Chapter 9

Kate

Shit.

My eyes fly open and I try to tell myself that the second half of yesterday never happened.

What the hell, Kate? I think as I sit up and look down at Brooks. Unfortunately, he’s already awake and looking right back at me.

“You’re going to try to run again. We’ll have to stay in the same room all day today.”

Fuuuuck. Didn’t I say that I wanted off his radar? I’ve just put a big, fat target on myself.

Brooks is going to turn some of that unnervingly confident energy down on me. More than he’ll give Tanner. Or Marlowe. There’s a promise in those verdant eyes.

“I’m going to hop out a window first chance I get,” I retort, and it’s clearly a joke, but he wraps his fingers around my wrist and holds me in such a way that I know he wouldn’t let go even if I begged. Maybe. Or is that all in my head?

“Tanner and Marlowe got the branch—and a few other items on our list—last night, but we need to get this done today. I’m not having this shit hanging over my head when I’m trying to start a life with you.” Brooks isn’t joking.

His hat isn’t on for once, so I’ve only got the two poison-green eyes looking up at me.

My skin flushes, and I know without a doubt that by accepting his invitation last night, I earned myself exactly what it was that I said I wanted.

Brooks McDowell—as a husband.

I can feel it as he looks at me, this esoteric intent.

“Start a … God.” I laugh as I stare at the wall, letting my head fall back. It’s got to be fairly late in the afternoon, but nobody woke me up. I’m used to sleeping in on weekends. There’s nobody else around but me. I didn’t expect these annoying men to be so polite and let me sleep. “Right. Let’s just focus on the spell. It’s a shock that the police haven’t come to interview me yet.”

I turn and throw my legs over the edge of the bed, Brooks’ fingers loosening and sliding down my arm. My skin feels cold when he stops touching me. Am I so lonely that I’m diving headfirst into this?

My shadow is on the wall, a little horned thing held by an antlered forest beast. I look over my shoulder at Brooks.

“They come everyday and stand on the street, trying to figure out why they just can’t get themselves to cross the distance. They promise themselves they’ll do it tomorrow, and then they come back the next day. It’s been happening since we cast the foreboding spell.” His words are innocuous, but his expression is not.

I remember him stabbing me in the leg with a needle, sewing me into a pair of monster-leather pants.

“That’s … probably not good,” I say, watching Brooks carefully as he sits up and scoots toward me. Puts his hands on either of my arms from behind. I shiver and close my eyes. It feels so good to be touched. It’s been so long. Five years. Five years and even then, Nathan did not touch me like this. Not at all. He was either pawing or reluctant. Brooks is … not either of those things. “We can’t get that detective back from the Witchwoods, and we were the last people he ever spoke to. Eventually, this is going to come back and bite us.”

“No.” Brooks is firm, commanding, and I almost believe him. Who wouldn’t, with that look on his face? “We’re going to handle it.”

“Are we?” I ask, because I don’t know him at all. He seems trustworthy. He seems like he knows what he’s doing. But he was also trapped in the Witchwoods for two years, wrangled three unsuspecting people into the mess with him, and then took control even after we got out.

He’s dangerous. If I can trust him, then I’m lucky because I have a lover and a weapon for life. If I’m unlucky … this is going to destroy me.

Big risks, big rewards.

Like the Witchwoods.

“We are. Get up and get dressed, and we’ll take care of this tonight. Before we start work on Monday, we’ll be finished with this fear spell.” He presses a kiss to the side of my neck that gives me goose bumps, and then stands up. “Let’s clear everything else out of our way so that we can focus on each other.”

Yikes.

What have I done?

I get up and get dressed only when Brooks turns his back. I’m not bending over with his eyes on me. I’m definitely not getting anywhere near him.

The abrupt change in personality is a little much for me to handle until I realize that it isn’t abrupt at all. He’s still a domineering jerk who tells me what to do and fucks me whenever he wants. The only difference is that he’s decided to like me. Doesn’t like me yet, just that he decided to.

And Brooks gets what Brooks wants—even from himself.

We’re at the farmer’s market in Arcata, on a grassy plaza with businesses in historic buildings across the street. It’s nice and neat, with four roads that crisscross at the corners, way too many palm trees (this is northern California, so … um, what?) and colorful stalls hawking wares.

Like, almost literally hawking wares. This is Arcata, so it’s wild. The first man we pass tries to sell me a metal pin with a banana slug wearing a witch hat on it. I actually do stop and buy one, pinning it to my shirt.

The wicker shopping basket hung over my arm looks like something sexual, but the men and I can’t agree on what that is.

I think it looks like a man’s balls, but Marlowe thinks it looks like a pair of tits. Brooks is convinced that it’s an ass. And Tanner swears that it’s a pussy from behind, with the woman bent over and all that.

So, I think that tells you a lot about their preferences—and also mine. Whatever it is, the basket consists of two rounded wicker bowls stitched together. It’s honestly weird, and I only kept it because it belonged to my grandma. We’ll store our purchases in this provocative thing.

“Nice basket,” a woman tells us when we stop to buy fresh strawberries. I grin and pass over the cash. Her gaze tracks to the boys, sticks there. Holds on way too long.

Sure, we’re wearing oversized witch hats. In the middle of a farmer’s market. But it’s Arcata. It’s not that weird.

I decide that I kind of don’t care if it is. The sky is blue. The produce looks good. I fucked Brooks. Well. Brooks fucked me , but yeah.

“We don’t need strawberries,” he tells me, being an ass in an effort to make up for the sugary sweet things he said to me last night and this morning. “And we’re not here for banana slug pins either, Kate.”

“And? What’s your point?” I ask, pausing to eat a strawberry and closing my eyes against the warm rays of sun on my face. Sweetness explodes on my tongue when I chew the fruit. I hear kids laughing, and the sound of a Hula-Hoop contest being played. “What if we die trying to close that stupid gate? I’m going to have a beautiful morning, just in case.”

I open my eyes and all three stalkers—I mean, men—are staring at me.

I dig into the basket and emerge with three more strawberries.

“Well?” I ask, gesturing at them. It takes a minute, but all three accept tiny strawberries in their massive hands, and they eat them more or less at the same time.

Look at them. Feral. Handsome. Beautifully arcane. It’s like how I felt outside of Miriam’s house, as if the Witchwood Boys just don’t sit right. Watching them eat, it makes me ache in inexplicable ways.

Tanner licks juice from his lips with a heathen’s tongue, teeth biting gently over the pad of his thumb before he sucks it clean. Marlowe exhales, and his face is freakishly neutral (who is he if he isn’t scowling at me?). Brooks crosses his arms and tries to look right at me, like he’s trying to figure something out. Like he didn’t see enough of me last night.

I feign ignorance.

Stupid witch hats with eyes and ears and … strawberry plants on their brims. Didn’t want us to wear them. Brooks was insistent about it, so I couldn’t argue. I’m starting to get the idea that whenever the guys want me to do something without complaining, they say it’s for the spells we need to cast. It’s probably only true half of the time.

Anyway, it’s Arcata, so people do say things like wow, love your hats! which is nice.

People also film us.

People ask us about the Witchwoods.

People are staring at us, but I figure they were going to stare at us no matter what we did.

“The spell of foreboding isn’t working,” I tell Brooks, and he nods grimly.

“It only works on the house, Kate,” he replies evenly, but I still want to punch him.

“Alright, what’s on the list?” I ask when all three men just stand there looking around like they want to die.

It’s the first time I realize that they might be uncomfortable in such a large, tight crowd.

“Let me check.” Tanner digs into the pocket of his jeans with two fingers, eyes sweeping the plaza like he’s looking for threats. Does he know something I don’t?

“Garlic scapes,” Brooks says without even looking at the list. “Olive oil—extra virgin.” He doesn’t even try not to sound sexual.

“I want a fucking hot dog,” Marlowe murmurs, as listless about the idea of shopping for spell supplies as I am. Yes, I want to close the gate. It’s vitally important, but I meant what I said.

I want to have a nice morning … just in case.

The Hag doesn’t just eat bodies, right? She eats souls. I want to give mine one last gift beforehand. Everything seems okay, and I’m sure it’ll be fine.

But what if?

“Oh, shit,” Marlowe says suddenly, turning away and putting a hand to his forehead. He looks like he wants to die. Could it be his parents? I lean to the side, so I can see what’s caught his attention.

Miriam and Dennis are right there, staring at us through the crowd as people step away from them. Look over at us. Back at them.

It’s probably a fairly well-known thing around here, huh? That Marlowe’s candlelight vigil is coming up, and here’s Marlowe … standing in the Arcata Plaza. Alive. Twenty years younger than he’s supposed to be.

“I am not doing this.” Marlowe is a bundle of hot fury. “My father was Marlowe Waverley, okay? I never met him. Bastard took off. Stop fucking looking at me,” he growls, and the crowd shifts, at least pretending to look away.

Miriam and Dennis sidle up to us, and it gets weird very quickly. Brooks mutters something like, dragged by the dick again before putting his hand on Lo’s shoulder.

“Deal with them. Quickly.” Brooks releases him.

Marlowe stiffens up as Tanner takes a step back, trying to distance himself from Lo’s private drama as best he can. I’m sure Tanner knows what’ll happen if he interferes. Lo already hates him.

Miriam lets out a strange, soft exhale, drawing my attention back to her and Dennis.

I don’t offer them any strawberries. In fact, I’d like it if they went away for now. If this is one of my last days alive, I’m not doing this.

“Don’t belittle his memory like that,” Miriam whispers as Marlowe turns to face her. “We’re not here to bother you. It’s an accident that we ran into each other.” She looks quickly over at Dennis, like she expects him to speak up. He doesn’t.

“Belittle my memory,” Marlowe asserts, like Miriam’s words are a slap to the face. “You care more about the fantasy of who I used to be more than the reality of who I actually am. Leave. ”

Miriam’s lips part in surprise.

A sea of colorful butterflies spills across the clouds above her head, hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. Cat-sized butterflies. They’re all glowing and nobody sees them except for—

“I fucking told you, Mom!” a teenage girl is yelling, pointing up at the sky. She slaps her other hand over her mouth, eyes wide as she tracks the butterflies through the air. Long blue hair. Septum piercing. Expression of utter disbelief.

Marlowe glances her way and blanches, whipping his gaze away, like he doesn’t want her to spot him. Like … they’ve met before?

“That’s enough of that,” an older woman says, slapping the girl’s hand away from her mouth. Ouch. That’s not okay. “I’ve had it with glowing cats and horses in the backyard. I am done. ”

The girl is dragged away through the crowd—I’m guessing she’s maybe sixteen or seventeen—but our eyes meet before she disappears, and I feel somehow that we know each other. A horned shadow flickers behind her, but I just assume it’s mine.

These shadows move sometimes, like they’re not attached to us at all.

If they do move, no amount of light will cause us to cast another shadow. It’s eerie.

I shove through the crowd quickly, jostling people with my booby basket. My ball basket. My pussy basket. My ass-ket. Whatever.

I grab onto the girl’s arm and lean in, lowering my voice to a whisper.

“Have you been inside the Witch’s Tree?” I ask, and she startles, sliding her arm out of her mother’s grip. She turns to look at me as her mom hands over some cash for a bag of potatoes.

“He gave me a mask, so I didn’t talk,” the girl tells me, brow raised as she offers me an unflattering onceover. This brat. She digs into the bag at her side and passes over an oddly familiar metal mask. “Here. Give this back to that Waverley guy for me. Thanks for the cool social media videos. I feel seen.”

And then she’s shrugging and turning to follow after her mother.

Huh.

So … if someone’s been inside the tree, they can see magic? I’m developing theories as I go. Brooks doesn’t know the answers to this stuff either. We’ll all have to learn it together.

Together. After I understand why I’m holding Marlowe’s mask. Carefully, I place it into the pervy basket. Somebody taps the brim of my hat, drawing their finger around to the front as I’m circled like something stalked.

Tanner.

He grins at me, but the expression doesn’t land. He looks … off.

“Vigil’s canceled, and we have an open invitation to dine at the Waverley’s place.” Tanner slips his hands in his pockets. His shirt is stuck to his chest and his forehead is dewy. I wonder if he’s okay; it’s not that hot out here.

“Who’s the girl, Tanner?” I ask, as calmly as I can.

“That kid just there?” He nods with his chin in the teenager’s direction. “She was in the Witchwoods a few weeks ago—our time. I remember her. Marlowe put his hand over her mouth when she tried to talk.” Tanner lifts a finger to his lips as I gape at him.

Marlowe violated me, but he helped her?

I could scream, but then … I understand it, too.

A few weeks ago in Witchwoods time means years back here. That girl would’ve been fourteen or fifteen at the time. Just a kid. But damn. Damn.

Marlowe must’ve really wanted me, feeling like he missed out on an opportunity.

But then … maybe it’s because she wasn’t a North?

Brooks and Marlowe push their way through the crowd to stand beside us.

“You let a little girl go?” I ask Marlowe, trying to interpret the closed-off expression on his face. Somehow, he has a hot dog in his hand. His cheeks flush with color. Anger? Embarrassment? “Gave her your mask?” I gesture at it, and he lifts the corner of his lip.

“I wasn’t about to beat up a kid and force her to join the coven. We would’ve had to cast spells the hard way, with blood and sacrifice.” He huffs and takes a bite off the end of his hot dog as I narrow my eyes. Lo doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t want to acknowledge what he just implied.

Not willing to hurt a teenager, but perfectly willing to assault me and drag me into a coven where we have to cast all our spells with rough sex. I’m so conflicted right now. Do I like Marlowe more for letting her go? Or less for deciding that I was an acceptable sacrifice?

“Did Miriam buy that hot dog for you?” I snap, my voice laced with salt.

Marlowe only shakes his head.

“I stole it,” he says, and I roll my eyes, digging out my wallet and handing over a five.

“Go pay for that, please. We’re not stealing from small businesses.” I shake the cash at him and he snatches it from my hand. I grab onto his wrist before he can move back, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Was she …?”

I have to know this. Now. I have to.

“A North?” Marlowe replies, wetting his lips. He finally dares to meet my eyes. “Yeah, she was.”

We keep looking at each other, but in the end, I have no idea how to respond to that. I’m happy that Marlowe’s morality prevented him from beating up a kid to get out of the woods. I’m a little uncomfortable with how easily he was able to violate me. It’s complicated.

He shoves the cash in his pocket and makes no move to go pay the worker at the hot dog stand.

“The person running the stand gave me this hot dog and said welcome home, Marlowe. ” He sighs and finishes off the last bite. “I figured telling you that I stole it was less weird than that.”

I let out a long, slow exhale, my fingers slipping off his inked arm. Did he just get goose bumps? Hard to tell with the tattoos.

“Brooks, I knew your sister!” somebody shouts as they pass by, and Brooks closes his eyes for a minute. He hasn’t asked about his sister’s kids or grandkids, hasn’t wanted to visit his old house or the cemetery where his family is buried. I’m not sure if he’s just prioritizing Witchwoods business or if he’s avoiding his feelings altogether.

I look from Brooks to Marlowe and then over at Tanner. He really doesn’t look good, like out of the three of them, the crowd is hardest on him. A woman approaches our group and lays her hand on his arm, a move that instantly puts him on edge. He turns to her with an expression that would have me letting go and running in the opposite direction.

“Don’t touch me.” His voice is cold as he stares down at her hand before looking back up at her face. Damn. I’ve never seen that expression on him. Makes me wonder how little I know about this man.

“I—” The woman seems surprised by his response. I can see why. She’s gorgeous. It’s probably easy for her to get attention from men. Just … not this one. I quickly step between the pair of them, granting Tanner some much-needed personal space.

“We’re married,” I say easily. It’s a weird lie to tell. It doesn’t feel like a lie at all. My horned shadow dances gleefully behind the startled woman.

“Sorry,” she grumbles, flipping her hair. “I was just going to ask for his number.”

The woman takes off, and I turn around to see that Tanner is hard-edged and wild.

“Give me your hand,” I say soothingly, holding mine out for him to take.

He looks down at it, and then up at me.

Our fingers slide together and we flee that plaza like the Hag Wytch is on our asses.

I guide the men into the safety of a store called Moonhouse Tea and Herbs that sits across the street from the plaza.

It’s peaceful in here, cool and fragrant. The soft purple walls are decorated with wooden shelves and lined with jars filled with herbs and dried tea leaves. Incense burns in a holder on the counter, and only two other people occupy the store with us. A single customer and a single employee from the looks of it.

Tanner takes a seat in a cushy armchair near the front windows, elbow on the arm of his chair, face in his hand. I don’t ask him if he’s okay. Clearly, he’s not.

I’m not surprised by his reaction. I’m only surprised that it took him so long to have one. Marlowe’s had a few fits himself. It’s Tanner’s turn to get upset. Brooks … eh, I can’t see him ever showing so much emotion.

I read the board on the wall behind the counter. This is one of those places where you browse the jars of tea and then take the flavor of your choice up front to have a cup made. I’m going to pick something soothing out for Tanner, chamomile or lavender maybe. Definitely herbal.

“Fuck, what a find,” Brooks murmurs. I assume he’s spotted some herb we could use for spells. Then I look over and he’s staring at me. The largest eye on his hat shifts to the right, studying the jars of tea. Then another eye shifts. Four more flick that way. His green eyes follow last, and I shiver as he walks over to the shelf, hefting one of the jars in his hand. “Oh, yes, what a find.”

Those green eyes are in flames. The air reeks like a bonfire.

Is he talking about me or the store?

Brooks collects the jar in the crook of his arm and then continues on, reading all of the labels. Marlowe stays close to me, and we leave Tanner to decompress in the chair. Not sure I want to be alone with Lo right this very second, so I choose a safer subject than Miriam and Dennis. Than the teenage girl we just ran into.

“Have you ever seen Tanner like this?” I whisper, picking up a jar to read the label more carefully. This one looks nice. Lemongrass, orange peel, cinnamon, and ginger root. It promises relaxation on the little sticker with the crescent moon in the corner. I’ll go with this.

“I’ve never seen Tanner in a crowd,” Marlowe reminds me, studying me curiously. He looks at me even more strangely when I approach the counter with the jar and order four cups of this blend—iced.

“It’ll take about ten minutes to steep and chill, is that okay?” the girl asks, and I nod, noticing the way her eyes drift over to the six-foot-huge tower of man and muscle in the witch hat standing on my left. Brooks approaches on the right, laying out four more jars beside the one with the tea in it.

“An ounce of each,” he tells the woman as I squint at the price tags on the jars and try not to panic. This is going to be expensive, but that’s okay. We’ll get the other half of the money from Mrs. Madsen soon, and we can take on a bunch of other jobs. With the men helping me, we can more than quadruple the amount of work I usually do. I’m going to need it, too. These guys can eat.

I tap my card to pay, and I swear that I see Brooks’ eye twitch. Wait till he finds out that I can pay with a phone or a watch, that’ll really fuck him up.

I head back over to where Tanner is waiting, staring at the market out the window.

“I’m sorry, kitten,” he tells me, as if he has anything to apologize for. There are four armchairs in a circle around a small table with a chess set. I make the decision to sit in his lap, and he looks at me like I’ve managed to surprise him. Both of the wolf ears on his hat are erect. Just those though. No other erect things to be seen.

“Sorry for what? For getting overwhelmed? Tanner, you lived in the woods with no other people. This is a huge shift in your reality.” I perch uncomfortably at the end of his leg, and he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my waist and dragging me closer.

My blood fizzes at the contact.

He notices.

The skin around his pretty eyes tightens; the corner of his lip edges up.

“For putting any burden on you at all.” His hand cups the side of my jaw, and it gets really weird there for a second. “ That is what I’m sorry for.”

“Are you being real with me or just telling me what I want to hear?” I ask gently, and Tanner blinks like he doesn’t understand the question. He tilts his head.

“You ordered us tea?” Marlowe interrupts, standing above us, hands on his hips. He teases his left canine with his tongue while staring down at me on Tanner’s lap. Doesn’t like it. Deals with it and takes his seat in the west, tea plants sprouting from his hat brim.

Brooks sits in the south, and looks at me strangely, like I should be sitting in the northmost chair.

I’m not moving from this spot.

“Yeah?” It’s a question. I tuck my hair behind my ear. It’s loose today, wavy from being braided while I slept last night. I can’t believe how long it is, trailing down to my belly button. It was shoulder-length before I entered the Witchwoods. Stupid magic forest that gives women long hair. And men big— “The blend I picked is supposed to be relaxing. Tanner can drink it and then—”

“Christ, what the fuck ?” Marlowe breathes, staring at me from too-wide eyes. “Who are you, Kate? You’re taking care of us?” He sounds scandalized but pleased. Also disgusted. Also turned-on. I’m not sure how to react to any of that.

Knowing he helped a girl escape the Witchwoods is making me feel … something towards him. My lip curls. I was somehow smiling at Tanner. Lo is more confusing.

“Why wouldn’t I? Didn’t you promise to do the same?” I shift on Tanner’s lap, and he makes an inappropriate noise. I give him a look, but he’s only smirking back at me, my strange question forgotten.

“I have a rough, ugly moment, and this woman buys me tea. Fuck.” Tanner takes his hat off and sweeps his fingers through his hair, scanning me with his fog-and-sea gaze. Silver and blue. Inhuman and exquisite. His fingers grip the cone of the hat, squeezing indents into the black leather before he drops it on his head again.

He wets his lips.

Our shadows are kissing on the wall.

I pretend not to see that.

“Why are you guys so surprised by that? It’s not even a big deal.” I shift again, and Tanner makes another sound that has me scrambling off the chair and flopping into the spare one like my ass is on fire. I have this feeling that even if he doesn’t like crowds, he also doesn’t care all that much about propriety. If he felt like fucking me, he’d make it happen by whatever means necessary.

“It’s a big deal to see that someone is suffering, and then do something productive to change that.” Brooks doesn’t look at me, observing the people across the street through the shop’s front window. They’re a colorful group, dressed in tie-dye and flowing skirts, juggling torches or practicing with wooden swords. “You’re far too sweet for your own good.”

I bite my lip.

“Leave her alone, Brooks. She’s allowed to treat her man nice if she wants to.” Tanner leans back in the chair, boneless and beautiful. Whatever emotion was taking over him outside, it’s gone now. I get it. He time-traveled decades into the future. Transitioned from silence and isolation to rowdy crowds and social media. He doesn’t have to pretend to be okay.

“Fucking tea,” Marlowe growls under his breath, also not looking at me. Good. I don’t want to look at him either. We haven’t had any deep conversations since he told me some romantic shit about happy accidents. That I was his. That he’d be mine.

All three men are staring out at the plaza now, and I wonder if it looks much different now than it did in their time. Pretty sure it was roughly the same when Lo went missing, but Tanner and especially Brooks …

When the employee calls our order out, Marlowe is up and on his feet faster than I can blink. He stalks across the room and returns with four cups, setting them on the table in the center of the chairs. I take the one with the pink straw, relaxing in my seat and studying the pale orange brew inside.

The men do the same, but you’d think they’d never had iced tea before. They all just stare at their drinks like they’re creeped out by them.

“Drink. Relax. God only knows how badly you all need that.” I take a sip, and while the tea is relatively weak (I feel that way about most herbal teas), it’s bright. Citrusy. It’s good.

The shop is silent. The incense continues to burn. The other customer orders a mug of tea and takes a seat near the bay window on the other side of the door. I can see her casting furtive glances our way and then … yep. She’s filming us.

I sigh and drag my phone from my pocket, taking a moment to look at what I’ve been avoiding. Sure. Not to actively avoid the rapidly evolving relationships with the three creepy witch stalkers you found in the woods.

There we are, still the top searches on several different platforms. Trending on social media. Plastered across the internet alongside conspiracy theories (I hate that the ones about us are true). Mostly, it looks like the men have attained the title of witchy thirst traps, and I scroll through photo after photo and video after video of them. Some of these photos and videos are from fifteen minutes ago, in the plaza.

I sigh and tuck my phone back into my pocket.

“Leave it to you guys to go viral and make this so much harder,” I grumble, sucking on my straw. Tanner finally does the same, wrinkling his nose.

“This tastes like the shit Brooks keeps in the kitchen pantry.” Tanner chuckles, but he sucks the rest of his drink down and then slams the cup on the small circular table next to the chessboard, like he’s just finished a shot of strong booze.

“This is way more drinkable than that rancid bark-and-moss toilet water that he brews.” Marlowe sucks on his straw and looks at me in a way that says maybe he’s recalling the blow job that I gave him in the trees outside Miriam’s house.

I pretend not to notice, but my scalp prickles.

“That bark-and-moss toilet water was necessary, so that we didn’t get scurvy.” Brooks is looking right at me, but last night was so weird that I refuse to make eye contact with him. Did I seriously have sex with all three of them in the hallway next to my front door? Did I seriously tell my dad to piss off?

I did, and now I’m regretting it. Part of the reason that I was playing nice with him was because I wanted to get to know my siblings. Doubt that’ll happen now, but it sure as shit felt good to slam the door in his face.

“Just in case we die soon, is there anything you guys want to say to either me or each other?” I ask, toying with my straw and staring at my tea instead of at them. It’s interesting, to see the men being casual with one another. The bromance could be cute if given a chance.

“We’re not going to die,” Brooks tells me, as if he can possibly predict something like that. “What sort of man would I be if I let my new bride get hurt?”

I close my eyes and take a calming breath. This is on you, Kate. You started this by telling him what you wanted. Pretty sure he’s still misinterpreting my meaning. I open my eyes up and continue to stare at the ice cubes inside my cup.

“We’re seventy years into the future, Brooks,” I say, finally dragging my gaze up to his.

He doesn’t seem to care, removing the lid on his drink and sipping the tea from the edge of the cup instead. We spent hours rolling around on the floor last night. Hours. He sucked me off until I fell asleep.

“What’s your point, Kate?” he asks, and I’m pleased to see that he didn’t call me North. He’s actually called me Kate a bunch today. “I shouldn’t treat you well? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that you don’t need to act like a caveman. Just … be a person. Treat me like a person. It’s that easy.” If I sound mildly aggravated, it’s because I am.

Brooks leans forward, elbows on his knees, cup tucked between his huge paws. They’re matched pieces of art, inked with sweeping black antlers in broken lines across his fingers. A bat. A creepy eye that mimics the huge red one on his hat cone.

It’s narrowed and staring right at me. The remaining five eyes are closed.

“It’s my job to take care of you, of this coven.” His voice is easy, factual, like always. It’s his body language that gives him away. He shifts a little in his chair, like I’m having some sort of effect on him, too. It’s subtle, but it’s there. “There’s nothing that you can say to dissuade me from that.”

I look down at the chessboard and then up at him. The eye on his hat blinks slowly.

“Play me.” I lift my chin. “If you win, I’ll let you behave however you like. If I win, then you listen to what I’m telling you and make adjustments accordingly.”

“I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you,” Tanner warns as Marlowe scoffs and crosses his arms.

Too late.

Brooks’ green eyes flash, and he flicks the other five on his hat open. Somehow, I feel his hand on my shoulder even though he’s sitting all the way over there. It’s his shadow , long dark fingers curled around me, witch claws poking into my skin.

It doesn’t just look like his shadow is touching me: it is.

“Yes, Kate. Yes. ”

He sounds so incredibly eager when he says that, like some starving forest monster.

Shit.

Brooks and I scoot forward, still looking at each other.

Screw this guy. I’m taking him down a notch.

White is already on my side of the board, so I go first. I used to play chess with my grandma all the time. I’m good at it. Damn good.

Brooks is … also good.

The shop remains quiet, beautifully insulated against the colorful tumult outside. I like that. We’re close to the action, but we’re not in the action.

No, we’re somewhere far worse, like the ninth circle of hell, playing chess against a demon.

Against a witch.

But … I’m a witch, too.

I think about caressing Brooks’ crotch with the hand of my own shadow. Only we can see it, so where’s the harm? My focus narrows down, searching out that strange dizzy feeling that hit me when I first entered the Witchwoods.

I don’t know how magic works, and I don’t care. But it’s like something that was hidden inside of me came undone when I crossed over. If Marlowe hadn’t attacked me, if I hadn’t gotten trapped, I would’ve slipped away from those woods with this power unleashed but unsatisfied.

Being in a coven feels like being whole.

Brooks curses as my shadow manages to slide her palm over his jeans, his eyes lifting from the board to my face.

He scoots another piece forward. Incense curls around us, heady and thick. I can feel Tanner in the east, Marlowe in the west. But my eyes are fixed in a southerly direction.

Right at Brooks. Eyes locked with Brooks. We’re not looking at the chessboard anymore. Our shadows help us guide the pieces to the right places. Antlers and horns, tangling like wild animals above our heads. Twisted shadows.

“Weirdest damn game of chess I’ve ever seen,” Tanner remarks while Marlowe continues to sit there looking bored.

“Sluttiest damn game of chess I’ve ever seen.” He only looks bored. Sounds pissed.

I’m sweating about halfway into the game, looking for an advantage where there is none. It’s becoming clear relatively quickly that we’re evenly matched. I don’t like those odds.

The shush of felt-bottomed rooks sliding over the marble chessboard. The shift of Brooks’ denim jeans against the leather chair beneath him. The soft exhales from my own mouth. I reach up and grab the leather hat brim on either side of my face, tugging it down and tucking it against my ears.

Brooks’ hat watches the board while his eyes stay on my face.

“Cheater, when do I get a sentient hat?” I grumble, and Brooks snorts the way he does when he’s about to tell me something important that he didn’t bother to relay before.

“The more you wear it, the faster it’ll happen. Stop resisting so much, Kate.” He smirks and moves a piece forward with two purposeful fingers on the queen’s crown. “Why bother, when you’re so eager?”

I move my king and he quirks a brow, still studying me with envy-green eyes.

“Eager for magic and eager for you are not the same thing.” I can be as stubborn as he is.

“Not true. They are the exact same thing.” Brooks’ words sizzle on his tongue, like leaping embers, and my entire body flashes ice-cold and then white-hot. He smiles at me. Moves his queen again.

This son of a bitch.

I move my king.

The game goes on.

After a while, Tanner gets up and orders some more tea. The blend he picks out is caffeine heavy and delicious. I tuck the straw into the corner of my mouth, sucking on it as I make my next move.

Brooks laughs, like me sucking on a straw is some sort of invitation.

“Oh, Kate,” he says with a beautiful sigh, tilting his head to one side. Charms sway on the brim of his hat as he pushes another piece into place.

God. I can’t lose. I will never live it down if I lose this.

This is the hottest match of chess I’ve ever played, I think, even having been in the chess club in high school. I could beat all the boys there, and it never felt like … whatever this is. Attraction, that’s what.

This … maybe isn’t so much a witch thing as a Brooks thing.

A man born before my grandma is doing it for me.

Brooks exhales and then reaches up to rub a hand across the back of his neck, frowning down at the board.

“Shit, you’ve got me,” he admits, and I notice there are only three moves he can make, all of which end in disaster. I smile as I look back up, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “You win, Kate.”

I stand up, nervous hands tangling in my own too-long hair. I stress-comb it with my fingers.

“Yeah?” I ask, tearing away from the most erotic gaze I’ve ever seen to look down at the board. “I kicked your ass, huh?”

“Damn, kitten.” Tanner throws his head back in unashamed laughter. His shadow does the same, double tails swaying. “You schooled Brooks, and it’s fucking beautiful. ”

“Huh,” is what Marlowe says, blinking at me in surprise. Why didn’t anybody here think I could play chess?

“You’re all old-fashioned, is what you are. Even Marlowe.” I park my hands on my hips and raise a brow when Brooks leans back in his seat, arms crossed. He’s almost smiling but not quite. “What? No arguing with me, telling me that you’re just rusty from years out of practice? That I distracted you with my boobs or something.”

“You did distract me with your boobs—and your shadow—but it didn’t affect my playing,” he says plainly, as if we’re not out in public at all. It’s like we’re in a bedroom together, and it’s uncomfortable. My body is a traitor with an unreachable ache. “You won, fair and square.” And there’s that smile, blooming in full. It’s dazzling, and it’s terrifying because I can see in his eyes that he’s just gained an even greater desire to beat me next time.

I understand that. I feel the same way. This could be fun, a little power struggle between me and him.

“You did good, Kate,” Brooks tells me, nodding and taking his eyes off of mine so that he can study the employee behind the counter. When I look over, I see that she’s filming us, too.

We just hotly played chess while wearing witch hats and sipping tea.

This is not how a normal person stops being viral. I’m only making things worse for myself.

I reach up with tattooed hands, momentarily distracted by my own ink. I’m still not used to having anything more than a single banana slug design on my ankle. Now I’ve got horns on my fingers, and a moth with a train of spiderwebs on my hand. Lotuses. Leaves. An upside-down triangle with a slash through the tip.

Yes. I’m a part of this trending problem, too. I should stop blaming the guys’ abs and take a little bit of responsibility for this. I’m the one that said that stupid camping thing and started a meme.

“Can’t we do a spell that forbodes people from us? ” I whisper, dropping my hands into my pockets and wondering why I chose to wear overalls and a long-sleeved orange shirt with white stripes. Am I trying to encourage continued speculation on the internet?

“Sure.” Brooks sounds almost nice for about two seconds there. “Right after we finish gathering the ingredients for the invisibility spell we’re not quite done with, and the spell of fear we have to cast on the Witch’s Tree. Then, we’ll have to get the items we need to bind the gate permanently. After that, we can cast a spell that forbodes people from us.” Brooks stands up, like that’s that.

End of discussion.

I should’ve spit in his iced tea.

But let’s be honest, he’d have probably liked it.

I know Marlowe would. I look at him, and I can’t resist.

“I thought you could just spit in my mouth and make a spell happen? Seems that isn’t how it works.”

My words don’t faze him at all.

“Oh, it works. It just can’t do something of that caliber.” He grabs the back of my neck and leans in, eyes on my mouth. “Why? You want to try it and see what happens?”

I slip away from him, moving to stand behind my chair.

“Maybe I should go buy the rest of the ingredients real quick while you guys wait here?”

Brooks laughs at me, ignoring my question as he passes by and heads for the door.

“Yeah, sorry, but that isn’t going to happen.” Tanner stands up and offers me his elbow. I take it, pushing out the front doors after Brooks while Marlowe trails behind.

Ebon caws from her perch at the edge of the shop’s striped awning, but she doesn’t fly down to join us. Maybe she doesn’t like crowds either?

“Just to clarify: all spells are this much of a pain in the ass? With this many ingredients?” I just want to know what we’re up against here. Because I want to keep playing games of chess that’re basically sex in public without anyone seeing me. That is the sort of modern witch I want to be.

“Some literally are a pain in the ass,” Tanner says, glancing over at me. His wolf ears are halfway folded, and oddly cute. They’re at complete odds with the edge of blond stubble on his jaw, and the silver scar streaking down the right side of his face. “But we could make that fun, too.”

My hand flies up of its own accord, and somehow I’m on tippy-toes and rubbing one of those wolf ears. Tanner goes still. His blue eyes shift to mine.

“Can you feel that?” I ask in more of a whisper than I intended.

“ Oh,” he says, deep and low and dangerous. Just like that first day in the cottage when he discovered a North at his dining room table. Yeah, way back when, about eleven days ago. “Of course I can.”

I release him suddenly and he frowns as I drop back down to flat feet.

“Stay here. We’ll come get you before we leave.” I’m trying to give Tanner an easy out, but when I start across the street after Brooks, he’s right there beside me.

“No. We’re doing this together. Goddamn, you’re still trying to run, kitten.” He stays to the right of me, even in the dense group of people occupying the grassy square.

We head to a booth selling rabbit meat. Yes, that’s a thing around here. Tanner wanted to just shoot a wild rabbit, but apparently there aren’t any in my backyard, so I talked him into this.

“I’m not trying to run,” I grumble, which is true. If Tanner wants to act like he doesn’t know I’d come back and find him, fine. I’ll just have to prove it at some point. “Even if I were, do you think Marlowe or Brooks would let me run away?”

“Do you feel trapped with us?” Marlowe asks from behind me, voice low and warm against my ear as he leans around me. I turn suddenly and he steadies me with his hands on my shoulders. “Do you?” His eyes are wide and dark, drawing the truth from me.

“Yes.” I pause there for a few seconds to let that sink in. “But we’re never going to know if that’s true because I’m not going to ask you to leave. Does that make sense? It doesn’t matter.”

Brooks tosses two frozen rabbits into the erotic basket that’s hanging off my elbow. When Tanner tries to take it from me, I resist. I can carry five pounds of rabbit meat with my fragile lady hands, too.

“Hell, if I don’t have to carry it, I’m happy.” Tanner pretends like it doesn’t bug him to leave me with the basket, but it does. Marlowe doesn’t care either way, but I think Brooks would refuse even if I offered it to him. The look he throws over his shoulder tells me that’s true.

Salty sore loser. My lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile.

Then I see the reflection of the Hag Wytch in the silver tines of a wind chime made out of forks. It’s hanging off the booth next to me, swaying in the breeze. We’re being watched. I think of that girl, the one who pointed up at the Witchwood butterflies.

Can she see the Hag, too? Will she be safe if the Hag gets out? Will anybody?

Right.

We buy dried lavender; we buy goat milk.

We take it all home and cast a spell in my backyard.