Chapter 23
23
AVA
“ O w.” My groan is raspy and dry as I crack open my eyes.
I don’t know what hurts worse, the light from the giant windows in Ambrose’s living room or the pounding in my head. After the incident with Bram in the alley last night, I got drunk. Not just a casual buzz, but the kind of drunk where things I said and did are very blurry. After the bar closed, Ambrose invited us all to his place for after hours, claiming we couldn’t end the night yet. I have a vague memory of dancing on a table, throwing up in a large potted plant, and crying all over Piper’s shoulder in the bathroom while we took turns telling each other we’re beautiful.
A crick in my neck has me wincing when I turn and take in the bodies littered around the room. Not in a murdery way, but because people passed out wherever. Stellan is sleeping on top of the pool table, clutching a stick like a teddy bear. Odie is up there with him, sleeping with her head to his feet. Roman and Josephine are snuggled up on one of the couches. I’m laying in front of the giant fireplace with a hard, tube-shaped pillow under my neck. No wonder it’s sore as hell.
We had a fire going last night, but it’s long since fizzled out, and there’s a slight breeze sneaking in from the chimney. I shiver and sit up, pulling the blanket around my shoulders.
I don’t see Piper, Ambrose, or Bram anywhere. Maybe they left at some point. Well, not Ambrose. This is his house, after all. Actually, I can see him ditching his own party if he thought there was something more interesting going on somewhere else.
I push to my feet, feeling ancient as my knee pops. I catch a glimpse of myself in a large reflective shield hanging on the wall and cringe. My hair is smushed up on one side and flat on the other. My mascara has flaked and is littering the skin under my eyes. I wipe away the black specks, but it only smears it.
Whatever. I need coffee before I deal with anything else.
I’ve been to Ambrose’s house a few times now. They call it the chateau and it’s a fitting name. His house is a sprawling mansion that sits just inside the town’s border. The exterior is Tudor revival style, and it’s nearly hidden within acres of dense wood. The inside reminds me of mansions from old movies, with dark wooden beams and wood panels. The fireplace I slept in front of is taller than me. Rows of windows are evenly spaced out on the far wall, reaching up to the nearly fourteen-foot ceiling.
It’s ironic, really, because one thing I’ve learned about Ambrose is that he’s basically the most laid-back person I’ve ever met. If anyone won’t care if I rummage around in their kitchen for coffee, it would be him.
Blanket still wrapped around my shoulders, I shuffle into the kitchen that would be a chef’s wet dream. I don’t like to cook, so it doesn’t do anything for me. It isn’t the shiny appliances that catch my attention, though. It’s the set of bare broad shoulders standing in front of a coffee maker. I’m about to run and hide when Bram turns around and locks eyes with me.
All he’s wearing is a pair of low-slung sweats that are doing terrible things to my imagination. His bronze skin belies the fact that it’s the middle of winter. He’s got the kind of muscles that adorn magazines and scream to be photographed in black and white. I don’t even take photos except on my phone, but I’m itching to snap a pic. For artistic reasons, of course.
Then maybe I’d scribble all over his face. We did things last night. Things . He didn’t wipe away my kiss like the last time, but he did pull that mistake bullshit out again.
Bram’s eyes flicker down my body, and I’m suddenly aware of a whole lot of things. I haven’t brushed my teeth, and I yacked in the fica last night. There’s no fixing my bed head, even if I did sleep on the floor. Ambrose rounded up some clothes for me last night, but I’m no waif. The pants are tight across my hips and ass, while also being so long I have to keep flipping the ends to free my feet. Then there’s my boobs, which have been squished into place by a too tight shirt. Oh, and it’s cold, so my nipples are standing at attention. I wrap the blanket tighter around me, but stop short of tossing it over my face.
There’s a hint of a smile on Bram’s face that has me narrowing my eyes, but he speaks before I get a chance to tell him to fuck off.
“Do you want some coffee? Ambrose has some fancy machine, so I can make you a cup.” Bram points to the giant machine that belongs in a cafe. There are levers and knobs that are way beyond the on-off button I’m used to. I watch him, waiting to see which personality I’m going to get. Will he be a dick? Or a funny guy? A stupid martyr who keeps making “mistakes”?
“Uh, yeah. Please.”
The kitchen is completely separate from the rest of the house, probably harkening back to the days when there were servants and shit. I’m sort of surprised Ambrose doesn’t have a staff, actually. There’s a large island with seating on one side and a stove on the other. The refrigerator, sink, and coffeemaker in question are on the back wall, so Bram is turned away from me while he completes a complicated series of steps. The muscles of his shoulders bunch and flex as he moves, and it’s mesmerizing.
Or maybe I’m just that hungover.
“Ava.”
I blink in surprise when Bram looks over his shoulder at me. His gray eyes are curious and his dark hair is messy. He kissed me last night. He dragged me from the bar and pressed me up against the wall and touched me until I came all over his hand. My cheeks heat and I clear my throat. I guess we’re going to pretend nothing happened.
“Huh?” It’s then I realize he’s waiting for me to answer something.
“Milk?” He holds up a little pot of foam and I nod, too focused on his bicep to properly speak. It’s not fair that he’s this fucking hot. Maiden help me, I need to cool the fuck down. Think of totally unsexy things.
Making hot dogs. Ew. Gross.
“Why are you making that face?” Bram brushes back a strand of hair from his face, and there goes my mind in the gutter again.
Public toilet seats. A wrinkly old man peen. Yuck, but still, no thoughts about dicks. My eyes drift down to where Bram’s pants sit very low, a trail of dark hair leading down from his belly button to his…
I touched that dick last night. No! I gulp and have a panicked flurry of thoughts. Gas nozzles. Cream cheese. What the fuck is wrong with me. My mom. His mom. Wait…
“Your mom.”
Bram’s pouring the foamy milk into a large coffee mug, and it overflows as he stares at me.
My brain is not working at full capacity, but somewhere in my spiral of fucking weirdness, something Bram said recently slaps me in the face. It’s been irritating my subconscious since that night, but I couldn’t put my finger on the problem. I’ve only just now realized what has been bothering me.
“What about my mom?”
“You said your mom had a curse.”
Any levity left in Bram disappears in an instant. His gray eyes darken, literally. The shadows seep in at the edges and swirl there. A punch of pain hits me and I gasp. My magic is empathic, but I’ve never felt someone’s emotions this clearly before. Not even Stellan’s, and we’re fucking twins.
“Yes, it killed her.” Bram slides the coffee across the counter to me, and I almost shrink from his look. I roll my shoulders back and then remember I’m free boobing it and hunch back over.
“The Briar Witch made it so when the next generation is born, the curse is transferred to them. How did your mom still have her curse after you were born?”
“That’s not what it says.” Bram picks up the coffee he’s made for himself and glares at me over the top before he takes a sip. How can someone drink angrily?
“Um, yeah. It is. Why do you think all of our parents are no longer cursed.” I wave my hand in the general direction where the others are still sleeping.
“No…that’s…” Bram shakes his head, but his eyes are wild, like he’s sorting through years of information in just a few seconds. “It must be because my dad had a curse.”
“Both of Josephine's parents had a curse. When she was born, their curse was lifted.” My dad is the one who was cursed in our family. Still, when I was born, voila, no more curse. Over the years, I’ve talked about it with Josephine and Piper a lot. The fact that the shear act of having kids was to set them up for a life of pain and disappointment. When my curse first kicked in, I asked my mom why they would have children when they knew they would ultimately be in pain. She recited a line that I know now was straight from my father’s mouth.
“It’s our duty to continue the Vandenberg magical line. Sometimes power comes with sacrifices.”
I remember how hurt I’d been, but also grateful in a conflicted way. But when I think of having kids, I couldn’t give two shits about the Vandenberg name. I think about them suffering a curse worse than mine. There’s no telling how a curse will morph and change from one generation to the next.
Except it didn’t work that way for Bram’s mother. Why? What was different about her curse that kept it from getting passed on.
“That can’t be right.” Bram rounds the counter and stomps out of the kitchen. I scoop up my coffee and scramble after him, trying not to trip over my pants and blanket.
“Where are you going?” I whisper-hiss, aware that most of the house is still asleep.
“Get up.” I wince when Bram shouts. Roman jumps off the couch, throwing his hands up in the air like he’s going to karate chop someone.
“Easy, Cobra Kai.” I snort and take a sip of my coffee, realizing it has chocolate in it. When did he sneak that in? I groan. Fuck, that’s good. Bram glares at me over his shoulder.
“Mmm, it’s good.” I hold up the cup. He rolls his eyes and turns back to his brother.
“Wake your girlfriend up.”
Stellan groans from the pool table and Ambrose nearly trips down the steps wearing a silk floral robe. It’s not belted and floats behind him, giving us a show of a bare chest and a pair of matching silk pants. Odie slides off the pool table, her platinum blonde hair still looking perfect somehow. She’s wearing a pair of her own pajamas that she keeps at Ambrose’s house.
“She’s sleeping.” Roman drags a hand over his face. He’s still in his clothes from last night and looks rumpled and sleepy.
“I’m awake.” Josephine drops a hand on the side of Roman’s leg. “What is it?” She directs that question at Bram.
“Did someone die? Was there an explosion? Oh, you made coffee.” Ambrose walks right past us and heads toward the kitchen, unbothered by whatever caused Bram to lose his shit.
Bram points at Josephine. “Were both your parents cursed?”
Roman swats his brother’s finger away and the shadows around Bram flare out like a sea beast.
“Whoa. Okay.” I hold up a hand, but it’s the one holding my blanket so it’s not really helping.
Stellan rounds the couch, and I shake my head at him. We don’t need to corner Bram like a dangerous animal. Plus, I really don’t want to watch them beat each other up.
Piper wanders in from the hallway, still in her clothes from last night. I wonder where she was sleeping? Not important.
I turn my attention back to Josephine and ignore the group of growling men.
“Jo, Bram and I were just having a nice chat about curses.” That gets everyone’s attention back on me. Okay, not great, but at least we’re not about to tackle Bram. “I mentioned that when a cursed person has a child, their curse transfers to the next generation.” I look around the room. “Right?”
There’s a chorus of “Right,” and then two people, Roman and Bram, who snap out a “No.”
Ambrose is back from his trip to the kitchen and is holding a tiny cup of coffee. His eyes are darting around the room with interest as he flops down in a wingback chair. “This is fascinating.” He throws one leg over the arm of the chair, his robe still open, making him look like a rich, lazy king.
Josephine clears her throat. “Yes. Both my parents had a curse, and when I was born, it transferred to me.”
Roman cocks his head and looks down at her. “That can’t be right.”
“What do you mean?”
Roman glances over at Bram. “His mother still had her curse after he was born.”
Piper sucks in a breath, and even Ambrose looks confused.
“I knew that,” Ambrose says, “but she’s right. Both my parents were cursed, and after I was born, no more curses for them. Yay.” Ambrose holds up his tiny cup and takes a dainty sip.
“That doesn’t make sense.” Stellan flops down on the couch.
“It really doesn’t.” I frown, looking between Bram and Roman. “Your dad was cursed, right?” I direct the question toward Roman, who nods in agreement. “But you were born first, so you should have been the only one with the Blackthorn family curse.”
“I wasn’t a Blackthorn until my mom died.” Bram speaks, the look in his eyes faraway and the dark shadows swarming his aura.
“Take a deep breath, man. Your aura’s about to explode,” Stellan offers up unhelpfully.
“What?” Bram turns to glare at my brother.
I flap my hand around. “Nope, let’s focus.”
Bram slowly inhales, and some of the shadows recede. “My mother was a Crowley. I don’t know why that matters, though.”
There are six founding families in Mystic Hollows, which is a bit of a misnomer. When Mystic Hollows was first settled hundreds of years ago, it was a magical haven. Many witches came to this small town in the upper peninsula to find a home free from fear of being outed as a witch. The six families were just those who had the right combination of wealth and power. They deemed themselves the backbone of this community. That doesn’t mean that there weren’t other magical families living in Mystic Hollows. When the Briar Witch cursed our little town, she cursed all the firstborn witches of any family who was there the night they killed her fated love. The Crowley family is an example of one such family. They used to have a lot of power, but over the years, the name has died out.
Bram’s mother died of her curse. What if Bram dies young too? My heart thumps with an extra hard pulse, and I grip my blanket tighter. No, nope. I’m not going to think about Bram dropping dead from his fucking curse. It’s not like it gives him a weak heart or anything. It’s just slowly snuffing out his humanity. No biggie.
“Wherever you’ve gotten your information from about our curses, you’re wrong. My mother was just as doomed as the rest of us.” Bram’s gaze drifts to Josephine and his brother. “Except the two of you, I guess.”
I give up holding on to my blanket and reach out to touch Bram’s arm with my free hand. Stellan makes a low hum under his breath, and when I look at him, he responds with a raised eyebrow. I roll my eyes, but I’m not blind. Bram’s aura immediately evens out. A warm, fuzzy feeling bubbles up inside me, but I squash it like a bug. “Maybe we need to do a little digging. We still have the grimoires. Last time, we were rushing for answers. We should look through them more carefully. Maybe we can find some answers. There’s something in there the council doesn’t want us to see.”
“What kind of answers? My mother died with her curse. I have one. End of the fucking story.” Bram’s chest expands like he’s growing with his breath. I squeeze his arm.
“It can’t hurt to investigate a little.”
“Digging up secrets is always a bad idea.” His body has shifted and now we’re facing each other. His head is bent, his nose practically touching mine.
“Secrets, secrets are no fun,” I challenge with an arched brow.
Ambrose claps his hands together. “Secrets, secrets hurt someone.”
Bram backs off, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “The grimoires don’t have the answers anyway. We’ve read them cover to cover.”
“How are we going to find out more about our curses? The grimoires didn’t say anything about the curse only sometimes getting passed along to children,” Roman asks.
“I have an idea,” Piper says softly, her pale skin flaming bright red when everyone turns their attention to her.
“What are you thinking?” I step in front of Bram when he looks like he’s going to go off again. Piper’s tougher than she seems, but she doesn’t need to be on the receiving end of Bram’s unnecessary ire.
“Remember the Ashenvale witch who wrote that diary?” Piper asks.
“The one with all the spells for his dick. Yeah.” I nod. A few months back, Morty gave Josephine an old journal that used to belong to one of the original families of Mystic Hollows. Only, his line no longer exists in our town. There are no more Ashenvales that I’ve ever heard of, at least.
“Yes, him. I think we should figure out his first name,” Piper hesitates. “And find his grave.”
“Why? You want to piss on it?” Ambrose chuckles.
That man is one of the reasons we’re all cursed, even centuries later. I wouldn’t mind spitting on the asshole’s grave.
Piper darts a look at Ambrose before focusing on her fingers, which are twisting in her lap. “Actually, I want to raise him from the dead and have a chat with him.”
Ambrose whistles. “It’s always the quiet ones.”