Do You Even Hex, Bro? (Bros and the Witch #1)

Chapter 1 – REGINA

Chapter

One

REGINA

The announcement crackles through busted speakers. I stare at my one-way ticket, crumpled from my grip. My hand won't stop shaking.

I count the bills in my pocket again. Sixty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents. Not enough for groceries, let alone a fresh start.

My magic drains away, circling the bowl.

The glamour I've kept up for three years flickers across my face, and all I can do is hope my long, dark brown hair shields me from any curious onlookers.

When I slip—which happens more often now—the jagged scar spreading out from my left eye shows itself.

A souvenir of trusting the wrong creature.

"Gate closing in two minutes."

Sixty-seven dollars and thirty-five cents. A bus ticket to a strange city. No coven, no home, nothing. This is life after you catch your boyfriend—your coven leader—fucking another witch in your bed.

My duffle digs into my shoulder as I trudge toward Gate 7. The night janitor eyes me. My hand flies to my face. I feel smooth skin, another effect of the glamour, but that means shit. The scar exists whether I feel it or not.

I board just as the driver moves to close the doors. He's burly with thick forearms and a beard that screams bear shifter, but he doesn't have the energy. That's the only reason I don't get right off this bus. He grunts at my ticket, jerks his head toward the back.

The bus sits half-empty. I pick a window seat far from other passengers. My reflection makes me wince. The glamour holds, barely. Under it waits the truth—star-shaped scars splintering across my face, pulling at my eye, warping my lip. The mark of a witch dumb enough to pity a monster.

A monster with friends outside.

Three figures stand in shadows beyond the station lights. Ryan's golden hair catches the streetlight as he skids to a stop on the edge of the platform. Of course Kyle sent him. His right-hand doing the dirty work, as usual. Two lower-ranking coven members flank him, backup for dragging me home.

The engine rumbles under me. Ryan steps forward, then stops. He can't make a scene in public. Not the coven's style.

Our eyes lock through the glass as the bus pulls away. His lips form words I can't hear.

"He'll find you."

I know he will. Only a matter of time. The coven bond runs both ways. It feeds me power but creates a connection. A leash Kyle can follow straight to me.

The bus speeds up, leaving my town—and five years of my life—behind. I should feel relief. Instead, I feel hollow.

And fucking spent.

I close my eyes but see Kyle, bare-assed and thrusting into Rebecca. Rebecca with her perfect body and " don't worry, Gina, she's just from my meditation group ." Rebecca, smirking at me for months behind Kyle's back.

The worst part wasn't catching them. It was his explanation after. I still hear his reasonable, patient tone, like explaining simple math to a child.

"It's sex magic , Regina. This isn't about emotion. It’s just about power. Power for the coven , Regina! You know how these things work."

As if I was crazy for objecting to finding them in our bed, the sheets we'd shared the night before rumpled beneath them.

I lost it then. Five years of swallowing my doubts, accepting his bullshit, ignoring the whispers—it all exploded in one blinding flash. Left our bedroom in splinters. Kyle stood naked in the debris, his perfect face finally showing shock.

"You've always been too fucking emotional," he said, not covering himself. "It's why you'll never reach your full potential."

That was the final straw. Me, the girl who couldn't even cry at her own father's funeral.

Me, the girl who held her tongue after every slight from the rest of the coven so I'd never make Kyle look bad.

Me, the girl who denied her own magic for years because she just wanted, more than anything, to just be fucking normal.

And what was it all for? What the hell is the point of being in control if everyone just pushes and pushes and when you finally reach your breaking point, they call you the same fucking thing anyway?

Tonight, I couldn't take it anymore.

Tonight, I reached my fucking limit.

I walked out, grabbing only emergency cash and essentials. Five years reduced to a half-empty duffle bag.

The memory makes my jaw ache. Pressure builds behind my eyes—magic responding to emotion. But there's barely anything left to respond. My power source is already dwindling, even though I'm technically still in the same town.

That's the bitch of being a siphon.

I don't make magic. I channel it.

For five years, I channeled it from the coven, from Kyle. Without that connection, I'm on fumes. Another day, maybe two, before I'm dry.

Three options, all shit.

Option one? Crawl back to Kyle. Apologize for my "emotional outburst." Take my punishment. Return to being the coven's prized pet siphon, amplifying their spells beyond what any of them could manage alone. Go back to ignoring Kyle's games.

I'd rather get hit by the bus.

Option two. Find another coven, human or otherwise. As a siphon, I'd be welcome anywhere. We're rare, valuable. Any coven would kill to have me. Problem is, most would eventually kill me too. Covens run on politics and power plays. I'd just swap one Kyle for another.

Vampire covens pay well for daylight protection spells, but they're flashy drama queens who always want blood "donations." No thanks. Given enough already. Alchemists need magical talent for their experiments, but they're pretentious assholes who view people as ingredients. Hard pass on that, too.

Option three isn't an option at all.

Shifters.

Just the thought makes me want to fucking puke. My hand twitches toward my face. Nope. Absolutely not. I'd sooner bind to a demon.

Technically, there is a fourth option. My sister. Cadence would take me in without question. Make up her couch, break out wine and ice cream, listen to the whole mess. Then, when I'm most vulnerable, say those four little words:

" I told you so ."

And she had. From day one, she hated Kyle. Called him a red flag factory. Said his coven was like if Whole Foods started a cult.

She wasn't wrong. But I can't face her self-righteous disappointment. Not yet.

The bus hits a pothole, snapping me back. The few passengers don't react, asleep or zoned out. I should sleep too. Haven't really rested in… has it been three days? Since finding them, I've run on anger and spite.

I rest my head against the window, watching darkness blur past. Stormvale is six hours away.

Bigger city, full of supernaturals. Ryan and the others already know where I'm headed, but even Kyle won't have an easy time finding me there.

A magical needle in a haystack. Somewhere to disappear, temporarily.

Somewhere to find a solution that doesn't mean crawling back to Kyle or dealing with my sister right now.

My eyes droop. The road's rhythm pulls me under.

Despite fighting it, sleep takes me.

I'm in the basement of the coven house again.

Dark, lit by protective sigils cut into stone walls. Air thick with blood and fear.

"Regina? What are you doing down here?" Kyle's voice sharp with annoyance—and something else. Worry? Guilt?

I turn but can't see him in the dark. "I heard noises. What's going on, Kyle?"

"Nothing. Nothing that concerns you, anyway. Go back upstairs."

I move deeper toward the sounds, pausing when I hear a low, pained whimpering behind a heavy wooden door.

"Kyle, what's in there?"

"Regina, I won't tell you again. This is coven business. Go back upstairs."

His tone raises my hackles. Five years together, and he still treats me like I'm not really coven, just a tool to use when needed.

"I am the coven," I say, surprising myself. "I'm the Thirteenth. The one who makes everything work. So don't tell me what isn't my business."

I push past him. He grabs my arm hard enough to bruise.

"You don't want to see this."

"Let go of me!"

He doesn't. Instead, his grip tightens and he throws me against the wall.

It's the first time he's ever laid a hand on me, but when I feel the magic prickling around me, forming visible sparks in the air like static in a dry blanket, we both know it will be the last.

We stare at each other. For the first time, I see something new in his eyes. Fear. Not of whatever's behind the door, but of me.

Of what I might do if I see it.

I jerk awake, hand flying to my face. The bus hit another bump. My nightmare isn't fantasy. It's memory. The night that led to the night that changed everything, scarred me inside and out.

I check the bus. No one's watching. Outside, the view has changed. We're passing city outskirts now. Streetlights line the highway, illuminating exit signs.

Stormvale.

Almost there.

I straighten up, wiping sweat from my forehead. My reflection shows the glamour holding, but weaker. If I squint, I can nearly see the scar beneath—a shadow beneath fake perfect skin.

At this rate, I've got a few days max before I can't even hold the visual glamour. I'll have to ration what's left of my energy. As soon as I get somewhere private, and considering I only have enough money for a hostel, that's going to be easier said than done.

On the plus side, rationing my power will make it even more difficult for the coven to track me. Being in a massive city filled with supernaturals and other magic users will help, too.

"Approaching Stormvale Central Station," the driver announces. "Check you have all your belongings before departing. Won't get 'em back for another week at best."

I double-check my duffel for my three changes of clothes, toiletries, my grimoire, essential spell components, and cash.

Everything I own now.

The bus pulls into the station, brakes hissing. It's just past 5 AM, that gray hour when the world hangs between night and day. Perfect for someone who doesn't want to be seen.