follow, some way we could give chase. Because if you are the one chasing, and the other party is fleeing, that means you’re still in control.

It’s when the Hag Wytch doesn’t run that we’re in real trouble.

I turn around to find Marlowe wadding up a hoodie and putting it under Kate’s floppy head. She’s completely out, and I wonder if she’ll even remember this in the morning. Those sleeping potions are strong enough to knock me out and make me forget the evening. And if the Hag was singing to Kate the way she sang to her friends? That why she got up?

Was she going to walk out this door? Marlowe signs, pointing at it. He’s breathing hard, lips parted, eyes wide. Was she? He swings that inked finger over to indicate Kate.

I handled it, I sign back at him, lazy and slow. Lo grits his teeth like he’s mad at me. Rare is the moment when I challenge him on anything. I suppose it’s my way of trying to make it right, dragging him into the Witchwoods and all that. But at some point, I’m just done with it.

When it comes to Kate, I’ll give no grace.

Then it occurs to me that we’re signing when we could be talking. The Hag isn’t in this world, and we can talk. But if we don’t fix this, we’ll have to go right back to long silences and precarious survival. I don’t want Kate to live that life.

Brooks must come to a similar conclusion because he drops his hands and shatters the quiet of the kitchen with cool reproach.

“Are you assuming that one of us wouldn’t have come down the stairs if you hadn’t?” Brooks’ question is probably best left unanswered. I don’t want to get into it. There’s a reason I haven’t said anything since we got back from the Witchwoods, but also a reason I won’t let Kate be anywhere but right fucking next to me.

They hesitated to follow her into that tree.

I did not.

But why?

Ah, shit. It’s as if we’ve all realized at the same time that we want Kate for ourselves. This is the continued curse of the Witchwoods: to find your person and have to share. Three men that want a wife. One Kate.

It’s harder than I thought it’d be.

I turn back to the door, spotting a single forest spirit crouching on a tree branch and staring back at me from the leaf that makes up its face. It points at the lawn with a single twig-like finger.

I drop my gaze down, to the spot where we buried the northernmost deer heart.

No fresh holes in the grass. Must still be there. I’ll send Marlowe out to check the others. If those hearts are uneaten and buried, we’re okay. We’ll continue to be okay until we get that corpse and cast that binding spell.

“ She’s coming!” the forest spirit calls out suddenly, but that’s not unusual. That’s pretty much what they’re always saying. No clue what they really are or how they came to be in the Witchwoods because I’ve never been able to hold an actual conversation with one.

Not with the Hag Wytch either.

I look back at the other men, running my tongue over my teeth in thought. Ebon caws softly, Flick settles down at my feet, and the cat curls back into a ball on the top of the fridge, a cluster of frilled purple mushrooms as a backdrop.

The night is quiet but for the whirring sound of the refrigerator, innocuous and safe.

It’s all a lie.

Kate isn’t safe. We’re not safe.

We have to seal that fucking gate. If we can do it from this side, great. If not …

I actually laugh, scrubbing a hand over my mouth.

If not, we’ll have to cross over again.

“Now.” Brooks folds his arms, hair sleep-mussed but expression hard. “What happened?”

Marlowe slumps into the chair beside Kate, hand hovering over her hair, like he wants to touch her but isn’t sure if he should. I watch him clench his jaw, watch his eyes flick to mine. While I stare back at him, he runs his fingers over our North’s scalp—lovingly.

Lovingly. My lip curls, but I don’t say anything. I can play nice. I can watch Kate fall in love with Marlowe. Fall in love with Brooks. Ask me to fall in love with her, and then I—

Yeah, I … I fucked that all up. Am fucking it up. Continuing to fuck it up.

“Hag sighting. Kate cannot be alone. She can’t be given any space. It’s not just her body at risk: it’s her entire goddamn soul.” I’m frustrated. Don’t try to hide it either.

Marlowe knows he screwed up, letting Kate fall through the hole in the Witch’s Tree.

He’s the first to break my gaze, turning to stare at the cabinets with his fingers still tangled in Kate’s hair.

I redirect my attention to Brooks.

“The Hag Wytch was here, stringing sentences together, like she was trying to talk to Kate.” I look back out at the deck, moving forward to pick up one of the maggots. With a curl of my lip, I squeeze my hand and crush it in my fist.

This Hag Wytch problem is our problem. If the world died, I’m not sure if I’d care. But if something happened to our North?

I wasn’t messing around when I told Kate that she’s the best person I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot. Slept with a lot. Wasted my time with people who didn’t matter.

This woman matters to me.

Also … I can’t touch her with a dead grub’s guts on my palm. Look at me. What was I thinking?

I wash my hands, walk over to the table, and then heft Kate into my arms.

Neither of the men stop me, but I pause to meet Brooks’ eyes before I take Kate back upstairs.

“Tell me exactly what the Hag said,” he breathes, and all the candles in the room flick to life, flames crackling as Brooks narrows his eyes at me.

The sink overflows, water spilling onto the floor, and the cookbooks on the counter rustle in a breeze. The light above the kitchen table swings back and forth, changing the shape of the flame-cast shadows.

Our monsters, those silhouetted reflections of us, are all crouched and waiting. Hungry for violence in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s one thing to hunt for food. It’s another altogether to defend what I care for most.

I had nothing in life before. Nothing in the woods. Now I have it all in Kate.

I nod once at Brooks, and he blinks back at me.

“Every single word,” he adds, turning and holding out a hand. “Verbatim.” He waves his hand, summoning a yellow legal pad and a pen to write with. It floats behind him, already scribbling.

Brooks and Marlowe follow me up the stairs, a dark procession of shadows and magic.

We’re three men with a shared problem: how do we deal with a woman we never expected to find?

We’re also four witches with an ultimatum: how do we deal with a forest god that can’t die?

Eh, like I said, survival is a bitch.

To Be Continued…