Chapter 14

I haven’t spoken to Silas in four days. I just leave my door unlocked, and he comes and sleeps on my couch, giving the hex what it wants as I figure this out.

I’m no closer to anything than I was that day at the courthouse, and I’m not sure what to do next. He can’t keep coming over. It’s only a matter of time before one of us gets found out, or worse.

There have been no wolf surprises either, just complete indifference between me and my dear husband.

Mason jars are filled with water, Iris’ potions are lined up on a table, and there’s a clear circle outlined with flickering candles.

My grand-mère approaches me, her hands framing the sides of my face.

“Violet, dear, is something troubling you?”

“No, grand-mère.”

“You could tell me anything. You’re the most treasured thing in my life. Is this about turning thirty?”

I swallow and nod, worrying that if I say anything, she’ll somehow guess what’s going wrong in my life. AKA the massive man she hates with a fiery passion being my husband who I left sleeping on my couch again this morning.

“Thirty is young for a witch. Tell me how you feel when you’re eighty,” she says with a smile. Her fingers stroke my cheekbones lovingly. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately, but it’s because I love you, because you are the successor of this coven. One day I won’t be here, but I’ll rest in the wind knowing my granddaughter is carrying the legacy of this coven. Just like my mother did before me,” she says.

“I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t. You’re everything I dreamed of.” She kisses my head as we enter the circle, every witch of every age holding hands as we begin tonight’s rituals.

Iris is on one side of me, her grandmother and mother next to her. My grandmother is on my right, connecting the rest of the coven.

Silas’ words ring through my ears, but with the power of all the witches together, they slowly fade away.

This coven is my place, it’s my peace. This is my legacy, and I have to uphold everything my grandmother has built. It’s my duty.

The magic flowing through me feels cosmic and binding in a way I’ve never felt before. It’s almost like the universe knows I need to be grounded. I need to be centered with my coven. These women are the only family I need, and despite Silas’ pleas for us to get along, there’s one cold, hard truth.

I’ll always choose my coven, and he’ll always choose his pack.

Tonight, I’ll convince Silas of the one thing I had hoped to avoid. Tonight, we call on the spirits to help us end this farce of a marriage.

There’s howling in the distance as we chant, everyone attempting to ignore the noise. It’s too loud and frequent to be the werewolves. It has to be Silas’ pack.

Yet, I keep my eyes closed, following the chants and letting the Mother Goddess flow through me. Everything slowly disappears. It’s just me and my coven, as it was meant to be.

Feeling rejuvenated after the ritual, I help Ember place lids on the mason jars.

“The Chervil will be ready to harvest soon. So will the Comfrey. I’ll bring them over to your place when they’re ready.”

“Thanks, Ember.”

“Things have been slow on your end?” she asks and I nod.

“Nothing major. Sage isn’t due for quite a while, so I mostly monitor her. Nothing’s required a healer as of late.”

“You know, I wouldn’t judge you if you wanted to help the mortals too,” she whispers, for good reason.

While we might play nice with the humans, sell them goods, and have a friendly outward relationship, our gifts are reserved for coven and coven only.

Helping the mortals in the past has only gotten witches burned at the stake.

“I’ll find other ways to help the coven,” I say.

Ember shakes her head, her red hair and freckles shining against the candlelight. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just worry about you is all. You’ve been kind of absent since your birthday, I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“Yeah, Ember. Everything is going to be fine.”

It’s late.

Extraordinarily late. But I can think of no better time to connect with the spirits of the afterlife than on a full moon.

I rock back and forth on the white, worn rocker on the back porch, staring at the swampy lake behind me.

Walter slides through his cat door and momentarily gets distracted by a lightning bug before coming to sit on my lap for pets. It seems like he’s in a loving mood this late at night.

“It’s so nice not having that stinky man in our home,” he says, a purr rumbling through his body as I stroke his fur. His body stills the moment we hear a motorcycle in the distance. “I spoke too soon. Here I thought we were going to have a lovely night together.”

“Not much longer, Walter.”

“I’ve only prayed to Hecate every night that he chokes, crashes his motorcycle, or gets shot by a hunter.”

“That’s dark, even for you.”

“A cat can dream.”

I don’t get up to unlock the door, if he’s smart enough, he’ll come around back. Which he does. His satchel is on his back as he rounds the wrap around porch.

Walter hisses, before jumping off my lap and going back inside.

“You’re up late,” he says.

“Here,” I say, holding out a drink for him.

He eyes me suspiciously, but takes it and sits on the rocking chair next to mine.

“Did you put something in this?”

“No, and trust me, it would make my life a hell of a lot easier if I could just kill you.”

He arches an eyebrow, but brings the glass to his lips, taking a heavy sip and sighing.

“What was that?” he says, pointing at the dilapidated structure by the lake.

“A gazebo, I think. Not sure what happened to it.”

Four days we haven’t spoken and now he’s asking me about my backyard.

“I have an idea,” I tell him, and he rests his head against the chair. He’s clearly exhausted after running around with his fellow wolves all night, but I feel it deep inside of me. This needs to happen tonight.

“Can this wait till tomorrow?” he asks, slowly rocking in the chair next to me, his eyes tired, and I wonder when the last time he slept properly was. I may or may not have spelled the couch to be firmer each night.

“It’s said during the full moon the veil lifts ever so slightly, letting the spirits engage with their loved ones,” I say cryptically, looking at the way the porch lights glow against his sun-kissed skin.

“Okay?” he sighs. I can tell he doesn’t want to be here. I don’t want him here either.

“I’m thinking the spirits can help figure out our little problem.”

“And what fucking spirits are going to help us?” he asks.

“We’re not humans. We have generations of witches and shifters in our lineage. Do you truly think we walk this world alone?”

Silas takes a few moments to process my words before sighing and resting his head against the rocking chair, exhaustion clear in the way he slowly shuts his eyes before glaring at me.

“What does communicating with the spiritual realm entail?”

“You’re not going to like it,” I tell him, standing from my rocking chair and heading to the dining room.

I’ve already had candles burning on the table and the ouija board set in the center. As soon as Silas walks in, he stops in his tracks.

“Oh, hell no.”

“Wait. They have bad press. Humans who don’t know what they’re doing, inviting the wrong spirits into the world. It isn’t like that.”

“You can promise me?” he asks and I have to refrain myself from smirking.

The big bad wolf is scared of my little board.

“I promise. I only need a drop of blood.”

He swallows, but holds out his hand. It’s large and calloused as I tap his fingertip with my wand, getting a single drop and placing it on the crystal in the center before doing the same to my finger.

“Sit,” I tell him, and he actually listens. “We’re specifically going to call on our ancestors for help. See if any of them have any guidance on how to break this hex.”

I hold out my hand and he glances at it like I have a disease before placing his palm in mine. He squeezes my hand when the flames rise to a higher level around us and I take a deep breath channeling all that was given to me tonight.

I’m not a medium. I don’t have the gift of seeing the other side. But I do have magic. I have ancestors on the other side of the veil who are looking after the coven.

I flip the planchette on the side where it says hello, placing it on the middle of the board.

“As friends we gather, hearts are true, familial spirits near, we call to you,” I say, and squeeze Silas’ hand, arching a brow at him to join me in the chant. He sighs heavily, his gaze searching my home, but reluctantly joins the chant.

We say it six more times before I ask my first question.

“Are there any familial spirits with us?” I ask, moving both of our hands on the planchette as it slides quickly over to the word, yes.

Silas goes to pull away and I hold his hand there.

“Can you help us fix this hex?” I ask.

It quickly slides over to no, and both Silas and I sigh in frustration.

“Can I ask who we’re talking to?”

The planchette moves swiftly over the letters. C-O-L-L-I-N-S.

I furrow my brow and glance over at Silas. “Collins?” I ask, and Silas frowns before something clicks.

“I didn’t think they were in my ancestral line, but my mother was less than helpful when I found her,” he says.

“Are you here to help?” I ask.

The planchette zooms over to yes. Silas’ concerned brown eyes meet mine. I can tell he’s uncomfortable and I’m trying to figure out what to ask.

“What do we need to do?” Silas asks and I roll my eyes.

“You have to ask the spirit simple?—”

Before I can finish chastising him, the planchette zooms over the letters again. T-R-U-T-H.

My heart is beating in my chest, and the air around me feels heavy. I was already tired from the long night, but exhaustion is ripping through me like a torrent.

The flames are rising around us, and Silas lets go of the planchette and grabs my wrist.

“That’s enough,” he says and I shake my head.

I let myself feel the spirit around me. They’re sad, lonely in a way. But I just know they’re trying to tell me something, something I can’t understand.

“Can you show me?” I ask, my hand the only one on the planchette as it shoots over to the word yes.

A quick wind picks up inside of my home and Silas grips the worn wooden table as I hold steady.

“End it, Violet,” Silas growls, but I shake my head.

The scent of sulfur is rising in the air as the wind picks up, blowing my hair, and causing an open tarot deck to fly into the breeze. The table begins to shake and a blanket of sadness covers me.

I let go of the planchette and grip the table as the unnatural breeze whips around my kitchen, blowing out all the candles before there is a loud bang and everything immediately stops.

The candles flick back to life and everything stills, like nothing just happened.

With shaky hands, I grab the planchette and flip it over to the goodbye side.

“Goodbye, thank you,” I mumble as I look up to a shocked Silas.

“Your nose is bleeding,” he tells me, and I bring my wrist up and wipe away the slightest amount of blood. “What was that noise?”

“Let’s go check,” I say in a whisper.

“Are you good to get up?” he questions and I wave him off as we walk down the hall.

A door is wide open, and I gasp.

“They want us to go into that room?” Silas asks, not understanding my shock.

I glance up at him. “I haven’t been able to open that door physically or magically since I moved in.”

We both stand at the door frame.

It’s a nursery, covered in purple, that looks like it’s been preserved in time for the past thirty years.