Chapter 19

Kate

I’m sprawled across three hot, hard bodies, and I’ve never been happier. My cheek is pillowed on Brooks’ lower abs, his cock barely hidden beneath the blanket in front of my face. My middle is propped up on Tanner’s bronze back, and my legs are with Marlowe.

He’s rubbing a thumb over the arch of my foot, and I shiver with an allover outbreak of giddy goosebumps.

“Mm.” I nuzzle into Brooks and his fingers find my hair, stroking through orange-and-black strands as Flick paces on the floor beside our bed. The door is cracked, so I figure Stix and Ebon must already be awake for the day. Or maybe they just didn’t want to sleep in a room that smells like sex and sweat? We should probably wash these sheets today.

Thing is, when we made the bed bigger, the sheets got bigger, too. They’re massive, probably an entire load of laundry all on their own. Our comforter? We’ll have to take it to a laundromat and use a big machine or else … magic? Oh yeah. I bet we could keep it all clean with magic and never have to wash our bed linens ever again.

Now that is sexy. A perfectly valid reason to want a coven. I approve.

I grab the blanket and lift it up, finding Brooks’ morning erection in easy reach. I’ve just wrapped my lips around it when Flick takes off out the bedroom door and down the stairs. He starts barking at the front door, and I pause, Brooks’ cock popping out of my lips.

He moans and tries to push my head back down, but I hold up a finger to get him to wait.

Frankly, I’m shocked that he listens to me. Maybe he’s as worn-out from sex tag as I am?

“I recognize that bark,” I say, sitting up suddenly and making Tanner groan as I end up straddling his naked ass cheeks with my wet, sticky pussy. He’ll have Brooks’ release on him. Marlowe’s. His own. I don’t think he cares. Seems like he’s really enjoying this position. “That’s Flick’s happy bark.”

A heavy knock follows my words, like a cop knock. Only, it’s not a cop (I don’t think, please no, oh God no). The Hag’s murders really could end up being pinned on us, especially after all of our unfortunate run-ins with the police. Anyway, I think it’s Georgia. That sounds like Georgia’s knock. Besides, she was supposed to stop over this morning to tell us how everything went in person.

I scramble off the bed, yanking on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before I fly down the stairs and fling the door open.

Flick’s tail is wagging like crazy as he greets Georgia, the other three women—her coven—fanned out behind her. They’re holding hands which I get. The clinginess is real, and even if their coven is a platonic one, it’s built out of sisterhood and friendship. Touch is still important. A hug from a friend can be just as good as one from a lover.

I lean my shoulder against the doorjamb and cross my arms, trying to hold back a smile. I’ve still got the salty taste of Brooks on my lips, but Georgia doesn’t need to know that. Nor, I’m sure, does she want to.

“Are those … wands?” I ask, pointing at the fancy wooden stick that’s protruding from the pocket of her sweatpants, from all of their pockets actually. Georgia’s decked out in collegiate gear, same as Tacy and Fernanda. Talia is wearing … an Arcata High sweater in orange and black. Go Tigers. God, she’s so young.

“I got creative last night.” Georgia pauses as my eyes shift up to the hat on her head. It’s a mini top hat in white, decorated with bunches of dried flowers. It’s attached to a headband, and it has a little veil. I recognize those hats: the four of us wore them to Fernanda’s sister’s wedding. And now Talia is wearing mine because I’m part of a dirty sex coven while my friends make salt pentagrams and dance in the woods naked, wearing a baby killer’s blood. “And yes, Kate. We found ourselves some witch hats. Why not? Fernanda made them with flowers from her own garden. The silk is real. Worms died for these hats, so tell me that it’s not at least akin to leather.”

“You cock-blocked me from my morning blow job,” Brooks grumbles, putting his hand on the doorjamb above my head. He positions his massive body far too close to mine, stabbing me in the back with his erection. “This better be good. Come in.”

“No.” Georgia stares him down, and she isn’t smiling. Her dark hair is hanging loose and glossy over one shoulder, her stance firm and her expression no-nonsense. “ You get dressed and get your ass out here. We’re going to breakfast.”

Brooks laughs, like he finds my friend funny.

“Cute coven. You want to learn how to cast a protection spell, or would you rather get torn apart by the Hag Wytch? Come on in .” He steps back and turns away, moving into the kitchen as Georgia grits her teeth and gives me a look.

“Just come in for a second, so I can get dressed. He’s going to breakfast whether he likes it or not.” I step aside for the girls, and I so desperately want to ask about last night and how they feel and what being a part of a coven means to them. Take it slow, Kate. It’s a very personal experience, remember? “Did the, um, sacrifice go through the tree alright?”

“Thank fuck,” Georgia grumbles as she yawns her way past me and heads into the kitchen. “Alright, you bossy sigma male jerk. There better be fresh coffee while we wait. I’m exhausted.”

“Kate.” Fernanda is basically bouncing as she moves into the foyer and takes my hands, kissing each of my cheeks before she adjusts her glasses. Behind the thick, round lenses, her blue eyes shine. “It’s … oh, being in a coven is wonderful …” She trails off with a sigh, and I smile, even as Marlowe curses, fighting Stix off as she darts out from beneath the coffee table and turns his ankle into bloody ribbons.

And by fighting off, I mean he picks her up and nuzzles her while she bites him. He catches my eye as he passes, rolling his lower lip under his teeth in an overly flirtatious gesture.

“Lucky you had your mouth on Brooks. I’d have shoved your head down and made you finish.”

Fernanda’s lips part and her cheeks flush bright with a blush, eyes shining.

“Oh. My. You lucky bitch.”

“Eww.” This is Talia, staring at big, beautiful Marlowe like he’s one of the car-sized banana slugs on my driveway (there are two of them currently, and I think they’re mating). “Is that what your generation finds attractive? How about a little respect, my dude.”

“How about you piss off, you little creep?” He scowls at her. “You’d be lucky to find a husband like me one day.”

“I’m gay,” Talia says, smiling prettily. “Thank fuck.” She heads into the kitchen, leaving me with Fernanda and Tacy.

“You’re okay?” I ask the latter, glancing back to see Tanner—sans shirt—yawning his way through the living room with Ebon on his shoulder. His hair is wet, so I’m guessing he hopped in the shower to wash off my arousal and their mixed cum from his ass cheeks. He curves an arm around my waist and kisses the top of my head before he passes.

“Morning, ladies.” He leaves us alone, entering the bickering kitchen in bare feet and a smile.

I turn back to Tacy and raise a brow.

“I’m okay,” she promises, but she looks a little shaky. “I’ve just … never seen anyone die before.”

Fernanda’s lusty expression softens as I offer Tacy a hug that she, surprisingly, accepts. She’s not much of a hugger, and I wasn’t ever sure if she even liked me or if she just hung around because of Georgia. For years, I truly believed that we were all just there because of Georgia.

I don’t think that anymore.

Insecurities and self-doubt are a bitch. What does it hurt to just go into a situation believing other people like you? Unless they show you any different, just be happy. That’s my new motto, and coming from an introvert like myself, that’s a big step forward.

We pull apart and Fernanda takes Tacy’s hand again, offering up a sense of comfort and security that I can’t provide.

My friends are a coven. My men and I are a coven. But I hope that we can all stay close. In all the world, there may only ever be the eight of us witches—especially after we close this goddamn gate.

The three of us join the others in the kitchen, and I accept a cup of coffee from Brooks with a smile.

“If we could’ve slept in today, we would’ve,” Georgia declares, sipping her own coffee. Black, of course, like a badass. She loves espresso, too. Metaphorically, she has a lot of hair on her chest. She can take it. “But then I woke up in a pile of leaves, naked, with dried blood on my tits and made the mistake of checking my phone.” She cants a look my way. “Have you checked your phone yet, Kate?”

Fuck.

“Please tell me that you weren’t filmed?” I whisper as Tanner breaks apart a piece of toast and feeds it to Ebon. Marlowe is busy offering cream—fucking cream!—to the damn cat. Brooks, however, is fixed on his fellow coven leader. It’s like they’re coworkers or something now. Coworkers of equal status, of course.

“No.” Georgia sets her mug down and sighs. “Kate, there were more murders last night. Eight of them.” She looks up at me again as my skin prickles with unease. “Half-eaten bodies and an entire county of people who think you are responsible.” She pauses and closes her eyes, exhaling with the weight of the world on her shoulders. I love that she’s this worried about me, but I’m sorry that I made her feel that way, that I dragged her into this. Georgia opens her eyes to look at me. “No, that’s not right. Half the world thinks you guys are guilty. Does it get any worse?”

I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not, really, but I am sick about it. While my men and I had a wonderful date and an even better night playing hide-and-go-fuck, people were dying. God. Maybe Marlowe was right: I am selfish. I would kill the world for the people I love.

“Much worse,” Brooks says, looking out the glass doors to the backyard. “Tonight is the new moon. If we don’t put the Hag back before morning, she might sing.” He offers a humorless smile to punctuate his words as Talia peers into our refrigerator and Tacy and Fernanda occupy our seats at the table alongside Georgia. “If she does that, we’re all fucked. All eight of us. In this world, we’ve got nowhere to hide.”

“Oh, cupcakes!” Talia pulls the container from the fridge, and I nearly drop my coffee to the ground. Brooks takes the mug from my hand as I scramble around the table and snatch the other side of the glass baking pan that we stored them in.

“You can’t eat these particular cupcakes.” I struggle to figure out how to explain. I love that Talia is immediately comfortable around us, that she’s young and brave and willing to raid the fridge of a stranger. Because she’s now tied to my friends for life, we’re going to have to get to know each other. “They’re … spelled. And the spell that’s on them, you don’t want it.”

She narrows twig-brown eyes at me as Marlowe barks a laugh from his spot on the edge of the counter.

“Just be honest, Kate.” He lifts his head to look at me and smirks as Tanner laughs and Brooks smiles approvingly. Right. Honesty. I bite my lip and refuse to look at Georgia. “They’re made with cum, brat. Put ‘em down.”

Georgia groans and faceplants onto the table, mumbling into her forearm. Fernanda giggles, and Tacy blanches. Talia … she releases the cumcakes immediately.

“Sushi,” Georgia moans as I blush from head-to-toe (definitely in embarrassment this time) and shove the cumcakes back into the fridge. “I don’t care that it’s early. I need sushi. What time does Takami open?”

“They’re open for lunch,” I choke out, trying not to meet Tanner’s eyes as he watches me from across the kitchen. That smile on his face is liable to make me blush harder, like a reminder of last night. “They’re open now.” I turn to Brooks and he raises a brow. “Get dressed, you big brute and don’t threaten to withhold information from my friends.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, smooth and sexy and totally full of shit.

I don’t care, just so long as I can have a bowl of miso soup.

After that, I can handle anything—even a forest god.

We take the truck while Georgia drives her mom’s van with her own coven tucked inside. It hurts a little to be separated from the girls, but I’m happy with my new husbands—especially after last night.

I lean my head on Tanner’s shoulder in the backseat while Marlowe drives and Brooks sits up front. It takes a good twenty minutes to get from our place in Cutten to the plaza in Arcata.

Takami Sushi is located just off the lobby of a historic hotel, and while it’s not the fanciest place in the world, the food is incredible. Georgia loves it so much that when she got a job during senior year of high school, she’d pay for all four of us to eat there twice a month. The place is full of good memories.

“Edamame, miso soup …” Georgia starts once we’re seated at a table, and then we look at each other and laugh. “Tempura basket,” we say at the same time. We high-five each other as Marlowe stares at me with that look of his, the one that says he’s desperately in love but very confused.

I’m not his type. I’m not Tanner’s type. I’m not Brooks’ type either.

But I’m exactly the woman they want and need.

“Sake and plum wine for me, served hot.” Fernanda closes her eyes and tucks the menu to her chest. “My absolute favorite female main character drinks it. Her men aren’t convinced that they’ll like it, but they—”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” Lo turns away from me to stare at my friend across the table. The four of us sit on one side—full-ass witch hats and everything, but safely ensconced in more cumcake glamour—while my friends sit opposite in their delicate little white hats and college sweatshirts.

We look fucking ridiculous.

Their cuteness. Our arcane weirdness.

Fernanda opens her eyes and tilts her head at Lo.

“From a book.” She rolls her eyes and tosses her menu aside, assured that Georgia and I will take care of the ordering for her like we always do.

“Her men? She has multiple?” Marlowe seems curious, and I have to say that I’m surprised. He’s so hostile, but then … he does have that natural charisma. I really hope he can make friends with the girls. To be quite frank, he doesn’t have much choice.

“Oh yeah. It’s not 2004 or …” Fernanda looks over at Tanner and Brooks. “1988 or 1955 anymore. Women have romance novels that properly suit our delicately smutty tastes.” Fernanda clasps her hands together, cheeks flushing as she gets lost in thoughts of book boyfriends.

“Get me the honey bee roll,” Tacy whispers to Georgia, pushing her menu aside. Her eyes dart around the restaurant, concerned that we might be spotted and called out. But there’s no need to worry. Our cumcake glamour is like a cloud or a fog, and it encompasses all eight of us. Our waitress even tried to seat another table here before she realized we existed.

“Tempura albacore, avocado, honey sriracha miso.” Tanner reads the ingredients for the honey bee roll before closing his menu. “Huh. I’ll let you ladies pick. Never had sushi in my fucking life. Weren’t any sushi places around back in my day.” He grins, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in his chair to look around.

Not much to see. Old wood floors, probably original to the 1915 build of the hotel. Sparse Japanese-themed decor.

“Sushi.” Brooks is looking at the menu, but like it’s written in kanji (it’s not). “Wasn’t a thing for me either. I was in elementary school when World War II started and in high school when it ended. People weren’t into Japanese cuisine at the time.” He, too, puts his menu aside which is just fine by me and Georgia.

“I want to make these guys try uni ,” I stage-whisper to her, and she smiles back before adjusting her little silk hat.

“Uni, that’s sea urchin, right?” Talia says, chewing on her lower lip. It’s chapped and bitten, so this is clearly a common habit of hers. “I come here all the time with my family. Beef teriyaki for me. I can’t stand raw fish.”

“I’m not eating fucking urchin.” Marlowe crosses his arms obstinately. “I tried it once, and it made me gag. Old aquarium water and snot, that’s what it tastes like.”

“You’re such a wet blanket.” I fix my hat, avoiding the teeth on the brim and slapping the tongue when it tries to slither out.

“When are our hats going to grow wings or tails or whatever?” Talia closes her own menu, and Georgia does her best to flag down the waitress.

“If you store enough magic in them, they’ll get a personality eventually.” Brooks eyes the hats on the womens’ heads. “You do know you have to consecrate them first, right? You can’t just slap a hat on your head.” His hat blinks its big eye at them, but all of the little ones are closed.

“We did consecrate them, right after we woke up this morning. I read over all the material you gave me, and I’m sure that what we did will work.” Georgia frowns, turning to me, like she’s embarrassed but also loath to keep something from me. “We anointed the inside of the hats with … menstrual blood.” I don’t respond, giving her space to continue. I don’t judge her either. We ate cupcakes made with semen instead of egg whites, remember? “Then we whispered our biggest secrets into the hats, and burned our most prized possessions in effigy.”

“Huh.” That’s what Brooks says. If I were sitting next to him, I’d slap his thigh. He sips his water, shaking his head, like Georgia’s magic is oil and his is water, and there’s no mixing or making sense of either.

“And the wands, we carved them from the branches of the Witch’s Tree.” She raises her brows at me, like she wants to hear my opinion.

“You’ve picked up magical theory—or whatever you want to call it—much quicker than I have.” I shrug, unashamed. Georgia’s always had a knack for figuring out simple solutions to complex problems. “I’m proud of you, and I hope both the hats and the wands kick feathery Hag Wytch ass and keep you all safe.”

“ You are going to keep us safe,” she assures me, rapping her knuckles on the table for luck. Knock on wood and all that. Her stomach grumbles and she sighs, standing up to grab the waitress’ elbow, so that we can place our order. Pretty sure the woman would never come back to the table otherwise. Guess our waiter from last night deserves a little more credit.

“Hey, can I touch your wolf ears?” Talia asks excitedly, leaning in toward Tanner. Fernanda shakes her head and puts her face in her hand, like she’s embarrassed by her fellow coven member. She met this girl yesterday, but it’s like they’ve known each other forever.

I get the feeling. I was more than happy to let these men chase me through the woods on day one and fuck me hard, and all I knew about them at the time was that they were dicks. Forming a coven is a big goddamn deal, like an unbreakable promise of eternal friendship.

“Fuck no.” Tanner traces his finger along the brim of his hat, wolf ears flattening in response to her question. He even bares his teeth. “Don’t ever touch another witch’s hat. Even your coven’s hats are off-limits unless they give you express permission.”

To emphasize his point, he takes his hat off and slides it over mine, cocooning them together. There’s something incredibly intimate about the action, and I can’t help but slide my gaze to Marlowe. The first night we met, I tried to touch his hat and he wouldn’t let me.

There’s a new cluster of mushrooms growing upside down from the brim of his hat. He narrows his eyes at me and they morph into bright red roses. He takes the hat off and adds it to the stack atop my head.

My smile is so over-the-top romantic that even he blushes. I lean into Lo’s side as Brooks snorts, and then—never one to be outdone—tosses his own hat onto my growing pile.

It’s a heavy load, all of those monster-leather hats, but I don’t mind.

Georgia takes her seat again, giving me an odd look.

“Got everything ordered. I used to work as a waitress. I can memorize a twelve-top, appetizers, drinks, entrees, and desserts. Never messed up an order once.”

“Can I be you when I grow up?” Talia asks, gazing at Georgia like she hangs the sun and moon. I don’t blame her. Georgia is pretty fucking awesome.

“Don’t you have, like, parents or some shit?” Marlowe asks, downing his entire water glass in one go. Everything about the move excites me. The way his inked arm muscles bunch, suns and moons and stars painted over the surface of his skin. His Adam’s apple. The way his throat moves when he swallows. The muss of his oil-slick hair under the lights.

“My mom is either working or dealing with her loser boyfriend and my younger siblings. She barely notices I’m missing so long as I text her.” Talia doesn’t even sound upset about it, like she’s just spitting facts.

“I have five brothers and sisters, and I’m the middle child. I understand that, how easy it is to go missing in plain sight.” Tacy offers Talia her hand, and the two of them smile at each other like the oldest of friends.

“We should get down to business.” Brooks pauses as our waitress places our drinks on the table and then disappears again. She looks mildly confused and says absolutely nothing to us. Yay cumcakes.

Marlowe pours some sake into a small cup for me, and I toss it back, offering him a flirty smile as thanks. Brooks accepts another small glass from Tanner, allowing him to pour his drink. I love that, the growing bromance between all three of them. When I think about Marlowe giving Tanner a second chance, my heart pumps so quickly that I get dizzy.

“Here’s what I’m thinking.” Brooks lays out the plan: head into the Witchwoods with the extra ingredients from the first gate spell. Do exactly what we did with the zombie, only it’s us on the inside of the gate and my girls following Brooks’ written instructions for their own spell on the outside. The idea of them being so close to the gate and to the Hag makes me nervous, but then, the more witches, the better.

If we close the gate, we can leave the woods so long as we don’t speak (theoretically). If we fail to close the gate, same deal. If we get stuck over there, we can stay in the cottage for as long as we need to. Georgia and the girls will take care of the animals and the house for us if we don’t come back right away.

If we don’t come back at all …

“My most important grimoires are at the house. I’ve left English notes in the margins to make them easier to understand, and I’ve written down what’s most important.” Brooks pushes his ochoko (the little sake cup) back toward Tanner for a refill.

We’re all dressed in hoodies, just like the girls, but Tanner has his sleeves pushed up, corded forearms on display, a variety of scars marking his bronze arms. How can the veins in a man’s wrist make me salivate? And why am I so obsessed with the fine dusting of gold hair on his arms? Being in love is crazy, like a loose shoe tumbling around in a dryer, slamming into the metal walls as it cycles and reminding you with every spin that it’s there.

I can’t think straight.

“So,” Georgia begins, taking a sip of the pinot grigio she ordered. It’s only noon, but when you’re in the midst of magical mayhem, it’s five o’clock somewhere. We all deserve a drink or two or seven. “How long should we wait for you guys to come back before trying something else? Is there another spell we should know that’ll come in handy? I’m just trying to be as prepared as I can be.”

Brooks slides a finger up the side of his water glass, gaze intent on the ice cubes floating in it. Our waitress manages to remember that the order for eight miso soups belongs to us and brings it over, placing salty goodness in front of each of us.

“If you see the Hag Wytch out and about, well … And if more people try to fuck around with that goddamn tree.” He looks up, but not at Georgia.

Brooks turns to study me, and I’m stolen away by his expression. The firm set of his mouth, the beautiful breadth of his shoulders. His fingers, curled into a loose fist on the table. His eyes, like the walls at Fern Canyon. Thick, dark lashes. A generous mouth. Brooks turns back to Georgia just as our food arrives, but he doesn’t bother to keep his voice down. It doesn’t matter.

“If we don’t come back, and the Hag does, you’re all in serious trouble. Protect yourselves first and worry about the world second. If we die, and you die, then everyone else is royally fucked, too. She’ll eat our souls and trap us for the foreseeable future.” Brooks picks up his miso soup, like he didn’t just declare a fate worse than death. He pauses before taking a sip. “But it’ll be fine in the end. We’ll handle it.”

Once again, his confidence is like a hot lick to the throat or a kiss on the edge of my lips, a fleeting brush of sensual romance.

I want to believe him. I do. But I’m still afraid, and that’s okay.

Perseverance in the face of fear, that’s bravery, not lack thereof.

I pick up my own bowl of soup, sip the salty broth, and try to think happy thoughts.

My friends. Brooks. Tanner. Marlowe.

A smile lights my lips, and I keep it there through the rest of lunch and then, on a long walk around the plaza with the people who matter most.

Our beautiful afternoon fades into a starlit evening … dressed in blood and horror.