Chapter 13 #2
“I’m not ready to face Fennel’s part in this,” Ronan said. “I’m stuck on the hunger beast.”
“Or demon, according to Ida. Basically, the thing is a hell-beast. Someone sicced it on the boys and me. My guess is The Org, but let’s be honest here.
It could be the ghoul, my grandfather, or that hooded dude with the chains—or maybe one of my disgruntled pack was angry enough to hire someone to summon it. I mean, the possibilities are endless.”
“You’re a popular lady,” he said, and toasted me with his mug. It would’ve seemed an entirely nonchalant gesture if the hand holding the mug had been steadier.
Again, he said less than I expected. His hand eventually steadied, and he sipped and stared at the circle, which was currently sparking at three distinct points.
“Coven spell seems okay.”
“Yeah. What are the odds that someone tried to kill me during our coven formation spell by pure coincidence?” I took another sip of my coffee and sighed contentedly. He’d added the perfect amount of cream.
“Slim to none?” he replied.
“My thoughts, too. I find it comforting, though.”
“Comforting?”
“Yeah. If someone is this worried about me starting a coven, it’s got to be the right thing to do.”
He shrugged. “That’s definitely one way to view it.” Ronan rose, peeked in the lavender. “Where’s Cecil?”
“He was pretty weirded out by the hunger beast, but he was even more upset by how Fennel dealt with it. He refused to go back to sleep under the planter. Last I saw, he was napping in his old bed at the back of the garden room.”
“Got to admit, I’m with the gnome. How’d Fennel manage to eat it? You said the monster was big enough to encompass the entire garden room.”
“Not at first. It grew. And not at the end. It shrank when Meredith screamed at it. Also, Fennel didn’t eat it. He sent it to Hell through a portal in his mouth.”
Ronan’s brows rose. “You’re going to be shocked by this, but I’m going to need a little more explanation.”
“No, I get it. It is kind of out there.” I took a drink of coffee while I considered how best to explain. “Part of the reason demons are afraid of cats is because they not only traverse the realms freely but are walking portals to the otherworlds.”
“All cats?”
“No. Only ones like Fennel.”
He looked at me, his heart in his eyes. “I should’ve known you were in danger.”
“Are you talking about the pack-bond thing? Because I might be Alpha, but I don’t—”
“No. I’m talking about the mate bond. Usually, it mentally connects two people. Ours doesn’t seem to work like that.”
It wasn’t a concern I’d given a lot of thought to, but it clearly bothered Ronan. “Maybe we’re not far enough into the mate thing to have access to telepathy.”
He nodded. “And every couple is different. But I should’ve felt that something was off.”
“How? The park spell didn’t activate.” I stared at him until he met my gaze. “I didn’t hear its approach, and the monster was all around me. If I hadn’t been staring at the sky when it showed up, it might’ve quietly suffocated the boys and me in our sleep and left you all to wonder what happened.”
Ronan held my gaze, unblinking. “I’d have found out and killed it and whoever sent it.”
I smiled softly. “Thank you. I love you, too.”
We both laughed, a little awkwardly. He’d meant what he said, and so had I. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a bizarre expression of love.
My temporary coven sisters arrived at nine a.m.
Fennel was up by then and had taken over guard duty while I showered and ate some breakfast. Cecil, his beard snowy once again, was at his worktable wrestling a length of mint vine into a compact ball. I had no idea what spell he was cooking up, but if it contained mint, it couldn’t be all bad.
I mean, I was pretty sure.
Mostly.
But this was Cecil.
“Is that a detonator spell?” Bronwyn asked him when she strolled in.
She wore her usual flowy skirt and top, her long braids pulled into a loose ponytail at her nape.
Silver bangle bracelets clinked as she moved her hands.
“I’ve never seen anyone make one before.
” She inclined her head. “May I watch you work, Cecil?”
The tip of his purple hat flipped right then left, like a radio antenna trying to locate a station hundreds of miles away. Finally, it fell, coming to rest against his right shoulder. I had no idea what that meant, but Bronwyn took it as permission.
“Thank you,” she said, brightly.
“Don’t blow her up,” I said.
Cecil’s nose wrinkled, and he chittered something vile.
I jabbed my finger at him. “I mean it, Cecil Q.C. Lennox.”
“Q.C.?” Bronwyn frowned. “Quality Control?”
“Questionable Choices,” I replied.
Margaux walked the circumference of the circle, inspecting the lines, testing the magic levels with her fingertips. “This is strong. It’s good that you stayed in here last night. Your presence was reassuring to the spell.”
Reassuring, sure. The eyeball-meat-monster attack had probably left it brimming with confidence.
“So, what’s next?” I asked, then groaned at her response. “More chanting?”
“This isn’t a fast spell, Betty.”
Cecil’s desk erupted in a shower of colorful sparks. Bronwyn laughed and clapped her hands. My partner chittered with delight.
Margaux and I exchanged a worried look. “They can’t be friends,” I said. “Can you imagine what evil spell Cecil might pick up in one of her tomes?”
We three sat cross-legged equidistant from one other, each in front of our own lit candle. The candle was to focus our intention. Mine was meant to smell like gardenias. It was more like what someone might think a gardenia scent was if they’d only smelled it in perfumes.
I blew out all the candles, swiped them into my arms, and dumped them in the trash by the door. While Margaux complained, I pulled three small, fat candles out of a drawer by my workstation. They were infused with peppermint and basil, and I’d mixed in bits of crystal.
I lit the first one and passed it to Margaux, who quieted. “Mmm, that’s nice,” she murmured.
Bronwyn joyfully accepted hers, drawing in a lungful of the scent. “I’d love to sell these in the shop.”
Cecil’s hat peaked. The gnome would never allow money to override his love of all things plants and soil, but he wasn’t above making a buck, either.
I lit my candle and set it in front of me. My eyes slid shut, and the coven chant danced off my tongue and into the circle.
We each slipped into our trance state, chanting with fervor at times and gentleness at others. It was interesting how naturally aligned we were, our voices mingling and separating, as if emphasizing how we would come together as one but always be separate.
I glanced at the kintsugi mirror hanging over my workstation. It had once been a shattered mess, shards of glass spread out over the floor. Now it was a work of art, a mosaic of glass and soil. A reminder of how I’d had to break myself before I could put myself back together again.
Had I put myself together? Really?
The question haunted me.
Our candles flickered as Bronwyn, Margaux, and I chanted softly.
I hadn’t expected things to go like this. This spell, the witches … it was all making me question what I thought I knew about covens. About becoming a whole that was greater than the sum of its parts.
We continued until late afternoon, stopping at five to eat and stretch our bodies. Over takeout tacos from El Rancho Grande, I told them about the arrow and hunger-beast attacks.
“I’ve never heard of The Org doing anything like that—especially summoning a hunger demon. They’re usually trying to stuff things into Hell,” Bronwyn said. “I can ask Mason.”
“Already texted him,” I said. “He’s never heard of it, either, but he doesn’t put it past them. The Org is run by the type of people who put Miles in a position to be possessed by a demon, and then turned around and fired him when he got possessed.”
“Typical bureaucrats.” Margaux sniffed.
“It’s not a government entity, though,” I said. “More of a religious organization. How else do you get good people to commit atrocities against other good people?”
“You convince them it’s for a greater good.” Bronwyn looked uncomfortable.
Margaux shrugged. “Just because it’s a religious organization doesn’t mean it’s not also a business.
Churches are businesses, too. They’re supposed to be non-profits, but how many of those mega-churches are led by pastors wearing designer clothing, living in a gated mansion, and gallivanting around in a private jet while poor people starve? ”
She made an excellent point. “Who funds The Esteemed Order of the Removal of the Blight on Humankind? Who stands to benefit most?”
“Some of the richer covens and shifter groups?” Bronwyn lifted her water glass to her lips. “They’d benefit by not having demons running around drawing attention to the paranormal world.”
“There are very wealthy covens, but they tend to fund their own campaigns rather than contribute to others,” Margaux said. “Witches like to take charge.”
“From what I know of shifters, I doubt it’s them,” I said. “I’m only an expert on this one disorganized, oppressed pack, though.”
“It’s worth looking into.”
“Yes,” Margaux said, “it is. In the meantime, though, let’s finish setting up our temporary coven so that the next time something like this happens, we can ride to the rescue.”
“On brooms?” I joked.
Margaux, who wasn’t exactly known for her sense of humor, cocked one sculpted brow, hunched over the table, and gave me a smile that would’ve curled the toes of the Wicked Witch of the West.
“How else, my pretty?”