1. Gabe

1

GABE

Who starts a bar fight with a gargoyle?

I’ve been in Hex, Indiana for all of six months, and there are a few things I’ve noticed.

People here are strange.

Would I start a bar fight with a drunk gargoyle or a demon drowning his sorrows in flaming HellFire? No, nope, nada. I’d get my ass right out of dodge. But Hex has a certain appeal to it that I’ve fallen in love with. That and, well, I’m the bartender at Flutter and Fangs and I can’t just bounce when there’s a conflict. I mean, I probably could, but my boss would probably be upset with me.

I wiggle a bottle of vodka in front of the pair. “If you both settle down, I’ll pour you each a round of free drinks, but you gotta chill.”

“Domhnall’s starting shit again,” Warwick, a crossroads demon, snarls. His blue tail whips back and forth with his agitation as he bares his teeth at the gargoyle who rolls his eyes.

Domhnall growls back. “That’s because you’re always in here sniveling about your lost love. No one cares anymore. Grow the fuck up and move on .”

Wick lunges at Domhnall, and I reach across the bar top to grab him by the collar. Thank goodness neither have wings at the moment.

Honestly, I don’t mind Wick talking about Ethan. I have faith the two will be reunited some day and I hope I can bear witness to it. It’s obvious Wick loves this man with his whole heart and I dream of having someone love me just as deeply one day. I sigh at the thought. It’s too lovely and I’m not worthy of the dream.

Once Warwick settles down, I release him. “Wick, how about you go hang out with Frankie for a little while?” I tip my head towards the Hellhound.

Frankie sits in a soft dog bed across the room. She’s chewing on a toy, not paying attention to anyone. She looks like a giant Doberman, and honestly, I was terrified of her at first, but she has to be the sweetest Hellhound that has ever existed. Not that I’ve met many. Okay, only just Frankie. Blue flames lick at her tail and ears. I’d go play with her myself if I wasn’t busy.

Reluctantly, Wick drags his feet towards her. His tail slides across the floor like some sad creature being pulled along. When he sits on one of the plush leather couches, he pats his lap. Frankie’s ears twitch and she hops up with a happy little bark. Precious!

“Good riddance,” Domhnall says under his breath as he leans in toward me. “Wick acts like he’s a child sometimes. Ethan’s been gone for years. He needs to move on.”

I shrug as I wipe down the counter. “I don’t think he does.”

Domhnall snorts. “That’s because you’re a romantic, too.”

I tap my nose. “True. Very true. But hasn’t Wick’s brother been on the run for a while? So there’s this double whammy of missing people and feeling rejected. So you antagonizing him doesn’t help.” I throw my dishtowel over my shoulder and give Domhnall a mostly fake glare. He’s handsome with gray eyes and big muscles. I know he has wings, but I’ve never seen them.

Most people in Hex are ridiculously attractive. I haven’t met anyone I wouldn’t crawl into bed with if they asked me. But no one really knows me.

“Ah, forgot about his brother.” Domhnall lifts his drink to his lips. “Maybe I should apologize,” he mumbles while placing his money on the counter.

“That’s what I like to hear.” I smack the counter and turn to wipe up a bit of spilled juice from earlier.

The barstool groans as he stands. Thank goodness everything here can withstand the weight of a gargoyle.

I’ve only heard stories of Warwick’s older brother, Van. He seems like a hoot and total opposite of Wick, but I also want to throat punch him for putting his brother through so much.

Van is best friends with my boss Pike and even Pike hasn’t heard from him in over a year. I can’t imagine what Warwick is going through. Okay, I can, but in a different way.

You see, I’m a nephilim. Mom’s an angel, dad was a human, and I’m, well, me. I can’t even say I’m a part of both worlds because I’ve never been to the angel realm, hardly know my mother, and have zero idea what it means to be part angel.

I’ve only met my mother twice in my entire life. Once when I sprouted wings at sixteen—that was fun—and again about six months ago after dad died and I needed a place to go and mourn without worrying whether I can contain my magic. Mom told me about Hex, Indiana, and I plan to spend my life here. Everyone is so damn welcoming. I don’t think I ever want to venture back out into the so-called normal parts of the human realm.

Flutter and Fangs used to be a strip joint, but now it’s just a bar with entertainment that’s not always pole dancing. Tonight we have karaoke and it seems to be the favored event of everyone in Hex.

Apparently, around the same time Van disappeared, the leading coven considered disbanding Hex. Thankfully, they didn’t, and I get to live my best life. It’s only taken my entire twenty-eight years to get here. Not that dad did a bad job raising me or anything. Humans are just… cruel. Not dad though. Dad was… well, dad. He did the best he could.

“Hey, Gabe,” Pike waves his hand in front of my face. My boss is a former crossroads demon. His partner, Lark, destroyed his crossroads and broke the curse, now Pike’s an incubus.

“Sorry, kinda spaced out there. Just thinking.”

“What about?” Lark, he’s Fae, hops up on the bar, his wings flitter as he gets comfortable. His long pink hair is braided back today.

I turn and give them both a bright smile. “Just grateful to be here. Hex is great, and so is this place.”

“Glad you’re happy.” Pike looks around and cringes as he picks up an empty bottle of HellFire. “Did Wick really go through three bottles today?”

“Yeah, I cut him off and sent him to sit with Frankie, though.” I wave toward the pair, keeping to myself that Wick tried to start a fight with a gargoyle… again. Poor Warwick stares at the ceiling with his hands in Frankie’s short fur.

“I worry about him,” Lark nibbles his bottom lip as he looks up at Pike.

“So do I.” Pike scratches his jaw. “He’s getting worse. It’s concerning he keeps drinking HellFire when the effects don’t work on him anymore.”

I nod with a sigh. I keep trying to befriend Warwick, but he keeps brushing me off. HellFire is the only thing that gets demons drunk. Now he drinks it because it lets him go slightly numb.

I rub at my chest because my heart aches for the demon. He’s not much younger than me and he lost his one true love to magic years ago. Some say—okay A LOT say—he needs to move on, but I say they don’t understand how demons work.

In the time I’ve been in Hex, Indiana, I’ve discovered a lot about demons, witches, vampires, and shifters that I never knew before living here. Demons get attached. Like… attached attached. And what people forget is that Wick and Ethan they go way back. Way way back. It’s hard to just forget your first love.

Lark’s shoulders slump. Pike swipes his face and his tail shimmies before wrapping around his waist.

“I appreciate what Van did for us.” Pike holds his hand out for Lark and squeezes. “But I don’t think he realized how much him needing to disappear for a while would affect Wick.”

I nod again and my stomach rumbles like a damn lion possessing me. The two look at me wide eyed and I shrug. “Missed lunch before coming in.”

Pike chuckles and drops a hand on my shoulder. “We’re slow right now and things’ll pick up later. How about you go take your break?”

My stomach growls again, answering for me. “I do wanna go back to that magic shop. I got a bunch of fun add-ins for cocktails last time.”

“Magic shop?” Lark tips his head and turns to Pike. “We have a magic shop?”

“First I’m hearing about it,” Pike says.

“What?!” I say. “It’s this neat little shop a couple blocks down. It’s by the library, between the groomer and the nail salon.”

They both shake their heads. Now that I’m thinking about it…

“Okay, I have noticed it does kind of come and go. Figured it was the coven’s doing. The Owner is always nice. And he always has some new plant!” I bounce on my toes just thinking of the latest one I got from him a few weeks ago. He called it a magic orchid and I have to use special water. It sparkles like stars at night and I use it as a nightlight in the hall of my apartment.

“Of course you’re excited about the plants,” Pike chuckles as he tugs Lark from the counter and into his arms.

“Have I shown you all my plant babies?” I pull my phone from my pocket and they both step back.

“Yes,” Lark laughs. “And you’ve named them all. They’re beautiful, but…” He backs away with Pike. “We’ll pass. Go take your break. We’ll hold things down until Ava gets here.”

“Fair enough.” I give them a grin as I untie the black half apron around my waist and fold it onto the counter.

I swipe my black hair out of my face. It’s down to my shoulders now and I constantly ask Lark for his hair routine, but he always tells me it’s Fae genetics. As soon as I open the door, the humidity soaks into my hair and makes it frizz. One hundred percent not a fan. I brush it back some more and curse myself for forgetting hair ties yet again . Whatever, I’ll grab some before I head back to work.

My favorite pastel green Chuck Taylor High Tops (they have a cute little bow on the ankle!) crunch over the loose gravel that found its way to the sidewalk. Wind whips in the trees, sending green leaves and my damn hair everywhere. It’s the tail end of summer, and not gonna lie, Southern Indiana summers aren’t where it’s at. It’s so hot and humid, it’s like breathing soup. I like soup, but not air soup.

Despite the summer air soup, I love that in Hex, I can just be. If I want to let my wings out, I can and no one will look at me twice. But… again. It’s hot and I don’t like being hot and my wings make me hot. So packed away they stay. I wiggle my shoulder blades because now my back itches where my wings would be if I let them out to play.

Luckily, The Magic Shop isn’t too far away and my walk is pleasant even if my allergies come out in full force. My nose drips and I blink a few times to get the grit from my eyes. Ugh, I’ll get back to work red eyed and that’s not the best look, but at least Pike and Lark know I don’t do drugs, well not anymore. And it was only pot. Like five times.

Barely anyone drives in Hex. Most people either walk, fly, or teleport. The air is sweeter than anyplace else I’ve ever lived, which is quite a few places. Navy brat retired from duty at your service. I stop and salute the tree to my right before continuing my walk.

Chimes twinkle in the breeze, and I hum as I go. There’s always something fun to discover in Hex. Always. Even the squirrels seem magical.

The familiar red script of The Magic Shop’s sign comes into view and I speed up. The shop’s in a tiny strip mall between a nail salon for “those girlies and ghoulies with talons and claws” as the sign says, and a pet groomer for “those Hellhounds that need a trim.” I can’t believe how out and open every shop is about catering to the supernatural. It’s nothing like, well, the rest of the world.

I’m out of breath once I get to the door of the shop and take a few minutes to center myself before going full Kool-Aid Man inside. I wonder what kind of plants will be here today. As I enter, I breathe in the familiar scent of old books and incense.

“Hello, Gabe,” The Owner says. He’s tall and his usual top hat perches on his head. No one wears top hats anymore. I think he’s the only person I’ve seen in real life wear one, but it goes with the suit he usually wears.

Before I can offer my own greeting, I get distracted and suck in another breath as I power walk to an end cap.

Oh, lovely sweet new baby mine.

“What is this?” I gently fluff the bushy leaves and sniff the huge pink flower. “You’re a beauty.”

There’s a cough behind me, and I turn back to The Owner. He tips his head toward the plant. “Sorry, that one’s already sold.”

My shoulders drop and I keep fluffing the leaves. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get more special plants in. Now, what else can I help you with?” The Owner flashes me a smile. He’s handsome, but I’ve always been too shy to ask him out or anything, which is so unlike me. I usually just blurt out my request, then want to crawl out of my skin from embarrassment. He’s probably busy all the time. Who knows how many realms he hops? “Gabe?”

“Sorry, sorry. I keep getting distracted today. It’s turning into a real problem. Can I get about twenty of those cocktail add-ins you gave me last time?”

He nods and turns to rummage in a drawer to his right. “Anything in particular?”

“Stamina seems to be the most popular.” I run my finger over the countertop. “Good luck. Maybe courage.” I lick my lips and look up in time to see him give me a sly smile before he ducks his head again. “That should be good for the weekend.”

He pulls tiny glass bottle after tiny glass bottle out of the drawer and sets them on the counter. I love them. They’re about one milliliter each, which doesn’t seem like a lot, but just a few drops in a drink is all it takes.

“Next time you run a batch, could you make a few that are bigger?” I pinch one bottle between my thumb and forefinger, taking in the cuteness of the bottle.

“Sure thing.” He starts wrapping them in tissue and I wander the shop.

“Do you have anything on nephilims? Or the angel realm? Or?—”

There’s heat on my back. His long arm reaches over me. “I think you’ll find this one to your liking.” He hands the giant leather-bound tome over before disappearing again. I almost drop the book, but catch it just in time.

I have no idea how he moves so fast, but it’s always like that. The soft clanging of the tiny glass bottles tells me he’s back to wrapping the delicate pieces. I lug the book to the nearest chair that sucks me into its comfort. The leather is so smooth under my fingers when I rub the cover of the book.

“What language is this?” I ask. Nothing makes sense to me.

“Just open it. It’s spelled that only the right person can read it.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Better to try now than discover later you can’t.”

“Very true,” I mumble to myself. I take a deep breath and hope I’m worthy.

A card flies out of the pages as I flip open the book. It looks like a playing card, but the more I squint, it’s not like any playing card I’ve seen before. I settle the book on the table next to me and pick up the card, curiosity getting the better of me.

The Consort. I flip it over to read The Empress. I scrunch my face as I look over the images. They’re identical, except The Consort looks like the masculine version of the figure on The Empress’s side. They both sit upon thrones, carry a scepter, have a pretty crown, and so many plants. Honestly, The Consort looks a little like me with black shoulder length hair and a thin build. But that’s just a coincidence, right? I look around before shoving the card back into the book. Maybe it’s a bookmark?

I flip the book open again and wait with bated breath. The title page is empty. I flip a few more pages and nothing. My shoulders drop and I let out the breath. Nothing. Of course. I just stare at the blank page, waiting for something to happen. Determined for something to happen, I talk to the book. Not loud enough The Owner can hear me, at least I hope it’s not that loud. When the pages remain blank, I drop my head back and resign myself to the rejection. It’s nothing new, but hurts different coming from a book.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as one of my black feathers floats into the open pages. I snatch it up as fast as possible and look around, hoping I’m still all alone. No one can have one of these, they’re too dangerous in the wrong hands.

Just as I stuff the feather into my pocket, the page in front of me glows. A dot of gold appears on the top right corner and dances across the page, leaving a trail that reads: So, You’re A Nephilim. What Do You Want To Know?

I laugh as the huge leather book shrinks to a size I can fit in a bag. “I think it likes me!” I snap it shut and run up to the counter to show The Owner. “Look?—”

He raises a hand. “It’s not for my eyes to see.”

I give him another of my charming grins. “Alright then. I think I’m ready.”

The Owner rings me up, and I take in the entire place again. The narrow aisles give me anxiety. And I have no idea how the place is taller than the building itself, but the shelves go high and there are those library ladders, just like in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast that I’m always tempted to play on. I’m always sad the snack counter never seems to be open. The shop is a little different every time I come in, which of course is the nature of any shop. Getting in new products, selling out on others. The scent never seems to change, though, and it always brings me comfort.

“That’s it for today,” he says as I hand over my card. “You know, I’d take one of those feathers if you’re ever interested.”

I stagger back as I shake my head. “Nothing good ever happens when my feathers go awry. Not that I don’t trust you. I just?—”

He holds up a hand. “It’s okay. Read the book. I look forward to seeing you again.” He hands me my purchase and I give a small wave as I leave.

I swear my heart pounds out of my chest. My feathers in the wrong hands lead to catastrophe. My shoulders shutter. Every time one of my feathers sheds, something huge always happens. It’s like I walk through a portal when I exit the shop. My head’s on a swivel as I take in my surroundings. Hopefully, this time, it’s just a fluke. Hopefully, this time, the feather doesn’t mean anything.