Chapter 1. Caitlyn #2
Most of the time, I was too busy juggling the shop, my candy experiments, and endless ScareBnB admin to give sex much thought. But when that succubus itch started burning under my skin, I’d take a weekend off and head into the city to scratch it.
It was never amazing.
Just... meh.
Still, I had to admit, mediocre sex or not, those weekends usually did wonders for my creativity.
The last one, over two months ago, had sparked the idea to spell my ink using ethically sourced dragon scale.
When I stirred the same powdered scale into my morning hot cocoa, it activated the enchantment, making my recipes legible only to me.
It kept them safe from prying eyes.
Well. One particular pair of prying eyes.
Priscilla Raisin.
Priscilla was the worst. Technically, her mother held that title, but since she’d been exiled from the coven years ago, Priscilla had happily stepped in to fill the void. She was covetous as hell. Between my recipes and my house, she was constantly trying to steal my shit.
Which was exactly why I planned to finish perfecting my candy very far away from her.
And just this morning, I’d had another genuinely excellent idea—to hire some security.
Whether the security company would accept the last-minute job was another thing.
Their rates were suspiciously discounted but did align with my limited budget, and with limited time to research a company, I had high hopes that they would accept.
Because I had no doubt that Priscilla would try her best to find me. And a bargain-bin security guard would be an extra layer of protection if she did.
***
Inspiration failed me, and I ended up closing the shop early.
After a quick pit stop at Tiny Hexes, the coven’s shop for baby supplies, I dragged my feet as I, reluctantly, made my way home a full four hours earlier than I normally would, thinking of what I could say to my house that would convince it to come with me.
I thought back to the first day it had opened its doors for me.
I’d always pictured my house poofing into existence for me like my mom and dad’s had. None of the dormant houses in the coven suited either my personality or style, which was loud, slightly obnoxious, and stuck in the seventies.
The last house I’d expected to bond with was the creepy gothic manor that had been dormant for over a century. But as those dusty doors had creaked open for me, a warmth had spread through me, a feeling of belonging with it.
Things had gone well for a full ten minutes, until Priscilla-fucking-Raisin showed up.
And I did what I always did when Priscilla darkened my doorstep—I cussed her out and threatened to hex her if she ever came back.
That was when my new house turned on me.
The magic that imbued our sentient houses was (supposedly) innocent and naturally trusting. My house didn’t know Priscilla had spent years trying to steal the work I’d poured my life into. It didn’t know how she’d relentlessly bullied me and my friends at school.
All it saw was the witch it had chosen go from “Oh, you have such pretty blinds” to “Get the fuck off my doorstep before I turn you into a toad, you bitch” in the space of three seconds.
And since then... yeah. I guess I was the bitch, as far as it was concerned.
Which was why, the moment I came into view, and four hours earlier than it was expecting me, the house rattled its shutters in a startled warning. The front door creaked open just enough for a pair of glassy eyes to issue me a death glare, then slammed shut with a bang.
“Oh, grow up, Creep,” I muttered under my breath, before immediately remembering I was supposed to be buttering her up if I wanted her to follow me tomorrow.
I took a seat on the top step of the porch and set the paper bag beside me, making sure that the Tiny Hexes logo was in full view.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the twitch of the curtains.
I reached into the bag and pulled out a delicate burgundy headband, complete with an offensively large bow and cream lace trim. I ran a finger over the fabric, making sure to act as if it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.
Tonight, however, Creep wasn’t biting.
“This is such a beautiful bow,” I said aloud. “I love the frills. And burgundy is so in season.”
The curtains twitched again—but still no Creep.
“And it would go perfectly with someone who had lovely red locks.”
There was the faintest pitter-patter of tiny feet before the front door creaked open a fraction.
“And do you know what else would be perfect for someone with beautiful red locks and a pretty burgundy bow?” I asked, my voice honey sweet.
I let the question hang.
After a moment, the porch boards groaned beneath me in impatient protest.
Finally, I opened my hand to reveal a doll-sized silver comb.
There was a moment’s hesitation, during which I wondered if Creep was deciding whether to add the comb to her mysterious attic collection of crap or gouge my eyes out with it for blatantly attempting to bribe her.
Then, to my immense relief, the pitter-patter of tiny feet sounded behind me. I caught a flash of pale porcelain, and the bow and comb vanished from my outstretched hands.
I let out a breath.
Jen got BooDini the Friendly Ghost.
I got a Victorian murder doll, and I was one hot-headed comment away from waking up to my lips sewn shut and the words GET OUT finger-painted in blood above my bed.
But the first part of the convince-Creep-to-come-with-me plan had gone well, and she’d even left the front door open for me. Heels dragging, I followed Creep into the house and only made it as far as the living room when I stopped dead in my tracks.
Sitting on my couch, as if she owned the place, was Priscilla-fucking-Raisin.
If I weren’t trying to convince Creep to follow me to our temporary new home tomorrow—and avoid spending a month living in a tent—I absolutely would’ve let the witchfire crackling in my palm fly.
“Aren’t you too old to be playing with dolls?” Priscilla said, barely glancing up as she picked at her nails.
“What are you doing in my house, Priscilla?” I asked through gritted teeth.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted Creep’s glassy gaze peeking out from between the spindles of the staircase.
And as the founder of the We-Love-Priscilla fan club, Creep’s likelihood of following me tomorrow if I didn’t control my temper and I dragged Priscilla out by her hair would drop to zero.
“I heard you were planning on leaving the coven for a while,” Priscilla said breezily. “I can keep an eye on your house if you like.”
My teeth clenched so hard I could’ve sworn I heard one crack.
She was just as bad as her mom, who had attempted to steal my aunt and uncle’s house the first time they’d gone on vacation—but BooDini had simply gone silent, refusing to do any magic whatsoever.
The moment Priscilla and her mom stepped outside, it magicked its way over to Headless Hollow to be with its family.
With Herculean effort, I forced a smile.
“Oh, that’s so lovely of you to offer, Pris. But as awesome as that would be, Creep’s coming with me. We’ve got a super fun trip planned.”
I shot a glance toward the staircase, where Creep sat with her head tilted in curiosity.
“There’ll be lots of dress-up... and uh...” My mind scrambled for something creepy dolls might like. “Tea parties. It’ll be a great bonding experience.”
Creep’s eyes fluttered wide. She gave a tiny, enthusiastic fist pump before scampering up the stairs and disappearing into her attic.
Great. So, on top of perfecting my magic candy, I was going to spend the next month hosting haunted tea parties.
Yippee.
When I turned back to Priscilla, her eyes had narrowed. Yeah—she’d been hoping I’d snap so the house wouldn’t follow me and she could swoop in and try to steal it, just like her mother had.
I flashed her a sickly sweet smile.
“Well, unless you have anything else deeply valuable to say, Priscilla, don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.”
She flushed the color of hellfire and stormed past me, shoulder checking me as she yanked the door open and stalked off down the street. I lingered in the doorway, satisfaction curling in my chest as I watched her disappear around the corner.
“Hey, Caitlyn!” a voice boomed from my left.
I turned to see a panting Jake—my friend Lex’s younger brother and the only warlock in the coven—jogging up to me, his cheeks flushed with exertion.
“Was that Priscilla who just left your house?”
I nodded, biting my tongue to keep from unloading every curse word I knew. After a beat, I managed, “Yeah. It was.”
“I’m supposed to be meeting her,” he said.
Poor Jake. Brilliant with books. Absolutely clueless with people. He was the only person in the entire coven who seemed genuinely oblivious to just how terrible Priscilla was.
“You heard from your sister lately?” I asked, quickly changing the subject before I said something nasty about Priscilla within earshot of Creep.
Lex was my age, and while my reason for not summoning my mate was all about building stability, Lex had very different ideas.
She didn’t believe in the summoning at all.
She was convinced it stole choice from the demons we were bound to, despite having grown up in a coven where literally every pairing was picture-perfect.
That belief was why she’d moved out of the coven to live among the mortals.
“Uh, yeah, actually,” Jake said, running a hand through his russet hair. “She’s coming home in a few hours.”
My brows furrowed. “Lex is coming home for the summoning?”
Jake shook his head. “Mom just said she’s done something to induce a trial.”
A trial?
Even Priscilla had never pushed things far enough to trigger a coven trial. In fact, the last one had been almost a decade ago—Priscilla’s mother, of course—resulting in her exile from the coven.
Lex must have done something serious.
Thank the Gods and Goddesses Lex was still part of our coven.
Depending on the severity of what she’d done, the trial would involve a small jury of her peers, presided by our head of coven, who also happened to be her grandmother. Not that Ms. Cole would go easy on her because of that, but at least she’d be fair.
The alternative for those who weren’t part of a coven (or whatever the collective term for their magical species was), would be judgment by the Council, the governing body of magical beings who presided over all supernatural law.
And when it came to judging the nomads among us, the Council had a habit of being spectacularly unfair, especially when they’d been dragged out of bed for what they considered trivial trials.
“Um... well, let me know if she needs me,” I said. If Lex was in trouble, I might have to postpone my trip.
“Will do!” Jake called over his shoulder as he jogged off, yelling, “Hey, Pris! Wait up!”
Ugh. Hopefully Lex could knock some sense into her numskull brother when she got here.
Priscilla-fucking-Raisin. Honestly. What was he thinking?