Chapter 15 Gracie
Suggested Listening: Touch by Katseye
My eyelids do their best to stick together, but I can no longer stand the flesh-oven I’m trapped in.
Not to mention my throat is parched and I’m beyond starving.
The problem is that Vyslan and Ezra have formed a body-tent over me.
I’ve got both their faces buried against my neck and their arms crossing over each other like they’re afraid I’m going to rocket out of bed.
Honestly?
I’m surprised Ezra is asleep at all. Most of the time he’s lying there trying not to be an Edward Cullen creepy fucker watching me breathe.
It’s the trying not to be that makes him cute.
I’ve caught him passed out and actually sleeping exactly once in all the time I’ve known him.
If my bladder wasn’t trying to stretch me to capacity, I would be tempted to put up with the oven so he could see how it feels to be woken up with eyeballs boring into your skull.
He’d probably like that.
Ezra is just different with me. As a store manager, he’s really firm about how he handles the employees.
Strict, actually. It’s why I never have to deal with issues anymore.
But he’s always been softer with me. And only me.
His dynamic with Vyslan is very different.
And if things happen between Luciu and Ezra?
I don’t see my warlock getting the same tender treatment. No, this is an us thing.
Too bad I’m about to tinkle.
“Hausé?” I whisper. “A little help here? Please?”
There’s no telling if she’s around. She seems to have honored the request to give us some privacy when the clothes come off, and Vyslan isn’t one for wearing clothes to bed. It’s really a tossup for how this is going to go.
Silence.
No creaks, pipe groans, or any weird sounds at all.
Well. Crap. How am I going to extract myself without disturbing them?
If Ezra is asleep, he really needs the rest. And I don’t want to bother Vyslan. There’s no telling how long they were up or what everyone had to deal with while I was passed out.
Wait… Am I…?
I dig my fingers into the mattress as I realize I’m moving.
And not just moving, but I think I’m being sucked down into the fabric.
The cool slide of bamboo sheets on my arms is strange and unnerving.
There are flashes of some weird, old movie I caught a glimpse of one night when Dad thought I was sleeping.
This woman got slurped into her bed while her would-be lover watched.
It was creepy as fuck and gave me nightmares.
Goddess, if you’re out there listening, please don’t let me become one with the mattress.
I asked for help. I can’t be upset with the how. This is just Hausé doing what I asked.
While the sensation is generally warm and comforting beyond the cooling nature of the sheets, the sensation of the mattress closing in around me is very not relaxing.
No part of me thought this through, but we are going to have a fucking conversation about being swallowed by furniture.
Honestly, it feels like I pulled the comforter up over my head and am warmly cocooned.
Thanks to the blackout curtains, I can’t see a thing, but I do feel the lack of air movement around me. However, that only lasts for a moment. Suddenly, the fabrics I feel have changed. And it’s almost like having a blanket yanked down, only I’m not lamenting this disrobing one bit.
I reach out on either side of me and feel familiar velvet fabric and a tasseled cushion.
I’m lying on the sofa.
Holy shit. Hausé is fucking amazing. And I really need my heart to stop racing.
I sit up slowly, letting my head reorient itself while I grope around for the fuzzy robe I know I tossed aside.
By the time I find it and belt it on, up and down have fixed themselves properly in my head, and I stand without swaying.
Neither of the guys budge as I tiptoe into the bathroom.
They still haven’t moved by the time I finish and emerge a somewhat more refreshed woman, so I creep out of the door and leave them snuggled together.
The rest of the house is dim, telling me it’s likely early. Far too early for anyone to be awake and functioning.
My limbs are stiff and there’s a steady throbbing in my head, but it’s no worse than I expected. Honestly, it’s not that bad, all things considered.
I pause at what is normally a four-foot hallway between my room and the kitchen, turn around, and look back at my door.
There are now two doors on either side of the hall and at least ten additional feet before you get to my room. I have to assume that’s where Luciu and the twins are staying. We don’t exactly keep guest space. Every corner of this place gets used.
Looks like Hausé provided for us once again.
Reaching out, I run my hand over the wall. “Thanks, Hausé.”
The cupboards in the kitchen softly clap in what I assume is a, you’re welcome.
I reach for the kettle and pause at the sink. “Any idea if Briella and Poppy are asleep? Awake? That’s not an easy question. Are Briella and Poppy asleep?”
There’s a scraping, squeaking sound, and I glance at the fridge while the magnets shift position.
yes
“Did they go to bed early?”
The letters scoot up and down, like she’s nodding at me.
I squint at the clock. It’s almost eight, which isn’t too early to pester them. With the kettle mostly full, I turn and place it on the stove to heat.
“Did the guys tell them—and you—what happened?” I ask as I pull down my canister of tea.
Again, the letters scoot up and down.
“Good,” I mutter.
Every witch has a tea they swear by. Tea, more than coffee or cocoa, connects us with the earth. Something about the roasting process weakens coffee. But tea, with its dried leaves and spices, helps connect and ground us. It’s why we drink it when our magic is depleted.
Briella’s tea is an herbal blend and tastes like grass clippings. I don’t care how much honey she puts in it, that shit tastes awful.
Poppy’s is psychoactive, so not really a morning beverage. It has fucking mushrooms in it. The taste doesn’t matter because you never remember it.
My preferred tea is a yaupon blend with a smoky aftertaste that makes me think of campfires and flannel. It’s also a nice base for throwing in something extra every now and then.
It’s fairly standard for witches to squabble over whose tea is better and engage in comical antics trying to get another witch to agree their tea is good.
There are witches with an honest to goddess tea gift.
While the gift isn’t particularly useful for anything other than discovering a perfect personal blend, they’re highly sought after for their social benefits.
Our coven has one, but from what I hear she’s practically kept under lock and key for reasons I don’t know.
Briella and Poppy have met her. She’s only a handful of years older than us, but she wasn’t allowed to attend the witch school for fear she’d be stolen away.
At least that’s what the rumor mill says.
The mugs dangling from hooks under the cabinets jangle like chimes. I turn my head and smile.
“I’m glad we all came home safe, too. I’ll be working with the guys to improve on the wards. Make sure this place—and you—are safe.”
The drawers rattle around me, and the knives in the block pop up and down like whack-a-mole targets.
I chuckle. “You’d teach them a lesson, though, wouldn’t you?”
The letters on the fridge scoot around, and I smile at her message
bring it on
“Have you always been able to communicate with us like this, and I just never noticed?
I watch as the b, r, i, g, i, t and last n are shifted away, leaving her answer.
no
“So this is new?”
Once more, the letters scoot around.
yes
“Like, since Vyslan got here new?”
The letters bob up and down again.
“Huh. So Vyslan coming here started something that… Woke you up?”
The letters clack and scrape as they are rearranged.
dont know
just did
“Well, that’s interesting,” I mutter. “Does it bother you? Not being able to talk to us except like this?”
yes
“I’m sorry.”
dont be
we are family
I reach out and run my hand over the counter.
Is there something I can do? Some way for us to give her a voice?
“I haven’t asked this, but we keep calling you she. Do you feel female? Male? Both? Neither? Something else?”
i am she
feels right
“It does feel like you’re here. It’s a nice feeling. I’m glad you’re here.”
I won’t bring up the idea that’s swimming in my head. At least, not yet. It will take some work and likely a bit of collaboration. This is an idea that’s outside my scope of expertise. But we have a lot of very talented people under one roof.
The kettle begins to gurgle, so before it whistles and men come to investigate, I lift it off and pour the hot water into the waiting ceramic kettle to steep the tea.
I know better than to expect this pleasant post-coma lull to continue.
The rebound migraine is coming, and with that, all the normal body aches.
“Thanks for giving the other guys a place to stay, by the way.”
they belong here
Her message makes me pause. I’m leaning toward agreeing with her. Which is what makes me question myself. Am I taking Darius’ predictions as fate? Is my heart leading the way? Or is something else going on?
“How do you know that?” I ask.
can feel
“But… Puck and Ezra?”
puck is afraid
I bite my lip and consider her perspective. What she sees that I don’t. All those little moments she’s been privy to while we were unaware. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
The letters skitter to the edges of the fridge. Wind gusts past the windows, and it sounds like she’s whistling. I chuckle and pull three cups down, arranging them on the serving tray with the teapot and dish of sugar with three crystal-topped spoons ready and waiting.
“I haven’t really paused to let myself think about it. I can’t let myself hope, Hausé.” I lift the tray. “Come on. Let’s take the girl talk upstairs.”