Chapter 14

Kate

We head to this little creperie in Arcata that I really like. It’s impossible to get a table on weekends unless you’re keen for a forty-five minute wait. But since today is a weekday, the eclectic little space is only full on the inside, leaving several tables on the sidewalk open.

The guys and I settle down at one of those.

I sit next to Marlowe with Tanner across from me and Brooks on his left. Behind their heads, I can see the old theater advertising a showing for some black-and-white horror film I’ve never seen. I’d like to take the men to something like that.

It feels selfish to even have that thought.

Ultimately, this is our fault.

If we’d stayed in the woods, this wouldn’t have happened.

Seven more people would be alive. Detective Gilley and Officer Viv wouldn’t be trapped. The world wouldn’t be salivating over a legend that used to be relatively obscure and difficult to believe, a legend that was spread with the wrong information so that it didn’t work. I wonder who started that rumor up.

“Brooks,” I start, fiddling with a small laminated menu.

“No, Kate,” he says, and his voice is just scratchy enough, just achy enough that I don’t press. His head is in his hand, elbow on the table, eyes closed (hat and face). His sister, his choice. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s still okay. It’ll always be okay.

“Crepes,” Tanner says, staring down at the menu. “What the fuck is a crepe?”

Marlowe is the one who draws his phone from his pocket, searches it up, and shows Tanner.

“It’s a thin pancake.” Marlowe sounds subdued, like he wants to be happy but isn’t allowed to be. I feel that, too. My stomach is queasy, and there’s a horrible reality staring me in the face.

We have to go back into the Witchwoods, and it’s going to be even more dangerous than last time, when Brooks had his entire leg torn off.

“But why though?” Tanner says, handing the phone back to Marlowe. “Pancakes are supposed to be thick.” He emphasizes that last word, and we both know it’s not by accident.

“You wrap fruit and stuff inside of these. They’re good. You’ll like them.” I say all of that, but I’m still looking at Brooks. He lifts his head suddenly and looks back, putting his hand into his lap. All emotions are scrubbed from his face. He appears serene even though his eyes—like the freshly-devoured ghost—are screaming in silence.

“I’m going to take an educated guess and say that it doesn’t matter which side of the gate we’re on. If it’s open, it’s open. The Hag Wytch will go back and forth until we close it.” Brooks crosses his arms and sits back, reaching up to push the brim of his hat from his eyes. There’s a group of women coming down the sloped sidewalk behind him. They’re talking and laughing until they spot us, and then they go completely and utterly silent.

The vague politeness that still exists in society, that’s the only thing keeping us from being swarmed. Pure happenstance. If someone is filming us, they’re doing it discreetly. Nobody has said anything to us directly, even though the hostess did a double take when she saw me.

“Makes sense,” I reply, also sitting back in my chair. It’s a little cool out today, even if the sun is shining. Typical Humboldt weather. I stuff my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. I’m wearing it with overalls and scuffed sneakers.

All three of these guys looked at me like I was in lingerie when I changed this morning. I’d smile, if we hadn’t just seen our employer being eaten by a bird monster.

“Why did we escape the Witchwoods?” Brooks muses, more like he’s talking to himself than to us. “Not for the internet. Not even for electricity. It was because I didn’t want to be chased by a soul-eating owl monster.”

“Hey, have you guys had a chance to order yet?” a girl asks, appearing at the end of the table with a tablet in her tattooed hand. She’s shaking a little, green eyes taking in the four of us and our ridiculous hats.

“Not yet,” I reply, hoping that she isn’t filming. Her phone is right there in her pocket; she could be. I try to remain as boring as possible while ordering a lavender latte and crepes with chocolate-hazelnut spread and strawberries.

Today is a sweets sort of a morning.

Oh God. If we can’t put the Hag back into the woods and seal the gate, we’re fucked.

The men order, and the waitress takes off, leaving us as the only outdoor table.

“Say the Witch’s Tree is like a door,” Tanner begins, unrolling his silverware and laying it out like a row of weapons. He eyes the knife, picks it up, touches the dull end like he’s wondering if he could kill something with it. Bet you he could. “And it’s open even further than it was before, you think we’ll be able to close it at all?”

“We might need that second coven,” Brooks murmurs, witch nails digging into his side of the table. He realizes what he’s doing and stops, flexing his fingers with the crick of angry bones. “Could we drag a few people into the woods until we find a North? Use that person to complete your friends’ coven?”

He sounds like he’s talking to himself, so I don’t answer, waiting to see what conclusion he comes to. Marlowe and I exchange a look, but he clearly isn’t opposed to the idea. Why would he be? He’s still the same ruthless man that discovered me in the woods. It’s only that his priorities have changed.

“Why don’t we start by consecrating the rest of the brooms?” Tanner looks up and a smile eases its way across his face. “An activity we all know that Kate will enjoy.” I kick him under the table, but he catches my foot with his crossed ankles and won’t let me go. “That’ll give us an option to outrun the Hag until we figure out a solid plan.”

“We have no choice. The choice has been taken from us.” Brooks closes all eight of his eyes and leans his head back. He folds his arms over his chest, and there’s a pain in his face that reminds me of his expression on the front lawn the other day. “We’re the stronger coven, and we need someone on the Witchwoods side. We’ll go back in and hope the Hag Wytch follows. Seal the gate with your friends’ help.”

Brooks makes something so complicated sound so easy. It’s an attractive quality.

“We might have to spend the night.” Marlowe puts his hand on my thigh, this molten heat easing through him and into me. I press my hand over the top of his, lacing our fingers together. He seems shocked once again. Not sure what I’m doing to keep surprising him like that. “If she chases us down there, we’ll have to hunker in the cottage until she loses interest.”

“ If she loses interest.” Brooks also unrolls his silverware, but he goes straight to putting the cloth napkin in his lap. He’s got good manners for a forest brute. “She’s become obsessed with our coven. I’m only hoping we won’t have to try and kill her. Those are bad odds—for us.”

“Hmm.” Tanner doesn’t sound pleased with the plan, but if he isn’t arguing then maybe he thinks that Brooks is right. “I can agree to all that, so long as you agree to close the gate regardless. If the Hag Wytch is out here then she isn’t in the woods with us. It’ll be a whole different life there without her. It could be a good life, too.”

“I can’t leave her with my friends,” I blurt, hands tucked between my thighs. “I could never do that.”

Nobody responds to me.

We get our coffees. Brooks ordered an Earl Grey tea this time.

“What, no espresso?” I tease him, and he gives me this sly look that I like. Playful, but also a challenge. No matter how many times we fuck, he still wants to kick my ass. He enjoys being the leader, but he likes defending his position even more.

“Should’ve gotten one, just so I’d have the energy to keep up with you in the bedroom.”

I laugh so suddenly that I end up spitting lavender latte back into my cup. And then Tanner is laughing and Marlowe is curling his lip and recoiling from me like I’m poisonous.

“You’re so weird,” he breathes, but there’s this edge to his voice that tells me to take it as a compliment. He’s completely and utterly confused by me, but he’s into it.

“Oh, piss off, it was an accident.” I blot at my nose with the napkin, lavender infusing all of my nasal passages. Lovely. Just great. I push my coffee aside. I’ll order another when the crepes get delivered. “Don’t act like I’m not just as surprised to like you, Lo. You’re a jerk.”

“Even your sweet, gentle ass was corrupted by two days in those woods. Try spending eight months there with only Brooks and Tanner for company.” Marlowe kicks back in his chair and even though it’s chilly out, he looks happy to be here.

All three of them are so grateful to be home and yet … they’ll risk it all by entering the woods again.

“Here.” Tanner pushes his drink over to me. “Have mine. I’ll drink yours.”

I try to push it back, but he holds up a hand, blocking me. Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the big, white mug. He steals my abandoned drink, taking a sip and acting like he gives zero fucks that I just spit in it.

“You’re a nasty witch,” I grumble, the fangs on my hat casting triangular shadows across the tabletop.

“I have no problem drinking you down, Kate. Not in any capacity. I fucking love it.” He sips the lavender latte as we stare at each other. It’s way too hard to resist the smell of fresh coffee, so I give in and drink his. “Not that you have room to talk. At least it isn’t cum coffee.”

I almost snort liquid out of my nose for a second time.

“Alright then.” Brooks slaps his big hands down on the table as shadow antlers uncurl from either side of his hat’s cone. With the old theater as a backdrop, he cuts an impressive figure. “No way around it. We need that second coven now . Enjoy your breakfast because we’re hunting down a ritual sacrifice later.”

Brooks picks up his coffee and takes a mean sip.

“Ritual sacrifice, huh?” I ask with a raised brow. It’d be funny if it weren’t so real.

“Yes. Because I’m going to fix this for you, Kate. For all three of you. I’ll make it right.” There’s that pain in Brooks’ voice again, but it’s swallowed up by confidence and willpower. His face is the face of a king, but it’s not in the sensual curve of his lower lip. Not in the deep-set green of his eyes. It’s the unwavering belief in himself. In us, as a coven.

This is a man who broke out of a paranormal box with nonsensical rules and strange magic. He did that all by himself. He’ll do it again. We will do it again.

Achieve the impossible.

“There’s not much a full coven can’t do, eh?” Tanner chugs the rest of his secondhand coffee and licks his lips like it was delicious. Those wolf ears are perked and sassy.

Marlowe opens his mouth to speak, but then he and I both happen to spot a couple coming down the sidewalk at the same time.

My heart drops.

“Oh, fuck,” he says, closing his eyes. “It’s Miriam and Dennis.”

He’s right: there they are. They’ve spotted us and they’re coming right this way. Marlowe reaches up to pull the brim of his hat down, as if he can hide from the inevitable confrontation.

“I heard from Liz,” Miriam says by way of hello. She pauses at the end of the table with her husband just behind and to the right of her. He pushes his glasses up his nose and glares down at his former friend. Liz must be Elizabeth, Marlowe’s mom.

“Yeah, and?” Marlowe tilts his head to the side, glancing up from under the brim of the hat. He’s still holding onto the edge, like he’s protecting it from the wind. Doubt he needs to hold it on. His hat often sprouts these glowing fungi filaments that get caught up in his hair like vines. They flake off into shiny glitter when he takes off the hat and musses his hair. It turns to powder, like dry shampoo or something. “You two don’t need a DNA test. You know exactly who I fucking am.”

“How are you planning on explaining things to your parents? They’ll never believe the truth.” Dennis. Damn. He’s annoying me. He should be happy to see Marlowe, not accusatory. He should care more about Marlowe’s feelings than what his parents may or may not think. How can they not believe Lo when the DNA test proves that he’s their son?

“Is that our problem?” Brooks asks, still holding his drink. I notice that he likes to do that, keep the mug clutched in his hands while his eyes flicker with thought. He never drifts in thought. No, he ricochets. He observes. He plans. I can see it when we’re playing chess, too. He glances over at the older couple. “We tell the truth, and if people don’t believe us then they can fuck off.”

Miriam purses her lips. I notice that she’s holding a bag from the local bookstore. I wonder what she’s got in there? I’d like to take the men to a bookstore soon. Sounds fun.

“Who is this person?” Miriam demands, as if she has some right to Lo’s company. She lost that when she abandoned him. I feel myself bristling as her eyes shift over to mine. I know her question was about Brooks, but only because she’s smart enough to know that she doesn’t dare ask it about me.

“Hi there. Tanner Skye. Went missing in ‘88. I’m sure you remember.” He turns and holds out a hand, but neither Miriam nor Dennis take it. Tanner sighs and drops his hand back to his lap, turning to look at Marlowe. “You going to let ‘em disrespect me like that?”

Marlowe crosses his arms, hat brim falling low to shadow his eyes.

“Tanner and Brooks are a part of my coven; Kate is my wife. Are you done harassing us over breakfast? I’m sorry that Miriam tried to kiss me, Dennis. Get over it. Miriam, I’m not sorry that I turned you down. Try to get over that. ”

It’s silent but for a random car idling up the quiet two-lane road beside us. It goes uphill, winding into Arcata with its old houses and gargantuan redwood trees. Nothing like the Witchwoods, of course, but impressive if you’ve never visited a magical forest.

“Nice to see you guys again,” I lie, picking up the coffee that Tanner gave me. It’s a plain latte, no lavender, but it tastes even better because he gave it to me. I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite stick.

Miriam and Dennis don’t smile back.

It’s a little awkward, considering our sex tape is online. Also because we walked out of the woods in their front yard wearing blood on our mouths and smut on our auras.

That was … Yeah, not something I would’ve done before entering the Witchwoods.

“The internet storm is killing your parents, Marlowe.” Miriam stares him down, but he only pouts his lips and flicks an uninterested glare in her direction.

“I’ll deal with it, Miriam. We are dealing with it. I don’t need or want your advice.”

He stops talking as the waitress appears with the first half of our order. Miriam and Dennis scoot out of the way, so she can put plates down in front of me and Tanner. I’m mesmerized by the hot crepes on my plate, melted chocolate-hazelnut spread peeking out of the top. Bright red strawberries from the farmer’s market. Fresh whipped cream.

I swallow hard and pick up my fork.

“Sorry, no manners. I can’t wait to take a bite of this.” I dig in and close my eyes, savoring the taste.

“I could make these easily enough,” Brooks comments, and I flick my eyes open to look at him.

“We could grow our own strawberries, too.” Tanner gives me a meaningful look, and I grin. Somehow, the idea of a garden hadn’t occurred to me. With my magic, we could have the coolest fucking garden in the county.

“It’s not too late to grow pumpkins, is it?” I ask, suddenly excited. We could have our own backyard patch. Shit, I just grew pumpkins in the front yard with absolutely no notice or preparation. Granted, they did rot right away, but I bet I could figure that out.

“It’s way too late to get pumpkins in the ground.” I didn’t expect Miriam to reply, but there it is.

Marlowe stands up from his chair, the metal scraping across the ground.

“ Leave. ” He’s angry, and he’s huge, and he’s intimidating. Miriam and Dennis both take a step back. “You two aren’t doing a very good job of earning back my friendship. If anything, I’m disgusted by the pair of you. Fuck off and stop bothering me.”

Tanner smiles as he takes a bite of his own crepes—savory ones with egg and bacon and jalapenos. A double order, too. Big portions for big dudes.

He goes very still after that bite.

“ Fuck, I missed bacon.” He winks at me as he attacks his food, and I smile back.

Marlowe sits back down, as if Miriam and Dennis have already left. He ordered sweet crepes, too. Brooks got savory. We have a nice mix of flavor profiles at this table.

A fox trots by, one with massive, scalloped ears. Its fur is silver with violet streaks, and I don’t even need to do a double-take to know it’s from the woods. It sprints right through Marlowe’s friends as they hesitate and, finally, turn down the sidewalk to leave.

The waitress returns with food for Brooks and Marlowe. Once she’s gone—and Miriam and Dennis have rounded the corner—Marlowe slumps low in his chair and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t know how much of this I can handle. I might be happier if I never see them again.” He glances over at Brooks, as if he’s judging his reaction. Brooks doesn’t reply at first, tasting his food and then letting those lightning bolt crashes of thought flicker through his eyes.

“Yeah, I could make crepes. I’d do a better job, too.” He takes another bite as I shake my head, scooping up some slivered almonds from the corner of my plate and adding them to my next bite. So damn good. “Lo.”

Brooks puts his fork down and turns to him.

Marlowe turns, too, and their massive hat brims almost touch. Brooks looks so much older right now, like he’s gifting Marlowe with years of long-held wisdom. They’re only three years apart, so it’s a little funny.

“What?” Marlowe sounds like he’s ready to argue, tapping his inked fingers on the table.

“They betrayed you. And they’re not treating you right, even now. If you don’t want to talk to them ever again, I fully support that. In fact, I encourage it.” Brooks turns back to his plate as Marlowe narrows his eyes. He goes back to his food after a few seconds, and it gets quiet again.

I poke at my crepe with silver tines as a fist-sized glowing dragonfly lands on the table. Marlowe curses at it when it nearly knocks over the small creamer jar. He flicks his hands and it takes off again.

“We could’ve killed that and used the parts, damn it.” Ah, Brooks.

Our waitress returns shortly after to see if we need anything else (and probably also so she can ogle the Witchwood Boys and/or film us).

“Give me an order of that sweet stuff.” Tanner jerks his chin in the direction of my plate and the waitress blushes. Marlowe rolls his eyes. “Please and thank you.”

“An espresso for me,” Brooks tells her, entirely deadpan. “So that I have the caffeinated energy to properly fuck my wife.”

That’s when I do choke again—this time on a piece of crepe. Marlowe is rubbing my back as the waitress gives Brooks a wrinkled nose and a bit of a scowl before taking off.

“Uh-huh.” I focus on my plate, so that I don’t have to look at him, my cheeks flushed. “Acting like I’m some sort of sex fiend. Please. Have you three looked in the mirror recently?”

“Us?” Tanner laughs and chucks my chin, making me curl my lip at him. “Don’t see myself fucking three women every night. But who fucks three guys like a champ and always has enthusiasm for more? That’d be you, kitten.”

“I hate you.” Blatant lie. They all know it. “Plenty of women are like this. Fernanda is adorably jealous of you guys. She told Tacy that she’d willingly risk the Witchwoods to get three witch husbands.”

“She creeps me out. The other two can come over whenever they want though.” Marlowe unwraps his crepe and removes a strawberry. He looks up at me as he bites into the end of it, staining his lower lip with glossy red sugar. Guess what grows on his hat? Guess what my hat eats off his hat?

Strawberries.

“Cute that you think you can tell me what to do with my friends.” I scoot my plate forward so that I can put my elbows on the table. I clasp my hands together and stare Marlowe down. Black eyes, pale skin, pink lips. Hair like the shimmer of an exotic exoskeleton. That hat, drooping down over his hooded, faux-angry gaze.

“It’s okay that you’re kinky. Nobody’s complaining, Kate. You don’t have to defend yourself.” The edge of his mouth lifts, and the sun hits him just right. There’s gold on the sidewalks, glinting off the old theater sign. The smell of coffee. Of crepes. I lick the taste of chocolate off my lips.

Brooks’ hair is as red as Marlowe’s dirty mouth. Tanner’s scar is a slice of silver, like the knife resting against the side of his empty plate.

“I’m not. I’m just saying that there are plenty of women out there who’d like three faithful witch husbands.” I run my finger through a bit of chocolate on my plate. And then I lift my eyes up from the plate and slowly lick it off.

“I will fuck you on this table and worry about the consequences later.” Tanner shrugs, watching Marlowe as he takes up his fork again and then eats the banana out of his unrolled crepes. “And really? You’re vivisecting this food.”

“It’s not rabbit pie. Or rabbit stew. Or brown bread with seeds in it. This actually fucking tastes good. I’m gonna take my goddamn time.” He finishes the bananas and then scrapes off the chocolate sauce. Marlowe is slow and lazy, relaxed. I love seeing him this way.

“I’m sorry that bananas weren’t on the menu before. If I’d known, maybe we could’ve conjured some inside the cottage?” It’s hard to say if Brooks is dead serious or completely fucking around with Marlowe.

Lo snorts.

“Without a North? We struggled. Don’t even pretend we could cast for shit until Kate came along. A coven isn’t just a quarter more powerful when it’s complete; it’s like fifty fucking times.” He rolls the crepe into a tube and then picks it up to eat it. The effect is vaguely sexual, and kind of aggressive. I like it. “Not your fault that the food was crap.”

“My food was amazing, you little shit. No respect these days.” Brooks’ mouth twitches as he takes the final sip of his coffee. “Finish up, so we can get going. We’ll need four or five days to prep the gate spell. Also, might be beneficial to figure out how we’re going to handle the, uh, issue with the paint.” Brooks is getting the hang of our unwanted fame. He’s smart enough not to mention our murdered boss in public.

We’ll have to clean up Robin’s body.

Scrape her brains off the wall. Pull her intestines down from the chandelier.

It’s a horror, and here I am, sitting in this golden sunshine and feeling like everything is safe. Everything is peaceful. Everything is just fine. My employer died this morning. She was eaten. I watched the Hag Wytch gobble up a ghost.

Yet, we’re trying to make the best of it.

We’re trying to make every fucking moment count.

That’s when it really hits me.

The men aren’t relaxed. Not at all. They know this is going to get bad. They know we’re not just going to waltz into the woods without risk. They’re simply taking all of the happy that they can get.

Our waitress returns, but it’s a different girl this time.

Oh.

It’s the girl from the farmer’s market.

It’s the girl that escaped the Witchwoods with Marlowe’s help.

And she’s a North.

She’s dressed in a similar outfit to mine. Red bandanna on her brown hair. Black overalls. Long-sleeved white henley. She doesn’t seem at all surprised to see us, more relieved than anything else.

Marlowe’s jaw has come unhinged as he stares up at her.

“My coworker called me and said you were here,” she begins carefully, approaching the table like she’s trying not to scare us off. Funny, that she doesn’t think of it the other way around. “I’m tired of dealing with shit that nobody else sees. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you guys since—like an idiot—I walked away at the market when I should’ve begged to come with you. I am fucked without your help.”

She sounds desperate, this North.

I see a shadow stretching up the wall behind her. It has horns like mine, but a completely different shape, curled like seashells. I taste frozen earth on my tongue, ice and soil.

“This is … an interesting coincidence,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs. I was hoping to look cool, but then I remember that I’m wearing overalls and Chucks with mismatched socks and that I am not that slick.

I almost knock the chair back and Marlowe catches it with his hand on the armrest.

I decide it’s best to stand up and face the girl. I reach up to adjust my hat and accidentally stab my hand on one of the teeth. Cursing, I suck the blood off my finger.

“It’s actually not interesting at all,” the girl tells me with perfect confidence, brown eyes hard. “I’ve been desperate to find you, trying to hack my way through all of your stupid spells. Can’t get anywhere near your house, by the way.” She pauses and looks away before mumbling. “And Humboldt isn’t that big of a place.”

“This fucking girl again ?” Marlowe murmurs under his breath, keeping his gaze trained on the sidewalk, like he’s intentionally avoiding my face. This is a bit of a sensitive subject between us, her rescue and my condemnation.

“Do you want to be a part of a coven—all women?” I blurt out. The girl blinks at me like she didn’t see that one coming. “You’d have magic and the ability to protect yourself against what’s coming.”

Our Southwoods stands up, too. Pretty sure he has zero intention of letting the girl make her own mind up about this. Fortunately, I don’t have to see if he would force her hand and make her join Georgia’s coven. A platonic coven, but still. It’s fucked.

Doesn’t matter. Based on what she’s been saying, this girl is going to be all in.

“A full second coven would ensure we can take care of the problem before it becomes a problem.” Brooks again, the eyes on his hat drawing the girl’s attention as they stare at her.

“What’s coming?” she demands, rather aggressively. “The problem? What fucking problem? This Witchwoods stuff is bad enough—”

A shadow flits over the table. It moves slowly, confidently. I almost don’t notice it.

But Tanner, he knows birds.

“Down!” he yells, dragging me under the table with him.

The Hag Wytch swoops down, talons raking across the surface of the table and going right through it. She can’t knock the plates off, but if she catches us, she’ll kill us.

Fuck! No! We’ll go viral again!

There’s nothing I can do.

Tanner and Marlowe whip out their bows from under the table. They both stand up before I can even think of what to do next.

“Up.” Brooks has shoved the table away from the wall to get to me, snagging my upper arm and guiding me down the sidewalk with Tanner watching our backs.

The North girl is just standing there, gaping.

“What the fuck is that?” she asks, voice shaking. One of her coworkers comes out to check on her, completely oblivious to the massive forest god circling above us.

“The answer to your question,” Brooks calls out over his shoulder as he drags me back to the truck. “That’s what’s coming. That’s the problem.”

The Hag banks a sharp turn and drops into a dive, like a falcon.

She heads straight for the North girl. Would’ve taken her head off if Tanner hadn’t grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the ground. He rolls onto his back and fires off an arrow at the same time.

It hits the Hag in the belly and blood pours out, spattering over North Girl’s face as she screams. She reaches up her hands to her hair, pressing frantic fingers against her scalp. There’s more than just Hag blood: it’s her blood. She was nearly scalped.

The cafe coworker is screaming, and I just … there are no words to explain what I’m thinking. The onlookers can’t see the Hag, but they can see Tanner holding onto a girl whose scalp is hanging loose, blood streaming down her face.

Marlowe is standing on top of a nearby car, drawing his bow back, loosing an arrow on the Hag. His expression is ice-fucking-cold, the way it looked in the woods that first night. He’s a beast, that fucking Marlowe. He sends another series of arrows out and each one hits its target. The Hag looks like a goddamn porcupine.

Doesn’t stop her though, not even with blood slicking the streets.

She flaps her massive wings, human mouth open, teeth bared. It’s disturbing, especially with a beak for a nose. Eyes the color of a sky. Our gazes meet, and a horrible shiver travels through me.

A deep longing, a sense of loneliness that stretches deeper down than the valleys at the bottom of the ocean.

The Hag spins into another dive just as a man steps out of a nearby building. She snatches him up in her talons as he screams, landing on the old theater sign. As Tanner and Marlowe move to see if they can get some shots off, the Hag rips the man’s head off and his cries end in an abrupt gurgle.

She tosses him up in the air like a ragdoll, and then opens her mouth—her human mouth—to swallow his body like a snake would.

Whole.

The decapitated head lands in the middle of the street and it’s like a watermelon hitting pavement. It splats. It paints the ground red and pink and white.

“Get me out of here! Coven, yes. Please, please, please.” North Girl is sobbing, but Tanner already has her bicep, dragging her down the sidewalk as Marlowe walks backward, keeping his bow trained on the Hag Wytch.

“We don’t have five days, Brooks.” Tanner tells him just before we reach the truck, dropping all conversation in favor of wrenching the doors open and climbing inside.

Nobody says anything as we drive as fast as the old truck can go, all the way back to the house.