6. 6

There was a chill in the air. It had rained that morning — a grey drizzle blown in by a cold front whose winds rattled the tree's fledgling leaves. The recently opened tulip magnolias trembled on their branches, a handful of the delicate purple blooms scattering across the lawn. The old house seemed to hold the chill and dampness, and the wretched climate was doing nothing to improve her panicked mood.

She had never entertained before.

It was almost embarrassing to admit at her age, but that didn't make it any less true. They had hosted countless coven meetings in their home, classes and workshops, potion brewing and spellcasting soirées, but that was when her aunts had still been alive. Since they'd been gone, she'd not had anyone else in this house. Not until Anzan had shown up at her door.

And now, because of Holt, she was hosting a party. A Hexennacht party, on the most fraught day of the year for her.

Ladybug felt as though she were going to shake apart. She was meant to pretend that there were no bad memories associated with the celebration, that she had never done anything on this night but danced before the fire with her sisters; eat, drink, and be merry, and exalt the Dark Mother. You don't know what you're doing. You don't know how to entertain; you don't know how to smile and laugh and tell stories. This was all a mistake, a terrible mistake!

"I should have never let him talk me into this!" She was pacing the length of the kitchen, wringing her hands. Anzan stood at the counter, eating a small container of gray sludge, dotted with something black suspended in the pudding-like snack. He had disposed of the packaging and she had never tried it, but Ladybug was not entirely sure she believed his claims of it being tapioca. "Why have I listened to Holt about anything?!"

Anzan rolled his eyes. "Little bug, do not pretend that you have not enjoyed these last few weeks at your market. You come home positively ebullient." She huffed, spinning around to find him grinning. "And I, for one, am thrilled over it. You have scarcely seemed so happy, my Ladybug. You have been listening to the cat man because his ideas for your business have been good. Who is to say that his idea for this witchly gathering is not also a good one?"

"I do not like you being friends," she grumbled. "And you don't understand," she sighed, deflating slightly. Anzan opened two of his arms, and she trudged forward, dropping against him as he enfolded her, his other two arms still engaged in his snack. "This is the celebration when I was kicked out of the coven," she admitted miserably. "This used to be my favorite time of year. I used to look forward to this night for months. But now . . . I don't know how I feel about it at all, now."

"Perhaps that is all the better reason to have these witches here as a distraction." His voice was gentle, the tips of his claws raking carefully through her unruly waves. "Perhaps that is why Holt suggested it in the first place."

Ladybug scowled against his chest. "This is also the anniversary of Holt being an amoral, self-serving betrayer. I'm not sure why he wants to draw attention to that moment in our shared history."

"I think maybe that is exactly his reasoning, my little witch." Anzan shrugged at her scowl. "I do not believe that he is impenitent for the things that have transpired in your relationship. Perhaps this is his way of making amends. And you cannot deny, little bug, that you are enjoying yourself." He pressed a knuckle under her chin, raising her face gently. Ladybug blew out an aggrieved breath as he chuckled.

A full month had transpired since the first week at the market, two months since Holt had turned up in the garden. Every week was an agony at the Makers' Mart. Every week without fail, she would start the morning off as a life-sized bundle of nerves, her stomach sitting somewhere in her chest and her heart sitting at the back of her mouth, unable to sit still, suffering from both nervous hands and indigestion.

. . . But then the doors would open and the people would flood in, and she didn't have time to dwell on her inability to make small talk at all. She had questions to answer, products to explain, and an Araneaen lover to boast over. Anzan was right. Every week started the same, but so, too, did it end the same way. She would be flushed and happy, buzzing with the adrenaline that came from so much socialization, riding the high of another successful market day.

"I do not say this lightly, for I do not wish other felines to think I am so generous with compliments, but in fairness, little bug, he has been right about most things thus far, has he not? Perhaps it would be worthwhile to take his advice over this as well. After all, what is the worst that could possibly happen?" He went on, cutting off the protestation forming on her lips. "If your gathering is unsuccessful and you have a miserable time, then next time you will say no with a clear mind."

She disliked being outnumbered in her own home. Inviting Holt in had been her first mistake. But allowing him and Anzan to conspire against her had been a bigger one.

"Fine. I will have this party. But you do understand what he's doing, do you not? It starts with a little party to celebrate the Sabbath. Then he wants me to have these witches over once or twice a month so that we can discuss our histories, to review skills, to help them find resources to learn. And who better to practice your skills with? Your fellow witches, all assembled right there! Do you know what that sounds like, Anzan?"

"I am not a witch, little bug," he responded somberly, the corner of his smile twitching when she stamped her foot. "But I do believe that has the makings of one of your covens."

"That's exactly what it sounds like to me as well," she grumbled, wondering why she was allowing Holt to talk her into yet another new thing.

Despite her reservations, she decided Anzan was right. What is the worst that can come of it? If it's as wretched as coven meetings always were, you never do it again. And if a garden cat wants to push the issue, then we banish him for good. Burdock and cumin, red pepper and caraway, an oil of holy thistle. Either that or we drop him off at the shelter.

Holt had provided the guest list. At least, part of it. Bethany, his former witch and business partner, a school administrator named Tara, Marina, the singer in a band Holt and his girlfriend followed around the city, and a few others he knew from his shop.

He had somehow unearthed a handful of solitary practitioners of the craft right here in town using his showman voice at their table at the Makers' Mart to find his recruits. Milaya was another vendor from the Makers' Mart, a vampiric beekeeper who sold her honey. Then there was the kitsune who'd shopped their table weekly, cheerfully announcing she was self-taught, probably clueless, and asked to bring a plus one to the party, and Agatha, the old crone who sold the dodgy potions. A motley bunch, but she was confident they'd be better companions than her former sisters. Ladybug had invited Agatha herself, and the old woman's gap-toothed smile had been enough to convince her that maybe Anzan was right. This, too, was something she ought to listen to Holt on.

She had prepared a feast. It was technically the feast for Beltane, but she had made far too much, more than she and Anzan could eat alone, so the Beltane feast became the Hexennacht feast, and they would enjoy the leftovers the following day together. Raspberry oatcakes and spring lamb, bright lemon syrup and milky lavender tea, tray after tray of tiny finger foods, hors d'oeuvres both hot and cold, and creamy clementine possets for Anzan, poured into their hollowed-out rinds. She had flowers she'd been drying since the previous year, ready to be added to her incense for the fire, and fresh blooms to be woven into her hair.

She'd almost thrown in the towel several times over the course of her preparation. She wasn't cut out for hosting. Ladybug accepted that she was very good at a great many things, but this was not one of them. She wasn't sweet and she didn't sparkle, nor could she enthrall guests with her storytelling prowess. Potions and powders, those were her friends. She'd never encountered a gossiping group of herbs or a cauldron that refused her as a charms partner.

As Hexennacht drew closer, the memories rose like a tide around her, leaving her stranded and alone on a rock amidst a turbulent sea. The high council cannot see how you can continue amongst our ranks. A witch who will not observe the sabbaths is not a witch at all. All she wanted to do was hide away, conceal her embarrassment and hurt, and lick her wounds and injured pride in solitude. This was all a terrible plan, and if she were wise, she would halt it before she further embarrassed herself, her home, her family name.

Then the call came from Jack.

She had been busy working in the kitchen, phone forgotten on a side counter, not seeing the missed call notification until it was nearly the hour when Anzan came to collect her. She was so tired of crying. Her eyes were going to wind up permanently swollen at this rate, she'd thought, listening to the message for a second time, her heart racing and her mind reeling, not fully comprehending it until the third playback.

Anzan had been grim when he'd found her weeping at the kitchen table, playing the message from the werewolf patriarch for himself. She was forced to hear it again a short while later when Holt turned up, his dark eyebrows turned down and his face frozen in a scowl as he listened. Jack sounded serious and unsmiling, she thought, not his custom, even as he tried to reassure her in the message.

We already knew they had the numbers to put it on the ballot. But I want you to remember, Elizabeth, all that means is it's on the ballot. Ansleth does not have the numbers to push it through. He knows it. This is a last-ditch show of power to his supporters, that's all. An empty gesture. And even if he did have a significant minority, it's going to be on the same ballot my son is running on, and you'd better believe this will be a part of his platform. If you have any questions, please call. Otherwise, I'll see you in my office next week. I hope you like sushi.

"It would be best for everyone if I left now."

Anzan's words were measured and low, but she knew him. Knew him better than anyone else in the world, and she could hear the defeat in his voice. He's going to go upstairs and pack his bags right now. He'll leave in the middle of the night in some ridiculous effort to spare you, and you'll never see him again. Then what will you have? An empty house that will never be home again.

"Do you remember what I asked you?" His head was bowed, and he did not raise his eyes at her words. "I asked you to fight for us. I can't do it alone."

"Little bug, this is something that will be out of your hands, and this is your home. And besides, they are also planning on passing an ordinance forcing every resident to don pants. I will be expelled from town for that issue, if not the other."

"Let them try," she countered in a voice that was steadier than she felt. "Jack's right — they don't have the numbers. You should hear the customers at my table, they don't care! They don't care at all! And if it passes, then," she swallowed her sob, "then I'm going with you."

"You're not going anywhere." Holt's voice was dark and clipped as he leaned on the stones, staring intently into the fire.

Anzan turned, facing the flames. "I will not put her or her property in jeopardy. The safest course of action —"

"NO!" Anzan broke off at Holt's shout, and Ladybug felt pressed back in her chair. He'd spun to face them, the edges of his form rippling like water. The whole room seemed to vibrate and his eyes were a green glow, from which Ladybug was unable to look away. Walk wary of magic that is beyond understanding.

"You are not going anywhere," Holt thundered, and the room shook, the heavy oaken table trembled before her. "Do you understand? Do neither of you understand?" His head whipped from her to Anzan, the green flames in his eyes jumping, the same way the cauldron fire leapt in the grate. "We are all exactly where we are meant to be. This is a distraction. Nothing more. It is meaningless. What is done cannot be undone, but we can be prepared. Fear is a gift, Elizabeth. Do neither of you understand?"

He was beyond aggravation, was beyond furious with her and Anzan both, and she had no idea why. Another little blow of memory, of Holt and her aunt speaking in riddles, comprehensible only to each other. We cannot prevent what has been set in motion, beloved. The familiar gave a frustrated little laugh, as if he could her thoughts, as easily as reading a speech bubble over her head. Perhaps he can. You've let him in enough times.

Another humorless smile and a shake of his head, as if he'd reached an agreement with himself. "I will keep you in this house myself if I have to. Put this out of your mind. It's a distraction and nothing else."

A glass on the counter shattered and Ladybug squeaked, shielding her face, and the spell was instantly broken. The heaviness of the room dissipated as Holt stalked across the kitchen, wrenching open the door and slamming it behind him, disappearing as a cat into the garden.

At length, Anzan scuttled back to his attic, once he'd silently cleaned the glass, leaving her alone at the table, but she found herself unable to concentrate on even the most menial task. Leaving her kitchen, Ladybug trudged up the short staircase to the main floor of the house, where she was able to hear the squeak of floorboards two floors above her. Heavy and slow, with none of the speed of his silent skitter. He was pacing. Pacing the way he had before that first Mabon, and she wished the only thing they had to contend with right now was his heat.

It had only taken a day for her upset to melt away into rage, and she couldn't blame Holt for that.

Her neighbors had done this. Not the trolls and the goblins and mothfolk she talked to every week at the community center. Not those customers at her table, the ones who asked her about Anzan, who seemed genuinely curious and were excited to try her products featuring his venom and silk. Not them. The ones who lived around her, neighbors who'd known her since she was a little girl. The same neighbors who'd whispered about her mother, who had been whispering about the Brackenbridge witches since Cambric Creek was developed. Jack Hemming was right. The old neighborhood had always been the same, and she didn't need to give a shit about any of them.

Stomping up the stairs, she did not slow at the second floor landing, continuing up to the attic and throwing open the door.

"They're right," she'd said resolutely. "Jack and Holt. This is a distraction. And we're not going to hide away."

They were going to go to the May Day celebration in town together, it was decided, she and Anzan. She would celebrate Beltane with the residents of Cambric Creek who were interested in learning more about the Araneaen in Oldetowne, who bought goods from her table, who made the community the vibrant hub it was.

But now the party was here. Hexennacht.

Tomorrow she would celebrate the sun with her mate at her side, but on this night . . . this night, she was a witch.

The first car that rolled into her driveway was Holt's. He'd not been back since the day he'd stormed out at the start of the week, but she reminded herself that his anger was at the situation, not her. Ladybug waved awkwardly from the porch, watching as Holt's human girlfriend took in Anzan's silhouette in the doorway behind her.

"Company's coming." The familiar's words were cryptic as he passed her, entering the house through the front door for the very first time since he'd returned.

"I know company is coming!" she exclaimed to his back. "You invited them!"

Holt shook his head, but she did not have time to question him, as the next car rolled into the driveway. One by one, the strangers crowded into her living room, chattering and laughing, none of them seeming unduly perturbed by the sight of the giant spider person hovering in the doorway, before Holt ushered them to the back door.

Across the street, at the top of her winding driveway, Ladybug could see the light on Kestra Kittredge's front porch, where she sat watching with Millie Tonguegrass and the troll from next door. Good. Let them watch. Let them see. We're not hiding, and we're not running away.

Anzan looked as stoic and unsmiling as he ever did, but Ladybug knew that he was as nervous as a kitten. He was used to a lifetime of hiding away, staying away from people, of being feared, and was even less prepared to host a gathering than she was herself.

"You do not need me to ruin your celebration, little bug," he'd argued, attempting to make his way to the attic, seeming shocked that was not the plan for the night. She had blocked the staircase. It didn't matter if he could pluck her up like a doll. He wouldn't.

"If I have to suffer the indignity of socializing," she had laughed as he made a comical attempt to duck under her arm, "then so do you!"

Now he was just outside the pergola, trapped in conversation with the kitsune and Zella, the friend she'd brought. Zella was someone Ladybug recognized, a sylvan who worked the reference desk at the campus library. She had added to the gold markings on her face for the occasion, painting in colorful flowers, despite the chill outside, and brought a tray of a flaky, honey-drizzled homemade pastry to share.

"Momo," she heard Anzan saying hesitantly to the kitsune. "Like the peach?"

The kitsune was enthusiastic in her reply, not that Ladybug could hear it. All around her, their guests were laughing and socializing, a vibrancy that had long been missing from the house. She thought of the gatherings Authricia had hosted when she was a girl, how fun they'd been, back before she'd realized she would forever be standing on the wrong side of the glass, looking in on her sisters, an outcast in the coven. Well . . . maybe not forever. They were not a true coven and there likely wasn't a single witch of any pedigree amongst them . . . but that was not essential. A witch's intent is more important than the strength of her spell.

"Thank you so much for doing this. It's so lovely."

Ladybug turned to the voice over her shoulder, finding Milaya, the vampire she and Holt had met at the Makers' Mart. The pale-skinned beekeeper had come to their table the week they had sold out of everything before the end of the day, enthusiastically congratulating her and Holt both.

"I'm so happy for you! Maybe I'll check if they can put our booths closer. I'm happy to move." She'd given them a swift look around, her light-colored eyes peering over the top of the tinted glasses she wore. "Everyone here is mostly nice, but when you sell out week after week, your neighbors can get a little tetchy. It would be nice being close to another vendor breaking down early!"

Holt had engaged the beekeeper in a discussion about the craft one week, as Ladybug shifted from foot to foot, her fingers busy with the small metal toy Holt had shoved in her hands the second week. She had no idea what its purpose was, but it had several little buttons and dials that clicked and turned and kept her fingers occupied, and she was grateful for the distraction. Milaya told them her mother had been a witch and that she had been raised in the craft, long before her turning.

"I've only really gotten back into it in the last two decades or so. Just kind of doing my own thing right now." She'd never been a part of the coven here in Cambric Creek, and Holt had harrumphed triumphantly when Milaya had left to return to her own table, full of honey and candles, the byproducts of her beekeeping.

The vampire had brought a large jar of her honey that evening, one Holt swooped in to take before Ladybug could even accept it.

"That is so generous of you, thank you so much!"

He'd smiled broadly at the vampire, turning to Ladybug once Milaya had entered the party. "I'm putting this in the kitchen. She enchants it. I brought home a jar a few weeks ago to put on toast and couldn't leave my apartment for half the day. Blue pill effect, if you know what I mean. I understand why she's selling out. But no one needs to be eating this, unless we're planning on having a very different kind of party."

Ladybug had no idea what he meant, but it hadn't mattered. Now the vampire stood before her, positively beaming.

"It's been ages since I've celebrated any of the sabbaths this way. Thank you so much for hosting this and for inviting me."

Ladybug smiled, wishing she had the little metal device in her palm just then, with its distracting clicks and dials. "Of course. I–I'm so glad you came. I'm glad anyone came! I-I've never hosted a party before." She laughed, that limping sparrow sound again, neck heating. "We're, um, not exactly big socializers."

Milaya shrugged, gesturing to the chattering clusters of witches and wannabes. "That's the beauty of it, you don't have to be. It only takes one or two extroverts to make a party."

She could see them now, those extroverts.

Bethany and Holt's girlfriend, telling an animated story with a circle around them. The kitsune, now lifting her shirt to show Anzan something on her back, as the sylvan from the library looked on, laughing.

"That is not what it means." She could hear Anzan's solemn voice as he peered at the kitsune's tattoo, punctuated by a fresh round of laughter from the sylvan; Marina and Tara in conversation with several others, Agatha among them.

Maybe Holt is right. There's a void for those who've never been welcome to join the coven. Who else is going to fill it?

"Please, everyone, make a plate," she called out, hoping she could be heard over the chatter. "There's no need to wait and there's so much!"

She was standing back, watching the assembled witches line up the serve themselves, when she was accosted again.

"I just wanted to thank you for inviting me. And say that it's very nice to finally meet you. The famous Elizabeth."

Ladybug turned at Bethany's voice, stomach somersaulting. "Of–of course! I'm so delighted you came. And yes, it's very nice to officially meet you as well." Holt's former witch gave her a tightlipped smile, and although she was not good at reading people, Ladybug was certain she did not sense true animosity from the other woman. At least, not directed at her.

"Are you going to make all of his little kitty cat dreams come true? He's been dying to work with you since . . ." Bethany's voice trailed off, her eyes lowering. "I'm sorry, I forgot she was your family. The even more famous Willow. I'm very sorry for your loss."

Ladybug felt a stab of grief, mingled with empathy for what Holt must have put this girl through as Willow faded. "I don't want a familiar. I've already told him that. And besides, I don't think he actually wants to —"

Another tightlipped smile, before she was interrupted. "Trust me, he does. He has for some time. That's his whole reasoning behind not pushing through his next assignment, you know. Said he's waiting for someone. I can't think of anyone else that someone might be. He's spoken very highly of you over the years, you know. He thinks your skills are unparalleled."

Ladybug opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She didn't know what to say. "It's not your fault," she blurted at last, a rush of heat up the back of her neck, hoping she wasn't blundering this. "I–I just want you to know that. No matter what he said or how he made you feel." The fire spread over her cheeks, threatening to burn her up. "Just . . . just know that it wasn't your fault. It wouldn't have make a difference who he was reassigned to, he —"

"He loved her." Bethany nodded with a small smile. "I know. I've always known that, and he grieved her loss for a very long time. I actually don't think he'll ever get over it, which really makes you the best witch for the job. But thank you for saying that. I didn't think it would, but that means a lot, especially coming from you."

Ladybug sucked in a breath, feeling the whole world sway. Holt and Willow had spoken in a language only comprehensible to them, and she would never learn to navigate that sort of relationship. She would not change her mind.

"And as it turns out, he and I are much better as friends," Bethany went on, her smile finally touching her eyes. "We have a much better relationship now than we ever did when we were working together. We're good business partners. Just not very good . . . partners."

"I'm glad," she said sincerely. "Although I am sorry that you had to leave the craft for that to happen. Truly."

The other woman shrugged, laughing lightly. "I don't know that I've left it completely. I don't think I could even if I wanted to. What am I, if I'm not a witch? But I want to be able to practice it on my own terms, celebrate what I want to celebrate, cherry pick the rest. Can't do that with a magical minder."

"I think magical minders sound entirely overrated," Ladybug said, grinning as Bethany laughed again. "And truly, thank you for coming tonight. I've never hosted a party and I was petrified no one would show up. This is . . . this is a hard night for me. It used to be one of my favorites, and I'm hoping that it can be again."

They joined the others in line, and she was glad they'd had a chance to speak. We're all sisters tonight, no matter what's happened in the past.

Anzan had just struck a match to the fire when she heard it. A thrum through the air, low and steady, followed by several short thumps. Ladybug watched as he raised his head, his black eyes glimmering in the firelight. He crossed the long expanse of the yard in a blur, his heavy legs moving over each other like a zoetrope of black and white, and when he reached the flagstones, he thumped a foot in kind.

"Little bug." His blue eyes were wide once she joined him, two hands clasped before him, fingers threaded and twisting. She would ask Holt where he had procured that little metal object with the buttons and dials, and get one for Anzan as well. "I–I am sorry I did not tell you before. I have invited a guest to your celebration. If–if that is permissible?"

Her heart felt as if it exploded into a million butterflies, their colorful wings tickling her from the inside, inflating her chest until she thought she might levitate. Her eyes burned. She was happy, she realized, so happy. Happier than she ever thought she could feel on this day, the anniversary of her shunning. Despite what else was happening in their lives, despite this town ordinance distraction. She was happy with the way things were. Two short years ago, she couldn't have imagined ever being happy again.

"Our celebration," she corrected him, standing on her tiptoes until he bent to meet her waiting lips. "Our home. Our celebration."

Ladybug followed Anzan around the house, up the flagstone path that fed into the driveway, stopping short when she saw her.

She had likely been taller in her youth. Statuesque, even. The Araneaen woman in her prime would have towered over Anzan. As it was though, she was a hunched, shriveled thing. A sign of her advanced age and life experience, wrinkles to be worn proudly. Ladybug was reminded of Anzan's appearance that very first day on the sidewalk before her door. She watched as he quickly scuttled down the driveway, heedless of Kestra Kittredge and the others across the street, bowing low, his nose grazing the pavement before old Philomel.

"Reina. You do me a great honor."

She could not hear the old Araneaen's response, but Ladybug was certain she was going to float away. The butterflies in her chest nearly lifted her off her feet as Philomel took Anzan's extended hand, letting him lead her up the driveway. He kept his head low, stooping in order to be beneath the already stooped old woman, nearly bending in half at the waist. Ladybug understood that the deference he paid her was likely a tenth of what would have been expected of him if he were still living in Maranok, amongst his clan. She barely realized she was crying until he halted before her, panic clouding his expression, until Ladybug smiled.

"Reina, I have the honor of introducing you to my beautiful mate."

She hoped they were watching. She hoped they were all watching. Millie and Kestra, the whole street, her mother and her aunts and all of the witches who'd come before them. They still walked beside her, and she hoped they saw her happiness.

"I am so thrilled you've joined us tonight."

Philomel inclined her head, giving Ladybug the toothless smile. "You have a beautiful home, little witch, and a brave heart. I am the one who is honored to have been invited to share this celebration with you." She squinted, looking beyond Ladybug. "Ah. You. You, I remember."

Holt had materialized at her side and chuckled over her shoulder. "It's been a long time, Philomel. I'm glad to see you looking well."

The sound of merriment and chatter met them as they moved back up the driveway, leading the spiderfolk behind them. Holt reached out for her hand, and she didn't pull away. "A new year, little Ladybug. The wheel never stops turning. And this night's just full of surprises, isn't it?"

She nearly choked on her laughter, swallowing it down. "Millie is across the street," she murmured in a low voice. "They're all sitting on the porch watching. They're probably on the phone with the mayor right now, telling him I'm building a spider army."

Holt snorted. "Good. I'm going to go over there later and piss on her door. Maybe leave a hairball on the hood of her car."

They paused once they reached the edge of the garden path, looking out on the assembly before them. Anzan had strung the yard with white twinkle lights, crisscrossing above their heads, from the pergola she used for her monthly moon devotionals to the towering hedgerow. It was dusk, and despite the earlier rain, a huge yellow moon hung above the horizon, as if it, too, were a guest at her party.

If she closed her eyes, she could almost smell the particular blend of incense, mingling with the woodsmoke from that long-ago bonfire, when she'd been a girl. It had clung to her hair for the days-long celebrations, soot staining her wind-ruddied cheeks, and the aunts had needed to scrub her pink to get her clean afterwards. She wanted her fire to burn just as high tonight, flames licking the sky and blazing through the night, calling to them. The veil was thinnest at Beltane and Samhain, would be thin that night, and she hoped they would see her through the fire.

"It turned out to be a beautiful night," she sighed, relieved that they were not being rained on. "I used to love this night, once. Maybe I will again after this."

"It is always night in her majesty's forest. Company's coming." She looked up at his cryptic words, but Holt's eyes were fixed on the fire.

"You said that. Aren't they here?"

He shook his head, staring intently into the flames. "I can't quite make them out. They'll be here soon. The wheel keeps turning, Ladybug. But for now, we should get started. Would you like to begin?"

Her head swung around again. She was no crone. She knew him well enough at that point, knew him better than she had her entire life, despite the years he'd previously spent in it, and she knew what he was doing, what he was planning. She had changed, but she was not strong enough to lead a coven of her own.

"I–I don't know what to say."

His eyes reflected the flames, leaping green fire, a hand raising to cup her cheek when he turned. "You will, Elizabeth. Too soon. You will know exactly what must be done." That makes you the best witch for the job. He grinned, breaking the strange moment, gesturing to her guests. "But for now, I can do it."

Ladybug followed Holt across the lawn to the pergola, where Philomel was sitting beside Agatha, her withered legs folded beneath her. Anzan was before them, showing them something he held.

A shell encrusted box, with a hinged opening, much like the one he'd given her when he was still an invisible presence in the attic. Inside it was a larger shell, ivory and pink, beautifully carved.

"Oh," she breathed. "It's lovely! Is this from your home?"

He nodded, turning the box so that she was able to see the shell. "Our temples are full of rituals and songs, not unlike you moon worship, little bug," he explained. "When males come of age, we are no longer permitted to attend. It always saddened me to not be able to take part in the old ways of my people."

"And you were given this as a parting gift?" she questioned understandingly. Her heart broke for the young Araneaen he once was, leaving home with nothing but this pretty trinket as a farewell gift from his clan. Anzan's black eyes blinked rapidly as his cobalt eyes squinted.

"No . . . no, I stole it."

Several beats of silence passed and she realized he was not kidding. Philomel raised a sardonic eyebrow as Ladybug gaped. Her laughter came out in a snort, burbling out of her, unable to be held back.

"You are terrible," she wheezed, as he removed the shell from its box. "Terrible! And I love you so much."

"Sisters!" Holt's voice cut across the undercurrent of voices, demanding their attention. "I know we're all grateful to Goody Brackenbridge for the feast she's provided and the generosity of her home, but we have gathered tonight for a reason."

Instantly, the chatter ceased. This, too, she remembered well. Holt had been an asset during her aunt's tenure as high crone, even if Authricia was occasionally loath to admit it. He could command a room of witches easily, the hypnotic power of his voice and his manic devotion to the craft ringing in every syllable.

"Tomorrow, we celebrate Beltane. The Spring Mother in all her fullness, rebirth, replenishment, and rejoicing of the sun. But that is not what tonight is about."

Holt paused, building the drama for maximum effect. A quick glance back showed her that Anzan was completely in his thrall, always a sucker for a good story.

"Tonight is the night of witches. A night of gathering. A night of strength."

It could have been a trick of the light from the fire, but Ladybug thought his form rippled for a moment.

"Yes, strength. There is strength in a coven. A coven that acts as one, a covenant that remembers the bonds of sisterhood between each of you. There is no other night when that power is greater. The veil is thin this night, and all of the sisters who have come before you will be dancing before the fire with you still. After the hunts, they changed our holiday. They made it their own, a saint day, and they used our sacred fires to burn us. They took our power from us and forced us underground, but we are still here." He looked around, grinning. "Whether you have long served the craft or if you are newly out of the broom closet, I bade you to look at the witch on either side of you tonight, and remember this, sisters. We are stronger together. Tomorrow, we welcome back the sun, but tonight we are witches."

Bethany whooped at his words, and that was it. The whole group exploded into a chorus of wailing and laughter, shrieking into the fire as they began to dance around it. They sang their songs and chanted their chorus, devotionals to the Dark Mother, whirling around the fire, woodsmoke sinking into her hair.

Anzan lifted his great shell, blowing the end of it, sending a ground-shaking rumble to bugle from its end and she screamed to the sky. To her delight, a crazed ululation volleyed back from somewhere else in the neighborhood, and from another direction someone howled. Anzan blew his shell again and her voice rose to meet it, elated when the cacophony continued, voices from all over the neighborhood joining in. Revelry. Celebration. Hexennacht.

She did not know what would come of this group of women, if Holt's idea of a study group would take root, if her suspicions about his desire for a new covenant were accurate, and as she spun out of the group and into Anzan's waiting arms, Ladybug decided it didn't matter.

She was happy. This house felt like a home again. She was surrounded by those she loved and who loved her in return, whether she could see them or not, and she wasn't going anywhere. Some things were worth fighting for, she thought as he dipped her, fangs grazing the delicate skin of her throat before kissing his way up the trembling column to her mouth.

"I hope you are not upset with me, little bug," he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear. "The cat man spoke of this elder of my kind . . . I went, one night, to the wood where she lives." He grinned, fangs catching the light. "She keeps a collection of giant toads as pets. I thought . . . I thought it would be worthwhile to seek her out. Holt said she is a long-time resident. This ordinance would affect her as well. I thought perhaps your neighbors might not be so hasty to pass laws that would leave old women homeless if we won her to our side."

Her shoulders shook in laughter at the thought of him traversing the whole of Cambric Creek in the middle of the night, making his way to the Applethorpe Wood. "I suppose this is your way of fighting for us, then? I approve."

His blue eyes glimmered in the firelight, and his smaller black eye looked liquid. "I will fight for you until my last breath, my Ladybug. A life without your love is not one I'm interested in living. But in an effort to prevent the bloodshed of your neighbors . . . yes. This is how I am fighting for us. For now."

The howling wolf had gained a companion or three as she laughed. Tonight, after these new friends left, she would test her theory. She could excite him without the benefit of a heat, she was sure of it. His venom and this newfound confidence . . . she would awaken his cock, demand for it to wake, with her scent and his venom, and then she would pay him back for all the weeks of pleasure he gave her selflessly.

As Anzan cradled her, Ladybug let her head drop back to see the moon, adding her own voice to the air once more, singing to the sky — to those she'd lost and the ones she loved, the sisters around her, to the unbroken chain, and her place within it.

Ladybug, Anzan, Holt will return in Litha, coming this summer