Chapter 20

Kate

Flick is barking nonstop at the back door, at the Hag Wytch who’s currently hunched over, wings folded, beak digging at the soft earth under the trees. We stand at the glass doors, sipping coffee and breathing in the cinnamon and maple scent of pumpkin bread.

“You stupid bitch,” Brooks growls out as she turns her head to look at us, human mouth dripping with blood and stained with dirt. She’s chewing up the deer heart we buried in the north with her human teeth. It’s one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever seen. It isn’t helped by the full one-eighty spin of that feathered head or the massive baby blue eyes with the long lashes.

I shudder and turn away, trying to enjoy my coffee. Trying to enjoy this last, quiet moment with my husbands. Trying to do anything but worry about crossing into the Witchwoods.

“It won’t take her long to eat all of those hearts,” I say, sitting down in my usual chair and using a very scrumptious beef liver treat to lure Flick away from the door. His barking is giving my addled brain a bit of a headache.

“Took her an hour to find and dig that one out. We have time.” Brooks turns away from the window next, leaving Tanner and Marlowe to stand guard. Our leader caresses the side of my face with a warm palm that smells a bit like nutmeg and cloves. “Kate, let me worry about semantics, okay? Enjoy your coffee. Enjoy your bread. Take your time getting ready.”

“I might’ve accepted you as the leader of this coven, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry.” I jump a little when Stix leaps up onto the table, arching her back and rubbing against empty air. Closest she ever comes to telling me she wants attention. This cat is crafty. She never reveals her true nature. I give her bum a little scritch before gently encouraging her to leap onto one of the chairs instead.

She hisses at me and swats at my hand before blitzing off into the house. Ebon takes off after her and Flick follows. Cute.

Marlowe slumps into his own chair, stirring his iced coffee with a metal straw. I love how black his eyes are, the kaleidoscope of his dark hair. Feels like I rarely get to see it since we’re always wearing those stubborn hats. Mine has taken to stealing food directly from my hand, and then it gets crumbs in my hair when it swallows it up into God only knows where. Other than the crumbs, it leaves no trace.

Stix returns as quickly as she left, bringing a mouse into the kitchen and dropping its corpse onto the floor. Ah. So that’s where all three of the animals went.

I frown.

Right. We have a mouse problem, just like Tanner said—a Witchwoods mouse problem. That thing has many eyes and two tails and little horns.

“I bet ya they’re getting in through that hole in the attic,” I murmur. “I’ve been meaning to patch it up.”

Marlowe knocks his knuckles on the table and leans in toward me, like he’s annoyed, signature scowl in place.

“You’re supposed to tell us about those things. I’ll mow the lawn. I’ll fix the hole in the attic. Brooks can cook for us. Tanner can, you know, gut deer from the back lot.” He scoffs, but it’s almost … fuck, is that the tiniest bit of affection that I sense? “And you …” Marlowe sits back in his seat, cocky as fuck and licking his whore lips.

I love those whore lips.

“Go ahead, make a joke about how my contribution to the family is my pussy. Let’s hear it.” I wiggle my fingers in a come-on motion and then cup them around my ear, leaning in.

Marlowe crosses his arms, dressed in yet another one of my hoodies and those same pink sweatpants. He fucking loves those, and they look too good on him for me to complain.

“Actually, I was going to say, you can unclog the downstairs toilet, pick up the dog shit in the yard, and change the oil on the truck.” Lo grins.

I snort a laugh, nearly expelling coffee from my nose, and he grins at me.

“First off.” Tanner puts his mug down on the table, moving over to a different window and pushing aside the white-and-red checkered curtains that I hate but can’t bring myself to take down. They’re sun-faded and ugly and not at all my aesthetic, but my grandma picked the fabric herself, sewed them, hung them. Maybe one day they can be moved to a keepsake box or repurposed for a pillow or something. “Fresh venison is delicious.”

Tanner peeks out the window, and I scream.

The Hag’s face is right fucking there, peering in at us with those massive eyes. They’re so beyond creepy, like the most beautiful blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Round and adorable, like the eyes of a young woman who makes daisy chains for fun.

Paired with the wicked curve of a beak instead of a nose, with a human mouth dressed in blood and dirt, a head full of feathers with unnatural rune-like designs … not so cute.

“Ah, fuck off, you grandstanding cunt.” Tanner flips her off as she opens her beak to shriek at him. Brooks is in the process of pouring a fresh cup of coffee when she parts her human lips to scream.

“ Brooks, are you in here with me?”

My skin nearly splits in half, so that my terrified bones can take off running. Holy shit. I …

My attention whips over to Brooks, hot coffee steaming all over the counter. I lunge forward to check his hand, but it seems like Marlowe cooled the liquid before it could burn his skin. I don’t release him though, running my thumb across the back of his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“ Wait, my leg. I don’t know where my leg is! ” The Hag is yelling in a man’s voice now, confusion and pain etched into every word. She seamlessly switches into another voice, so broken that I can’t tell if it’s male or female, young or old. “No, don’t do this! Not to us. Honey, no!”

The Hag Wytch turns away, hopping in the direction of the fence, going east in search of another heart. Fuck.

“I wish I could gut that monster and let my sister’s soul spill out,” Brooks growls, face shifting, ink swirling across his skin like a storm. A dish towel catches on fire, and his shadow throws back its antlered head in a silent howl of rage. I shiver, but I’m not turned-off or afraid. I hurt for him, but shamelessly, I’m also turned-on. “Fuck, the bread.” He kisses my temple as he moves past me to check the oven.

I watch his back as he moves, and even though I can tell he’s trying his best to pretend he’s not affected by those taunts, his entire body is stiff with suppressed rage.

“As I was saying,” Tanner continues as Marlowe purses his lips, his own dark eyes on Brooks. “Who the hell would complain about a kitchen stocked with fresh meat? Second, if we can’t cook up spells to take care of all the crap that needs doing, then I will unclog the toilet, pick up the dog shit, and change the oil on the truck. I’m not letting my wife slave away over that crap.”

I blush, but I’m also annoyed.

“I’m perfectly capable of doing all of those things,” I mumble, returning to my seat. “I did them before you guys arrived, and I could do them all by myself if the need ever arose.”

“It won’t.” This is Brooks again, setting the old ceramic loaf pan on the counter. That, too, belonged to my grandma, and it warms my heart to see it being used properly again. Serving delicious hot food and absorbing happy memories. “We’ll never be separated, so there’s no need for you to do anything alone ever again.” His mouth twitches as he turns around, leaving the bread to cool. I wonder if he could use his magic to do that, too? “We can and will find spells for those things. I’ll finish teaching all of you to read and write my mentor’s language, to write your own magic.”

“Georgia picked it up in about two seconds,” I say, awe in my voice. “Give me a few weeks, and I bet I could catch up.”

“Georgia was given step-by-step baby instructions by yours truly. What I mean is, I want you guys to know the fundamentals, not just the color-by-numbers version that I gave her.” Brooks glances up, past Tanner and out the window for the Hag.

She hasn’t found the second heart yet. Yay for us. Maybe we do have time for jokes and coffee and fresh pumpkin bread with melt-y chocolate chips. Perfect weather for an evening snack like this, with the scent of autumn in the air.

And yeah, in Humboldt County, that’s all it is: a vague, ethereal sense of the seasons changing. We live on the coast, so it’s difficult to tell what time of year it is most days. Nearly all of our trees are evergreens, so the leaves never change. I don’t hate it, but sometimes, fifty-five and cloudy with salty fog gets tiring. We can go weeks with dreary gray weather, and never see the sun.

“I’m looking forward to it,” I tell Brooks, saluting him with my mug as we settle into a comfortable, thoughtful silence. The sipping of coffee. The cutting of moist sweet-spiced bread with ooey-gooey chocolate on top. The eating of said bread.

It takes the Hag another forty-five minutes to locate the next heart, enough time for us to gear up.

Brooks has the spell supplies pre-prepared in one of the leather bags that he brought with him from the Witchwoods. Off come our shirts. On go the leather pants. The boots. The bone necklaces. Our hats. A bit of blood smeared across our lips. The metal masks hanging around our necks.

The Hag Wytch is on the third heart by then—the one in the south which falls in the middle of our front yard.

We stand at the living room window, just in front of the couch, arms crossed as we watch her tear up our lawn.

“This seriously pisses me off. It was looking really nice.” Marlowe tilts his head to one side, a stray daisy on the brim of his hat bobbing with the motion. There was an entire garden on it when we woke up this morning, flowers and mushrooms and a massive toad that turned into dirt when we released it into one of my potted plants.

“What? The lawn?” I ask, turning to face him, my arms crossed to cover my naked breasts. “Don’t worry: I’ll just regrow it when I get back. I have plans. I’m going to use my magic to make all the old ladies in the neighborhood jealous of my rhododendrons.” I grin as I turn back to face the Hag, and the expression melts right off.

“What’s the plan, boss? Hop on the brooms and head straight for the woods?” Tanner glances over at Brooks, the wolf ears on his hat perking with curiosity. “Seems like she’s out for our blood this morning.” He glances back at the window, and there’s a slight shift to his expression that I’m not used to seeing.

Marlowe looks over and spots that expression, and his entire body goes stiff at the sight.

“What?” he snaps, but not like he’s actually angry. I learned pretty quickly that this is just how he is, kind of prickly and bitchy but totally fucking cute, too. “What are you not telling us?”

“I’m not not telling you anything.” Tanner sighs and closes his eyes, taking off his hat so that he can ruffle up his hair with his fingers. Brooks remains silent, thumbs hooked into the waistband of his already too-low pants. “It’s just … you’ve seen her hunt. We can zip out of here on our brooms, but can we outrun her?” Tanner’s silver-blue gaze shifts over to mine. “Have you ever seen an owl hunt?” he asks me, and I give a soft shake of my head.

“I’ve seen the Hag a few times …” I start, but he already knows that.

Tanner sighs and looks back out at the Hag again. She’s turned her head to stare at us, letting out an eerie hoot that gives me goosebumps.

“My worry is that she’s going to pick us off those brooms like it’s nothing.”

The Hag Wytch turns back to her gruesome task, digging out the deer heart from the soft ground. Rather than chew this one up, she tosses it into the air, tilts her head back and swallows it just like she swallowed that poor man outside the crepe restaurant. Her throat undulates like a snake, and she shakes out her feathers, revealing all of those strange runes patterned across the brown and white.

“I’m inclined to agree with you.” Brooks doesn’t sound nervous. Doesn’t look worried the way Tanner does. “But I don’t see a lot of other options. She’s always been unnervingly adept at seeing through our magic, and I still have no clue why she can’t penetrate the old trees or the cottage.” He drops his gaze down, like he’s staring at the sofa, although I know that he’s not really looking at anything. He’s thinking. The giant eye on his hat does the same.

“Why don’t I take off first?” Tanner suggests, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. “Lead her a ways off, give you guys some space to—”

“No.” My voice is as hard as it’s ever been. All three of them turn to stare at me, and I stare right back. My hat shifts, like it’s trying to bare its teeth at them. Since its teeth are all around the brim, they’re basically always bared anyway. I grab onto both sides of the brim to calm it down. “What did I tell you about that shit? This wasn’t part of the plan. I’d have never agreed to it if it were.”

“Plans change, kitten,” Tanner tells me softly, and now I am the one baring my teeth at him.

“Well, they don’t change like this. I’m sorry, but I hate this idea. One person is way easier to pick off than four together. Do you see schools of fish break apart? Or flocks of birds?”

“When a great horned owl swoops its feathery ass down on them, you better bet that they break apart.” Tanner turns to face me, peering around Marlowe’s massive form to make eye contact.

“Okay, fine. They break apart, and what happens? Somebody gets eaten. Fuck no. I’m not letting you get yourself eaten by the Hag, Tanner.” I’ll be as stubborn as I need to about this.

“That’s enough, both of you.” Brooks turns and peels off from the group, opening the front door and moving out onto the porch. The Hag ignores him. There’s nothing she can do with the last heart—the west one—still buried.

She spreads her wings, flaps hard, and ascends into the cloudy sky.

Only … she doesn’t head for the final heart. She takes off in the opposite direction, sticking to the streets so that she doesn’t have to fly higher than the massive redwood trees on either side. Does that mean she’s fully corporeal now? Shit.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Brooks looks confused, cocking his head to the side. All of the small eyeballs on his hat blink in surprise. “Where the fuck is she going?”

He snatches one of the brooms and clomps down the front steps, stalking across the lawn and pausing just outside the barrier of our spell. Tanner joins him, but when I try to follow, Lo grabs my shoulder to keep me back.

“Nope. Not you.” His hand tightens even further when I try to slip out of his grip, and I curse, slapping at his fingers. He ignores me. I could use one of the plants on the front porch to whip him in the balls, but I don’t want to hurt him. He probably has good reason to keep me here.

I sigh and relax, and he releases me immediately.

We watch Brooks and Tanner as they step into the road, staring after the Hag.

This … isn’t ideal. While her being so close to the house was concerning, giving us very little space to take off on the brooms before she gave chase, we do in fact need her to give chase. I am not down for this possible plan of leaving her here while we live alone in the woods. My friends would need to come with us in that case. I won’t budge on that.

Brooks and Tanner step back inside the barrier and ascend the front steps.

“If she’s leaving us, then she’s probably going for your friends next.” Brooks lifts a brow as I gasp and cover my mouth with both hands. He’s right. He’s so fucking right.

I turn and sprint back into the house, snatching my phone off the table to call Georgia.

“I’m here, Kate,” she says by way of answer.

“The Hag is on her way to the Witch’s Tree, or so we think.”

I hear her sigh against the phone. Fernanda and I think Talia are laughing in the background.

“Alright. We’re ready. Let her come. Do whatever it is you need to do.”

“We’ll be there soon,” I promise, and we say our I love you s before we hang up. Today is one of those days where it’s best to just say it as many times as possible. You never know what might go wrong.

“You ready, Kate?” Marlowe hands one of the brooms over to me, and I flush a little as I remember last night. He sees me remembering and grins. “God, the headboard banging I’m going to give you when we get home …”

“Maybe I will be the one giving you a headboard banging?” I lift my brows as I curl my fingers around the dark wood handle of the broom. It simmers with power as I clutch it in a strong grip. “I’ll ride you into oblivion. You won’t even remember your fucking name.”

Marlowe scoffs at me, but he isn’t displeased. His expression is hooded and flirtatious.

“Sweetheart, don’t try to pretend like you’re anything but a pillow princess.”

I’m about to punch him when Brooks hands over one of the cumcakes—and a pair of tweezers.

“Eat up and pluck those lashes.” He leaves me with a salted caramel cumcake on my palm and a frown on my face.

“Are you sure this is going to work? Doesn’t the glamour just make people kind of … ignore us? Won’t that be hard to do if we’re flying through the sky?” I peel the paper down the sides and take a bite, wishing that all I had to do was eat this for the spell to work. At this rate, I’m not going to have any eyelashes left at all.

“It’s not nearly as effective as our invisibility spell, no, but it’ll have to do.” Brooks sounds confident enough for the both of us. I eye the tweezers skeptically and then clutch them in my hand, like I can squeeze out the stinging pain of what I’m supposed to do.

“I wonder if I’ll look good with naked eyelids?” I mumble pitifully. I’m only teasing. I don’t care about my lashes in the face of the Hag Wytch, but it’s nice to pretend that everything is normal.

“Oh, don’t say that, kitten.” Tanner ruffles up my hair before stealing the tweezers from me and making quick work of it. “The average person has hundreds of lashes. You’ll be alright.”

“How do you even know that?” I ask as Brooks shakes his head at us.

“Because I looked it up.” Marlowe wiggles his phone at me. “You’re not the only vain one in the family.”

He turns away and heads for the door as I snatch the tweezers from Tanner, use the microwave door as a mirror, and pluck as fast as I can.

“Don’t forget to ride sidesaddle,” Brooks warns me, and I give him a look. That seems way harder than just straddling the damn broom. He can tell that I don’t believe him, so he just shrugs. “Fine. Try it your way, hon.”

I ignore him, jam the rest of my cumcake (with the lashes, yuck) into my mouth, and get ready for my very first broom ride.

Out the door and off we go.

Four half-naked witches in tattoos, leather pants, and love.

Four witches off to save the world.

“I thought you didn’t like having sex with brooms?” Marlowe calls out to me, sitting sidesaddle with his hands clasped behind his head. The brim of his hat ruffles in the wind as we sail through the air. His shadow is the one holding the broom up, just like with the zombie. Shadow hands clutched around the wooden handles, drawing us smoothly through the sky.

Well, his shadow is smoothly dragging his broom along. Mine is shifting with discomfort because I am shifting with discomfort. I didn’t sit sidesaddle, and the broom is very firmly wedged up against my pussy. Thus, the annoying joke.

I grab onto the end of the broom, hoping that I don’t look nearly as frustrated as I am by my own stubbornness.

Brooks leads the pack while Tanner takes up the rear. Marlowe rides beside me, likely just so he can torment me. Doesn’t he know that I’m already suffering enough?

With a groan, I adjust myself and swing my leg over. I don’t let myself look down, at the fifty or so feet below us. I don’t think about how easy it would be for the broom to plummet to the pavement. It’s my shadow that’s holding it up. My fucking shadow.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as my poor pussy thanks me for not putting the entirety of my body weight on such a sensitive part. Just in time, too, because my phone rings, and I fumble it out of my pocket, nearly dropping it in the process.

It slips from my hands, and my shadow snags it up in two clawed fingers, offering it back and sending my broom topsy-turvy as I groan. I accept the phone, but only because I really need this horny, horned shadow to keep me from turning into a smutty witch pancake on the sidewalk outside Cutten Elementary.

“Are you okay?” I blurt, shouting to compensate for the rush of wind making my braid flap like a kite behind me.

“All good, but why are you yelling?” Georgia sounds concerned, but really, this is awesome. I’m just a tiny bit nervous. Once I get used to the idea of flying via broom, I’ll be thrilled. My right brain is already cooking up ideas, like how I could attach a cute little basket and go grocery shopping with this thing. Oh, oh, oh, the men and I could fly to the farmer’s market and buy things for dinner, fly home, cook together.

“Tell you later. Is the Hag still there?” I ask, phone pressed tight to my ear. My other hand has grown witch claws that I’ve embedded into the wood handle of the broom. Install a basket, a seat belt, and a saddle are all added to my future to-do list.

“Nope. She just left. Headed due north in the direction of Old Town.”

North? Old Town?

Ah. Right back to the Pink Lady? To the Carson Mansion? But why? To finish off the last of Mrs. Madsen’s corpse?

“Thank you. I love you.” We hang up, and I tuck my phone into the small satchel at my hip. “The Hag is headed back toward the Pink Lady,” I shout and even though it’s hard to hear with the wind whistling past, I’m pretty sure that Brooks curses.

We turn like a flock of birds, our inner compasses making it easy to know which way to go. In the past, I’d have been hard-pressed to even guess which direction was north at any given time. Not anymore.

It doesn’t take long to get there; the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, right? And there’s the Hag Wytch, sitting on the highest tower of the Carson Mansion.

She really is eating Mrs. Madsen, holding rotten carrion in her claws and lowering her human mouth down to consume bits of dangling flesh.

We land on the roof of the Pink Lady across the street, standing in a row with our brooms beside us and watching, waiting to see what she’ll do. With the massive lawn that unfolds between the street and the mansion, there’s plenty of space if we need to hop on our brooms and take off toward the Witch’s Tree.

“What is she doing?” I ask, turning to look at Tanner. He’s the bird expert, isn’t he? Not that I think the Hag functions like any real owl. I’m an empathetic person, but climbing inside the head of an ancient forest god is not an easy task.

“Does it matter?” Tanner asks, sounding frustrated as he runs his tongue over his teeth. “She’s here, and I don’t understand why we’re not already in that goddamn tree doing what needs doing. If the Hag Wytch wants to stay out here, then leave her be.”

“No.” I tap the bristles of my broom against the roof of the house, trying hard not to think about our dead employer or the fact that she’s become Hag food in both body and spirit. “I won’t leave that monster out here with my friends.”

“I don’t give a fuck—” Tanner starts, pausing when Marlowe lays his hand on his arm. Tanner stares down at those fingers like he never thought the day would come when West would touch East in such a casual, effortless way.

“Kate is the type of person who would die to save her friends; it’s one of the reasons we fell in love with her.” Marlowe’s voice hitches as his eyes shift over to the Hag across the street. “You won’t be able to talk her out of this.”

“Do I need to?” Tanner retorts, lifting his fancy brow. “I can make her leave. We can make her leave. Let’s live in the Witchwoods and trap the Hag out here. It’s the safer option.”

“Is it?” This is Brooks, still watching the Hag like he doesn’t dare turn away for a single second. Lo drops his hand, wetting his lips like he wants to say something else, but isn’t sure that he should. “What if she’s stuck in the birth canal of that gate, propping it open? What if she isn’t fully present in this world and she splits in two when we close it? What if we take Kate back to those woods and she gets killed by something else?”

Brooks whirls around and there it is, every lesson he tried to teach us last night.

This is his decision to make, not ours. Marlowe and I can share our opinions. Tanner can give advice. Ultimately, what Brooks says goes. The eyes on his hat slither across the cone, so that he can stare at the Hag while looking at us.

“I know you’re worried,” Brooks tells us, his attention fixed on Tanner. “I know you think that’s the safest option, but I disagree. Everything in the Witchwoods tries to kill you. Everything. It isn’t just the Hag.”

Tanner grits his teeth, squeezing his free hand into a fist and clutching his broom with the other. The veins in his neck stand out with the strain, but with a forceful exhale, he calms himself down.

My hat licks my hair, like it’s trying to gobble up my anxiety. Marlowe folds his arms and looks between the two men like he has no idea what to do, like he’s as happy as I am that he doesn’t have to make the final choice.

Tanner steps up beside Brooks, hands on his hips. They’re both standing terrifyingly close to the edge, but neither seems afraid in the least of falling off.

“Fuck.” Tanner closes his eyes, face tight, scar pulling. “Fuck. You’re right. I know that. I know.”

“Then there’s no better time than the present.” Brooks turns back to me and Marlowe. “Follow me and don’t do anything other than what I do. No heroics. No deviations.”

“Yes, sir.” I mean what I say, and Brooks offers a soft, gentle smile in response.

“Good girl.” He lifts a brow at Marlowe who only barks a disbelieving laugh.

“You want me to say it again ?” Lo sighs and sags a little, but he won’t fight it. He knows. Last night was a good reminder of what we should and shouldn’t be doing in a situation this dangerous. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.” Brooks winks and then the smile slides right off his face. He turns and tosses his broom ahead of him, his antlered shadow swooping down to grab hold of it. The broom floats there in the air waiting for him, and he grabs on with both hands, swinging up and onto the wood like it’s a horse’s back.

“Go on, be your clumsy self. I’ll catch you if you fall.” Marlowe is teasing me, but he’s also offering comfort in the guise of a joke. Thanks, Lo.

I nod and position my broom beside me, imagining my silhouette rising up behind me, ebony hands gripping the handle. She does exactly that, attached to my side like she’s stitched to my skin, and when I let go of my broom, it stays right where it is.

Taking the advice of the men, I sit sidesaddle straight-off this time, and into the dark Humboldt sky I go. Marlowe and Tanner are right behind me, following close as we gain altitude and join Brooks. He’s already circling the Hag from above, like a hawk or … an owl.

She ignores us, finishing her meal and then licking her human lips with a pink tongue. The Hag lifts her left wing, turns her head, and begins to preen her feathers.

Brooks flicks his fingers at her, sending flames across her body. She whips her head around and hisses at him from both mouths, but she doesn’t rise from her perch. Tanner swings his arm and sends a gust of wind her way next, hard enough that shingles are peeled over the roof. They go flying, but the Hag stays right where she is.

If she won’t willingly go back to the woods, can we drag her back there?

I draw the vines of a purple wisteria up the green walls of the mansion, wrapping them around the Hag’s talons and then pulling them taut.

Brooks told me not to do anything that he didn’t do, but he’s using his directional magic, so I figure it’s okay. Nobody stops me as I draw back, bringing the vines with me.

The Hag Wytch overbalances with a scream that cuts me right in half.

“ Not today, I swear to God that I’ll be a better—” It’s the voice of a young woman, terror-stricken and finishing in a gurgle that ends the sentence before the last word comes out. The Hag tumbles down the curved wall of the tower before finally spreading her wings.

She catches the breeze, lowering her beak to tear the vines off as Marlowe rains icy shards down on her, knocking her sideways before she manages to right herself. She screams at us again, something mindless and animalistic, and then she’s coming straight for me.

Brooks whips past, grabbing onto my broom as he goes and dragging it with him.

“ Brooks, are you in here with me?” the Hag calls from behind us, and my spine prickles with the heat of pursuit. There’s no feeling in the world that can match what it’s like to be followed, to be hunted. The heavy flap of the Hag’s wings is broken only by the last words of her victims. “Mom! Mom, please!” A man’s voice this time.

I don’t look back, pushing myself to keep up with Brooks so that he doesn’t have to hold onto my broom. I can feel Tanner and Marlowe behind us, matching our pace.

We’re faster than the Hag, but we keep a measured distance, far enough away that she can’t pick us off our brooms, close enough that she doesn’t lose interest in her prey.

Eureka zips past beneath us, an odd mix of redwood trees and pretty Victorians, rundown neighborhoods, and fancy new buildings that don’t fit in with either.

We head due south to the McKay Community forest, passing Georgia’s parents’ place. Slipping by our own house.

The four of us dive down, like birds of prey homing in on a mouse, and we hit the dirt hard. The men all manage to keep their feet, but I stumble, falling forward and slamming into Brooks.

I catch sight of Georgia and the girls, poised at the four cardinal points around the trunk, but there’s no time for us to talk. If the Hag Wytch doesn’t chase us inside, they’ve got the protection spell and the hag stones to hold her off.

Brooks wraps an arm around my waist, dragging me toward the Witch’s Tree and shoving my hand into the hole before I can even catch my breath.

My broom and I are sent headfirst into the mouth of the tree, swallowed down the throat of whatever the hell it is, and spit out on the other side.

Dizzy and disoriented, I fall right into a pile of corpses.