Chapter 18
Emery
Witches had secrets. Everyone, mortals and paranorms alike, knew that. It was kind of their whole aesthetic, literally what the word occult means.
But for all the shit Hudson didn’t know about his ancestors, whatever gaps had been lost to the ages—or intentionally hidden from him—they didn’t seem the greatest at concealing that knowledge.
If Malik’s question hadn’t been met with a freaking conflagration of our cozy bonfire, the conversation probably would’ve become nothing more than a fireside ghost story. We could’ve written it off as an old folktale, possibly never given it another thought.
Hudson swore he had nothing to do with igniting the fire like that. His magic might have been a little wonky, what with him coming into all the power left behind by his family. The way he said it, though, the darkness in his tone and the anger in his eyes—I knew.
The second Garland curse was real, and Hudson’s ancestors intended to keep it from him.
And selfishly, all I could think was that he wasn’t going to stay. That all of this, wherever it led, meant that Hudson’s burden of taking on his family’s legacy had grown heavier, laden with some deep, ugly secret that was bad enough to try and scare us out of even having a conversation about it.
So, the next day, we were on our way across town to do exactly that.
“Em?” Malik nudged my shoulder from the center of the bench seat of my Impala, squished between me and his brother. “Dude, you passed the restaurant.”
“Huh?” Snapping back to the present, I glanced around, realizing I’d gone two blocks too far on First Street. “Oh, fuck, sorry.” I made a quick right, circling around toward the back lot of Fitzgerald’s Tavern—a quaint little dive tucked behind the small downtown strip on Main.
Somewhere we could talk without prying ears, ghostly or otherwise.
Pulling into the spot next to Hudson’s truck, I hopped out of the car, finding him and Ty hanging out against the brick wall beside the back door.
Both of the guys seemed just as on edge as I felt, Tyler chewing his cheek with his arms crossed over his chest, and Hudson staring off into the distance with a cigarette between his lips.
Hudson hadn’t been smoking much since he came home. When he did, I could smell it on him for days. Other than the night at The Hole, I thought I caught a whiff maybe once while patrolling the property.
I wasn’t sure how often he lit up back in Bay City, but part of me thought he was actually cutting back.
So, I wasn’t about to give him shit this time. I could scent it on him, how stressed he was. His black nail polish had been picked to hell, and I knew he hadn’t slept much at all, even tucked between Ty and me.
That, and I didn’t fancy another round with the wall.
Hudson sighed, blowing out a mouthful of smoke. “Ty already beat you to it, Em.”
Ty rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall toward the Lawsons where they hovered on the sidewalk behind me. “Sorry for wanting to keep you around as long as possible, jerk.”
I huffed a laugh, giving Tyler’s shoulder a squeeze. “Come on. Place is probably empty right about now.”
Ty shot Hudson a playful glare before leading the way inside. Hudson stuck out his tongue, then scraped his cigarette across the wall before flicking it into the smoker’s pole.
Stepping into Fitzgerald’s for the first time often had the effect of making customers wonder if they had opened the wrong door, expecting a restaurant and getting hit in the face with so much maritime paraphernalia that the place could've easily been a museum.
The owner, Mister Logan, was a local history buff, obsessed with everything Lake Superior.
Decorating the walls were copies of fur trade manifestos from the 1700s, dusty newspaper articles about the ports in Marquette following the discovery of iron deposits, ship uniforms in shadowboxes, and even the helm of an old clipper from the 19th century.
The locals mostly avoided the place, given the rants Mister Logan would go on if a customer’s eyes lingered on anything and he happened to notice.
But I loved it. The passion in the man’s eyes when he told the stories that lived in his head. The way he’d pause for dramatic effect and liked to leave you hanging once his tales delved into the unknown.
Because with tales of sailors and shipwrecks, you were always sure to find whispers of ghosts.
Whether the man actually believed in the occult, I couldn’t say.
But stopping by for a meal or a drink and a good legend told by a rare soul in Felcove who didn’t roll their eyes or purse their lips at the notion of the supernatural?
That was joy Hudson, Tyler, and I used to eat up on a somewhat bi-weekly basis.
“Emery!” A joyful chortle came from behind the bar the moment I turned the corner into the dining area.
Mister Logan practically skipped his way to greet us, wearing his usual sweater vest over a button-down.
“And—my word, Tyler! I haven’t seen you in—” The old man’s jaw dropped when Hudson came into view, beaming.
His hand went to his chest. “Oh, Hudson. The whole gang. What a treat.”
“Hey, Mister Logan,” Hudson said with a laugh, pushing through Tyler and me to shake his hand. “Been a while.”
The man took Hudson’s hand in both of his, squeezing. “I’d hoped you would drop by.” His eyes turned sad, crinkling behind a pair of round frames. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be at your grandmother’s service. How are you doing, kiddo?”
“I’m…” Hudson puffed air through his lips, shaking his head before he pulled back, placing a hand on my shoulder, then Ty’s. “I’m okay. I got my guys.” He shot me a smile, then Tyler. “They keep me upright. Mostly.”
Muttering under my breath, I turned my head so only Hudson and Ty could hear. “I prefer you on all fours.”
That got a muffled snort out of Tyler, and Hudson gave me a gentle shove with his shoulder.
Oblivious, Mister Logan grinned, assessing us for a moment before he noticed Malik and Gage lingering in the hall. “Ah, and who have we here?” He reached out, grabbing Gage’s hand with a hearty shake before doing the same to Mal.
“Gage.”
“Malik,” Mal said with a smile. “We’re… buddies of Emery’s from out of town.”
“Leander Logan, and any friend of these troublemakers is a friend of mine.” He held out a hand, gesturing to the back corner of the dining area, an old half-circle wooden booth we always used to occupy. “Make yourselves at home, gents. Do we know what we’re having?”
“Cokes, four burgers and…” I caught Hudson’s eye, and he nodded. “And the tenders.”
Mister Logan smiled at our usual orders, then disappeared as the five of us settled into the booth, Hudson at the center, Ty and I on either side of him, and the Lawsons across from one another.
Malik leaned over the table. “Okay, so, as I was saying before—” He made an exploding gesture with both hands.
“Before my asshole ancestors so rudely interrupted you?” Hudson grumbled, slumping back against the cheap red vinyl seating.
Both Ty and I grabbed one of his thighs beneath the table, squeezing.
“You’re sure they can’t hear us here?” Gage asked, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting some translucent dead witch to pop out and yell boo.
“Hear us?” Hudson shrugged, pursing his lips. “Maybe. Not shit they can do about it this far from the house, though.”
A server brought our drinks, and as they left, I took a quick scan around the restaurant, making certain no one was close enough to eavesdrop.
Not that anyone in Felcove would do a damn thing but make faces and walk away uncomfortably if they heard us talking about witches and werewolves.
However, the only other patrons were sitting near the storefront window, people watching and lost in their own conversations.
“So, what was the nature of this other curse?” I asked, dropping my straw into my cup and taking a sip.
Malik let out a sigh, pursing his lips as he fiddled with his straw wrapper. “No one seems to fully agree on what it did to those it affected.”
“It changed them,” Gage said, his eyes flicking to mine for an instant, then back to the table. “Made them into something strong enough to combat the wolves.”
“One account called them ravagers,” Mal continued, leaning closer toward us. “Bloodthirsty beasts that moved with otherworldly speed. They were fast enough, deadly enough, that they could end a wolf mid-shift in a matter of seconds.”
“Jesus…” I muttered under my breath, glancing between the brothers. “How many did they create?”
“No idea,” Gage said, slouching back in his seat with a shrug. “The Garlands with the wolves on their side made it sound as if they’d had an army. And there’s no record of any ravagers being killed.”
“That’s not true.” Malik shot his brother a look with raised brows. “One of Grandma’s journals mentioned that the Garlands managed to take one of them down, right before the feud ended.”
“Okay, yeah,” Gage waved a hand dismissively. “When all the remaining Garlands on our side banded together and turned it to solid stone as a last resort. But our kind was never able to take one of them out.”
“There couldn’t have been that many of them, then,” Hudson said under his breath, picking at his nail polish and staring daggers at the tabletop.
“What you’re describing—the Garlands working together to turn it to stone—that’s a Habet Maledictuus.
The final step in containing a greater curse.
In order for that to succeed, the others affected would’ve had to be put down first.”
“Here we are.” Mister Logan reappeared, carrying a large tray full of food. “Burger, burger, chicken tenders…” He set a brand new bottle of ketchup beside Hudson’s plate with a wink. “Burger, and burger.” Tucking the tray beneath his arm, he scanned the table. “Anything else, fellas?”
Ty and I shared a look, eyes darting to Hudson’s sullen face before I replied, “All good, Mister Logan. Thanks.”
I took a hearty bite of my burger as the man left, eyes rolling back in my head as the savory juices hit my tongue.
“Fuck, that’s jusht ash good ash I remembur,” Tyler moaned through a mouthful.
Malik and Gage dug in, echoing Ty’s sentiments.
Hudson held a single chicken tender between his fingers, tapping it on his plate and chewing his cheek.
I reached over, making space between his chicken and his fries before drenching the plate in ketchup for him.
“A hunger strike isn’t gonna make your ancestors cough up any new information, warlock. Eat.”
“Don’t tell me,” Hudson grumbled, scooping ketchup onto his tender before shoving half of it in his mouth, scowling as he chewed. His expression softened in moments, and the hangry was averted.
We ate for a few minutes in silence, but werewolves tend to scarf down their food, so Malik, Gage, and I were finished before Tyler and Hudson had even made it halfway.
I pushed my plate back, resting an elbow on the table.
“So either the Garlands were exaggerating the threat, or there was a way to kill these ravagers.”
Malik drained his cup, slurping with his straw. “Or both. Unlike the wolves, they forced this curse on its recipients, so it always made sense that there would be a large number of them.”
“That’s not possible,” Hudson said forcefully, dropping the half-eaten tender back to his plate.
His face flushed, lip curling with a defensive anger.
“A greater curse like that has to be agreed upon when it comes directly from witches. It’s a contract.
If these things were capable of turning others after they were created, like wolves can, then yeah, that would make sense, cutting the witch responsible out of that contract, but…
” He ran a shaking hand down his face, heaving a sigh.
“Sorry… this shit just… doesn’t add up. A blood feud, a whole other fucking curse?
That’s something every Garland should know about. Why would they hide that?”
I reached over, gripping the back of his neck as Ty rubbed slow circles along his shoulder blades. “But they ended it, right?” I gave his neck a gentle squeeze, leaning closer. “The Habet Maledictuus would’ve meant it was over—not your problem anymore.”
“Just because a curse is contained doesn’t mean it isn’t my responsibility any longer,” Hudson sighed, shaking his head.
“That statue is still out there, buried or broken and scattered across the globe. And the curse itself is contained inside it somehow.” He turned, meeting my eyes with a pained expression.
“A curse like that doesn’t just get erased.
What’s left behind is like the scar it leaves on the world, always capable of being reawakened, and…
it’s my responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen. ”
If you choose to accept it.
I couldn’t bring myself to add those words. Not when shirking that burden meant leaving again. I opened my mouth, trying to think of anything to say that might comfort my witch.
Suddenly, Ty shoved against the table, making our plates rattle as he pressed back into the booth. “Oh, fuck!”
My head snapped up, finding his eyes wide and panicked, locked on the front window. I followed his gaze, instantly realizing what had him freaking. Rather, who.
Mister Hargraves Senior stood outside the restaurant, locked in conversation with someone and scowling.
I’d never seen the man looking so irritated, in fact.
His upper lip was twitching, brow furrowed with the glare on his face.
The guy he was talking to seemed wholly unbothered, however, arms crossed over his flannel shirt and speaking as if he had absolutely nothing to fear from William.
Something about the other man felt familiar, that thick neck and those dark eyes nagging at the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite place it. Chalking it up to him having been a customer at the garage, I strained my ears, trying to listen in.
“We’ve already lost too much following your direction, Hargraves,” the man said cooly, muffled and muted by the glass.
“We’ll be on site as agreed upon, but you can get someone else to do your dirty work or the deal’s off.
” He turned on the spot, stalking away and leaving William standing there fuming.
After a moment, Mister Hargraves spun in the other direction, stomping off. I turned back to Tyler to check on him, finding his seat empty. “Ty?”
A pained grunt came from under the table. “Is he gone?”