Chapter 10
10
AVA
“ I really want to see the ice carving. Can I sign up for the ATV race? Oh! Or maybe broom hockey. But first I’m going to need some smores.” Josephine's thirteen-year-old sister Penelope is a bundle of excited energy. She’s holding a flyer that lists all the activities that will be taking place at the Winter Carnival today. The line-up is jam-packed with activities for those who want to compete for bragging rights and tiny trophies.
The majority of the event is being held near the beach of Grand Mystic Resort’s lake. It’s normally sandy but currently covered in packed snow. There are ATV races on another section of the property, and the ice carving competition is being held closer to the main hotel. Down on the beach are booths selling hot chocolate, a variety of sandwiches, and supplies for smores. The chili cook-off was earlier this morning, but another booth has all the entrants lined up. For a ten-dollar donation, you can sample as many as you like.
For the first time, Stellan, Piper, Josephine, her little sister Penelope, and I are attending. I spot several former Lumen coven members moving around through the crowd of people, also enjoying an event that was previously off limits to them.
The weather is decent today. By no means is it nice out, but the temps have risen to double digits. Just barely at eleven degrees, but no wind is slapping us in the face. It’s important to take small wins when you can. I’d put good money on someone with elemental magic having a hand in keeping the wind at bay.
“Oh, there’s your boyfriend.” Penelope sing-songs while poking her sister's side. Josephine wraps her arm around Pen’s shoulder and squeezes her in a tight hug. It’s still jarring to see. For the last ten years, Josephine hasn’t been able to touch another person without feeling pain. Somehow, she and Roman formed a magical bond and broke both of their curses. I’ve never heard of that happening before. Then again, I’m not super well-versed in the history of our magical town.
The stories we were told growing up about the Briar Witch were full of lies. I’d never even heard of a fated bond before Jo and Roman, so what the hell do I know about anything?
The crowd parts for Roman and Bram Blackthorn, who are heading toward us. There’s no question why, it’s because they are stupidly good looking. A lot of people say they could be twins, and I see the similarities in their appearance. I would never confuse the two of them, though. Roman is serious and observant. Bram is dark and dangerous. Although I’ve seen hints of his humor and sometimes cruelty in his personality too.
My phone buzzes. I take it out of my pocket with a sigh.
“Not again,” I grumble.
Roman scoops Josephine up in a hug, as if they weren’t at her place together hours ago. He drops a kiss on her forehead, and she swoons into his arms. Bram’s eyes are locked on my phone. His aura has a playful yellow color to it, almost blocking out the shadows that permanently live there.
“Who’s texting you? Got a hot date?” Bram glances at my phone and snorts when he catches a glimpse of a very hairy chest and man nipple.
Piper leans over and makes a surprised sound. “Are you seeing someone?”
I choke on my own spit. “No. I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been getting pictures of hairy nipples for the last three days. Like, an absurd amount of them.” I delete the message and nearly throw my phone when another pops up in its place. One nip pic is concerning, but the universe must be conspiring against me. As if on cue, my phone buzzes again and another hirsute man’s chest pops up.
Bram chuckles, the sound low and deep. Roman looks at his brother with an expression of shock on his face. I narrow my eyes. “What’s so funny?”
Bram holds up his hands, as if to say, I’m innocent. His aura changes color, betraying him, plus he’s broadcasting his emotions straight toward me. A combination of glee and guilt strikes me in the chest. I shove my phone in his face. “Is this because of you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bram’s laughter bubbles up, and I almost smile because it’s so adorable. But no. I won’t be caught in the trap of forgiving whatever the fuck this is just because Bram is panty-dropping hot when he laughs.
“Oops, I’m being summoned.” He points over my shoulder, and I spin around to see who he’s talking about.
“There’s no one there,” I shout after him, but he’s already halfway down the beach. That asshole. I know this is his fault. I just don’t know how or what he did. He found the walkie-talkie and this is payback. It has to be.
“That’s interesting.” Josephine raises a brow at me.
“Trust me, these nipples are not interesting. They’re horrifying.”
Stellan grabs my phone and cringes at the latest photograph. I swipe it back before he starts sending nipple pictures back in retaliation.
“I’m not talking about the pictures.” Josephine's eyes drift over to Bram. I smirk when I see he’s been caught by Agatha Fitzsimons, or Fitz, as she prefers to be known. Fitz is one of the oldest witches in Mystic Hollows. Prior to our two covens combining into one, Fitz remained unaffiliated with either side. No one knows how old she is exactly, but if I had to guess, I’d say she’s approaching a century. Her long white hair is always captured in a braid, and I’ve never seen her wear anything other than a tracksuit.
Today, she’s wearing a knitted stocking cap that’s so big it flops over to the side, making her look like an elf. She’s bundled up in a knee length puffy coat, but I spot the hint of pink velour pants that disappear into a pair of moon boots. The knitted gloves on her hands appear to be by the same maker as her hat, because they are also too big and flop around with every hand gesture she makes. Fitz walks with a cane that has a dragon carved into the handle. I’m not sure she needs it for anything other than as a weapon.
I can’t tell what they’re talking about from here, but it looks like Bram is getting a lecture. I can’t lie, I think that’s hilarious. It’s my turn to laugh at the miserable look on his face. Serves him right. As if he senses my glee from across the way, he turns his head and glowers at me. That only makes me laugh harder.
The universe, never one to let me enjoy anything for too long, knows exactly how to humble me. My parents show up.
“Stellan.” Our father claps my brother on the back as he booms out his name. Ivan Vandenberg isn’t quite as tall as Stellan, but few match his height at six foot four. He’s barrel chested and has a belly that comes with age and not changing behaviors. My mother looks like a lost Fae creature trailing behind him. I get my sturdiness from my father. I have none of the delicate nature of my mother. She barely scrapes five feet. Her brown hair is a prettier, honey-colored version of mine. Her eyes flick over to me, but flutter away before I can hold her gaze.
Stellan leans down and gives her a peck on the cheek. Neither one of them acknowledges me. It’s been seven days since I last saw them. They haven’t forgotten me yet; I’m just being ignored.
“I see you’re out with all the girls again. Can’t cut those apron strings, can you? Need to find some real men to hang out with.”
“Apron strings implies I’m hanging out with my mother.” Stellan pretends to be confused.
My father surveys our group. His eyes skip right over me, as if I’m not there at all. “I’m sure they all pamper you.”
Roman, who had momentarily run off to speak with one of the staff, slides back in beside Josephine. My father narrows his eyes.
“Ah, problem solved. Some more testosterone in the group. Is that better?” Stellan doesn’t come right out and tell my father to fuck off, but they don’t have a good relationship either. When our parents all but disowned me, they thought Stellan would be a dutiful son and do the same. It chaps my father’s ass that Stellan and I are still close. No matter what they do to try to come between us, it hasn’t worked.
Roman eyes my father with the same suspicion he’s getting. Ivan is part of the Lumen coven council. Or was. Now he’s part of the newly formed Luminara coven council. Technically fucking with him could cause trouble for Roman’s family, or his business, if my father took it personally, which he absolutely would. It’s best to tread lightly when it comes to Ivan Vandenberg.
“Ivan.” Roman tips his head in greeting. The corner of my father’s eye ticks. He doesn’t like that Roman’s referred to him by his first name. He believes in formality, and hierarchy. Roman angles his head and smiles at my mother. “Alice.”
I have no idea how he knows their names. My mother dips her chin, “good afternoon.” She’s perfectly polite. Not a chance anyone could guess she’s my father’s puppet. My mother has trained her entire life to be the perfect spouse. She once told me she was incredible at math and would have loved to go to school to put her talent to good use. Instead, she was made to learn the appropriate settings for dinner parties and shift her focus on shopping for complimentary couples’ evening wear.
“Well, we’ve seen your face.” My father finally acknowledges me. “We can go find our friends now.”
That’s real nice, Dad. I’ve accepted this is our relationship. I really have. And yet his words still sting.
A vine darts up between us and slaps my father across the face. Our circle stumbles back in surprise. Fitz walks into the center of the circle as though we’ve cleared the way for her specifically. Maybe that’s exactly why she did it.
Fitz is an elemental witch with an affinity for plants. She has a garden in her backyard that could rival Versailles. Okay, that’s not true. Versailles is massive, but her backyard is a riot of colors, overflowing with wildflowers, herbs, and vines that twine up trellises and the side of her house. Vegetables produce all year and fruit trees sag with apples, lemons, peaches. It’s like Eden in the middle of Mystic Hollows.
You know she’s powerful because she was able to find a vine beneath the layers of snow and ice. This is part of the reason why you don’t fuck with Fitz.
“Ivan, I see you’re talking out of your asshole again.” Fitz jabs her cane in my father’s direction.
Every witch in Mystic Hollows is afraid of Fitz, at least to some degree. This is a woman who lost all her fucks decades ago and has not had the energy nor inclination to find them. She doesn’t posture or kiss ass like a lot of the magical families that hope to get in the good graces of the elite witches of our town. She’s powerful and old enough that she simply doesn’t care.
I love her.
I’m also terrified of her.
My eyes widen to the size of saucers when her sharp gaze turns on me. “I’m going to need you to take my place.”
“Excuse me?” I clear my suddenly dry throat. Where did all my spit go?
“I think I tore a hammy. I’m going to need you to take my spot in broom hockey.”
This time, I choke on my newly summoned spit. “What?”
I know, and Fitz knows, that she wasn’t about to play broom hockey. There are teenagers who don’t bruise like a peach out there, ready to fall a hundred times. “Oh, I’m not really–”
“Yes, you are,” she cuts me off before I finish.
“No, I’m totally uncoordinated–”
“You’ll be fine. Go. They’re waiting on you.” There’s a gleam in her eye that I can’t determine if it’s evil or delight. With a push to my back, I stumble down to the frozen lake.