Chapter 41 Crushin’ Candy
Chapter Fourty One
Crushin’ Candy
— Sunday —
The day is hot, the kind of humid stickiness that makes the air feel like soup and everything moves at half-speed. I’m in the packhouse kitchen, arranging a tray of sandwiches and setting out pitchers of sweet tea and lemonade. Granny always said you should greet guests with food, no matter who they were. Coven of witches or not, these folks drove a long way to get here, and hospitality’s a hard habit to break.
The crunch of gravel under tires pulls my attention to the window over the sink. A line of cars rolls up the driveway—more than I expected. Four cars and one van that looks like it survived the apocalypse by sheer stubbornness. The roof’s rusted, the door panels don’t match, and the muffler’s hanging on by a prayer and a twist of wire. Louisiana plates flash past, and I mutter, “The witches have arrived.”
Outside, Tomas and Shadow are already circling the vehicles, looking like they’re ready to bust a smuggling ring. I sigh, wiping my hands on a towel. Silas’ bullshit has really been raining on my independent-woman parade. It’s bad enough I’ve got one mate whose shadow I can’t escape—literally—but now Tomas is playing bodyguard at every turn.
Do I sound ungrateful? I’m not, I swear. But between you and me, losing my independence has been harder than I ever imagined.
Balancing the tray on one hand, I push open the kitchen door and step onto the wraparound porch. The heat hits me like a wall of wet bricks. I set the tray on a small table near the railing, my makeshift refreshment station.
Out in the driveway, the witches gather under the wide shade of the oak tree, their movements deliberate, like they’re measuring the place up for size. There are five of them, each one distinct, like characters stepping out of a storybook.
A tall woman with long braids leans against the tree, a cigarette dangling between her fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the heat. A lanky guy with a shaved head wrestles a bag out of one of the cars. The others linger near the van, their voices a low murmur, just out of earshot.
The woman with the braids crushes her cigarette under her heel and straightens up. Her gaze locks onto me, sharp and assessing, but her mouth curves into a lazy half-smile. She raises a hand in a half-wave. “You must be Sunday,” she calls, her voice smooth and easy, like she’s been here a hundred times before.
“Sure am,” I reply, pasting on a polite smile. I nod toward the drinks on the porch. “There’s tea and lemonade if y’all are thirsty.”
Jinx introduces herself with a sharp smile and an easy handshake. There’s something undeniably spellbinding about her—mid-thirties, maybe early forties, but with a perpetuity that doesn’t quite fit. Her presence hums with a subtle intensity, like a wire strung too tight.
I let my gift flare, and her bubble blooms into view—massive and pulsing with a faint, shifting green. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Not the steady hum of mages, the layered complexity of demons, or the raw, primal energy of shifters. If I had to pin her down, she’s got an edge of Cady’s strange, unnameable magic.
I wish Colt were here to compare notes. But with things the way they are, I’m not counting on seeing him anytime soon. My mates’ anger isn’t something you just walk off, and Colt? He’s neck-deep in it for letting Silas get to me. As for me, well… I’m treading water in the deepest end of that pool.
Before I can sink any further into that thought, Jinx’s raspy voice snaps me back. “Hospitality. Haven’t seen much of that lately.” She saunters forward, her boots kicking up lazy puffs of dust. “Thanks, but let’s get started before this heat makes us all stupid.”
Behind her, Tomas finishes his not-so-subtle inspection of the vehicles, their passengers, and every bag in sight. Jinx watches with an amused smirk, her eyes glinting when he sneezes—more from irritation than dust. His movements are a little stiff, and a quick sweep of my gift confirms it: Tomas’ wolf is bristling, on edge.
He steps in front of me, a wall of contained power, herding me behind him like an overeager sheepdog.
Shadow glides up beside him, silent as dusk. Where Tomas radiates solid, unyielding strength, Shadow’s presence shivers with something sharper, fluid and coiled tight under their skin.
Jinx’s grin widens as she watches them, eyes flicking over Tomas with the faintest tilt of her head, as if she’s amused by his protective stance. Then her gaze shifts to Shadow, and her brow raises just a little—curiosity, maybe recognition.
“Well, ain’t this a picture,” she drawls, her voice lazy but threaded with steel. “The big bad wolf and his shadow. Guess you don’t trust little ol’ me, huh?”
Tomas doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is assessing. “We’ve had some… trouble recently,” he says carefully, his words measured like he’s weighing each one.
“Trouble?” Jinx echoes, one brow arched high. She glances at me, eyes gleaming with curiosity. “I think I’ve heard about your kind of trouble. Word travels fast in our world.”
Before I can respond, a shorter woman steps up beside Jinx, her arms filled with rolls of fabric. “We’ve got everything ready to start,” she says, her tone clipped but efficient. Her glasses slip down her nose, and she nudges them back up with her wrist, never breaking stride.
Jinx nods. “Thanks, Ava.”
Ava’s gaze lingers on me for a moment. She gives a polite nod before turning back to the others, her movements brisk as she hands off supplies.
“She’s the brains,” Jinx says, jerking her chin toward Ava. “Keeps us all in line.”
“Someone’s gotta do it,” Ava mutters, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Jinx holds my gaze for a beat, like she’s testing the waters, then gives a small nod, satisfied. She spins on her heel, clapping her hands once. “Alright, y’all. Enough standing around. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
The witches fan out, each one moving with practiced purpose. Ava pulls a bulky bag from the van, her brow furrowed in concentration. The lanky guy with the shaved head hefts an armful of iron spikes, his steps sure and steady. Another witch murmurs under their breath, their fingers brushing the pouch tied to their belt, magic whispering through the air.
Jinx strides closer, her gaze moving between Tomas and me. “So, what’s the plan, Sunshine?” she drawls, her tone almost playful. “You want the house and yard covered, or are we talking the whole spread?”
I step out from behind Tomas, meeting her eyes head-on. “The fields along the road,” I say firmly. “And the outbuildings. The barn, the shed—anywhere someone might try to sneak in.”
Jinx whistles low, her eyes narrowing as she scans the treeline, calculating. “That’s a lotta ground, darlin’. You’re lookin’ at doubling your cost, maybe more.”
Tomas doesn’t hesitate. His voice is resolute. “This house is the core of our pack. Whatever it takes.”
Jinx gives Tomas a long, searching look before shrugging. “Alright, it’s your wallet. But if you want it all done today, Sunshine here’s gonna have to lend a hand.”
I offer a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of her neck. “I have no earthly idea how to help, but I’m willing to learn.”
Jinx’s brow furrows in confusion. “…Oh, you’re untrained?”
I nod,“I’ve only very recently become… magical.”
“Well, y’got plenty of juice, let’s get you set up.”
Ava kneels just inside the oak tree’s shade, setting down a large canvas bag with a practiced ease that speaks of ritual repetition. One by one, she pulls out a small hammer, a bundle of thick iron spikes, and several small pouches tied with red string. Each item is arranged with the precision of a puzzle—or maybe a battlefield.
Jinx crouches beside her, plucking one of the pouches and giving it a light shake. A soft clink comes from within. “Black salt,” she says matter-of-factly. “Good for keepin’ nasty things out. This’ll go along the property’s perimeter—makes a line they can’t cross without feelin’ like their skin’s on fire.”
She tosses the pouch to Tomas. He catches it midair, his brow furrowing as he inspects it, the tension of his wolf still bristling just beneath his skin.
“Relax, Big Bad,” Jinx smirks, her eyes gleaming. “It doesn’t bite.”
Tomas steps back, just enough to keep the salt at arm’s length.
Next, Jinx picks up one of the iron spikes, holding it up so the metal glints dully in the sun. “These are for anchoring the wards. Iron’s a universal ‘nope’ for bad energy—fae, spirits, elementals, you name it. But I don’t stop there.” She flips the spike, letting it rest balanced across her palms. “These babies are infused with silver filings, forged right into the metal. Anything that doesn’t mind iron too much—like vampires and shifters—won’t burn, but they sure as hell won’t feel welcome.”
She taps the spike lightly against her hand, a metallic clink punctuating her words. “We’ll drive these into the ground at each corner of the house and outbuildings. They’re the bones of the ward, holdin’ everything together.”
She turns to me, her eyes sharp and knowing, before tossing the spike into my hands. It lands heavy in my palm, grounding, solid.
Tomas stiffens, his nose flaring, eyes flashing gold. He takes a cautious step back, his wolf clearly not thrilled with the mingling scent of silver and iron.
“You’ll want to hold onto that,” Jinx says, already reaching for the next tool—a stick of white chalk. “This here’s Cascarilla. Made from eggshells. Sacred, purifying, protective.” She twirls the chalk between her fingers before holding it up for emphasis. “We’ll mark symbols on all the entry points—doors, windows, cellar hatches. Anywhere someone might try to sneak in.”
Her eyes meet mine, the easy humor fading just a notch. “These lines? They’ll keep the bad things out. But you still gotta be ready, Sunshine. Wards buy you time. They don’t win you the war.”
I nod, running my thumb over the chalk’s smooth surface, its coolness grounding me.
Jinx picks up a small jar filled with amber liquid, herbs and flower petals swirling lazily inside. She gives it a gentle shake, the contents catching the light like trapped fireflies. “This here’s an anointing oil,” she says, her voice low and sure. “Cypress needles, Spanish moss, and a touch of moonflower essence. Picked and brewed myself. Strong stuff. We’ll use it to seal the symbols, lockin’ the magic into the house and land.”
Beside me, Tomas shifts slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “You do this for every house you ward?”
Jinx flashes a grin, all teeth and edges. “Depends on the house. Some just need a little salt and good intentions. Yours?” She looks toward the packhouse, her eyes narrowing. “Feels like it’s been through the wringer. This place has stories—and not all of ’em are friendly.”
A cold twist coils in my stomach, but I push it down, focusing on the tools in my hands. “What do you need me to do?”
Jinx pulls another stick of chalk from her bag, twirling it between her fingers. “Alright, Sunshine, let’s see what you’ve got.”
She strides toward the front door, and I follow, the heat pressing down on my shoulders like a weighted blanket. Around us, the coven is already in motion—black salt sprinkling along the property’s edge, iron spikes ringing with each hammer strike, chants whispering through the air like a low breeze.
Tomas lingers behind, a silent sentinel, his watchful gaze a constant presence. Shadow moves in and out of sight, their fluid grace blending with the work Ava and the others are doing along the perimeter.
Jinx kneels by the doorframe, pressing the chalk to the wood with a confident flick of her wrist. “This is where we start,” she says. “Simple symbols first—anchors for the energy. Then we’ll build it up.”
I crouch beside her, the chalk clutched tight, my palms clammy. “And what exactly am I drawing? Just… random lines?”
Jinx snorts, the sound dry. “No, girl. Symbols have meaning. Intention.” She draws a looping sigil with a few quick strokes, the lines confident, flowing. It looks ancient and new all at once. “This one’s for protection. Keeps what’s inside safe.”
She lifts her head, her sharp eyes locking onto mine. “Your turn.”
I glance at the door, then back at her. “What if I mess it up?”
Her gaze softens, just a fraction. “Then you fix it. Magic’s not about bein’ perfect. It’s about will. You got plenty of that, don’t ya?”
I swallow hard and press the chalk to the wood. My lines are shaky, uneven, but Jinx doesn’t say a word. She just watches, her eyes tracking every movement, her presence a steadying weight.
When I finish, I sit back on my heels, staring at the symbol with a mix of pride and doubt. “That… doesn’t look right.”
“It’ll do,” she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Now seal it.”
I blink. “Seal it?”
She unscrews the jar of oil, holding it out to me. “Dip your fingers. Trace the lines. Feel the magic, let it stick.”
I hesitate for just a heartbeat, then dip my fingers into the oil. It’s cool and slick, its scent earthy and wild—moss-covered trees, moonlit nights, whispers through leaves. Carefully, I trace over the chalk lines, my fingers trembling.
When I pull back, the symbol hums faintly, alive with a quiet energy that prickles against my skin. “Did I… do that?”
Jinx chuckles, rising to her feet and brushing dust from her knees. “You sure did. Not bad for a first-timer.” She claps me on the shoulder, her grin wide and approving. “Don’t worry, Sunshine. You’ll get the hang of it.”
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of chalk dust, whispered chants, and the steady clang of iron spikes sinking into the earth. Jinx keeps me busy, guiding me through symbols on every door and window, her instructions sharp but patient.
Shadow helps Ava along the perimeter, the black salt shimmering faintly in the sunlight. Tomas stays close, his wolf a low growl beneath his calm exterior, though he keeps his thoughts to himself.
By the time we reach the barn, I feel wrung out, the strain not just physical but magical. Each line of chalk, each brush of oil, pulls something deep from within me. My fingers fumble as the chalk slips in my grasp, my breath coming faster.
Jinx catches my hesitation, one brow lifting. “You holdin’ up, okay?”
I nod, forcing a breath. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”
She studies me for a beat, her eyes sharp but not unkind, then grins. “You’re tougher than you look. But magic’s a hungry thing. Don’t let it eat you up.”
I straighten, rolling the chalk between my palms, the weight of the work settling in my bones. “I won’t.”
“Good.” Jinx jerks her chin toward the door. “Let’s finish this up. We’ve still got stories to change.”
I nod, gritting my teeth as I press the chalk to the barn door. The sigil comes out shaky at first, but I push through, tracing each looping line with deliberate care. Sweat beads on my forehead, and my arms feel like lead.
Jinx watches, her frown deepening. “You aren’t grounding enough. That’s why you’re gettin’ tired.”
Before I can respond, the low rumble of an engine cuts through the humid air. I turn to see Ben’s truck crawling up the driveway, Mishka leaning out the passenger window, his face pale and pinched. The truck shudders to a stop near the porch, and Ben practically kicks the door open, his scowl thunderous.
Jinx’s smirk returns just in time for Ben to storm up, boots kicking up little puffs of dust. “The wards almost knocked us out! Who’s the psycho who set them up?” he demands, his voice carrying an edge that’s thoroughly un-Ben-like.
“That’d be me,” Jinx says, unfazed, her lips quirking. “Nice to meet ya.”
Ben glares, nostrils flaring, but before he can spit out another word, Mishka stumbles out of the truck. He grips the doorframe for support, his breath coming in shallow pants. His skin is too pale, eyes glassy.
I start forward, but Shadow’s already there, scooping Mishka up in a fluid motion, their voice low and soothing. “Come on, kid. Lemonade and cookies. You’ll feel better in no time.” Little Sumi trots at their heels, nose to the ground, his tail wagging in uncertain little sweeps.
The smirk fades from Jinx’s face, her sharp eyes narrowing as she tracks Mishka’s unsteady steps. She mutters a curse under her breath and turns to me, her voice softer now. “Didn’t mean to squeeze the cub. We need to blood-lock the wards.”
“Blood-lock?” I echo, frowning.
Jinx nods, already pulling a small, empty vial from her belt pouch. “Locks the wards to individuals, families, covens. Means they’ll recognize you and welcome you home.”
Tomas steps forward, his face tightening. “You need blood for that?”
Jinx glances at him, her brow furrowing slightly, but her voice stays calm. “Just two drops from each of you.”
Tomas doesn’t respond right away. His jaw works like he’s biting back a response, the muscle twitching under his skin. Something in his expression flickers—fear, almost mourning—and it hits me like a punch to the gut. My fingers find his hand before I realize I’m reaching for him. His grip is tight, like he’s holding onto something fragile and painful at the same time.
Jinx tilts her head, her gaze softening with a quiet, patient curiosity. “It’s safe,” she says gently. “I just need a little. And it stays here.”
Tomas’ golden eyes meet hers, wary and guarded. Whatever he’s wrestling with, he doesn’t let it loose, just absorbs it, tucking it somewhere deep. He gives a sharp nod, his voice low. “Fine.”
“And our… undead friends?” I ask, glancing toward the house, the mention of Grayson pulling some of the focus off Tomas. He squeezes my hand once, a wordless thank you.
Jinx’s easy demeanor slides back into place like a mask. She shrugs, lips quirking slightly. “The one you’re bonded to will get by on your blood.”
I blink. How the hell did she know that?
“And my family?” I press, my voice steady, but there’s an edge of worry I can’t hide.
Jinx’s expression sobers slightly, the sun glinting off her dark eyes. “I can extend it to blood relations. But you gotta trust ‘em, every last one. If they can cross, they can bring trouble with them.”
Her eyes flick to Tomas, who’s still standing rigid beside me. The weight he’s carrying is damn near palpable, his wolf’s energy a low hum of anxiety beneath the surface. He looks like he’s measuring each word, each possibility, against a future none of us can quite see.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a breath, short and reluctant, and gives a nod. “Do it.”
Jinx holds his gaze for a moment longer, then tips her chin, satisfied. “Alright, Big Bad. Let’s make sure your pack stays safe.”
***
The rest of the ritual passes in a haze of chanting, the glint of an athame under the sun, and the faint hum of magic settling into the ground. By the time we’re finished, the sun’s starting to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the property.
“Alright,” Jinx says, dusting her hands off, her smile satisfied. “You’re set. This should keep most folks with ill intent at bay. Ain’t gonna stop everything, but it’ll slow ‘em down, give y’all enough time to react.”
“Thanks—it’s a big help.”
Jinx’s eyes flicker with something softer, something that cuts through her usual sharp-edged confidence. “Don’t thank me yet,” she murmurs, her tone dropping low, almost like a warning. “You still got a lotta shit headed your way, girl. But maybe this’ll give you a fightin’ chance.”
I swallow hard, the weight of her words settling in my chest. “That’s all we need.”
Her smirk returns, the edge sharpening again as she turns away, braid swinging behind her like a pendulum. “Let’s hope you’re right.”
The coven starts packing up, their movements efficient and practiced. Ava hands off the last bundle of supplies, the rolled-up fabrics and empty salt pouches disappearing into the van like clockwork. The lanky guy with the shaved head stretches, his joints popping, and nods toward Jinx, who gives a lazy wave of acknowledgment.
Meanwhile, Tomas pulls out his phone, his thumb swiping across the screen with a focused precision that makes his jaw twitch. Jinx notices, her brows lifting as she crosses her arms, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“What’re you doin’ there, Big Bad, crushin’ candy?” she asks, the smirk in her voice unmistakable.
“Paying you,” Tomas replies, not looking up. His voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of tension in his jaw. “You said double the cost, right?”
Jinx blinks, then barks out a laugh. “You’re Venmoing me? Well, ain’t that a first.”
Tomas glances up, his expression flat. “You take cash?”
She holds up her hands, grinning. “Nah, Venmo’s fine. Just didn’t peg you for the type to use it.”
Tomas doesn’t respond, just hits a button and shoves his phone back into his pocket. Jinx’s own phone dings a second later, and she pulls it out, her grin widening as she reads the screen. “Well, look at that,” she drawls. “A wolf who pays his debts—might just start likin’ you after all.”
As Jinx saunters off toward her van, the fading light catches in her braid, making it gleam like a dark rope of silk. Tomas watches her go, his eyes narrowed slightly, his arms still wrapped around me. There’s something unreadable in his expression—wariness mixed with a reluctant respect.
I let out a slow breath, feeling a rush of giddy excitement bubble up now that the heavy magic work is done. My fingers tingle, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
I nudge Tomas gently. “Did you see when she drew that huge sigil on the barn doors?”
His lips twitch, but his eyes stay on the retreating coven. “Yes, Trouble, we all saw.”
“And she said she can show me how to make potions!” My voice is a little breathless, the possibilities sparking in my mind like fireworks.
Tomas’ jaw works, his golden eyes sliding toward me with an expression that’s half amusement, half resignation. “That’s very… handy.”
“And—” I start, but Tomas cuts me off with a low, rumbling sigh.
“I’m glad you made a friend,” he says, his voice dry, but there’s a warmth in his eyes that wasn’t there a moment ago.
I beam up at him, feeling that rare thrill of being seen and understood. “She’s really cool, right?”
He shakes his head, a faint smile breaking through his stoic facade. “She’s something,” he mutters, pulling me a little closer. “Just don’t let her talk you into anything too dangerous.”
I grin wider. “No promises.”
Tomas lets out another long-suffering sigh, but his arm tightens around me. The coven’s van rumbles to life, pulling away down the drive, and for the first time today, the air feels lighter.
Magic hums in the earth beneath us, a quiet promise of protection, but it’s Tomas’ steady presence beside me that makes me believe we just might be okay.