FOX
Maddox sent Elsbeth’s picture to our group chat, presumably to remind us to keep an eye out for her because he’s sure she’ll be coming for Asher and me next.
If that’s the case, she’s in for a boring hunt.
I go to the same gym as Thorne—usually on opposite schedules—and outside of the coven, I only have acquaintances.
I learned a long time ago that my mother was the exception that would never be repeated, so dating or befriending anyone else would be under scrutiny.
After we calm Mads down with several shots of tequila, Asher takes him upstairs and puts him to bed.
Thorne and I sit out on the back patio sharing the last of my good weed.
The crisp fall air keeps the cherry bright red in the dim, moonless night.
We’ll live in the manor until we are married off, then our sons will inhabit the old house.
I hate thinking about that duty for any child I may have.
This life would never be chosen by anyone expected to live it.
“She hasn’t answered my text.” Thorne exhales a thick cloud of sour smoke then passes the joint to me.
“Do you really believe she’s dangerous?” I take a long drag, the burn in the back of my throat clawing down into my lungs.
“Nah.” He shakes his head, the old, wooden Adirondack chair creaking against the movement. “She’s sexy, but harmless.”
We fall into silence, taking in the apple orchard beyond the garden gate.
It’s a dark wall creeping closer as my senses dull to the drug and alcohol.
The gnarly, knotted limbs catch the shadows as the breeze passes through them.
As kids, we camped in the center grove when the fruit was heavy but the harvest hadn’t robbed them bare.
I can still smell the late, sweet blooms and the sickening sugar of rotting apples that nourish the soil.
Thorne would tell us scary stories around the fire that he hadn’t yet mastered.
In the middle of the night, when we finally settled down to sleep, his fingers would scurry across the nylon tent to make us jump.
Then came the rustling of Maddox’s sleeping bag as he inched closer to mine when he thought everyone had finally drifted off.
By morning, he’d be nestled into my bag, having carved a place for himself in the middle of my back.
Maddox was smaller than all of us back then.
His abilities were weak until he hit the tail end of puberty and after years of his father trying to force them to manifest. Now, he’s taller than me, stronger than Thorne, and his power over nature is like nothing the coven has ever seen before.
But through the years, his paranoia has remained—rooted deep by his parents and their own struggles for power within the coven hierarchy.
“Besides, even if she did have some sort of magic that she could control, she’s no match for the four of us.” He nudges my arm, silently asking for the joint.
“The snakes are already in the coop, if you know what I mean.”
“Alric is more like a hydra. Cut off his head and six more grow back. If we’re going to deal with him, we have to have good cause. Last thing we need is to make him a martyr.”
He’s not wrong about that. Alric has done too good of a job convincing the whole expanse of coven members that he has seen the decline in influence, power, and wealth.
It’s maddening to have to field questions knowing he was the spark that lit the fire of scrutiny.
It’s become more alarming by the year how he’s convinced everyone that he is more than just invincible.
The elders of the coven are split on whether to trust him or not.
Though, I’m not sure that divide will be strong enough to withstand his influence long-term.
It seems like he turns even the most stubborn witch the longer he’s given room to speak.
“If Elsbeth is up to something, maybe we should turn her attention to Alric. Let both problems snuff the other out. Who ever survives will be dealt with ‘final boss’ style,” I joke, taking another long drag and holding it in my lungs until I feel the ache.
“Yeah, that won’t backfire at all. Besides, if we do let Elsbeth take out Alric, we’ll have more to answer for to the coven. Could you imagine your dad finding out some college girl took out a powerful member of the Hawthorne line and we did nothing to prevent it . . . or help?”
He finishes off the last of the joint, filling the air around us with gray smoke, then puts out the burning paper in the last sip of his beer.
My father wants Alric gone more than we do, but Thorne is right.
Trading one threat for another would cause panic within our community.
Other leaders from around the country would quickly want an explanation or move in to take our places as the East Coast seat of power.
And with the dwindling amount of magic we’ve been harvesting, we wouldn’t stand a chance in a war.
“Fine. But we really need to find a way of neutering him before his head gets too much larger.” I lean back in my chair and watch the stars get eaten up by passing clouds.
The waning crescent of moon in the sky smiles down with her wide, toothy grin that feels like the old gods are silently mocking us.
As if this game is for their amusement and we are just the newest characters to be introduced. I might be higher than I thought.
Thorne’s hand brushes over mine and I roll my head in his direction. Moonlight and the breeze dance through his hair like a halo. “All things natural and unnatural must see an end.”
He’s repeating something his great grandfather used to say, but I fear that the end Alric will see is ours. I keep that to myself and instead return the wisdom with a tight nod. We let our highs take hold of our limbs until Asher comes outside.
“Time for bed, you two,” he says, hooking an arm under Thorne’s shoulder and hoisting him to his feet. “You’re lucky I don’t leave you out here to freeze.”
“You would be bored out of your mind without us,” I remind him, pointing in the direction I think he’s in. The mix of substances has blurred my vision at this point.
“I’d also be stuck here alone with Maddox and his new archnemesis-slash-obsession. I wouldn’t be bored for long.” His arm wraps around me next, lifting me to my feet.
Unfortunately for Asher, his magical abilities make him impervious to the effects of drugs or alcohol.
We’ve wasted a few bottles of Everclear on him trying to test that theory.
The hangover still hit him the next day without the benefits of a reckless night.
Party drugs are no match for him either.
But the universe doesn’t care that he wants to let loose, using his strength and endurance for selfish reasons so he gets all the repercussions and none of the reward.
Probably why he lasts the longest during rituals.
Using his body for pleasure is the only high he can enjoy punishment free.
“I give him three days and Mads will have forgotten all about Elsbeth. She’s not even that cute,” I proclaim, feeling the cool air from outside give way to the warmth of the kitchen.
“Don’t.” Thorne groans somewhere close by. “She’s beautiful. And fucking hot. Gods, I should have fucked her.”
“She never gave you a chance, dick,” I mock, swiping out a hand, but my palm lands on Asher’s chest.
“No one is fucking that woman,” Asher chimes in, hauling us up the first flight of stairs like we’re toddlers he found half asleep on the couch. “Mads will lose it if anyone goes near her again.”
“I saw her first. I should be able to fuck her if she wants me to,” Thorne slurs.
“She’s not a muffin you licked at breakfast. You can’t call fucking dibs,” I retort, my room coming into focus.
“He’s not wrong, Thorne,” Asher agrees and deposits me on top of my comforter.
“Fuck off. If she wanted me to, I would lick her muffin every day for breakfast.”
We all can’t help but laugh at that. I watch Asher and Thorne leave my room, shutting the door behind them. A moment later, I hear Asher’s voice in the hall before another door closes and the sliver of light is extinguished before silence blankets us all.
Rolling over on my back, I reach over to my nightstand and turn on the sound machine to drown out the deafening nothingness.
Rain and far-off rolls of thunder come from it, and the firing of my synapses behind my eyelids start to create a show.
Memories and fantasies that I’ve replayed so many times through my life that they may as well have happened clash.
My mother smiles as she reaches back for me. Her hand is always just out of my grasp. The sun blinds me in the distance as we run through the orchard, but I follow the sound of her laughter. “Come on, sweet boy. Follow Mama.”
The strain in my throat tightens around the words that are never loud enough to slow the distance between us.
Don’t leave me here to grow older than your memory.
I’m so close, but a new vision appears at the fringes of my sight.
Long auburn locks dance in the breeze as I get closer.
Dark green eyes narrow on me as if she can read my confusion.
With my mother’s ghost long gone, all I can see is this woman. The orchard disappears, leaving only scorched earth under my bare feet. I take a step forward, and she takes one back. Stretching out a hand to her is like trying to grab smoke.
“Come here,” I mouth more than say, and her lips curl as she shakes her head slowly. “Please?”
She doesn’t step back as I inch closer, trying not to move too quickly. When I get close enough to see the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and cheeks, it’s too late. I realize why she looks familiar.
“I need you, Fox.” Her voice echoes around me without her lips moving.
“I’m right here.” Her skin under my fingers feels like water, cold and restless.
“Come find me.”
“I can’t.” I try to tighten my grip, but she slips away, nonetheless.
Her face distorts and the darkness around us eats up the only bit of light until I’m plunged into pure darkness. I shoot up in my bed, covered in a hot sweat. Tearing the blankets off my body and hurling myself toward my bedroom door, I fumble down the hall to the bathroom.
I have no idea what time it is or if I’m waking up the entire house. The overhead light blinds me momentarily, but I turn to the sink and fill my hands with cold water and douse my face. I can practically hear my skin sizzle on impact.
My entire nervous system is spiraling. I can’t control the shaking of my hands or legs and end up on my ass next to the toilet.
The porcelain instantly heats to the volcanic storm raging underneath my skin.
The light above my head starts to flicker, and I realize that it isn’t the old electric wires but billowing smoke coming from .
. . me. My gift has never manifested on its own, not even when I was first learning how to harness it.
But after that dream encounter with Elsbeth, the entire bathroom has gone pitch black with dark clouds of water vapor and haze.
My hand slides up the wall to turn the fan on above, but the sound grates against my sensitive nerves and the air in the room starts to whip around me. A cyclone of storm clouds, light, and a dizzying wind traps me.
“Fox!” I hear someone outside the door, pounding with their fists.
Then comes another.
“Open the door, you asshole! It’s 3 AM!”
It’s Asher.
“Help,” I call, but I can barely hear myself. “Fuck. Asher, help me.”
The door creaks but I’m not sure if it’s the tornado I’ve created trying to rip it off its hinges or if Asher has decided to break it down to get to me. It wouldn’t be the first time one of us has had a night terror that threatened to break the whole house.
“Breathe.” Hawthorne’s distinct resonance comes from under the cracks.
I try to take a deep inhale, but smoke fills my lungs then intensifies when I exhale. The slivers of light are extinguished again and panic sets in. What if I use up magic that is meant for other families?
The door shakes. Harder and harder until it feels like the floorboards will be taken off with the frame. Two pairs of hands grip my arms and pull me across the tile onto the hall runner and oak planks.
“Look at me.” Thorne’s eyes blaze into me, the fire behind his irises coming alive, and I realize the burning on my arms is from heat and not pressure.
The inky black cloud clears, and I hiss out a curse but focus harder on the burns forming on my skin. On the look of fear and rage on Thorne’s face. He’s fighting my demons for me, and the strain in my throat is no longer from choking on my own smoke and wind.
“That’s it. Come back to me,” Thorne soothes, pulling me closer until our brows press together.
My muscles loosen as the episode passes.
“What happened?” Asher is standing above us, the doorknob to the bathroom dangling from his fist.
“I—” I can’t bring myself to tell him. “A nightmare.”
“No more weed for a bit.” He chalks it up to inebriation and helps pick my body off the floor. “Come on. Sleepover in my room.”
I don’t question it. I don’t have the strength to fight either one of them as they walk me down the hall.
Asher’s room is the largest in our wing.
His massive bed sits in the middle of it, a solid oak monstrosity of a carved frame encasing the plush mattress.
I imagine with his sex drive and strength, he needs an enforced structure to keep the bed from breaking apart.
The impossibly plush mattress sinks under my weight and I feel like I’m being wrapped in a cushion.
Three lamps are on but they’re dim and moody, barely illuminating the dark wine-colored wallpaper between gold antique picture frames.
He took the gallery wall trend to whole other heights a couple years back.
He’d spent a large chunk of his inheritance on the images staring back at me.
Fruit dripping in gold. Demon creatures consuming the flesh of men.
Moths and butterflies with shimmering wings swarming puddles of blood on lush green leaves.
Thorne stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. “I’m taking you to the gym with me in the morning, so get some sleep.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” I assure them but already know the legs I have to stand on are still too weak to fight it.
“It’s arms and chest day so eat a big breakfast,” he advises as he walks out the door.
Asher huffs a laugh as he gets into bed next to me. There’s about a foot of space between us, but the mountain of fluffy pillows and blankets makes it feel like we’re floating on twin clouds.
“Night, fucker,” he says, rolling to his side to face me.
“Love you, too.”