Chapter 17

Kate

In the morning, I wake in my own bed with three strange men in my bedroom. One on the opposite side of the bed from me. One on a cot. The other is sleeping in the oversized chair in the corner of my room, the one that's surrounded by all my books.

Shit. How am I supposed to get out of here? I creep out of the bed as silently as I can, tiptoeing over to the dresser and carefully pulling out the least squeaky drawer. On the pretense of reorganizing what the guys messed up, I hid a full outfit in this exact drawer last night. I've got underwear, a bra, a shirt, and short overalls. There are shoes near the front door downstairs.

I'm nearly out of there, easing my way down the steps after removing Flick's collar so it won't jingle. My hair is way longer than it was when I left, snaking down my back in a loose braid. I decide to leave it as it is, combing my bangs out with my fingers and studying my expression in the mirror beside the front door.

Last night, I was too high and too tired to argue any further. I slept in my bed and let them do whatever it was that they were going to do. Apparently, that included being dead-silent, ignoring me, and falling asleep before I did.

I hate them all.

"Stupid fucks," I whisper once I'm safely on the porch, a gorgeous square of sunshine on the lavender-painted slats of the floorboards. I smile. This was my first job, given to me by my grandmother. She let me experiment on her house until I got it right.

God, I miss you. You'd know exactly how to get rid of these guys, and you'd do it without a single drop of bloodshed. You were the best, Annie.

I exhale and head down the steps just in time to see the girls pull up outside.

Flick barks in excitement, tail wagging, as the women empty themselves from ... Tacy's new boyfriend's stinky VW bus? Great. I'm making my escape in a car from Brooks' time period. Maybe I should take my truck? I just so happened to grab the keys off the ring by the front door on my way out.

Tacy is giving me weird looks, but Fernanda has tears in her eyes when she grips my arms. I wasn't sure she even liked me. Tacy, I'm still not sure about. Georgia has always been solid though.

"You were kidnapped and held at a cabin by three men in the woods?" Fernanda asks, but like even her gullible self realizes how stupid that excuse sounds.

Then the front door opens, and there they are.

My eyes go wide as my friends—and Tacy's boyfriend who I don't even know—all look up to see my shame in sweatpants, half-buttoned shirts, and combat boots with bones on them.

They have their hats on, too. Hats with eyes. With ears. With— Is Marlowe growing strawberries on his now?

Shit. I'm screwed. I'm so screwed. I search the street, but I don't see anyone wielding a phone like a sword in our direction. Maybe I'm just being paranoid? Now that it's light outside, I can't understand why I was so convinced we'd go viral last night. That flannel-shirt girl doesn't have that many followers.

I looked last night.

She has twelve million.

I swallow hard against the unease brewing in my belly.

Marlowe comes down the stairs first and walks right up to me, untangling my hand from around my keys and dropping my witch hat on my head. I want to resist him, but I'm sort of hoping that this is it. He's leaving, taking my truck and stealing some of my things. That'd be best-case scenario for me.

"Say hi to Miriam for me," I tell him, and he smirks meanly.

"Why would I do that when you can say hello yourself? You're not going anywhere without us, North."

"North?" Tacy asks, looking to Georgia for guidance. Her mouth is hanging open as she stares at Marlowe with an expression of disgust on her face. Nobody seems to notice that Brooks' hat is blinking. "These aren't the guys who kidnapped you ... are they?" Poor Tacy sounds so confused.

Then she notices my hair. My eyes. My tattoos. Fernanda notices. They're both just staring at me. Tacy's boyfriend doesn't know me, and doesn't seem to know the story either because he introduces himself to the guys with a smile and an outstretched hand.

"Hey there. Jared Philips." He points at himself and then extends his hand again. Marlowe looks down at it like it's poisoned.

"Lo." That's all he says. Doesn't shake hands, just turns and opens the door to my truck. "This was fucking old in my time," he murmurs as he climbs behind the wheel and then just sits there, like he thinks I'd let him drive me around in my own truck.

"Lo, right." Jared turns to Brooks and offers his hand again. This time, the asshole takes it and shakes with a firm grip.

"Brooks McDowell. Nice to meet you." He studies the man with a sharp eye before releasing his hand. "Weak grip, son."

"Excuse me?" Jared asks, blinking like he didn't quite hear him right.

"You should work on that. A strong grip shows good character," Brooks says, and he couldn't sound more like he's from a different world than he does right now. His tone is firm and dry but commanding.

"Whose boyfriend is this?" Tanner asks, but nobody answers him because they're still freaked-out by what Marlowe said. He shakes Jared's hand anyway and offers his name as Georgia grabs my arm.

Again, nobody seems to register that Tanner's hat has swiveling wolf ears. Can they ... not see the magic? I have no idea. Just a theory. Maybe they think it's animatronic or something? I'm certainly not going to call their attention to the weirdness.

"Did you call the police and let them know you weren't missing anymore? When I told my mom you were home, she cried. You should've come over last night. She was genuinely worried about you." Georgia looks past me at the men, face tightening. "Not as worried as I am though. That's it. I'm taking you and they are not coming."

She pulls me toward the van, but Brooks is right there, putting his palm on the door. He slams it hard into the glass of the window and at first, I think he's just throwing a fit.

Then I see what he sees: the reflection of the Hag in the glass of the car window.

We both whirl around and look up, but there's nothing there.

"You okay?" Georgia asks me, but Brooks and I are staring at each other, and my heart is thundering wildly. Did we ... we closed the gate when we were done, right? I did what I was told. I didn't know any better. These men ...

"Brooks, what the fuck ?" I ask him, but he just purses his lips, closes his eyes, and exhales his frustration.

"How should I know? There was no way to communicate from here to the Witchwoods without crossing back over and doing the spell all over again. Who would ever do that? I have no way of knowing what happens on this side after a successful crossing."

He opens his eyes and looks down at me.

Shit.

What choice do I have now? With a sigh, I turn to Georgia and put my hand on her shoulder.

"Start driving. We'll be right behind you, okay?"

She calls out to me, but I'm moving away too quickly to explain. I hook Flick up to the truck bed leash tether, ensuring he's secured before closing the tailgate. I climb into the backseat of the truck with Brooks while Marlowe drives and Tanner sits in front.

"What the hell just happened?" Marlowe asks, a note of cool indifference in his voice. But his words are like ashes with embers simmering underneath. Even the smallest breeze can turn a cooling hearth into a raging fire.

"We both spotted the Hag in the window of that car, like a reflection." Brooks is contemplating this with his brows pinched, mouth turned down in a severe frown. His green eyes are fixed on the back of Marlowe's seat. When he looks over at me, I can see that he's annoyed more than he is worried.

That's a good sign, right?

"I'd say maybe we were just paranoid, but we both saw the same thing," I offer, my annoyance with the three obsessive stalkers in the car waning in the presence of something that's so potentially dangerous. What if we ... let the Hag into this world? Would she hunt us? Kill other people? Can she be killed?

Brooks told me that she was a god, but are gods immortal? I have no idea. Nobody seems to know the answer to that.

"We'll head out to the tree tonight and take a look," Brooks declares before anyone else can offer up a suggestion. The other two don't seem to mind challenging him over small things, but when it comes to big decisions, they seem to defer to his expertise.

"Can we just burn it down?" I ask, even though the thought makes me sick. This is California. We have an entire season dedicated to forest fires. Walking into those woods and intentionally setting something ablaze? In July? That's not a great idea.

But I had to at least ask.

"If the gate were physical, we could've opened it without magic. I don't think burning the physical stump down will change anything." Brooks pauses and then rubs at his jaw, like he's considering. "But you're right, North. It's worth a try." He snaps his fingers and produces a flame from the tip of one. "We'll burn it fucking down."

The Farmstead Cafe is located across the street from the elementary school that my siblings attend. I've only met the kids about a dozen times each, but I recognize them from across the street. They're playing in the schoolyard, and I'm sitting at a table with three enormous men sitting beside me.

All of my friends sit across from us. Flick curls in a ball near my feet. Jared, the new guy, sits at the very end. I wish he weren't here, but then, I'm not that close with Tacy or Fernanda either and they're with us, too. Our weekly breakfasts usually consist of small talk and jokes, weirdly early orders of clam chowder, and sometimes a latte with honey in it.

This morning? It's stilted and awkward and, as I suspected, people are staring at Brooks, Marlowe, and Tanner. I'll need to get them better clothes, that'll help. But they just stand out like sore thumbs anyway. They're bigger than most men, more cut than any guy I've ever seen in real life, and they're mean.

It's in their cool eyes and pursed lips, in the way they all look around like they're expecting violence at any given moment. Having spent two days in the Witchwoods, I can understand the instinct. Still, it's driving me insane.

"Would you relax ?" I whisper at them, but it can't be easy seeing what they're seeing. New buildings, weird architecture, strange cars, odd fashions, a complete erasure of their memories and expectations. Women, whispering excitedly as they pass by the patio for the cafe entrance.

I knew it.

The witch hats don't seem to deter their female admirers any. Brooks isn't looking at me, but his hat is. Marlowe ate a strawberry off of his hat earlier. And Tanner, he moves those wolf ears around like satellite dishes. Thankfully Ebon keeps her distance, resting on a telephone pole to watch over us.

Marlowe turns to me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Why are we here? This feels like a waste of time. I'd rather figure out what's going on with the Hag before our souls get eaten. That seems like a much better use of a day."

"Then go," I say, gesturing frantically at him. "Leave. I don't need or want you here. If you want to investigate that stuff, that's on you."

"Or I could throw you over my shoulder and drag you with me?" Marlowe suggests, shrugging. "It wouldn't even bother me if you screamed."

Georgia stands up from the table, nearly knocking her chair over.

"He isn't going to do that," I say, holding up my hands. "He's just joking. Only a complete fucking psycho would do something like that."

Marlowe shifts in his chair, reaching down to tug at the way-too-small shirt he's wearing. On me, it's a T-shirt dress. On him, it's a midriff. I can see his belly button, and it's weirdly attractive.

The waitress appears with part of our order, serving Marlowe first and offering him a long, lingering look as she places his plate in front of him. He either doesn't notice or purposely ignores her.

"You can't have me, but you could've had her," I whisper as Georgia finally sits down, and Marlowe leans forward to reach for his sandwich.

"You're kidding me, right? I can have you whenever the fuck I want." He lifts it up, ready to take a bite when Brooks raps his knuckles on the tabletop.

"Don't eat your food before the ladies get theirs. Bad manners, Lo." There's a mean smile on Brooks' face when he says that, but it doesn't last long when a stream of cars surges past, including one of those hideous silver Tesla Cybertrucks.

"Fuck manners, South. I'm home, and I want to eat something that isn't rabbit stew or crow liver pie. I want my grilled cheese sandwich with crab, and for you to shut the hell up." Marlowe takes a bite of his sandwich. "If you please, sir, " he adds, voice smooth, almost like he's seriously asking Brooks to be quiet.

"Whoa there," Tacy says, blinking in shock at the blatant animosity. "What is going on with you guys? And what's a crow liver pie?"

The waitress returns with my bowl of clam chowder, with Brooks' reuben sandwich, and with Tanner's pulled pork and potato hash. All four of us asked for sodas which bugs me for some reason. It makes it look like we're together in some way.

Georgia thanks the waitress and picks up her lox tartine for a bite. Local, wild caught lox. It's that kind of place. We're in Arcata, after all. It's a town about ten minutes away from my place in Eureka, and it's one of the great hippie capitals of the world. If it isn't a store featuring overpriced hemp clothing, a homeless encampment, an herbal tea shop, or a protest, then it's probably a locally owned small restaurant with items like beet salad and avocado toast on the menu.

I shiver in the sea breeze, tasting salt on my lips and wondering if the guys are thinking about the ocean. They grew up on the coast, but they haven't seen it in a long time. Just woods, woods, and more woods.

If they were nicer to me, I'd probably offer to take them to the beach.

Last night, I saw three men wary and exhausted, eating for sustenance and acting like hot pancakes and fresh syrup was available in the Witchwoods.

This morning is a different story.

" Fuck me, " Tanner growls, working his jaw. The sound is so unhinged and feral that I actually jump, and Fernanda blushes in her seat across from me. "This is good. It's only been a year and a quarter, but it felt like an eternity of eating that forest shit."

Nobody on the opposite side of the table knows what he's talking about, but at least he isn't bringing up the Hag again. Hell, I was there and it almost sounds crazy to me.

"This isn't a traditional reuben by any means," Brooks murmurs, shaking his head. "But damn it, it's better than the best thing I could cook over there."

I enjoyed the food when I was there, so I honestly disagree with that.

I'm not going to say a word.

I take a bite of my clam chowder and look up at the sound of a girl crying.

It's my sister, across the street from where I'm sitting. I almost stand up to go over to her, but a teacher steps in and helps her up from where she's fallen on the grass. Birds chirp, and the sun is bright, and all of a sudden, it's hard to remember that the Witchwoods even exist.

I'm Katelynn, the young woman struggling to start and maintain a successful business. Lonely. No family. Few friends. A dad who might as well be dead since she only sees him once a year. Single. It's the last part that was easiest to deal with. I didn't mind being single.

I minded being alone.

It's summer now, and the girls are back, but they'll be leaving soon enough for school (Tacy goes here but is too busy to see me much during the year). And once they graduate ... will they come home or will their lives take them someplace else entirely? I like it here in Humboldt, but I'm also afraid of getting stuck here.

I've always pitied people who were born, raised, and stayed in this area—even if I'm one of them.

My sister brushes herself off, dries her tears, and heads up a ladder on the side of a massive redwood tree that has a slide coming out of it. Cute. I smile, enjoying her company from afar.

"Who is she to you?" Marlowe asks softly, like he can see the pain in my eyes and wants to help ease it. My throat tightens as I shift my gaze to him.

"My little sister. Well, my half-sister. My dad married a girl I went to high school with and left my mom when she was still recovering from a bad accident." There it is, all my trauma dumped into Marlowe's sweatpants-covered lap.

"Ah, so even your dad didn't think you were worth sticking around for?" he retorts, and it's really just tit-for-tat. The things I've been saying about Miriam and Numa Numa and all that, he doesn't deserve those things either.

Except ... that he does because he fingerfucked me when I didn't want him to.

"At least I didn't lose my soulmate to another man," I retort, but he laughs into his plate.

"Miriam wasn't my soulmate." He takes another bite of his sandwich and gives me a sharp look. "But even if she was, at least she didn't leave me by choice."

Ouch.

I consider taking my fork and ramming it into his stomach. Truly. I let that scenario play out in my mind. We have that magic salve stuff. I could hurt him really badly, and what would it matter? He can heal right up.

I do nothing but sit there, thinking of something even worse to say to him.

"Miriam was with you the night you disappeared, right? She could've stuck her hand in the tree and followed you ... but she didn't, did she?" My question is as soft as his initial one was, soft and fluffy and covered in hidden quills.

"I'm glad she didn't," he says, but I don't believe him. I can hear the lie in his voice. The same way he dragged me down to suffer alongside him, he'd have done that to Miriam, too.

"She's a smart woman, leaving you like that. I'm happy that she got away." I put my spoon into my bowl and keep eating, but it's Marlowe who gives up first. He stands up and walks through the manicured edging near the patio and onto the sidewalk.

"Picking at each other like that won't get us anywhere," Brooks remarks, and it's like we're our own little family group on this side of the table.

I stand up, too, smiling at the girls. Flick rockets to attention, but I give him the hand signal for wait. He sighs as he settles down by Georgia's chair.

"I'll just be in the bathroom," I explain, retreating quickly inside the cafe and to the bathroom on the far side of the room. I close the door and lock it, eyeing it warily. They better not kick this one in, I think, and then my gaze shifts to the open window. Someone has carefully planted a bunch of bamboo just outside of it, so that it can be open for a breeze and still maintain plenty of privacy.

With a sigh, I sit down on the closed lid of the toilet and press the heels of my hands into my forehead. I feel overwhelmed. The song of the Witchwoods is still playing in my blood and yet, it's so easy to sit outside on that patio and pretend like it never happened. I was there for less than two days, hardly any time at all.

I hear footsteps on the gravel of the parking lot outside and freeze, wondering if one of the guys is coming to spy on me through the open window. Or prevent me from climbing through it and taking off.

Something feels off, and I shiver at the inherent wrongness of it. That's what they all are, a blight. With a sigh, I shake it off and try to push that horrible sense of dread down. If I want to leave, I will. I don't have to crawl out of a window. I am not a hostage in this situation.

Since I'm here already, I do my business, wash my hands, and head back outside.

The men are gone.

My coven is gone.

That sense of wrongness slithers through my blood and makes my hands clench into fists.

"Finally," Georgia murmurs, gesturing for me to come sit down. "They left, and I ordered you an iced latte because ... Kate, you look like you need some caffeine."

The complete lack of their presence is like needles beneath my fingernails.

"One second." I walk quickly around the back of the building as Georgia sputters behind me, but when I get there, my truck is gone.

They took my truck and left ? All I can see right now is a giant bread truck with the name of a local bakery on the side. That's it.

Tanner's words echo in my mind. "Oh, baby, who hurt you?"

I head back to the table and slump into my seat. This is what I wanted, but I'm still surprised. What happened in the few minutes between me heading for the bathroom and coming back?

"Did they say anything when they left?" I ask Georgia, and she gives me a sharp look.

"They didn't bus their own dishes," she tells me, gesturing at the plates and cups left behind. "They didn't even seem to understand what I was talking about."

Hmm. Bus-your-own-table restaurants are sort of a new thing around here. I gather their dishes absently, but Fernanda beats me to it.

"Let me, Kate. You don't look so good. I mean ... well, you look great, but are you alright?" She leans across the table, pink pixie hair ruffling in the salt breeze. Fernanda places a cool, dry hand to my forehead as Tacy stares at me like something from another planet. "Nope, no fever."

"Where ... did you meet these guys again? I'm confused," Tacy begins, drumming her fingers on the table. "You were kidnapped by them, and then you let them move into your house?" There's a judgment in her voice that I probably deserve. I haven't been as forthcoming with Tacy and Fernanda as I was with Georgia.

I turn to look at Jared Philips, happily eating his sandwich and rocking to a pair of bright yellow earbuds. He's not listening to our conversation whatsoever. I'm not sure if Tacy asked him to check out, or if this is just his normal personality.

"He seems ... nice," I suggest, and Tacy sighs dramatically.

"Yes, he is. But those ... men that you brought with you? Who are they?" Tacy pulls her drink closer, angling the metal straw in the frosty Mason glass so that she can sip from it. My gaze drifts past her to the playground. All of the children have gone in, so I can't see my sister anymore. Only caught sight of my brother once.

"They're witches," I explain, pausing only when the waitress brings over the coffee that Georgia ordered for me.

I can't seem to keep my gaze from scanning the street, searching for the sea green color of my truck. Maybe they went back to the house to teach me a lesson? Wouldn't surprise me. But it does worry me. They don't have phones, so no chance of directions. It's possible that they decided that even magic wasn't worth sticking around for and bailed.

I tell myself that it doesn't matter where they are or why they left. Except ... we do need to deal with the Hag. Maybe that's what they're doing, taking care of that?

"Witches?" Tacy asks, and so I explain it all to her, just like I did to Georgia.

When Jared realizes that the expression on his girlfriend's face is less than normal, he pops out a single earbud and unwittingly reveals to us that he's listening to Britney Spears. Music. Oh my God. I'm going to have to slowly introduce the guys to modern music.

I'm going to torture them with the worst this decade has to offer, starting with Pound Town .

"Everything okay, babe?" Jared asks, and Tacy flashes a glare in his direction.

"Everything is fine. Put your music back on," she commands, and he shrugs, retreating back to the safety of his phone and the remainder of his sandwich.

I continue my story, offering the same ending that I gave to Georgia.

"Whether you believe me or not, you know that I'd never take off without telling you guys first." I settle back in my chair, nursing my latte and wondering where those stupid fucking Witchwood men have disappeared to.

"I believe that you'd never intentionally leave Flick alone in the woods," Fernanda finally ventures, biting her lower lip and worrying at it until it bleeds. I wave a napkin at her to get her to stop. "I'll admit that while I'd like your story to be true, I can't commit myself to fully believing it." A pause and a nervous swallow. "Not that I think you're lying. It seems like you believe what you're saying is true. I'm just not sure that it happened the way you think it happened . " Fernanda looks around like she expects to be overheard. That's just her personality, like a kinky dormouse with a reading problem.

I smile tightly.

Yeah, I only just escaped the possibility of being trapped in a magic woodland nightmare with a Hag monster hunting me, and even I struggle to believe it. I don't blame Fernanda or Tacy, who's looking at me like she doesn't trust a single word of my story.

That's fine. Just fine. I'm not upset about it.

I'm not even allowed to shower by myself? Or sleep alone in my own bed? And they just take off whenever they feel like it? I'm angry, and cold. I can feel the distance between us. It hums under my skin, and I realize yet again how impactful that ritual really was.

No, I don't know these men. I don't even really like them. But we're tied together now, like an arranged marriage or something. And yet, it can't mean all that much if they just up and left me without a word.

"Since you didn't call the police last night ..." Georgia slides a card across the table toward me with the name of a detective on it. John Gilley. "This is the man in charge of your case. People were searching the woods for you, Kate. They brought in cadaver dogs and did flyovers with thermal imaging. It was a really big deal."

I pick the card up and stare down at it.

"And I know you don't want to hear it," Georgia continues, moving around the table to sit beside me. "But you should call your dad, too." I look up and meet her eyes, and she smiles at me, a little twinkle in her expression that I can't quite place. "Nathan showed up for several of the searches, you know. He's in town for the summer." Georgia nudges me with her elbow, and I frown.

Ah. So that's the twinkle. My ex-boyfriend who needs someone on his intellectual level.

I look back down at the card. She's right. I need to take care of all this stuff, and I need to do it now. Today. I've already waited too long.

"Finish your coffee, and let's go back to my place. My mom isn't going to stop calling me until I bring you home." Georgia holds up a phone with an obnoxious rhinestone case that probably makes it three times heavier than it rightfully should be. I smile at that. I recognize her little sister's phone right away. "You owe me some money, too. I had to pay Blythe in books just to use this for one day. "

I snort a laugh at that, trying to fill that hollow emptiness in my chest with Georgia's warmth.

"Just promise me that Nathan won't be there?" I tease, but then Georgia hesitates, and I just know that I've been set up. "I haven't even talked to the police or my own dad, but you called my ex?" I groan and put my head in my hand. "Georgia, really?"

"Anything to get you away from those weirdos you brought back with you," she whispers as I reach for my latte and then pause. All of the ice cubes have melted in the morning sun, and I hate watery coffee. I move to push it aside when someone taps an inked finger against the side of the glass, fingernail clacking.

The ice cubes reform and freeze, and my eyes widen as I flick them up to see Marlowe leaning against the table next to me. Tanner is right behind him, tossing a dead animal down in front of me. Fernanda chokes on a gasp, and Tacy curses, stumbling out of her seat.

Jared Philips is mouthing the words to Toxic and hasn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

The dead thing on the table is small and furred and looks vaguely like a rabbit.

Vaguely like a rabbit. It has four rabbit ears instead of two, six glassy eyes, and needled teeth.

"I hate being in a coven," Marlowe murmurs, as if that explains anything at all.

I shove up to my feet and our eyes meet. His are so dark, and his mouth is so mean, but he's got that feathery oil-slick hair framing his handsome face, and my traitorous brain recalls the feel of his hand on my neck, his dick buried deep inside of me.

The way he slapped my hand when I tried to touch his stupid hat. He's got blueberries on it now, an oddly sexy look paired with the too-small t-shirt and pale pink sweatpants with paint splatters all over them.

"I thought ..." I start as Brooks puts a strong hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. His lips drop to my ear so that he can murmur against it.

"You thought we left you, and you were upset." It's not a question. "That's what you get for running off to the fucking bathroom and locking the door. We were around back, hunting the were-rabbit."

He says it like one might say werewolf. Were-rabbit. Uh.

My girls are just staring at me. Jared Philips is jamming to classic Britney. Fortunately, the rest of the patio is unoccupied, and my siblings' summer school class is tucked safely away in their classroom.

"What's a were-rabbit?" I whisper, when so many other more important questions are swirling through my brain. This is clearly an animal from the Witchwoods. How did an animal from the Witchwoods get here? If the guys didn't leave me, where is my truck?

I notice the bread truck pulling out of the parking lot and realize that in my irrational panic I might've missed that my vehicle was parked behind this one.

Oops.

My cheeks flush as Marlowe studies me with critical eyes.

"A were-rabbit is what we call these things because the only real knowledge we have about the Witchwoods comes from an incomplete book written by a crazy old lady." Marlowe turns to look down at the animal, bleeding across the glass surface of the outdoor table.

"Hey, kitten, look at me," Tanner says, but that's a dangerous ask. I don't want them to know that I was upset they were gone. It's not about them specifically. It's this stupid spell. The one that ended with them hunting you in the woods and fucking you the way you love to be—

I turn to him, and he's right there. One wolf ear pricked, the other flattened against his hat brim. Now, we're in Arcata, California. A couple of dudes wearing witch hats is sort of not that weird around here, but a family walking by on the sidewalk moves a bit faster when they pass by the cafe's patio space.

"Shit," Tanner growls out, completely ignoring the fact that he just threw a dead animal on a restaurant table in front of my friends. He grabs my face between his massive hands, and I ... I start to glow. I light up like a firefly in summer, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"What the actual fuck?" Tacy murmurs, but I can't look at her. I can only stare into Tanner's eyes as he gazes down at me. He's pissed, his jaw tight, his expression hard as he shifts it over to Brooks.

"I goddamn told you that she'd think we left her. Fuck, Brooks. This is not how a man treats his woman. And it's certainly not the way to build trust in someone that's used to being abandoned."

When did I ever say that, that I was used to being abandoned? I open my mouth to argue, to tell him that isn't true, but that would be a massive lie. I am used to being abandoned. My dad left my mom and me when she was too injured to take care of herself. Then, when my mom got better, she left. Nathan left. My friends left.

"You really thought we'd abandon you?" Brooks asks. His hat narrows its biggest eye. "After I kicked in the bathroom door to get at you last night? Shit, Kate, we've really been trying to drum in the idea that you're ours now. I guess we fucked that up. That's on me. I'll have to try harder."

He sounds genuinely apologetic which is annoying to me. Even Marlowe ... He studies me but says nothing, turning away and crossing his arms. After the horrible things we just said to each other, you'd think we'd both be down for some space.

The spell we cast together in those woods ... it won't let us have that space.

Panic crushes my chest as I realize that all my words are hot air. I can't send them away—not yet anyway. Not unless I can figure out a way to cut the magic leashes that connect each of us to the others.

"I will never leave you," Tanner tells me, drawing my attention back to him again. "Do you hear me, Kate?"

"Um, excuse me," Georgia is saying, waving her hand around and then whistling to get our attention. Doesn't work. My cheeks flush, and I'm still glowing. I can see my tattoos shifting over my skin and glittering with the wicked majesty of the Witchwoods. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Even if I want you to leave?" I clarify, trying to pull away from Tanner and failing. He's glowing, too. He shrugs his broad shoulders and shakes his head.

"See what I mean when I said I knew what the problem was?" Tanner leans down, his lips dragging over mine, just a flicker of a touch that doesn't quite land. An unfulfilled promise. "You were over here panicking because you thought we'd left you. That isn't going to happen. Does the sun rise every morning? Yeah. Are you stuck with us? Mm-hmm. As close to a constant as constant can get."

He releases me suddenly and steps back, realizing only then that we have an audience.

We're glowing. Jared has stopped listening to Britney Spears and is now gaping at the dead rabbit. I move further away from Tanner, but when I bump into Marlowe, he starts glowing, too.

"Pretty sure I told you last night not to fucking touch me," he commands in cool tones. They don't match the almost frantic glimmer in his eyes. He doesn't like this spell either. I'm starting to see what he meant though, when he said that he didn't want to be here but that he was going to be anyway.

A lot of things are starting to make sense.

I married my soul to three unruly witch men.

"What ... what is this?" Fernanda asks, staring at the animal instead of her glowing friend. "You killed a bunny? Why?"

The girls don't seem to notice anything but the dead animal and the stalkerish behavior from the men. They really can't see the supernatural stuff, can they? Because they've never been in the Witchwoods. Another baseless theory of mine.

"Like I said, a were-rabbit," Brooks explains, pointing to the garden on the opposite side of the gravel driveway next to us. "We were right there, North. Do you hear me?" When I don't look at him, he reaches out and snags my chin in his fingers.

I could punch him.

"We were right over there, okay? If you ever need us, and you don't know where we are, just hum." Brooks lets go of me and turns to look at the others sitting around the table. When he reaches out a hand, Tanner takes it, offering his other to Marlowe.

He doesn't wait for me to take his hand, just grabs it.

Brooks pulls what looks like a dead butterfly off of his own hat, holding it in his free hand and blowing on it. The dust from its wings spills into the air and swirls around my friends (and Jared) before the seemingly deceased insect takes flight and disappears into the summer morning.

Georgia, Tacy, Fernanda, and Jared all sit back down in their seats, looking confused.

Marlowe releases my hand, leaving a tickle in my skin that skitters up my arm and into my chest, making my heart pound. Magic. We just used magic on my friends.

Tanner picks up the were-rabbit and holds it by the ears, peering at it. I wipe my palm on my shirt and Marlowe notices, exhaling sharply through his nostrils, like he's annoyed with me.

"No sense in letting this go to waste," Tanner murmurs, tossing the kill over his shoulder and spattering the oversized white hoodie that he stole from me with blood. Great. "I'll break it down back at the house." His smile edges up dangerously, and I look away. "I'm a civilized man, remember?"

"Only if I don't touch you," I say, which could easily be mistaken for flirtation. They didn't leave. Good for them. At least they're not hypocrites.

"Only if," Tanner muses as I study the girls. They've all gone back to picking at their food, sipping their drinks. Jared is listening to Britney Spears again.

"What did you just do to them?" I ask, directing my question to Brooks.

"They'll have trouble remembering the last hour or so," he explains, turning to me, expression severe. "We need to get to the woods, North."

What I need to do is call this detective. Call my dad (ugh). Visit Georgia's family and get rid of Nathan.

"Okay," I say simply, because even though I don't want it to be true, this is more important.

The Witchwoods should stay in the Witchwoods.

An open gate. A leaky veil. Whatever it is that's going on, it's my problem and my responsibility.

No ... it's our problem.

"Give me my keys; I'm driving." I hold out my hand, but Marlowe ignores me and walks back in the direction of the truck, humming.

Tanner offers his hand, but I refuse to take it, and his expression darkens into something knowing and terrible.

I stick with Brooks instead, admiring his ability to roll with a whole new world like it's nothing at all.

"Do I need to ... do anything?" I ask, gesturing at Georgia. She's so out of it, like she's drunk or something. "Are they safe like this?" The last thing I want to do is walk away and leave my friends vulnerable to being taken advantage of.

Brooks studies me, like he's making an assessment about my character.

"They'll be fine in a couple of minutes. A bit confused maybe, but fine." He waits for me to start walking and then falls into line beside me.

I can feel his body heat, am attuned to the strong presence of him beside me. Out of the four of us, he was the only one that didn't glow. I wonder if that means something?

As we move across the gravel toward my truck which, yes, was hidden behind the tricksy bread truck, I notice one of the employees taking out a trash bag. She's caught on Brooks and his appearance, dressed in his witch hat, combat boots, borrowed sweats, and one of the huge flannel shirts that I like to wear to bed. It's only buttoned up halfway, showing off a hell of a lot of chest and ink.

"We need to get you guys some new clothes," I murmur, but then we're in the truck and Marlowe is driving us back to the Witchwoods without any assistance from Google. I decide to make mention of that, and his black glass eyes catch me in the rearview mirror.

"None of us needs a map to get to the Witchwoods," he says, and I realize that, after thinking about it for a minute ... he's right.

I don't need a compass to know true north; I don't need GPS to get to the Witchwoods.

And I don't need to even look to see if these men are around me.

I can fucking feel them.