Chapter 4

Kate

Later that night, after the corpse is safely tucked inside of a tarp within a tarp within a tarp and duct-taped to within an inch of its life, I join Brooks in the living room.

Tanner went out back earlier, and I happened to catch him working with Ebon. He had a glove on his wrist that looked suspiciously like he stole it off the zombie. Guess fair’s fair. It is his dad.

“You know him better,” I say to Brooks, walking barefoot over to the edge of the living room rug. He’s got a mug of what I think is chamomile tea in his hands. That’s … interesting. I would not have pegged Brooks for a tea drinker. “Is Tanner really as unaffected as he pretends to be about his dad?”

Brooks considers the question for a minute. Almost an entire minute.

“If he is upset over his dad, he won’t show it. Because it’s not real yet. I spent more than two years in those woods knowing that time was passing me by.” His hand gets tight around the mug, and he’s looking at the coffee table instead of at me. “I knew it, but it’s an entirely different thing, seeing it. Tanner may not have even processed the idea that his dad is dead.”

I smile softly and prop one hand on my hip.

There it is. The real answer, right there.

“Brooks, he let us spit on his dad’s corpse and bring it back from the dead. He stole the glove off the body, and is laughing with his pet bird and my dog in the backyard. He’s not upset about the man’s death. Other things maybe, but not his death.” I take a few steps closer, wanting to touch Brooks but unsure if we’re ready for the next step yet. Casual, affectionate touching. I want it so bad. “You know, I asked him the same thing about you. Guess what he said. Brooks McDowell. He’s hard as nails. Nothing fazes him. He’s probably in there working out ways to fuck you. ” I’m trying to imitate Tanner’s golden-honey-rasp of a voice, but it just sounds like I have strep throat.

“He did, did he?” Brooks returns, his attention falling back to his drink. He takes the string of the bag and tugs it out, dripping a bit of hot water across his jeans and cursing. “My mother would’ve beat my ass for leaving the kitchen with the tea bag still in the mug.” He sighs and wraps the discarded tea bag in a paper towel. Not exactly the brutish act of an uncouth barbarian. His mother sounds sassy. I think of my grandma and how funny she’d find my life right now. I miss her.

Brooks misses his family; Tanner does not miss his dad. They weren’t answering questions about each other. Subtly, maybe without even meaning to, they gave away their own secrets.

“Were you?” I press, sitting down on the far end of the couch. Brooks glances down at the half a couch cushion that’s empty between us. He takes up one entire square by himself. “Working out ways to fuck me?”

Brooks exhales, and it ends with a soft laugh.

“Is there a way that I haven’t fucked you yet? Tell me, and I’ll do it.” It’s a challenge, but one that I meet head on.

“You haven’t made love to me,” I tell him, and he struggles to control the shift in his expression.

My heart just jumped in my chest, and I’m terrified to see how he’s going to react. It was so much easier when I didn’t care. Even easier when I disliked him. Why is it so hard to talk to him now? Because I care. It’s because I care.

“I haven’t made love to you either,” I reply, studying his handsome face. “I’m going to fix that.” I grab his hand and then test him by seeing if he’ll let me take his tea. Like Marlowe, when I touch him with gentle fingers, Brooks surrenders to me.

I straddle his lap, putting my arms around his neck. He’s hard underneath me, and his mouth, when I kiss it, tastes like the soft herbal sweetness of the tea.

“You’re upset about your family,” I tell him, studying his face. “Especially your sister.”

It’s dead quiet in that room.

I’m moving in very dangerous territory here, bringing up his greatest failure.

He had a little girl that he meant to protect, and he failed. It isn’t his fault, but he failed. He failed. The belief in that is written all over his face. He’s allowing me to really look at him now, all the way down to the deepest, most painful part of him.

Just like I admitted to being lonely. Like Marlowe admitted to being left. Like Tanner, from the very beginning, admitted to being unloved.

Brooks is struggling with feeling lost.

He has no purpose. No sister to protect. No family. No friends. No connection to this time period or this world. Not a single scrap of culture. Not a single person with shared memories. Nobody.

I want to make that right. I want to make him feel grounded instead of the other way around.

I was drifting and sad and listless, and now I’m none of those things.

“You make me look forward to waking up in the morning,” I admit, shifting my hips against him to keep his body hungry for me. “You make me feel like I know what the fuck I’m doing with my day. With my life. It’s nice that you handle things.”

“I told you that you didn’t want to be the leader,” he says gently, mouth in a wry half-smile.

I sigh.

“No, but I told you that a person would need to prove themselves to me. You have. You followed me into the Witchwoods and got me back safely.”

Brooks puts his hands on my hips, squeezing until I gasp and wriggle a little on his lap.

“That’s my couch spot,” Marlowe calls out, and I turn to see him leaning over the upstairs railing. His arms are crossed on the bannister, his gaze turned down toward us. He has his witch hat on along with a loose black t-shirt (he’s stolen my favorite sleeping shirt) and a pair of low-slung sweatpants (he’s stolen my favorite sleeping pants). On his feet, he’s commandeered my favorite pair of black-and white-striped socks. Stix is draped around his neck (so I guess he’s also stolen my favorite cat). “But I’m going to bed, so you can use it. Don’t let fucking Tanner sit anywhere near it.”

Marlowe turns away, the dry bones on his hat clanking.

He slams the bedroom door. I tell myself he slammed it so we’d know we were safe to continue with the very private conversation we were having. But maybe he’s just jealous? The men have been pushing me toward this all along, so I didn’t even account for the idea of jealousy developing.

I can’t ask about it though.

There’s a tension in the air that I don’t dare break.

I turn slowly back to Brooks.

“You’ve planned everything, and it’s gone exactly as you said it would.”

“I’m also the reason you’re all stuck here with me, trying to figure out how to block out that awful fucking place forever.” He doesn’t sound angry, just thoughtful, like he’s curious how I’ll react to that. Because he’s right: if he hadn’t chased his sister into the Witch’s Tree, we wouldn’t be here.

“Brooks, this is exactly the place that I want to be. The only place. Here, in this time, with you.” I keep my gaze on his as he picks me up and turns us, putting me onto my back and leaning over me. He’s got one hand on the coffee table, the other on the back of the couch.

We’re both breathing hard.

“I’m going to give you what you want, Kate.” Brooks moves his hand from the coffee table to my face. His palm settles heavy and hot on my skin, a meeting of rough and soft. A connection. I exhale and close my eyes. “I’m going to fulfill every need you have and then some. You won’t want for a fucking thing.”

I open my eyes, staring back up at him.

“I just want to be worthy of being your North. Not someone that stumbled in randomly, but somebody you’d have chosen for yourselves.” My breath is even heavier now. It sounds like I’m already having sex, and we haven’t even started.

Brooks settles himself over me, bringing his lips down and brushing them across mine.

“You walked into those woods and became a fucking saint for us, Katelynn. We had nothing but short days and long nights, never-ending manual labor, and the fear of being forgotten. You took us out of that. Coming back here after so many years, this world might’ve just been a different sort of hell. The deciding factor, the difference between misery and happiness, was you. ”

He kisses me hard this time, like he doesn’t want me to talk, like he only wants me to listen this time. I allow it, putting my hands on the sides of his neck, stroking over his skin with my thumbs.

We kiss in a quiet house. The sounds around us are thin and few and far between. A light dusting of frog calls from outside. Tanner slipping up the stairs. The dog’s nails clicking across the hallway’s hardwood floor.

The rustle of the couch fabric.

The tick of the grandfather clock.

His breath. My breath. Our breath.

My body is on fire, and I’m glowing. We both are. The ache between my thighs is almost painful. I seek out Brook’s denim-clad thigh, rubbing the crotch of my sweatpants against him. He moans against my mouth when I push my hips higher and bump his erection with my own thigh.

I forget all about the dress.

Brooks’ palm slides under my sweatshirt, slicking across the satin fabric.

He pauses and sits up, pushing my hoodie over my breasts. In our fumbling, my nipples have peaked their way out of the top of the dress. Brooks doesn’t hesitate to slide his thumbs over the matching pair of pink points.

I arch my back, and my shadow self stretches across the floor and up the wall above the fireplace. Her back is just as arched as mine, horns violent and curved.

Brooks has slid his hands to my waist, holding me effortlessly in that position, like we’re dancing. My back is arched, my head hanging back. I’m frozen there with my tits on obvious display. As he looks down at me with hunger, all of the lights shut off, and I gasp. The fire roars a little higher in the fireplace.

I watch as Brooks’ shadow, the thing with antlers, moves forward. It walks like it’s been stalking me for a while, but like it never ran. Only walked. It walked and walked until it caught up to me.

I allow myself to be captured by the forest thing, closing my eyes as Brooks leans forward and pulls me to him at the same time. His mouth is hot on the side of my neck. His teeth are slightly pointed when he scrapes them over my skin.

Instead of biting me, Brooks turns his head, and I open my eyes.

The fire is still blazing, but his shadow has fallen to its knees beside mine. He’s very gentle when he picks me up in silhouette. The real Brooks returns his attention to me.

“You kept this dress on for us?” he asks, and his use of the word us makes me happy. He tucks me close to his chest, kissing down the side of my neck. We’re both glowing again. I’ve been wondering what sets that off. Magic? Sex? Happiness?

“I kept it on for you . Because I was worried about how you’d feel after we visited the cemetery. You said that seeing me in the skimpy dress would help distract you. I want to make it better for you, Brooks. I just want to make you feel good.” I push his shirt up, sliding my fingers underneath.

He curses and gently takes my wrists, pushing me away. His shirt comes off. My pants come off. My hoodie.

Brooks shoves the skirt of my dress up, revealing the very distinct lack of panties underneath.

He stares at the copper-colored hair just barely visible at the seam of my thighs. Brooks puts his hand on my knee, slipping his fingers between my legs. He tugs on my knee to open me up, and I let him.

He was pliant for me earlier. My turn.

Brooks exhales and then looks up at my face.

“Let me return the favor, Kate. I’ll make you feel good, too.” He wraps his arm around my waist and turns me, setting me properly on the couch cushion. Brooks moves my knees apart again, grabs onto my hips, drags my pussy to his mouth.

My hands are in his hair, and the grandfather clock is still softly ticking away.

Brooks, his lips on the inside of my knee. Up my inner thigh. Over my clit. Tongue down my folds. He takes his time, in absolutely no rush to get anywhere. We’re both just enjoying the moment.

I’m the one that tugs him by the hair, drawing him back up to greet me. His mouth tastes like my own body mixed with chamomile tea. It’s oddly comforting and very, very nice.

“I didn’t …” I start, as he kisses me and I fall back. Brooks uses his palm to catch my head before it hits the back of the couch. “… expect this. Not from you.” I sound so breathy, like I’m falling under a spell.

“No?” He’s kissing my neck now, pushing my dress down so that my breasts are completely exposed. The little black number is now scrunched around my waist like a tutu. I’m naked otherwise, and I wish that Brooks wasn’t still wearing pants. “Maybe you just inspire me?”

I don’t have a response for that. He’s rubbing a thumb over my nipple and then sitting up. I push up on my elbows and watch as he unbuttons his jeans. Slides his zipper down.

He’s not wearing any underwear either.

I exhale as he takes the time to get up and remove his jeans completely. He holds out his hand for me, and I let him tug me to my feet. Brooks helps me remove the dress which surprises me. I thought he’d enjoy fucking me with it all bunched up like that.

I understand perfectly when he takes me in his arms and our skin touches in every available spot.

He puts me on the rug next to the coffee table. It’s soft. New. My only splurge after I ended up alone in this house. Something to make it my own, brighten it up.

Brooks is going to have sex with me on that rug.

“Please,” I tell him, kissing the side of his neck, pulling him down to me as he tries to get us situated. “Lay down and let me ride you.”

“Mm, let’s compromise. Let me be on top first, and then we can switch.” He turns his head into my neck, and smiles. The last time we did this, we spent the entire night in the hallway together. That’s a bit of a blur—a lot of mixed emotions in there—but this is better. This night is crystal clear.

“Whatever you want tonight, Brooks. Anything.”

“You challenged me to make love to you,” he says, slotting himself against me. I writhe, lifting my hips up and chasing that friction with his body. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

“I also said I could make love to—”

He enters me, but slowly. Just an inch. Then another.

I grab at his shoulders, thrusting my hips, and that’s it. We’re together and he’s kissing the side of my neck when I arch it. He’s cupping my ass and tugging me close. He’s unbelievably tender when he takes me on the living room floor.

If I give this man a challenge, he meets it.

I like that.

He’s deep inside of me, moving slow, whispering things to me. He sounds like the forest beast, but in a good way. Something comforting but wild. Something feral.

I wrap my legs around him, his arm behind my neck, fingers caught in my long hair.

We’re kissing now, and I’m working my hips against his, a little frantic.

“Shh, Kate. Shh. Settle down.” Brooks puts a firm grip on the back of my neck, massaging my skin with strong fingers and lifting up to look me in the eyes. With our height difference, he has to work hard to keep our faces together, spine curved like a wicked witch. His shadow reflects the shape of him, a crescent moon silhouette over the top of my prone reflection.

We make love in two places at once, with our bodies and with that crackling energy we dare call magic.

“I want to take my time with you,” he says, and that’s enough. I let myself go, a puddle on the floor, a ripple of black shadow that splashes across the room like ink. Somehow, I know that Tanner is watching us from upstairs. Stalking us like he did in the cemetery. No, no, he’s protecting me while I’m with another man.

My eyes tear up and I cling to Brooks, sweaty and shaking under him, so unbelievably grateful for this moment that I can’t breathe properly. He’s a comforting weight above me, somebody I trust enough to spread for and relax for and worry about nothing.

Brooks. Southwoods. The original sin of our entire coven.

“You might not feel like you deserve to be remembered, Brooks, but I couldn’t forget you if I tried,” I whisper, and he makes this sound that’s like a great undoing. He comes apart with me in his arms, and then he does exactly what he said he would.

He moves me to emotional ruin with his body, murmurs things to me in his mentor’s forgotten tongue. His coven sigil glows with green light, and mine is red with his fire. Earth should catch and burn under flames like that, but all he does is warm me up.

My fingers tremble as I run them through his hair and yes, it’s as soft as I remember it being. That swoop of black bang, it’s mine. I tug on it and ask for more, more kissing, more sweet things I don’t understand whispered against my dew-kissed throat.

If Tanner is still watching us, he’s getting a boring show.

Brooks, rolling and rocking against me. Me, starstruck and clinging.

I know I’m falling fast, but I can’t help myself.

I can’t.

I just can’t.

I can’t.

And that’s it. I’m tense and pulling at Brooks, and then I’m boneless and shuddering with a visceral climax. The only sharp thing about me are my nails, digging into Brooks’ massive shoulders. Everything else has gone soft. Soft and liquid and supple and hot.

I have just enough energy to lick the sigil scarred into his chest before my head falls back onto his arm like it’s a pillow. He watches me pant beneath him, smiles, and then kisses the harsh breaths off my lips.

Now that he’s done what he set out to do, Brooks is hard when he fucks me into the floor. There’s no give, and he’s merciless, making me squirm and whimper against his mouth. He comes inside of me, and it only makes me want more of him.

“All night,” he tells me seriously, panting a little as he nips my lower lip. “I’m going to stay up and fuck you all night.”

“Yes,” I tell him, nodding frantically. “But you did promise that I could ride you next.”

He sits up, shameless when he stares down at our joined bodies with jewel-like eyes and a gentle frown. He nearly died in the Witchwoods. He was bleeding to death, and I could’ve lost him. I’m not sure I could survive that.

Now that I’ve got a coven, I’m not sure that I could live without a coven.

Having these men here has become as necessary as breathing.

“I did. And I’m a man of my word.” He drags his hot gaze up my naked body to my face. “But first, I’m going to make some tea and hold you in front of this fire.”

I damn near choke to death when he says that, dropping his body over mine and putting a palm next to my head so that he can stare at me some more.

He’s so fucking intense, it’s unreal.

I pause, my gaze sliding to the side. I have board games stacked in an old wicker basket. On the fireplace mantel, there’s a wooden box with a chess set inside. “Chess?” I ask, looking back at Brooks and smiling. I touch the side of his face, and he narrows his eyes, trying to hide the challenge in his gaze.

He just made love to me, and he still wants to beat me at chess.

I’m going to have to give him hell.

“I’ll make that tea. We’re not going to bed anytime soon.” He stands up and takes me with him, setting me on my feet and handing me my sweatshirt.

We get dressed, but it doesn’t last long.

One cup of tea, and we’re on the floor again. This time, we just push the clothing aside. No patience to take it off. I ride Brooks, but he doesn’t quite let me get the best of him the way he got the best of me. His hands are firm on my hips. His expression is like a contract written in blood.

We belong to each other, and we’re going to prove it—with our bodies. More than that: with our hearts.

All night.

Chess and sex.

It’s one of the best nights of my entire life.

Brooks and I fall asleep in the middle of a match, both of us naturally drifting away until my head is on his shoulder, and his head is on my head. We don’t move from that position until after it gets light outside. He flops onto his back, and I flop onto his chest.

Hours later, I crack my eyes to see Marlowe, still wearing my favorite socks and staring at the fire.

It’s raining outside.

I sit up on top of Brooks, blinking through the murky gray light that peeks through the sheers. Somebody opened the curtains without waking either of us up.

“Is it that kind of day?” I whisper, groggy and disoriented. My mind floods with memories, and my skin heats.

What … what the fuck things did I say last night?

I scramble up and off of Brooks, refusing to look at him as his eyes crack open and he sits up with a yawn. He slumps back into the couch and quirks a private, little half-smile at me. I shiver, possessed by the unclean spirit of that expression.

“What kind of day?” Marlowe asks, turning around. My cat twines around his legs, like she’s his familiar. Ebon lands on my shoulder, and I think that maybe she’s mine. Tanner has Flick. Maybe Brooks will get a familiar, too? The thought makes me smile, whether it’s true or not. I made all that up. I don’t think familiars are a thing.

“The kind of day where the fire never goes out, and you don’t leave the house, and it rains, and you sit around doing literally nothing and feeling really good about it.” I smile at them. “A rainy day. Not the normal kind, but the sort where school is canceled.”

“This innocence, let us protect it,” Marlowe says, rolling his eyes. “Of course we can’t take a rainy day, Kate. We have to make our bed bigger. Last night was so much better without the two of you in it.”

“That is my bed,” I tell him, but he ignores me. I narrow my eyes. “You’re the one who won’t be sleeping in it if you complain.” I exhale and turn to Brooks. His half-smile turns into a full smile. Shit. “We can take a minute to do the bed spell? It won’t affect the spell that closes the gate at all?”

“We have three days where all we can do is wait.” Brooks glances in the direction of the garage.

After we pulled into the driveway last night, we took the zombie into our kitchen (sorry Grandma) and whipped up a witch brew. We used one of Gram’s deep cast-iron pots. It’s not a cauldron, but the iron is more important than the shape. Anyway, we then poured that boiling hot mixture into the dead man’s mouth.

It dribbled all over the floor, but we got enough in to do the trick.

Now, he marinates.

Literally.

Okay, fine, let’s say he … mummifies.

We wait for the magic to work itself into his bones.

“If there are maggots in my garage when this is over, I’m going to be so pissed.” I’m trying to lighten the mood a bit. It’s both a little sexy and a little somber in here. I don’t understand how that can be.

Because we are all people who know how fleeting happiness can be.

“I’ll clean the maggots up, I promise.” Tanner comes down the stairs with wet hair, my dog trotting after him. Looks like he gave the dog a bath, too. Thank God. Flick desperately needed one. Tanner also looks tired, like he really did stay up all night to keep watch. Damn. “He’s my father, after all. My mess to scrub off.”

“You’re a morbid son of a bitch, aren’t you?” I tease him as he stands there with a shirt slung over his shoulder. My eyes track to his body before finding his face. He smiles at me, but I know that he’s not heartless, that he just grieved the idea of a dad long before this one was ever dead.

You have no idea what it feels like to be loved, do you, Eastwoods?

“Of course not, kitten. I’m all sunshine and rainbows. And a true gentleman never lets his wife clean up after her father-in-law’s corpse.” Tanner’s smile is unsightly, and his tattoos writhe over the hard muscle in his chest and arms like they’re trying to escape his steamy skin.

A stray water droplet runs down his belly from his navel, soaking into the fabric of his pants. I try not to stare.

“If you decide it’s too much …” I begin, but Tanner cuts me off with a wave of his hand. It’s quiet enough in here that the ticking of the clock seems loud, the rain pattering against the roof.

“You two have fun last night?” he asks, but the question seems to be directed at Brooks and not me.

“You’d know, wouldn’t you?” Brooks replies, unfolding his huge body from the couch. Marlowe flicks his tongue over one of his canines, watching the pair of them like he expects a fight. “Did you have fun, sitting up there and watching us?” Brooks gestures at the upstairs hall, a taunt if I’ve ever seen one.

“Jerked myself off a couple of times, and bottled every drop. All for you, boss.” Tanner reaches out to give Ebon a stroke on her feathers, and then drops his eyes to mine. “You did good, Kate. You’re doing great. Our jealousy is our problem, not yours.”

I’m not sure how to interpret that.

“Um, thanks?” I hedge, looking in the direction of the kitchen instead of at Brooks or Tanner. It smells like food, but I don’t ever remember Brooks getting up.

“We’re having toaster waffles and bagels. I can make breakfast, too.” Marlowe shrugs and heads that way in my striped socks. “Good call, Kate, buying that new toaster on the way home yesterday. Make sure you keep that gluttonous hat away from this one. I saw it eat a scarf this morning.”

Shit. Hopefully not the nice wool one that Tacy gifted me. Stupid hat.

The table is set nicely, with coffee and juice, plates and silverware. Marlowe opened the cream cheese, got out the peanut butter, reopened the jams. There’s a bagel sticking up from the new toaster. He tugs it out and curses as he burns his fingertips. The bagel ends up on a plate anyway, and that plate ends up in my hands.

“Thank you,” I tell him, blushing again.

We all sit down at the table together, but nobody turns any lights on. It’s just gray in here, with a backdrop of the flickering fire. I like it. With the redwoods outside swaying in the wind, trails of water running from their boughs like waterfalls, it’s almost as pretty as the Witchwoods.

I squint as I notice something strange.

Glowing fish with wings, swimming through the downpour. They look like koi fish, orange and white and black. Witchwoods things in the human world. Witch and human.

But not for much longer.

We’re closing that gate. We’re damning the people on the other side.

I return my attention to my bagel. It’s easier to think about bagels and peanut butter than it is about ethics and hard decisions. Brooks is not a selfish man. Brooks is taking the burden of that horror onto his shoulders.

Detective Gilley? Viv, the K9 handler? If this works, they’re going to be sealed away in the Witchwoods forever. There is no way for me to get them out. None.

They’ve talked, so they can’t walk out.

They don’t have a coven, so they can’t do a spell to get out.

If we close the gate, nobody will ever enter the Witchwoods again.

“Do you think we could reach out to some of the family members of those people we left in the woods?” I take another bite of my bagel and stare at the table. “Give them the choice to save their trapped family member? If they could form a coven—”

“Kate.” Brooks knew this was coming. It’s one of the reasons we made love last night. I needed the anchor of his affection to keep me calm through this. “Even if they did have family that wanted to go in after them”—Brooks gives Marlowe an almost apologetic look before continuing—“we can’t risk it. What if all we’re doing is adding people and they can’t form a coven anyway? Say they did. Say they formed a coven with the same spell that we used. They’d need months.” He turns and glances over his shoulder, like he’s looking right in the direction of the Witch’s Tree, like he knows where it is. “The fear spell is breaking down. There might already be more people inside. Do we risk adding more in an attempt to lose less? Some people are going to die.”

I open my mouth to reply, but he’s right.

I know all of that.

And it doesn’t have to be my decision.

“We’re closing the gate, regardless of who else is in there. We aren’t going to get a lot of chances at this. Eventually, that fucking Hag is going to get out, and we’ll really have a problem.” Brooks is given the second bagel by Marlowe, and all I can think is that we should’ve bought a bigger toaster. Cute.

The third bagel, Marlowe takes for himself because … fuck Tanner, right? I’m going to have to see if I can help them work through that. It’s not just me and three romances keeping this all in check. These men are supposed to have each other’s backs. They’re family now.

“We might fail at it. My understanding of magic is limited, but I’ve been successful in the past.” Brooks puts his bagel down, wipes his hands off, and then leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance this doesn’t work.”

“Then what?” I ask, trying not to let the fear of failing overwhelm me.

“Then we have to use a living person to go through the gate for us?” Tanner suggests, and Brooks drops his chin, nodding. He picks up his bagel again and takes a weary bite.

“Wait. Like … pour hot liquid down their throat and force them into the Witch’s Tree instead of the zombie?” I’m just sitting there, thinking about how fucking awful that would be. God, no. It’s hard to play house with the men when we have this horror show looming. “Shit.” I pause. “And if that doesn’t work?”

Silence.

Marlowe gets the waffles out of the freezer, popping some chocolate chip ones into the toaster. He slumps back into his chair.

“Then we’ll have to do it.” Brooks sighs again, finishing off his bagel and then pouring cups of coffee for me, him, and Tanner. Marlowe already has his iced coffee ready. “We’ll have to go into the woods and cast it ourselves. If we don’t talk, we can still come back.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” I say, and he doesn’t respond. I’m right. He doesn’t know that for sure. It’s his best guess.

“If the Hag gets out, she’ll kill us all. I don’t even know if … well, we probably don’t want to see what would happen if she sang once she got out. Would the whole planet fall asleep?” Brooks drinks his coffee hot and black, and I almost smile when I think about the espresso. It’s too serious of a conversation to smile though.

“What should we tell my friends at breakfast tomorrow?” I ask, wondering if I shouldn’t push them to form a coven. What if we can’t close the gate? I can’t help but feel responsible.

I won the jackpot for myself by going into that tree.

I can’t doom the world because of that.

“Tell them the truth. We have a fifty-fifty chance.” Brooks sits back in his seat, studying me. I wonder how things are going to be different, now that we’ve … romanced each other. “I’m going to give you a list of four sigils today, and I need you to practice them until your fingers bleed.”

“Until my fingers bleed. Yes, sir.” I smile as I look up, and I catch Brooks smiling back. Oh my God. He’s very handsome when he smiles.

“Bed spell first, then sigils.” Marlowe leans down and then pulls my biting cat into his lap. She grabs onto his hand with her teeth, but makes biscuits on his thigh. He looks over at me, and I wonder if this isn’t some sort of unspoken plea for us not to sleep in another room again.

“Did you miss me last night?” I ask. It’s supposed to be a joke.

Marlowe ruins it by getting this almost pained look on his face and running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah,” he says, just like that. Yeah. Longingly. And with great suffering. “Yeah, I did.”

Silence.

I can hear the ticking grandfather clock in the living room, and I blush again.

Another happy blush. Like I said, I’m not embarrassed. Not yet. Wait until Georgia gets a hold of you. Then you’ll be mortified to your very bones.

“Do you have any sage?” Tanner asks me, and I’m surprised that he even knows what sage is. “Incense?” I shake my head, and he sighs. “What sort of witch are you anyway, kitten? Dear Old Dad, he’s a bit … rank, don’t you think?”

“I only smell waffles,” I admit, and they pop up in the toaster with a bright little ding. Marlowe tosses both onto my plate, and I give one to Tanner. Lo licks his lips and then looks purposefully away from me. Tanner, seated in the east like always, is stroking my bare foot with one of his. “Go and check, see if he’s leaking or something.” I look over at him, but he’s just grinning at me. “Or maybe there is no smell, and you just think this is funny?”

“The smell is coming from that goddamn glove. Did you really have to rob your dead dad’s corpse?” Marlowe shoves two more waffles into the toaster and yanks the handle down. He’s as mean with appliances as he is with his dick.

I reach out and place gentle fingers on his hand, causing him to go still.

“Can we cast a spell? To make it smell better in here?”

All three of them stare at me.

“Sure,” Brooks says, standing up from his chair. He takes the second half of his bagel with him, using his other hand to stroke my hair back. “Just as soon as we’re done with the bed spell. After we refresh the fear spell. After we close the gate.”

He leaves through the living room, and we all wait for his footsteps to sound from upstairs.

Marlowe and Tanner both lean in, like they’re looking for gossip.

“What the fuck? Brooks? You got Brooks to simp for you?”

“Where are you learning all this slang?” I ask Marlowe, but then I notice that he’s got his new phone on the table beside him. The screen is on, and I see all sorts of brand-new apps. He’s really embraced his modern lifestyle, hasn’t he? “Don’t spend a lot of time on Reddit. I’ll be able to tell if you do.”

Marlowe ignores me.

“Brooks,” he repeats as Tanner pillows his head in his hand, studying me. “How? Gross, Kate.”

I gape at him as he sits back and refocuses his attention on stroking my pussy. The cat, I mean. He’s stroking the actual cat instead of … well, yeah. Me. I shift in my seat and try to pay attention to my waffles.

“You guys were the ones that said we were all in this together. I didn’t choose this. You all did. So don’t be surprised when it works out exactly the way that you wanted it to.”

“Are you falling in love with him, kitten?” Tanner asks, and it’s the last question in the world that I want to answer—especially from him.

Time to change the subject.

“How does the bed spell work?” I ask, buttering my waffle. I don’t realize how quiet it’s gotten until I look up to see the pair of them staring at me in a completely different way than they were before.

“How the fuck do you think the bed spell works?” Marlowe asks, but it’s Tanner who stands up and hauls me out of my seat, throwing me over his shoulder.

I’ve still got my waffle in my mouth, but between the kitchen and the bed, I forget all about it.