5. 5

"How old is your girlfriend?"

She hadn't meant to be as blunt as she was, but once the question was out, hanging between them, Ladybug decided what was done, was done. Best to speak plainly in the first place. Everyone could take a lesson.

Across the kitchen, Holt's dark eyebrows drew together, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I don't think I like what that question is implying."

"It's a very simple question."

"Simple in its construction, yes. But the insinuation behind it looms like one of the shadow folk, darkening its simplicity." Holt glared, sniffing as he turned away. "I assure you, she is a whole ass adult. With a job and a 401(k) and everything. She packs snacks for me when we go places for the day. Her idea of a fun night out is board games. No, you didn't mishear me. I said a fun night out. We leave the house to play board games with her friends. It's actually a lot of fun, I can't complain. The place has really good sweet potato fries . . . anyway, I digress. You can rest assured that I did not meet her after volleyball practice at the local high school, which is clearly what you're implying."

She couldn't help but laugh at the way he was glaring at her, but she would be lying if she pretended that his words did not assuage her suspicions.

"That's all I needed to know. Do you think she would want to be a product tester?"

He possessed the changeability one might expect from a cat, Ladybug thought, for at her words, he immediately brightened, his momentary offense forgotten.

"Yes! Do you know, if you keep churning out new products at this rate, you're going to need a storefront. Just think of it, Ladybug."

She was practically able to see the stars in his eyes as he put his arm around her shoulder, moving his hand through the air to direct her attention to some nonexistent reality.

"The Cat Crow in exclusive partnership with Brackenbridge Spellcraft. Black awnings. Silver white lettering. étagère with testers, a beautiful display case of antique spell books and artisanal glass potion bottles."

Her eyes followed the line of his hand, still hovering in the air before them. She wondered if he practiced these dramatic monologues before a mirror, or if he'd simply perfected the art of showmanship over the centuries.

"Beauty at the front. Health and family on a side wall with several display cases moving to the center aisle. Behind the counter – the pièce de résistance. Love spells. Hexes. Spellcraft of a caliber so high that its achievement could only be rendered by the most powerful of witches. We'll spend a fortune on the bottles, but we'll make it back on the bottom line. That's a net-net investment. I'll keep a small section over at the Bridgeton location, but here . . . Cambric Creek is where the real magic happens. Elizabeth Alice Amaranth Brackenbridge, an herbal sorceress with a witchy pedigree you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else, on any continent. Can't you just see it?"

She couldn't, but she couldn't deny that his enthusiasm wasn't infectious.

"You should listen to the cat man, little bug. This future he paints for you is very ambitious sounding."

Anzan's low voice behind them was as serious as ever, lightly awestruck, and Ladybug was laughing even before she had shrugged Holt's arm off her shoulder.

"If I wasn't here to supervise, I might be concerned over how easily you are taken in by his shtick." Turning to Holt, she shook her head with a smile. "This is for her, not for you," she instructed, handing a small box holding the sample tubes of ointment. "Tell her to read the directions and record her results. And keep your nose and whiskers out of it, I don't need you interfering with my data."

Once he was gone, Anzan came to stand behind her, wrapping two arms around her waist while the remaining two massaged her shoulders. What on earth did you do before him?

"You must admit, my little bug," he began solemnly, "the cat man's ambitions for you are exciting. Just imagine, your own shop, where townsfolk of every species will come to have you heal their children and inflame their passions."

At that, she twisted up, leaning her head back until she was able to peer up at him upside down. "We're still in the testing phase for that last part. But since you have such strong ambitions today, you can assist."

The first tube he unstoppered, once they had relocated to her bedroom, was the very first prototype, containing the smallest amount of his venom. She had concocted a gel-like consistency, one that melted into a slippery, water soluble viscousness. The recipe itself was relatively straightforward and would be easy to replicate in bulk. The same supplies from her soap line, purified water, a bit of plant cellulose, and of course, the most important ingredient — on tap in her attic, sustainably sourced.

"Don't use too much," she instructed. "I need to be able to tell if it's potent enough on its own without overdoing it."

He had constructed a web between the four posters of her bed, identical to the web he'd made that very first night he'd entered her bedroom. She was in the springy center, and although he had ensured that she was secure and would not fall, she was not fastened in place.

"You must tell me what it is I am to do, little bug."

Her cheeks flushed as she grinned at him. She was undressed and her legs were open. "I'm very curious to know what you think you're supposed to do with it, if it is not abundantly clear."

The sound of disgust he made had her shoulders shaking in laughter, his nose screwing up disdainfully as he shook his head. "I am merely trying to be a good laboratory assistant. You shouldn't make assumptions when it comes to experimental safety, my Ladybug. What if I thought it went in your eye?"

She was still laughing when his fingers pressed into the lips of her sex, rubbing the slippery lubricant against her clit. Her head dropped back and her eyes fluttered shut, and all she focused on was the sensation. Warm. Pleasantly tingly. But none of the blazing fire to which she was accustomed, none of the desperate heat.

"Okay, wash this one off. Use that washcloth there . . . yes. That one. Make sure you put the same cork into that vial and set it aside. Please try to keep track of which is which."

For the next hour, she felt rather like Goldilocks. One was too weak. One she feared might be too strong. Two of the vials were declared duds and set aside entirely. Ladybug considered, once he had wiped her clean again and was carefully opening the fifth tube, that she would need to isolate the winners of this testing round and try them again individually. You're probably confusing your own data by doing it this way, but at least it gives you a starting point. Her clit was already plump and needy, the ointment she had deemed too strong waking her every nerve ending.

She reminded herself again that she would need to try this one on its own, isolated and independently of any others when he stroked the gel-like lubricant into her. Her eyes closed and her mouth dropped open, a breathy sigh escaping her. Here was the fire. Heat surged through her, and she gripped fistfuls of web, desperate for something to hold onto as her hips lifted, meeting his hand. Anzan understood immediately.

"I think we have found the one that satisfies best, my little bug," he crooned.

He was right. It wasn't precisely the same as what she experienced with him. There was no match being held to her blood, no fire surging through her veins, and she was not twisting and writhing against his web in desperation . . . But she was flooded with arousal just the same, the heat making her pant, keening when he sunk two fingers into her.

"Does this make you feel good, my little witch? Is this what you need?"

Ladybug twisted, her eyes clenched tight, wheezing in response. She was desperate to be filled, to be fucked. She bucked up against his hand, fucking herself on the fingers he'd curled into her, but she needed more. The application of his venom gave her tremendous pleasure in those months between his heats, but perhaps its use had been a mistake. Her head was spinning, and she was in danger of rolling right out of the web as the room pitched. Ladybug didn't know what was wrong with her, other than the absolute certainty that she needed more, the burn no longer sufficing.

"More," she gasped, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the springy surface of the web to hold on. "I need more. I-I don't know what's wrong with me! I think . . . Anzan, I think something's wrong."

It was then that it happened. Her eyes crossed as the smell hit her. Heavy and black, enveloping her like a cloud.

"I'm sorry, my little bug." His voice was an agonized groan above her, and then she was glad to not be confined in his web as she pushed herself up, reaching out for him. This was what she had been waiting for, after all. She was a healer.

It is intent that guides magic, Ladybug. A witch's intent is more important than the strength of her spell. She had chosen to be a healer, and helping him through this heat was her job. Your job as his mate. Anzan did not pull away when she sunk her fingers into his sweat-soaked hair, realizing he'd been working himself up as he applied the various ointments to her.

"You don't have to ask to have me," she reminded him, drawing his mouth down to hers. "I'm already yours to have."

Reinforcements were quickly made to the web, her legs stretched open and back, webbing braided around her thigh and fastened at the knees. He took advantage of her new open position, bending to place a hot, lingering kiss in the mouth of her cunt, slickening her already heated folds with his venom as she moaned.

"I trust you. You know that." Ladybug reached out, hands grasping. She hadn't seen his cock in what felt like ages. He wasn't going to bury it within her before she got to hold it first.

Three orbs, decreasing in size as they moved towards the head, the same black as his arachnid carapace, bearing the same white markings. The head resembled the blossom of the calla lilies growing in the small, glassed-in greenhouse behind the garden — unfurling in a fat, curved edge that elongated to a slight point. He was already dripping his silvery spend, choking out another groan as she nibbled on his tip, licking up his pre-cum until her lips were numb.

"My Ladybug . . . I-I cannot —"

He broke off on a grunt, panting when she released him, pulling his face back to hers. She kissed him slowly, softly, tracing the curve of his lips with her tongue, grazing him with her unsharp teeth, tasting his mouth. She had never done this part herself. Pressing her tongue to the side of one of his weeping fangs, her eyes fluttered, rolling back in her head for a moment as the venom hit her taste buds. It was bitter and metallic, not unlike some of the more noxious remedies that came from her cauldron, before they were sweetened with ginger and honey, and she forced herself not to retch as he chuckled against her.

"You are a force to be reckoned with. So much stronger than you realize, but that is not the way we need to do this. I need to have you now, my sweet, strong witch. I cannot hold back."

She clung to his back as his fangs sunk into her neck. Sex magick of the most potent kind. A ritual to the dark mother and her horned consort, mirrored in their actions. Divine and reverent. A stab of pain and a bloom of heat, her toes curling, already able to feel the bump of his cockhead, distended and pressed to her. She could envision the venom racing through her, a silver-white tide overtaking her blood, making her heart pump fire. Her back arched.

"Please," she gasped, her nails scoring his skin. "I need you inside me. Now."

The first press of his cock head within her made her see stars. She would never get used to this stretch, a feeling of fullness that seemed to press against her lungs, made her feel snug in her skin, a winter knit accidentally placed in the dryer.

"You are so tight, my little queen."

She gripped the web as he pushed forward, his venom making her pliant. The first sphere of his shaft popped into place within her, and the room swayed. Her eyes closed tight at the press of the second, a white-hot pain as she was stretched beyond her body's limits; a pain that was subsumed by pleasure once the second sphere was inside her.

"The gift of being permitted to pleasure you is one I shall cherish as long as there is breath within me." Anzan's voice was a reverent murmur above her, feeling the points of his talons bite at her hips as he gripped her. "There is no other male from my clan who has ever enjoyed such a giving mate, such a dedicated healer, upholding her family name with honor."

The third and final sphere sunk into her, hilting him completely. Ladybug struggled forward to grip one set of forearms, relieved that he'd secured her in the sticky web.

"I love you so much." Her voice was high and manic, wheezing with air as she squeezed him. Her eyes rolled back at the slightest shift of her pelvis, filled so completely there was barely room to breathe. "I love you exactly as you are. You never need to be more than just Anzan for me. But right now, I need you to fuck me."

His face was solemn as he nodded above her. "You do me great honor, little bug. The highest station a palp can earn."

The first pullback felt as if he were sucking her innards out long as well, and his first full thrust into her nearly turned her inside out. On every withdrawal, her G spot was battered by the three spheres, a constant push and drag, push and drag, liquefying her spine, leaving her unable to even cry out.

"Let me hear you, my little witch. Let me hear how I please you. Let the whole neighborhood hear what it is to be a spider's beloved mate."

She hoped Kestra Kittredge was able to hear the sounds coming from her throat, high pitched and desperate, writhing with fire. She hoped Millie Tonguegrass was on her porch that afternoon, to hear as Ladybug came around him, shaking in her sticky, webbed confines while Anzan hissed, emptying into her with a hot gush.

"You are in control, my little queen." His voice was a plush black curl around her shoulders, withdrawing carefully. Once unstoppered, his semen splashed down to the basin in the web he'd already fashioned. "The timing of this is inopportune, I am aware."

"What do you mean, ‘I'm in control?'" she gasped, her back arching in the web, eyes rolling back at the press of him. "You need what you need. Don't be silly."

Anzan tutted. His sharp claws cut through the webbing with a shink! She was repositioned and adorned, hanging like a trapeze artist once more, the web harness he fashioned crisscrossing around her arms and breasts, forming a diamond pattern across her stomach, and re-looped up her back. Ladybug hung facing the ground, although her shoulders were well-supported, her bed several feet beneath her as she swung.

"You must get back to your kitchen, to prepare for the market. A palp's heat is dependent only on his reina. Once you are satisfied, we are finished. I swear it."

"I do need to finish this ointment," she admitted, her confounded sense of professional responsibility breaking through the cloud of lust. There were orders, too, that needed completing. "But . . . but it's only midweek. And it's only just past noon. Do-do you think . . ."

"Tomorrow you will be back in your kitchen for work," he readily agreed. "That is a gift, my Ladybug." He chuckled darkly, securing her. "I went years without. A day and night is a cool, clean river for a man in the desert."

Shehad done this, Ladybug realized. It was not some artificial pheromone she needed to create, some combination of herbs and musk and sweat that she needed to cook up in a cauldron. All he had needed was her. Her confidence of this last month, the anger Holt brought out in her, her arousal for Anzan. It was close to the time when his heat would come naturally, it was true, but she wondered if she would be able to coax his cock out of hiding all on her own again, in a month, in three months, in five. Would they need to wait for his seasonal heats at all? Or would their appetite for each other fill in the gaps, the way his venom filled in the gaps of her body's ability to accommodate him?

He mounted her from behind, hissing as his cock pushed into her slowly, opening her inner walls, seating himself fully with a grunt. An equally slow pull-back, and then a solid thrust accompanied by another pleasured groan. Once, twice, hilting in her fully on each surge forward. Ladybug decided, as he moaned again, the sound ripping from his throat, that she liked this version of his heat best. Sating his need, giving him pleasure before it took on an edge of pain, and perhaps most intoxicating of all — the knowledge that she was the only one capable of signaling his body this way.

He had tried to explain the difference between his seasonal heat and the ruts experienced by the area's cervitaur and dragonborn. Their cocks got hard and they needed to come, and that, he chuckled, was the extent of it. They would rut until the urge to do so passed, balls drained and heads heavy, and they would do so by any means necessary — via hand, mouth, or machine — a willing partner not necessary. His heats, by contrast, required a receptive partner, and once accepted as a mate, his heats would last only as long as she was willing to allow him to have her. If it weren't for the market, she'd be happy to let him have his fill for as long as it took.

"I love you so much, my little Ladybug," he groaned, thrusting forward once more.

The market could wait, she decided. Her ointment could keep for another week. In the meantime, she could use his venom in other offerings.

"Tomorrow night," she gasped, her eyes fluttering as he pulled back once more. "You can have me until tomorrow night. Is-is that enough time?"

His mouth was at her shoulder, kissing his way over her skin, tongue flicking over the spot where he'd bitten her.

"Every moment is a gift, little bug." His voice was a satiny hiss at her ear, and she cried out when he pressed two venom-slickened fingers to her clit. "I shall simply endeavor to make you scream for me until you need to rest."

His hands at her hips and the venom-coated fingertips he rolled over her clit were the only things keeping her from swinging away when he began to rut into her. The underside of his shaft was ribbed, a thick band of texture that connected the descending orbs, and on every pull-back, Ladybug felt the drag of that friction, the sweat-inducing pressure that came with being so full. Her stomach cramped as she came around him, her muscles barely having the space to contract, and her legs twitch as she was flooded with heat, Anzan spurting into her just a few moments later.

She imagined the mouth of her cervix coated in his silvery-slick semen, a growing pool within her. There was no danger of conception. Their biologies were not compatible, their anatomy only so because of his venom. That's not the only thing making me wonder how it fits. Ladybug gasped. That day at City Hall. She hadn't understood the joke told by one of the two women behind the partition, a joke at her expense, at Anzan's expense. Now though . . . now she did.

She could use his venom to create a product that would fill in the gaps of the body's ability, allowing species who had never before been able to mate to enjoy each other in a bacchanal worthy of the dark mother. She could sell all three of the ointments. After all, not everyone would be able to tolerate the burn of pure Araneaen venom the way she did. Some folks might prefer the little tingle. She would put a flame scale on the description, the more venom the ointment contained, the more the heat would increase in intensity, and in price point.

The pinnacle of the collection would be one of those artisan glass bottles, pure Araneaen venom, a hitherto unknown mating ability for all. She was able to see it there, see the gleam of the bottle, the cool incense smell of the shop. She could see all of it — the awnings and lettering, the display cases and spellbooks, and there on a leaded crystal plinth, a gleaming bottle of possibility. Holt would be so proud of her.

Ladybug began to laugh as Anzan pressed into her once more. She was more than a day late and several dollars short, but it turned out that the City Hall workers had, in fact, told a very funny joke.

"Hey there, Lizzie."

Ladybug broke off, turning away from Holt at the sound of the deep voice behind her.

She had never gone by Lizzie a single day in the entirety of her existence, but that had not prevented Trapp Hemming from deciding sometime in the fifth grade that it was the name he was going to call her for the rest of their lives. She turned with a grin. Sure enough, the handsome werewolf stood on the other side of her table, towering over her and Holt, beaming down.

"This is a fantastic display," he said seriously as she came around the table, allowing herself to be enveloped in a giant hug. "Have you been doing well here?"

"It's only been a few weeks," she explained. "But so far, so good! Last week was a big hit especially, I sold out before it was even over."

Last week had been the first launch of the new Araneaen product line. Holt had surprised her and Anzan both with labels he had made, featuring a silvery web and spindly lettering, drawing attention to the products' unique ingredients. Her ointment had, regrettably, not been ready, but she had made do with several tonics and attractants, all featuring the prized Araneaen venom. The trolls had been back, as had the beautiful elf, and it seemed that word was beginning to spread. Holt had been the one who'd saved the day, after the second customer came to the table demanding the spider venom.

"We have a strawberry lemon tonic here, ladies, carbonated with natural effervescence and charged with pink quartz. Each bottle contains more Araneaen venom than you'll be able to find from any other retailer, I can promise you that. Because our stock is limited, these bottles can only be purchased with a minimum table purchase of at least thirty dollars today. Given the extremely rare nature and highly potent quality of our ingredients, I'm certain you'll understand."

Her mouth had dropped in horror as he'd spoken, but it hadn't mattered. The goblins and trolls had scooped up her soaps and tinctures, lip bombs and body butters, clambering for a bottle of the sparkling tonic.

"That's awesome," Trapp enthused. "I'm so happy for you. We, uh, saw you the other night. Out walking. You and —"

"Anzan," she supplied. Ladybug wasn't sure if it was because they were talking about Anzan or because she was talking to Trapp — who'd always been friendly, always kind, always treating her with respect — but her voice was clear and firm, with no hint of a waver or stammer to be found.

Trapp grinned. "Anzan. My girlfriend and I had just left the coffee shop, we were taking a walk by the falls. Dad was thrilled when I told him."

She felt that little frisson of adrenaline shiver up her back, the desire to fight, nodding again. "I–I have an appointment with your brother. In two weeks. To discuss what our next steps will be."

If she had thought her success at the Makers' Mart was going to mean the end of the whispers amongst her neighbors, she would've been disappointed. Although, when Ladybug really thought about it, she wasn't all that surprised. Her Oldetowne neighbors were not the ones coming to her table, after all.

These shoppers represented the rest of Cambric Creek — mothers and students, nurses and teachers and librarians. Dutiful minotaurs and mothmen shopping with their wives and girlfriends, folks from the developments, from the new side of town, the younger side of town, the University and the apartments and condos. They were the part of Cambric Creek not steeped in the history of the community and they didn't pull the same weight at City Hall, but they were the majority, she thought determinedly. They were the majority, and the thought of Anzan living there didn't seem to bother them in the slightest.

She reminded herself of what Holt had told them in her kitchen. If it goes to a vote, I don't think it will pass. She'd been silent and stunned when she'd been cast out of the coven, too humiliated and mortified to speak in her own defense, but she wasn't going to let that happen again. Not to him. She was terrible at small talk, stammered and blushed and let her anxiety get the better of her, but she only had the platform of this table once a week to win hearts and change minds. Ladybug vowed she was going to do her best.

Trapp nodded again, his easy smile faltering. "Yeah, I know." He gave a swift look around, his dark eyebrows coming together in consternation. "Look, regardless of what happens, you know you have our support, Lizzie. You and I have been friends for what, twenty years? Your mom and your aunt and my dad . . . Our family isn't turning their backs on you. If you have to fight this, we'll fight it together. I will deny this if it gets back to them, but there is literally nothing Jackson and Gray can't do when they are united, and they are united on this. I promise." His smile returned, a bit wider than before. "Actually, I think Grayson is looking forward to suing the city, especially if you all win while Jackson is on the clock. That would be like his birthday and Christmas wrapped up together."

She laughed weakly, not liking how that boded for her meeting, but Trapp had moved his gaze beyond her, noticing Holt for the first time.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I'm —"

"Oh, no introduction necessary." Ladybug turned with a raised eyebrow, hearing that note of bitterness again in Holt's voice. "There is no question who you are. The resemblance is almost uncanny."

Trapp shrugged with another cheerful grin, with all of the easy confidence of someone who knew they'd won a genetic lottery, which he had. He seemed oblivious to any bad blood that may have existed between the feline man and his father, she noted with relief. "Yeah, I've heard that before. I'm the one who looks most like him, which is probably why I've always been my mom's favorite."

Ladybug laughed a little too loudly, in an effort to cover the slight awkwardness of Holt's distasteful expression. "Trapp, this is Holt. He has a shop in Bridgeton and I never would have been able to do all this without him."

Her words were meant to mollify, but they were the truth. There was no sense in denying it. She didn't know what animosity existed between Holt and Jack Hemming, and she didn't care. They were both important to her, for different, yet similar reasons. Whatever happened between them probably happened more than a decade ago. He needs to get over it.

"Holt, this is Trapp Hemming. So, you're on the clock, I take it?" she asked, deciding the truncated introduction was enough.

"Yeah, I'm on crowd control. And I'd better let you get back to it, knock 'em dead! I hope you have another sell out!"

She waved as he disappeared up the aisle a moment later, after hugging her again, only to find their goblin neighbors coming arm-in-arm back to their table.

"Here she is," the one sighed upon her approach. "The spider witch, who sells out of everything and gets hugs from the sexiest fireman in town."

"Completely unfair."

"Some people have all the luck."

Ladybug grinned, pausing to admire the improved banner before moving behind the table once more. Holt had taken it back to Bridgeton the previous week, having an artist friend add a silvery, gossamer-like spider web, lit by the moonlight reflected off her family's sigil. It was perfect.

"I wasn't kidding, you know," she said, once she was back beside the familiar. "I–I couldn't have done any of this without you. Truly."

Holt hummed, sufficiently appeased by her words, watching as she reached into the box she had hand carried in from the car, pulling out the last of the product. Three different ointments, all with varying amounts of Araneaen venom, designed to be used as an intimate lubricant.

Jack and Holt were both right. The old neighborhood had always been this way, and they likely always would. But the rest of the town . . . She had the power to change the narrative from their table, and it was not an opportunity she was going to pass up. The majority of Cambric Creek is going to turn up to the polls in favor of letting Anzan stay, because they're all going to be hooked on his venom.

Holt sat up with interest when she pulled out the ointment. She couldn't set up a retail display as quickly or as well as he could do himself, but she thought that perhaps she'd learned a few things. She set up the tubes in a small pyramid in the center of the table, using a clear acrylic block to elevate the offering in the center. He peered down, brows coming together before his smile split.

"Did-did you just pull out a strawberry-flavored coochie cream like it's no big deal?"

She wasn't going to let Holt intimidate her out of this. She was a Brackenbridge witch, and she would not forget all that she had been taught. She would use every bit of skill, every type of her craft, every spell in her arsenal, if it would preserve her family, and Anzan was her family now. It is intent that guides magic, Ladybug. Adding the flavoring had been an afterthought, but one she thought might be popular, particularly after she'd experienced what raw venom tasted like.

She shrugged, avoiding his eye. "Maybe I did."

"Perfect. Just making sure." He examined each of the tubes, re-ordering them, putting the strongest and most expensive on the elevated block. "You're gonna be a millionaire."

Ladybug smiled grimly, standing up a little straighter as the doors were pushed open. Trapp was there at the entrance, deep in conversation with a curly-haired satyr. She jutted her chin out defiantly as both men turned to look in her direction, the satyr nodding as he followed the line of Trapp's outstretched finger, pointing out her table. It's fine. The Hemmings and the Brackenbridges have always been friends. They're on your side. She was a strong witch like her mother before her, like her aunt, her great aunt, the grandmother she had never known. She was the most unlikely witch for the job, but like the neighbors, that didn't matter either.

She had a town to win over and a family to save, one bottle of coochie cream at a time.

The rain was sheeting down outside, and this was the first week of the Makers' Mart that hadn't had a rush of customers shortly after the doors opened.

"Give it time," the goblins beside them had assured her that morning. "No one wants to go out in the rain, but they want to stay home even less. Once they get here, they're a captive audience."

Now there was a pair of mothwomen standing before the table, looking over her offerings. Holt was tucked out of sight, taking advantage of the slow traffic to do work on his phone. She straightened. You're not going to have him as a crutch forever. You can do this.

"What does this one do?"

The bespectacled mothwoman was brandishing a tube of what Ladybug had mentally been calling the just right formula. The pair of them were the only shoppers currently on the aisle, other than an orc and kitsune walking hand-in-hand, who'd paused to look at the goblins' pot scrubbers. The mothwoman blinked balefully from behind her spectacles, and Ladybug gulped, steeling herself. Deep breath. You can do this for him.

"It's an Araneaen venom-enhanced lubricant," she choked out, clearing her throat before continuing. "It . . . it's an aid for both partnered and solo —" Her mouth ran dry. It's for fucking. What do you think lube is for? Please don't make me say it!

"Is it the kind that tingles?" the second of the pair asked, and Ladybug nearly deflated in relief. "That's the kind you like," she reminded her partner, as the smaller woman pushed her glasses up the bridge of her velvety nose.

"It–it has the tingling effect, yes."

"What's in it?" questioned the orc, she and the kitsune catching up with the mothwomen at last, carrying several pot scrubbers in a kraft paper bag. "I'm okay with a bit of peppermint oil, but my thighs will lockdown like a supermax prison if you come near me with the camphor stuff again."

"That's for muscle aches!" one of the mothwomen exclaimed, the other two still laughing. "You're not supposed to use it there."

The kitsune gasped in offense, her shoulders shaking. "Don't blame me for that! You did that all on your own!"

The other three women laughed, and Ladybug smiled wanly, her mind too busy panicking to fully register the joke.

"Well, they should put a warning on the tube," the orc sniffed.

"Not that she reads labels on anything," the kitsune wheezed. All four women were laughing raucously, the kitsune nearly doubled over at the waist. "What do you want the label to say?! ‘Fast-acting muscle relief. Not intended for your clit.' Is that what you need, Tirza?"

Holt snorted from his hidden seat, tucked away behind the banner, and Ladybug gasped, catching up with the conversation at last.

"It's nothing like that!" she assured them, cheeks reddening. "I-I mean, it is. But the ingredients in those muscular aids are much too harsh for the delicate skin and mucous membranes of the vulva. This formulation is very light and all-natural. I use a plant cellulose and purified water, and —" She sucked in a centering breath — "pure, unadulterated Araneaen venom. The only difference between these three is the amount of venom." She was talking too much. Too many details they didn't need to know, too much technicality. Mucous membranes, what are you thinking?!

"Where does it come from?" the bespectacled mothwoman asked seriously, and Ladybug wondered if they thought she was engaging in a black market trade.

She hesitated. How to tell them she'd gone up the attic steps with a vial for collection the previous week, that Anzan had held the small bottle to one of his fangs and pressed, scarcely turning his eyes away from the several monitors in front of him; that the ritual took less than a minute before he was sipping his coffee and resuming his work, and she was headed back to her work cauldron, a process they'd repeated half a dozen times since. It's on tap in my attic, whenever I need.

"My partner is an Araneaen. The collection process is completely sterile, and I make sure to —"

"Are you the ones over in Oldetowne?" the orc interrupted. Behind the banner, Holt raised his head.

Ladybug felt her cheeks heat, but she did not look away. We walk to the noose with our heads held high. "We are. I take it you work for City Hall?" Her voice shook slightly with the question, but the orcish woman only chuckled.

"Not quite. Same building, though. Emergency dispatch, but I hear enough. You have some real pieces of work over there."

Heat flooded her as she nodded, the threat of overwhelmed tears pressing down on her sinuses. "It's always been that way. We're just trying to live our lives, you know."

The orc nodded again. "Yeah, we know what that's like. So, what's the difference between them?" She nodded at the lubricants.

"The weakest of the three will produce the tingling effect you're talking about."

The four women exchanged a fast look, the kitsune's eyebrows disappearing beneath her dark bangs. "And what does the strongest do?" one of the mothwomen asked, her voice hesitant.

You can do this! Be like Holt."It still tingles," she attempted to joke, hoping she didn't sound as ridiculous as she feared. "But it's more than that. You'll feel hot and . . . it enhances everything. Increased sensitivity and blood flow, swelling of the clitoral glans, and —"

"And I'll come in thirty seconds. Got it." The orc smiled broadly, as the kitsune collapsed in giggles against her side. "Can I buy two?"

Holt choked on his laughter from behind the banner, and she was obliged to turn away as the women began sampling body butters and sniffing her herbal remedies. She wrapped the order, hiding her triumphant smile until they'd left, each of them carrying a bag of product. He was right — she was going to make a killing. And who would want Anzan to leave after they've experienced that?

"So, I was thinking."

Ladybug looked askance at the familiar. Those were ominous words from Holt's mouth. He rarely ever held back from what he was thinking, so to begin in such a way could only mean he was about to suggest something truly awful or immoral.

Around them, the community center buzzed. It was the last week of the month, the fifth time they had set up their table bright and early on a Saturday morning, the whole month gone in the blink of an eye. Ladybug could scarcely believe it. She had realized, somewhere between weeks two and three, that she had done more socializing and talking to strangers that month than she had done perhaps in the entirety of her adult life.

Despite his early warnings that he would not be doing this with her forever, Holt had not mentioned it again, nor had he alluded to the fact that any given Saturday might be his last. He dropped by the house at least two or three times a week, whether or not he had specific work to do with her, insinuating himself into their daily routine as seamlessly as if he truly were a stray cat they had adopted.

So much in her life had changed, and it was a strange comfort to have those little pockets of familiarity. It was a house full of relics, but somehow, she and Anzan were making new memories among them together, a new chapter of the Brackenbridge history, and Holt had slipped himself back into the margins of each page. She'd not changed her mind about wanting a familiar of her own, but having him around hadn't been as aggravating as she'd first feared.

She had been correct in her suspicions about the males under her roof. Holt and Anzan had become the best of chums, and the days she happened upon them whispering over her work counter, she realized the terrible truth she had wrought – she was now outnumbered in her own home.

"I have been to many places and seen many things, cat man. If you are in the market for the truly arcane, I know where to find it."

"As it so happens, the market for the truly arcane is positively through the roof," Holt had purred. "I'll have no trouble finding a buyer."

They had cut off abruptly when she'd entered, Anzan busying himself at the coffee machine as Holt hopped up on the counter, both of them pretending nothing was amiss.

Earlier that same week, she had spent half the morning working in the kitchen, attempting to suspend gossamer strands of Araneaen silk in hyaluronic acid, completely oblivious to the black cat who was napping on the shelf above the cauldron.

When she'd at last taken note of the dark shape above the fire, it been another of those little blasts of memory — coming home from school to find Holt sleeping on the kitchen table in a puddle of sunlight while her aunt worked nearby, stepping around the black cat in the garden as she went out to do the weeding, watching him sit like a sentinel on the front porch as she waited for the bus. Her eyes had filled with tears at the time, although she hadn't disturbed him.

Later that same morning, she found him back in his man skin, sitting at the big, round table with an untouched cup of tea before him. He was sitting adjacent to Willow's chair, staring despondently at the empty space. She hadn't been able to hold in her tears then, joining him at the table. They had a shared history in this house, they had loved the same people, and it didn't matter what else had happened. There was no sense in holding onto the hurt, for he was right about that, too. The wheel never stopped turning.

Holt said nothing when she reached out to his hand on the table, threading her fingers with his, as they stared at Willow's empty chair.

"If there had been any other way," he'd said in a low voice, "if it could have happened by another method . . . I am sorry, Elizabeth. I wish there had been another way. But everything that has come to pass is as it was meant to be. We are all standing exactly where we are meant to be."

She had not answered, but nor had she let go of his hand. It didn't matter anymore.

"What was taken must return, and night shall steal day."

His voice had been a low, hypnotic purr, and she'd shivered at the time. But now, back beneath the bright overhead lights of the community center, with the buzz of several dozen voices around them, Ladybug was not sure if she wanted to hear what Holt was thinking.

"I really don't know if I like the sound of that."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I was thinking it might be nice to put your library to good use. You have so many rare editions on your shelf, and more than that, you have beginner volumes of every subject. I don't know if you quite realize how unusual that is to find in a household library these days. It was commonplace once, when witches were educated at home, but now that the Collegium system has become the norm . . . Well, I'm just saying. It might be nice to pay that knowledge forward."

"I'm not interested in selling any of my books, Holt."

He was always looking for an angle, she had fast discovered. She appreciated his sales acumen when he was seated beside her on Saturdays, as he was now, but any other time, Ladybug knew she had to be on her guard. She was willing to put behind her the hurt and betrayal of the last year, was willing to allow him to make amends each week beside her, and share in their mutual grief, but she would never fully trust him again. Walk wary of magic that is beyond understanding, for it owes allegiance to no one. She was grateful for his help, and she was satisfied that they'd mended their fences, but she'd not be fooled again.

"Well good, because that's not what I meant. You do understand the vacuum Authricia's death has left in this community, do you not? If there's any valid criticism of her tenure, it was not securing her replacement before her decline."

"She did secure a successor," Ladybug reminded him through clenched teeth. "Rebecca Raynish would have been an excellent high crone. That's the funny thing about brain aneurysms, though, sometimes they strike out of the blue." Holt sniffed, but she continued, undeterred. "And then there was Ellena Wormgreen. She had been the back-up choice after Rebecca, was supposed to have been ready to step in. Then her daughter needed help with the kids, so Ellena moved down south. She sold her house in a weekend, Holt. Months of preparation, of coaching and instruction. Poof, gone. In a weekend. Authricia did her best to prepare that Mills woman for the vote, but Evelyn already had her hooks in people."

Her face was hot when she stopped speaking, thinking through the disasters that had befallen their coven, one after another. Like dominoes lined up by an invisible hand, a perfect storm of events that all seemed to lead to her expulsion from the group. Ladybug took a deep breath, pushing down the memories and the hurt and embarrassment. This time of year was fraught, and it did not do any good to linger on what was.

Hexennacht loomed on the calendar, only another week away. It had been her favorite celebration of their year, once.

She had memories of a Hexennacht from her childhood, dancing beneath the moon as a cold rain lashed at her skin. It might have been intolerable on any other night of the year, but on that night it had not mattered. The rain was a part of the night, there to celebrate along with the circle of sisters, and besides — the heat from the blazing fire had kept her warm as she danced, elated by the rising euphoria of the circle. She'd spun and whirled, spinning until she was dizzy, singing to the moonlight along with the chorus of voices around her. The first time she had seen the power of the coven, the first time she had felt the ancient belonging within the circle of sisters. It had been the first time she had felt like a witch.

But then it had been another Hexennacht when her fortunes had changed, when she'd been cast out of the circle, and she worried that the celebration would be forever tainted. That's all behind you now. This was her year of starting things anew. She had bigger things to focus on, her new business here, and the battle with City Hall. It did no good to dwell. New business, new clients. New Ladybug.

"Regardless," he went on with an eye roll. "I don't think anyone would deny that there's been a substantial loss in the educational element of the new order. You're not the only witch who doesn't attend meetings, you know. I'm sure there are plenty of others who have never been welcome to join the group in the first place, let alone the ones who've not returned."

"I'm still not sure what that has to do with me."

He frowned but did not continue, settling into his chair in what could only be described as a pout, and it was her turn to roll her eyes. That's not your fault. He can speak plainly or not at all. Enough of these infernal riddles. Several minutes ticked by in silence. Beside her, Holt was thoroughly engrossed in his phone, ignoring her. That's fine. You need to save your voice anyhow. She straightened the edge of the tablecloth, moving bars of soap around to ensure a full array of scents were on display, her nerves jangling as they did every week. She was getting better, she hoped, but she'd never not be a bubble of anxiety every Saturday morning.

"Do you remember Pernella Larchmore?"

She jumped at the unexpected change in conversation, his voice casual and unperturbed, giving no indication that he'd just been sulking. Ladybug considered that she had to give credit where it was due. Holt was nothing if not intrepid. He didn't give up, changed tactics and learned from his mistakes. She wondered if it was a skill he had learned in his many long years of existence, or if his many long years of existence were owed to such slipperiness. A chicken/egg scenario if there ever was one.

"I do. The cottage library, right? She and Authricia were very close. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, raising his hands in an expansive gesture. "So much knowledge. So much of our history, just sitting unused on your shelves. Rare works, important works. Handwritten grimoires that go back centuries, Elizabeth. Pernella could have left them to her sister, to her nieces, could have donated them to the library or sold them at auction, but she didn't do any of that. She gave them all to Authricia.

"Yes, but —"

"Because she knew their knowledge would best be stewarded by the high crone. The gift of those references was a gift to the whole coven. And that's only a tenth of the knowledge you have sitting on the shelves, gathering dust."

"What would you have me do?!"

Ladybug saw the trap for what it was, a heartbeat too late. He sat up, phone forgotten, a green gleam of triumph shining from his citrine eyes, knowing he had her precisely where he'd wanted her from the beginning. Who are you kidding? He can fool you every day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.

"I think you ought to start a study group. There are witches in the area who don't even know where to begin. They don't belong to any coven, they've never belonged. They are either new to their path or have been solitary for so long, they don't even realize what they are missing. You can show them, Elizabeth. You can pick up Authricia's torch. Put the emphasis back on education and core competencies. Put all you have been taught to use."

Ladybug sputtered. She was no high crone! She didn't possess any of her great aunt's ferocity, and she was certain that was a necessary component to leadership. Besides, Cambric Creek already had a coven.

"You really do want to get me in trouble with the regulatory board! I can't just go start a new coven willy-nilly, Holt. Even if I wanted to — which I don't! — there are guidelines to follow!"

Another roll of his eyes, but his smile was self-satisfied. "I never said anything about a coven. I said start a study group. A small, intimate gathering at your home. Put to good use all you know, give others an opportunity to learn. That's all. Hexennacht would be a perfect excuse. I'm sure there are plenty of witches and would-bes who don't even realize there is celebration to be had."

She didn't have a chance to respond. The doors were pulled open, the start of the market, the first two dozen customers coming in almost immediately.

"Welcome, friends. Welcome back, I should say to some of you." Holt had his witchy showman voice firmly locked in place, leaving her no room to mull over his words. "We have last week's sell-outs in replenished quantity, as you can see. All made with ample amounts of Araneaen venom, sourced directly from the partner of our witch, right here in Cambric Creek. You never need to worry about an inferior import or nefarious collection tactics with Brackenbridge Spellcraft — it's all sourced in-house. What a relief it is to have him in town, is it not, ladies?"

Ladybug exhaled on a laugh, shaking her head. He was a shameless salesman, but he was in her corner, at least, for the moment. She would consider Holt's idea about a study group, she decided. She owed him that. You told yourself you were going to start listening to him. But you can think about all that later. It's showtime, and you've got lube acolytes to convert.