Chapter 12
Iwoke the next morning feeling like I had the hangover from hell, without a sip of alcohol. I had barely slept. I couldn’t. I was too stressed out and slipping out of bed every half hour to go check on Darian like some sort of exhausted sleep demon haunting my own child’s bedroom.
When I did get some sleep, I dreamt of giant mirrors with teeth trying to chomp down on me. I already had enough magical problems without my subconscious deciding to workshop nightmare fuel like it was auditioning ideas for psychological horror week.
But the scent of butter and something delicious had me sprinting out of bed.
With a quick look at the empty space next to me, I knew Marcus was downstairs making breakfast. The smell alone practically wrapped around me and dragged me toward the kitchen.
Butter. Maple. Something warm and comforting that felt suspiciously unfair considering my brain currently felt like someone had stuffed it with wet cotton.
A husband who made breakfast was a keeper, especially when said husband also happened to be sculpted by the goddess, capable of ripping doors off hinges, and looked offensively attractive while holding a frying pan.
Smiling, even though my head was pounding with every movement and my body felt like I’d gone twelve rounds with a mountain troll, I stepped into the bathroom.
After washing my face, brushing my teeth, and doing my morning routine, I slipped out of my room to check on Darian.
My hair looked questionable. My eyes looked worse.
Somewhere over the last twenty-four hours, I’d apparently aged six years and developed stress shadows under my eyes dramatic enough to deserve names.
I pushed open the door and saw his bed was empty. No Darian.
My gut tightened before my brain caught up and reminded me that panicking before coffee should probably count as a medical condition.
If he was like his mama, he was already downstairs, following the scent of butter.
I headed down, expecting to see my hot wereape husband at the stove, maybe shirtless. A girl could dream. Life had been aggressively attacking me lately. I deserved small victories.
It wasn’t him.
“Ruth?” I said, seeing my cute aunt flipping pancakes. Darian sat happily at the kitchen island, fork in hand, looking ravenous. Not slightly hungry. Not breakfast hungry. Full tiny gorilla child preparing to destroy civilization levels of hungry.
I loved my little man.
“Oh, hi, Tessa,” said my aunt as she plopped a heavenly golden pancake on Darian’s waiting plate.
“I thought I’d come by and surprise you with breakfast. After what you went through yesterday, you deserve some carbs.
” Her white hair was twisted up into a high bun on the top of her head, and I was pretty sure two wooden spoons held it in place.
She was barefoot as usual, and her apron today read, I brAKE FOR MUSHROOMS. Knowing Ruth, that wasn’t quirky kitchen décor.
That was likely a deeply held moral philosophy.
“Thank you. I’m starving.”
I moved up to Darian and started my inspection. I checked his face, eyes, ears, and his hands, which were sticky with maple syrup, his toes (he laughed) every inch of him that I could check.
“You’re okay,” I said, relief hitting me so hard my knees nearly gave out. “You look fine.”
His skin looked normal, no flickering shifts or patches of dark fur appearing where they shouldn’t. He wasn’t trembling. He was just my sticky, hungry, covered in syrup like a tiny breakfast criminal kid.
Darian giggled. “Mommy, eat!” he ordered as he dropped his fork and proceeded to shove the pancake in his mouth.
Like his father that one. Entirely too committed.
Ruth beamed as she placed a second plate next to Darian. “He is. I believe the worst has passed.” She looked at Darian and said, “at least for now. You sit.” She waved the spatula at me. “You look like hell.”
I laughed. “I feel worse.” I pulled out the stool and sat. “You think he’s really okay?” I hated how desperate I sounded asking it. Hated that small terrified part of me waiting for someone to tell me not to relax yet. That this was temporary. That the nightmare wasn’t over.
Ruth poured some batter into a sizzling pan. “For now, yes. Iris is working on a dewonkification retrieval.”
“A what now?”
“It’s a reverse engineering spell retrieval. To find the elements used for the curse or hex. It might take a day or so, but she’ll have the result soon. And then we’ll know what Addison did. Once we know, we’ll make sure it never happens again.”
I nodded slowly and wrapped both hands around the warm mug of coffee waiting beside my plate that I hadn’t even noticed before. Ruth must have made that too. Love my aunt Ruthy. I was spoiled.
But right now, what I needed most was answers.
Needed Addison found. Needed proof. Needed this whole nightmare to finally make sense.
But for the first time since yesterday, sitting there watching my son aggressively annihilate pancakes, I let myself breathe.
Just for a second. Just long enough to pretend things were normal.
“Did you see Marcus this morning?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t have left his son if he didn’t think he was healthy and in good hands with Ruth. Also because Marcus leaving quietly before I woke up happened approximately never unless work dragged him away or something exploded. Sometimes both.
“Oh, yes,” said Ruth. “He left about a half hour ago. He’s needed at the Spring Awakening Festival.
Today’s the last day. Dolores and Beverly are there too.
There’re lots more events today. There’s the broom slow-racing championship and the spring spirit scavenger hunt.
Oh. And I know Darian wants to see the enchanted hedge maze.
It changes every ten minutes. People get lost. It’s so much fun. ”
Ruth smiled as though describing a delightful afternoon activity and not what sounded suspiciously like a magical lawsuit waiting to happen.
“Five years ago, Mildred Pineberry disappeared in there for six hours.” She lowered her voice.
“They found her teaching mushrooms how to sing.” She paused thoughtfully. “The mushrooms weren’t very good.”
“Ah.” I looked over to Darian who was kicking out his legs while licking the syrup from his plate.
I could feel the sugar rush in about two minutes.
Three tops. Then he’d achieve full tiny gorilla tornado mode, and Ruth would get the deluxe experience.
Sticky fingers. Unlimited energy. Questions asked with terrifying speed and absolutely no warning.
Why sky blue? Why pancakes round? Why gorillas hairy?
Why Aunt Ruth smell like herbs? Toddler conversations sometimes felt like being interrogated by very tiny caffeinated detectives.
Ruth plopped a golden pancake on my plate.
“There you go. And if you don’t mind, I’d like to take Darian with me to the enchanted hedge maze when he’s done.
” Her face turned serious. “And don’t you worry.
I’ve got my friends looking out for that horrible Addison.
If she comes too close, she’ll soon regret it.
” She gave a small nod to herself after saying it, the kind Ruth gave when she’d fully committed to something.
Which somehow felt both comforting and alarming.
I smiled, thankful to have such a fierce, cute aunt. “That sounds fine to me. What friends are you talking about? White witches?” Because with Ruth there was always a need for clarification. Sometimes multiple clarifications. Occasionally charts.
Ruth shook her head. “Oh no. My friends the squirrels. And the ravens. And the rats. I gave them all instructions before I came here. They’re on the lookout.
” She said it with complete sincerity while flipping another pancake with professional confidence.
Not joking. Not exaggerating. Completely serious.
Which made it feel significantly more believable.
“Right.” I wasn’t sure if she meant these were all witch familiars or not.
But I didn’t care. Ruth wouldn’t let Darian out of her sight.
I trusted her. Also I’d seen enough weird things living in Hollow Cove that animal surveillance no longer ranked particularly high on my list of concerns.
Magical prisons? Concerning. Ancient evolving demon powers?
Concerning. Ruth operating some kind of woodland intelligence network involving ravens and emotionally invested squirrels? Totally fine.
And the thought of Addison sent a fresh spike of anger through me. But I pushed it down and took a bite of my pancake. Anger wasn’t helping Darian. Anger wasn’t finding answers. Anger mostly just sat in my chest these days making everything feel heavier. Still there. Waiting. Ugly and quiet.
“Yum,” I said, my mouth full. “So good. I can never get mine to taste this good.” Mine somehow always landed somewhere between acceptable breakfast food and mild disappointment. Not terrible, just neutral pancakes.
Ruth giggled. “It’s my secret ingredient.”
I raised a brow. “Of course.” Knowing my aunt, it could be an assortment of all kinds of things I didn’t want to know.
Because if her secret was dry gnome poop, I could never eat her delicious pancakes again.
Worse, I’d keep eating them while emotionally damaged because these things were excellent.
Ruth once made healing cookies using powdered cricket legs, and somehow they’d tasted exactly like cinnamon sugar.
Ruth wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, I’m done here. There’re fresh pancakes on the plate if you want more,” she told me, gesturing to a stack of pancakes next to the stove.
“Thanks.” I took a sip of my coffee. Was it weird that even though it was from my coffee beans it tasted better? Maybe. Or maybe Ruth had added more of her secret ingredients in my coffee.
“So.” Ruth leaned on the kitchen island, smiling at my kid. “Are you ready to go to the enchanted hedge maze?”