Chapter 35
35
brAM
T he sound of the front door slamming momentarily distracts me away from the show I’m watching. I don’t bother looking to see who’s just come inside the house. Roman steps in front of the TV and glares down at me with his hands on his hips.
“You look pathetic.”
I crook my head to see around him. “You’re in my way.”
Roman turns around and looks at the TV, his brow furrowing with puzzled confusion. “What are you watching?”
“None of your damn business.” I pause the show that I started watching at Ava’s house. Seeing two people fall in love and overcome obstacles is fucking comforting, but I don’t need to explain myself to my brother. “I didn’t know you were so judgmental.”
Roman snatches up the remote and turns off the TV with a sigh. “I don’t care what you watch, Bram. But you haven’t been to work in two days. When was the last time you showered?” Romans’s nose wrinkles.
“I showered… recently.” I’m struggling to remember exactly what day it is. My curse is heavy, weighing me down. It’s not just the rage, but the hopelessness and despair that makes it hard to get up off my couch. Roman doesn’t need to hear that.
“Go take a shower and get dressed. We’re going over to Ambrose’s house.”
“I’m not really in the mood for a party.” Everything is raw, like a newly healed injury that causes shivers when you brush your fingers over it. It’s not the usual darkness of my curse turning the world into a haze of anger and despair. The world is too bright, too sharp.
“It’s not a party. Just get dressed. I’ll explain on the way over.”
Pushing off the couch with a groan, I shake out my sleeping arm. Maybe I have been laying here for too long. I drag my ass into the bathroom and go through the motions of showering and getting dressed without turning on my brain. I don’t want to think about anything right now. Not how my mom was cursed, yet so am I. Not about my father sanctioning the burning of my house and taking away the last memories of my mother, and definitely not about Ava and how she deserves so much better than me.
I’m getting dressed when I notice a box on the floor next to the chair. It’s where Ava was sitting, waiting for me the other night. The fact that I must have missed it for days goes to show how much of a dark haze I’ve been in. There’s a slight smokey scent clinging to the box, and it’s nearly completely blackened. I carefully lift it and set it on my dresser. That’s when I recognize it. This is my box of photographs. I thought they were destroyed.
The box is a blackened mess. Why would Ava bring this over? It had to be her. No one else besides me has been in this bedroom. I slowly lift the top off the shoebox, expecting a blob of melted photos, and gasp when I see what’s inside.
They’re perfect. All the photos are just as they were before the fire. Better even. Not even a curled edge or bent corner.
“Ava,” I murmur, knowing she did this. She fixed these memories for me. Saved them.
“Bram,” Roman shouts from the front room. I place the lid back on the box and finish getting ready while my thoughts are consumed by her gesture.
Roman drives us over to the chateau without explaining why. Sitting in silence is better than having him pepper me with questions, but I can’t help but dread what’s to come. I’m not even sure what I’m worried about. It’s not going to Ambrose’s house. There’s something bigger coming. I just don’t know what.
Roman and I walk into the chateau without knocking. Ambrose rarely locks his door and if we knocked and waited for him to answer we’d probably be outside indefinitely.
“Oh good, you’re alive.” Ambrose is sitting in his favorite wingback chair in the massive living room. There’s a fire roaring in the oversized fireplace and the house, despite its size, feels warm and inviting. Ambrose has a book in his lap and an espresso in his hand.
He takes a sip of his coffee and eyes me. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks. I tried.”
Ambrose’s normally sunshiny disposition is nowhere to be found. His mouth is turned down and his stare is too assessing for comfort.
“I’m worried about you.”
I turn toward the fire, giving Ambrose and Roman my back. What is the point of this get-together? If it was just about getting me to shower, I could’ve done that and stayed home.
“Right then, got it,” Ambrose says when I don’t respond, the clink of his cup loud as it hits the saucer. “I did actually have a reason for asking your brother to come here. I had nothing to do with him dragging you along.”
I turn back around to face Ambrose, my eyes falling to the grimoire on his lap.
“What’s up?”
“Well, Piper sent me a very interesting note not long ago. She mentioned that after our conversation with Ashenvale, she had a few questions. She talked to Fitz, who instructed her to look at the grimoire.”
“Blah blah blah. What’s the point of this story?”
Ambrose pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyes. I realize now how worn out he looks. We give him a lot of shit for being a playboy who never takes things seriously, but he’s just as fucked up as the rest of us. When you’re cursed, I don’t know that there’s a way to avoid the damage. Finding out that the only reason we’re still cursed is because of our parents is another level of messed up.
I guess I’ve been too consumed with my own life to pay much attention to anyone else around me.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Ambrose lifts his eyes from the book and grins at me, but it’s not as bright as usual. “I am always alright, my friend. But something is very wrong with this grimoire.”
“What do you mean?” Roman steps to Ambrose’s side and looks down the book as if the answers are laying there on the page for him to read.
“Someone was a very tricky witch. When I did my illusion spell to bring the Briar Witch’s story to life, I didn’t even detect an ounce of magic in these words.” Ambrose taps his finger on the page, sounding annoyed. A few months back, Ambrose used his magic to reveal the last moments of the Briar Witch’s life. Including when she cursed our town.
I join him and Roman and see the book open to the night of her death.
“Someone has altered the memories of this page,” Ambrose says.
“It’s a book. How can someone change the memories? How does it even have memories?” Roman glares down at the pages as if they’ve personally insulted him.
“Actually, the Briar Witch died on the bridge that night. How is her recounting of events even a part of this grimoire?” I’m not sure how that never occurred to me before.
Ambrose snorts. “Magic. Have you forgotten that we have it? She must have imbued the grimoire with the ability to capture her last moments. Or had an actual magical connection to the book to transfer her story. It’s possible. Do the two of you ever read any magic related books?”
I shrug and Roman answers with a defensive “No.”
Ambrose sighs. “The thing is, even with that spell, I feel another layered on top of it. When Briar created that spell, she imbued her words with her magic. She captured the event, so someone like me with illusion magic could take it and turn it into the actual scene. We saw exactly what happened that night, even if she never got a chance to write down a single detail. Which…spoiler alert…she didn’t.” Ambrose runs his hand down the page. His fingers lift from the paper and pull a spider thin web of gossamer magic with it. He stretches it too far from the page and the film snaps back into place.
“Fucking Crone,” Roman mutters.
“Someone came in after her death and altered the words. They messed with the memory and the details, changing the story.”
“Who would do that? It’s not like the coven hid what they did to Briar and her bonded. If they were going to rewrite history, why wouldn’t they try to cover up those actions too?”
“Because they didn’t care if someone saw how powerful they were. What they tried to cover up was their weaknesses.”
“So what did they change?” Roman asks. The fire snaps in the hearth, a log crumbling into glowing ash.
“They changed the curse.” Ambrose gets up and throws another log on the fire, holding the grimoire tucked against his side.
“We already know that Ashenvale altered the curse and how it affects us.”
“No, I mean, when the Briar Witch cursed us the words that she said, the punishment that she laid out for the founding families and their future generations, all of that was a lie.” Ambrose lays the book on a table and points to a spot at the bottom of the page, his eyes glossing over. The words aren’t on the page, but Ambrose is tapping into the memory he showed us all those months ago when we found out about the events that led to the curse.
“I curse you, witches of Mystic Hollows. Every family that values power over love will feel the fiery sting of my pain. All of you that have forsaken the Triad and forgotten the true nature of your magic, you will be punished. Your first-born child will have to live with a horrible curse because of your actions here today. Until you learn what is truly important in this world, this curse will plague you from one generation to the next.” Ambrose uses his illusion magic to project a vision of the Briar Witch on the bridge where she died and cursed us all. He shakes his head, and his gaze clears as if he’s once again joining Roman and I in his living room. “That was all a lie. Actually, no, some of it was a lie. The first half is what she actually said. When she goes into the part about first-borns, that’s all wrong. She never cursed the next generation. She only cursed the people on that bridge. The generational curse came from them being selfish dicks.”
Ashenvale admitted as much in his tomb, but I didn’t quite believe him. He was a lying bag of shit when he was alive. Why would things be different just because he was a wasted pile of bones? But Ambrose’s confirmation only stings more because somehow, my mother and I were both cursed.
“And apparently, the antidote was there in her words all this time. At least, according to Fitz. Love conquers all, right?” Ambrose sounds as convinced as I feel.
“Why didn’t you see this before?” My question comes out more aggressive than I intend.
Ambrose angles his head and levels me with an intense stare. “This is magic that has been attached to this grimoire for hundreds of years. I wasn’t looking for it. It’s basically woven into these pages. Without Piper’s suggestion to check the book for a spell, I still wouldn’t have felt it. Do you feel better now? Any other failings you’d like to point out?”
I flop down on the couch. Once again, I wish I was home, wallowing by myself in self-pity.
“I guess this explains why my mother was so fucking demanding about me having a baby.” Roman grinds his teeth and sits on the couch opposite me. “As if I would ever do the ritual.”
“What does it matter? We all say we aren’t going to have kids or won’t do this ritual to pass on our curses, but then what? Does it change anything? We’re still cursed. The coven council is still in power when they obviously know about all this. We’re bound to the coven. Do we just hold this information close and life goes on like nothing’s happened?”
Except lots of things have happened. Knowing I have to do this ritual to pass along my curse makes it all so much worse. What if Ava had a baby? My baby. Fuck, I can picture her smiling down at a cherubic child, holding its hand as it gets older, giving it so much love.
The image of me at her side every step of the way hits like a freight train. There’s no way I can pass my curse on to an innocent child. Bitter laughter huffs out. None of that can happen. Besides the fact that I’ve pushed her away, again and again. Even if I wanted to be with her, I would be a danger to Ava and any child. My curse isn’t going away. Eventually, I’ll lose even the tiniest tether to humanity. No one deserves to be tied to the monster I’m turning into.
“Knowledge is power. The coven council knows this. That’s why they’ve been keeping secrets all these years. If we out them, we take away that control. Besides, eventually, the curses will rebound onto them.”
“No one cares but us. Those with a curse. Why would the rest of the coven give a shit that the founding families who have run this town for centuries are having in-fighting?” I let my head fall back against the couch, staring up at the ornate crown molding.
“The council cares.” Ambrose’s words are matter of fact.
“So what, you want to call out their lies at the masquerade?” I lift my head to look at the other two when there’s silence for too long. Ambrose and Roman are staring at each other, smiles on their faces.
“It’s not the worst idea.” Ambrose shrugs.
“Just hop up on stage while the musicians are taking a piss break and make an announcement?” Roman grins.
“I still don’t think ninety-five percent of the coven cares. But do whatever you want. Can we leave now?” I’m done. With the coven, with the plots, with the fucking secrets. I push off the couch and make my way to the front door. Roman chases after me, grabbing my arm and stopping me before I walk outside. Ambrose is right there next to him.
“What?” I snap.
“We need to talk about Ava,” Roman says.
“She’s good for you,” Ambrose adds.
“Ava deserves happiness, and that’s not something I can give her.” I haven’t told Roman or Ambrose what’s been going on between the two of us, so I don’t even know why they’re bringing her up. “Besides, she’s just a friend.”
Ambrose cocks his head. “Right. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I can smell it a mile away. You’re so fucking starry-eyed over that woman. Why are you pretending there’s nothing going on between the two of you?”
“Because there isn’t.” At least not anymore. I ended things. Spectacularly. I’ll be lucky if Ava wants to speak to me ever again. Especially after she went into my burned-out shell of a house, found my old childhood photos and restored them. Maiden, Mother, Crone, I’m an asshole.
“We all saw the two of you together. There’s no point in lying.” Roman crosses his arms.
I wrack my brain. Did they actually see the two of us having sex? There’s no way. Although, I did kiss her at the Winter Carnival, and at the club, but those were both away from everyone. Then it registers that’s not what he’s talking about.
“The two of you are drawn to each other. You giggle around her. Giggle.” Roman’s brows lift like he can’t believe it.
“I don’t giggle.”
“When you’re with Ava, you do.” Ambrose leans against the staircase banister, his arms crossed and a smug look on his face.
He’s right. Ava makes everything better. When I see her, I start smiling involuntarily. My curse eases, and the world makes sense in a way it didn’t moments before. When I’m around her, I laugh harder than I have in years. That doesn’t mean it’s meant to be.
“She deserves better.”
Ambrose makes a contemplative sound. “And Josephine probably deserves better than your brother here. Let’s face it, all women deserve better than what we serve up to them over the years. But have you asked her what she wants? Did you give her the option of making her own decision, or did you decide for her, since you know best.” Ambrose holds his fingers up in quotes over the last part.
In Ava’s own words, I tried to Benji her. I didn’t give her a choice. I made the decision all on my own because I thought I was doing the right thing. I was trying to be a good man. As if Ava can’t make her own decisions. My head falls back, and I groan.
Roman slaps my shoulder and nods. “We’re idiots sometimes, but they usually forgive us. We really don’t deserve these women, but we can try to be better.”
“I’m going to need to apologize.” I’m still not sure this is the best idea, but there’s a kernel of hope swelling in my body. Sure, everything is fucked up at the moment, but maybe I can fix one thing in my life.