Chapter 4
Blocking Him on Everything
I’m stress cleaning. Which is ridiculous because my flat is already clean. But I can’t just sit here doing nothing while I wait for Felix to arrive.
I wipe down the kitchen counters for the third time.
They gleam. They were already gleaming. I fluff the sofa cushions even though nobody has sat on them.
I straighten the books on the shelf, organising them by favourite author and then by spice level and then genre because I can’t decide which looks better.
I pace back and forth like a caged animal. Five steps to the window. Five steps back to the kitchen. Turn. Repeat.
What if Felix’s witch stuff doesn’t work? What if it makes things worse? What if Hex gets angry?
The thought makes my stomach clench. I don’t want him to be angry. Which is stupid. I should want him to go away and leave me alone. I should be hoping the cleansing works perfectly and I never see him again.
But the memory of his offended expression keeps replaying in my mind. The way his shoulders stiffened. The outrage in his voice when he declared he was not a duckling. I almost feel bad.
Almost.
I shake my head violently. Focus. I need to focus on surviving tonight.
I check the time on my phone. Six fifty-eight. Felix said seven o’clock. Two more minutes.
I go to the bathroom and check my reflection. I look terrible. My hair is a mess. There are dark circles under my eyes. I look like I haven’t slept properly in days.
Which is accurate.
Should I change? Put on something nicer? But it’s just Felix. He’s coming to do witchy protection stuff, not judge my fashion choices.
I’m overthinking this. I’m definitely overthinking this.
At exactly seven o’clock, the doorbell rings.
I nearly jump out of my skin. My heart hammers as I rush to the door and yank it open.
Felix is standing there in full goth glory.
Black dress that looks vintage, with lace at the collar and cuffs.
Black boots with silver buckles. Black lipstick perfectly applied.
His hair is styled into perfect victory rolls.
He looks like he’s about to attend a funeral. Or summon a demon. Possibly both.
“Hey,” he says brightly, as if this is completely normal.
Before I can respond, he barges past me into the flat. Two other people follow him inside without waiting for an invitation.
The first is a tall woman with long silver hair that cascades down her back like a waterfall.
She’s wearing flowing purple robes that shimmer when she moves.
Layers upon layers of fabric. She has crystals hanging from her neck and wrists.
She looks like she stepped out of a fantasy novel. Or possibly a Renaissance Faire.
The second is a short man with a thick beard streaked with grey. He has multiple piercings in both ears, his nose, and his eyebrow. He’s wearing jeans with holes in the knees and a tee shirt with pentagrams on it.
They all look very serious. Very witchy. Very intimidating.
“Adam, this is my coven,” Felix announces. He gestures to the tall woman with a flourish. “This is Morgana.”
“Blessed be,” says Morgana in a voice that sounds like wind chimes. Soft and musical and completely at odds with how imposing she looks.
Felix points to the bearded man. “And this is Dave.”
“Sup,” says Dave with a casual nod.
I blink. Dave. The witch is called Dave. Not something mystical like Raven or Shadow or Merlin. Just Dave.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage, my voice coming out higher than I’d like.
They don’t wait for further pleasantries. Morgana immediately starts pulling crystals out of a large velvet bag. They clink together as she rummages through them. Clear ones, purple ones, pink ones. Some are raw and jagged. Others are smooth and polished.
Dave produces bundles of dried herbs tied with string. They’re various shades of green and brown, tied together with what looks like twine. The smell hits me immediately. Earthy and sharp.
Felix surveys the flat with a critical eye, his gaze sweeping across every corner and surface like he’s assessing a crime scene.
“Right,” he says, all business now. “We need to cleanse and ward every room. Dave, start with the sage. Morgana, set up the crystal grid in the bedroom. I’ll handle the salt barriers.”
They move with practiced efficiency. Like they’ve done this a hundred times before. Like this is just another Tuesday evening activity.
I stand in the middle of my living room, completely lost. My hands hang uselessly at my sides. Should I help? Should I get out of the way? What is the protocol when witches invade your flat?
Dave lights one of the herb bundles with a silver lighter.
The end catches fire, and then he blows it out, leaving it smouldering.
Smoke immediately starts billowing out, thick and white and pungent.
He waves it around the room, muttering something under his breath that sounds like Latin. Or maybe Welsh. I can’t tell.
The smoke alarm goes off.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
“Um,” I say loudly, trying to be heard over the shrill beeping. “The smoke alarm?”
“It’s fine!” Dave shouts over the beeping. He continues waving the smoking bundle around with enthusiasm, completely unbothered by the alarm.
The alarm gets louder. More insistent. The smoke gets thicker, filling the room with a haze.
I’m going to get complaints from the neighbours.
The old lady downstairs is going to bang on her ceiling with a broom.
Or worse, someone is going to call the fire brigade, and they’re going to show up and find me with three witches performing some kind of ritual.
I rush to the kitchen and grab a tea towel. I start waving it frantically under the smoke alarm, trying to disperse the smoke. My arms are already aching.
This is a disaster. This is an absolute disaster.
“Do you have any rose quartz?” Morgana appears in the bedroom doorway, crystals clutched in both hands.
“What?” I shout over the frantically beeping alarm. I’m still waving the tea towel as if my life depends on it.
“Rose quartz! For protection and love energy!”
Love energy? Why do I need love energy?
“I don’t think so!”
“What about amethyst?”
“No!”
She looks deeply disappointed. Like I’ve personally failed her. Like not owning crystals is a moral failing.
Meanwhile, Dave has moved to the kitchen and is now filling the small space with even more smoke.
He’s practically invisible in the haze. Felix is walking around the perimeter of the living room, bent over slightly as he pours salt in a careful line along the walls.
It’s leaving a white trail across my floorboards.
My uncle is going to be so annoyed.
My anxiety spikes even higher. Should I offer them tea? That’s what you do when you have guests, right? You offer tea. It’s polite. It’s British. It’s what my mum taught me. “Always offer tea,” she’d say.
But they all seem very busy. And what if tea is offensive to witches? What if they only drink herbal infusions blessed under the full moon or something? What if offering normal Tetley is some kind of terrible insult?
I stand awkwardly, still desperately flapping the tea towel.
“Would anyone like tea?” I squeak out, my voice barely audible over the alarm.
Nobody answers. They’re all too focused on their respective tasks. Morgana is arranging crystals in geometric patterns. Dave is chanting. Felix is measuring out salt with intense concentration.
The smoke alarm finally stops its shrieking. The sudden silence is almost as jarring as the noise was.
I nearly collapse with relief. My arms drop to my sides, the tea towel hanging limply from my hand.
Morgana emerges from the bedroom, looking satisfied. “I’ve placed crystals at all four corners and under the bed. The energy should be much more balanced now.”
“Great,” I say weakly. “Thank you.”
I have no idea what balanced energy feels like. The flat feels exactly the same to me. Just smokier.
Dave finishes his smoke ceremony. The flat smells like a burned garden. Like someone set fire to a herb shop. My eyes are watering.
Felix completes his salt line and steps back to admire his work, hands on his hips. “There. That should create a barrier. Make it harder for him to fully manifest.”
“Harder?” I repeat, latching onto the word. “Not impossible?”
“Shadow beings are tricky,” Felix says, not meeting my eyes. “We can’t completely block him because of the bond. But this should weaken his presence. Make it less intense.”
Less intense. That’s something, I suppose.
The three of them gather in the living room, forming a rough circle.
Morgana produces a small silver bell from somewhere in her robes and starts ringing it while chanting.
The sound is clear and pure. Dave joins in the chanting, his deeper voice harmonising with Morgana’s.
Felix pulls out what looks like a tarot deck, the cards worn and faded, and starts laying them out on my coffee table in an impressive-looking pattern.
I have no idea what any of this means. I’m just standing here, feeling utterly useless and out of my depth.
“Did you really call a shadow prince a baby duck?” asks Dave, pausing in his chanting to look at me with undisguised curiosity.
Heat floods my face. “It just came out!” I blurt, defensive. “He was being all seductive and intense and I panicked!”
“It’s actually hilarious.” Felix lays down another tarot card with more force than necessary, the card slapping against the table. “Also potentially very dangerous. Shadow beings don’t like being mocked.”
“He seemed more offended than dangerous,” I say weakly, remembering the look on Hex’s face. The indignation.
“For now,” intones Felix.
Okay, that’s not at all ominous. Oh my god. What am I doing? I have no idea what I am doing. I’ve insulted a powerful supernatural being and now I’m standing in my smoke-filled flat while witches perform rituals and I still haven’t offered anyone tea.
After what feels like an eternity of chanting and bell ringing and card laying, Felix finally announces, “We’re finished.”
I look around the flat. It looks the same.
Well, mostly the same. Except for the salt lines tracing the perimeter of the room.
And the lingering smell of burned sage that’s going to take days to air out.
And the crystals. There are crystals everywhere.
On the windowsill. In the corners. Under furniture.
My flat looks like a new age shop exploded.
“So it’s safe now?” I ask hopefully, desperate for some reassurance.
Felix exchanges glances with Morgana and Dave. None of them look particularly confident. Morgana’s expression is carefully neutral. Dave grimaces slightly.
“Safer,” Felix says carefully, choosing his words with obvious deliberation. “Probably.”
That’s not reassuring. That’s not reassuring at all.
My mind races. Maybe I should just leave. Pack a bag right now and go stay with my parents. They’re only two hours away by train. Or book a cheap hotel on the outskirts of Bristol. Or sleep in a shop doorway. Anything to avoid being here when Hex shows up.
But even as the thought forms, I know it won’t work. Hex said we have been bonded since childhood. And this flat is hundreds of miles away from the bed he used to lurk under when I was seven. Which means he can probably find me anywhere. Distance clearly doesn’t matter. There’s no point in running.
I’m trapped.
Felix must see the dawning horror on my face because he steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder. His fingers are warm through my shirt. His expression softens slightly, the hard edges of his goth persona melting away for just a moment.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Hope flares in my chest, bright and desperate. “Yes!” I exclaim. Too loudly. Too desperately. An actual witch staying to protect me? That would be perfect. “Oh yes, please!”
Felix’s face immediately shifts to a frown. He pulls his hand back like I’ve burned him. “Oh. I was being polite. You were supposed to say no.”
My hope crashes and burns, dying as quickly as it ignited. “What?”
“There is no way I’m staying anywhere near a shadow being.” He gathers up his tarot cards and shoves them back in his bag with quick, efficient movements. “Those things are dangerous, Adam. And unpredictable.”
Of course. Of course he doesn’t actually want to stay. Why would he? I’m not his friend. I’m just the weird guy from work who’s somehow got himself bonded to a supernatural creature.
“Right,” I say numbly. “Of course.”
Morgana is already heading for the door, her purple robes swishing. She gives me some kind of strange gesture with her fingers that I think is meant to be a blessing. Or a wave. Or possibly warding off evil. I have no idea.
Felix pauses at the threshold, one hand on the doorframe. “Good luck though, dude.”
And then they’re gone. Filing out into the hallway. Heading down the stairs. Leaving me alone.
Well, almost alone.
As the last coven member reaches the door, Dave pauses and looks back over his shoulder. His expression is almost apologetic. Almost.
“Hey,” he says casually, as if he’s asking about the weather. “If it doesn’t go well, can I have your job at the coffee shop?”
I stare at him. My brain struggles to process the question. He’s asking about my job. As if I might die tonight. As if that’s a reasonable thing to ask. As if I could posthumously put in a good word for him.
“Sure,” I manage, my voice flat.
Dave grins, looking genuinely pleased. “Cheers, mate.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click. I hear their footsteps fade as they descend the stairs. Then silence.
Complete and utter silence.
I’m alone in my flat. Surrounded by crystals and salt and the lingering smell of burned sage that’s making my nose itch.
I sag against the door. All the energy drains out of me, leaving me hollow. My legs feel weak. My hands are trembling slightly.
Now there’s nothing to do but wait. Wait and see if Hex appears.
If he does, that would be awful. Terrifying. I have no idea what he’ll do or how any of this is going to work. Will he be angry about the salt and crystals? Will the cleansing hurt him? Make him furious? Is he still angry about the whole duck thing?
If he doesn’t appear... that would also be… not great. It would mean that the cleansing worked. Which should be good. Which should be exactly what I want. But part of me feels oddly disappointed at the thought. Like I’d miss him.
Which is concerning. Very concerning.
I thunk my head against the door. Once. The wood is solid and cool. Twice. The impact helps clear my thoughts slightly. Three times.
I really do need therapy.