Chapter 9
Slade
Rhea spins around so fast her brown curls whip across her shoulders. Her amber eyes flare—bright, sharp, witch-lit—and she points a finger right at my chest.
“Oh, absolutely NOT,” she snaps. “You do not get to stand here and tell us that our ancestor doomed our entire bloodline because she rejected your ancestor. That isn’t how the curse works.”
Around us, the shop hums with dormant magic. Piper stands between us, curls bristling, blue eyes flicking back and forth like she’s watching a tennis match she did not consent to participate in.
I fold my arms—not because I need the stance, but because it seems to irritate both of them. “You don’t know how the curse works, little Bellamy.”
Rhea sputters. “Oh, you smug—overgrown—hellspawn—”
“Accurate,” I cut in smoothly.
Piper shoots me a glare that could have cracked obsidian. “Slade, don’t antagonize her.”
I look at Piper. Really look. Her cheeks flushed from anger.
Her chest rising too fast. Her power tugging at the air like an unstable heartbeat.
She’s perfect—mine. And she’s walking blind toward a truth that should have been hers from birth.
I exhale once, slow, a demon’s version of restraint.
“Your curse is not about punishment,” I say quietly.
Rhea stops mid-rant. Piper goes still.
“It’s not?” Piper asks hesitantly.
“No,” I answer. “And it never was.”
Rhea folds her arms. “Then what exactly do you think it was about?”
I meet her gaze without blinking. “A lie.”
The air in the shop tightens—like invisible fingers pulling everything taut.
Piper’s brows knit. “A… lie?”
“Yes.” I look between them. “Veda Bellamy lied about the curse’s origin. Lied to your coven. Lied to mine. Lied to the entire magical world.”
Rhea swallows hard. “That’s impossible. Bellamys don’t lie about bloodline magic.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “They do when they must.”
Piper steps closer, fingers trembling against her skirt. “What did she lie about?”
Everything in me goes still—ancient memory rising like smoke from a dying fire. “Veda wasn’t the victim,” I say. “She was the architect.”
Rhea stares. Piper’s breath catches, and the magic in the store ripples like a chord being plucked.
I continue, voice low, edged with truth older than their entire bloodline. “Your ancestor didn’t reject my ancestor because she feared him… or because fate forced her hand.”
My gaze settles on Piper—my intended—because she deserves this truth more than anyone. “She abandoned the bond because she wanted more power.”
Piper sucks in a sharp breath. “What?”
“She didn’t run from destiny,” I murmur. “She ran from accountability. From balance. From the one thing the bond would have demanded of her.”
Rhea finds her voice first. “Which was?”
“A sharing of power,” I say simply. “A merging of it.”
The cousins stare at me as though I’ve ripped open centuries of silence—and I have.
“Demon bonds,” I explain, “don’t take from witches. They equalize and unify. They demand honesty and sacrifice.”
Piper whispers, “And Veda didn’t want that.”
“No,” I say. “She wanted supremacy.”
Rhea’s mouth falls open. “You’re telling me our sweet, ancient, slightly spooky ancestor—”
“Was a power-hungry liar,” I finish. “Yes.”
Piper looks like she’s been struck. I soften my tone. Only for her. Never for anyone else. “When she broke the bond, the magic snapped. It twisted. And because she lied about her reasons, the curse became a corrupted echo of the original bond’s purpose.”
Rhea takes a step forward, voice trembling with a mixture of anger and awe. “And what was the original purpose?”
I look at Piper—her curls. That stubborn chin. Those blue eyes shining with fear and defiance and something fragile she won’t name. “You,” I say quietly. “You were meant to be the cure, Piper—not the sacrifice.”
Her breath shatters in the air.
Rhea’s eyes go wide. “Holy shit.”
Piper shakes her head. “Slade… stop.”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not anymore.”
I step toward her—and she doesn’t move. “You think I came here to take advantage of your bloodline?” I say.
“You think I want you for your curse? For some ancestral debt?” I lean forward, letting her feel the heat of every truth I’ve held back.
“I didn’t know fate was offering me the one thing my line has waited five hundred years for. ”
Her lips part.
“And it isn’t power,” I murmur. “It’s you.”
The curse stirs—lights flickering overhead, a low hum vibrating through the shelves.
Rhea inhales sharply. “Oh no. Nope. Nope. The air is doing that thing again.”
Piper closes her eyes—just once. Then opens them again. Blue fire... Fear… Want... Anger… All braided together. “Slade,” she whispers, voice trembling, “why didn’t Veda tell the truth?”
My answer is a blade. “Because she didn’t want anyone to know she gave up the one person she was ever meant to love.”
Piper flinches. Then, Rhea curses under her breath. And the curse pulses so hard the ornaments on the nearest tree tremble.
They’re not gonna like it, but… This is only the beginning.
***
Silence.
Thick. Unmoving. Crushing.
Piper stares at me like I’ve just rewritten five centuries of Bellamy history with a single sentence. Rhea’s amber eyes are blown wide, hands trembling at her sides. Magic hums in the walls, in the floorboards, in the lights overhead—an unstable, jittering pulse echoing Piper’s heartbeat.
The shop itself seems to flinch under the pressure.
Rhea finally whispers, “So we’re cursed because Great-Great-Grandmother Veda wanted more power and ghosted a demon?”
I blink. “That’s… not an inaccurate summary.”
Piper looks like she might pass out… or hex me… or both. “I need air,” she murmurs.
“You’re inside,” I point out.
“SLAADE,” she warns.
The shelves rattle again, louder this time. Glittering tinsel wriggles like startled snakes. An entire rack of spell candles flickers in synchronized panic.
Rhea glances around, wide-eyed. “Oh gods.”
Piper drags both hands through her curls, muttering Bellamy curse words I haven’t heard in two centuries. The magic crackles, then—BANG. Something slams against the shop window so hard the glass shivers.
Rhea jumps. “What was THAT?”
Piper and I both turn. Outside, framed in a blizzard of twinkling snow and streetlamps, stand a group of grinning townspeople—carolers.
Except… Not normal ones. These have glowing red cheeks, too-bright smiles, and matching holiday cardigans knitted with unsettling precision. All of them holding sheet music like weapons.
Rhea whispers, “Piper… why do they look like cult members on Christmas break?”
Piper presses a trembling hand to her temple. “Because my life is hell.”
“Correction,” I say softly, moving toward her, “your life is cursed.”
The lights flicker as the carolers begin tapping on the glass. In unison. A synchronized, eerie rhythm.
Tap. Tap. Tap-tap-tap. Oh, that is absolutely a summoning cadence.
Rhea pales. “Oh no. Oh HELL no.”
Piper whispers, “They’re going to sing, aren’t they?”
The carolers inhale. And then— “DING DONG MERRILY ON HIGH”—but it’s too loud, too sharp. Too magically charged.
The windows vibrate. The ornaments tremble. A row of enchanted bells begins chiming aggressively, the sounds clashing in disharmony.
I step in front of Piper automatically. “They’re enchanted.”
“No shit,” Rhea mutters. “Those are MENACING altos.”
Another bang rattles the door. One caroler—an elderly man with a disturbingly jolly grin—presses his face to the glass and sings with possessed fervor, “AND THE BELLS ARE RINGING—FOR SLAAADE AND PIPERRRR—”
Piper chokes. “OH MY GOD—THEY KNOW YOUR NAME—”
I roll my shoulders. “They shouldn’t.”
“Slade,” Rhea snaps, “fix it!”
I gesture to the window. “They’re affected by the bond. And the curse. And your family’s questionable magical filtration system.”
“Just—JUST—GO TALK TO THEM!” Rhea squeaks.
“They’re hostile,” I smirk. “I like hostile. It’s festive.”
Piper grabs my sleeve. “Slade. Please.”
Something in my chest tightens. Then I turn, and open the door. The carolers pivot as one creature, their smiles stretching too wide to be natural. “HELL-O SLAAAAADE,” the old man bellows.
Behind me, Piper squeaks. Rhea swears.
I step fully outside, letting the cold bite across my skin. The carolers swarm closer—too close. One woman leans in, eyes glassy. “Do you WORSHIP the season—?”
“No,” I say. “Back up.”
They don’t. They sing louder. “GLORIAAAAAA—IN EXCELSIS DEOOOOO—”
My eye twitches. I could immolate them. I could snap my fingers and disperse the enchantment with the efficiency of a scalpel. Instead… I growl, voice layered with demon command. “Silence.”
The carolers choke off mid-note, expressions drooping. Their shoulders slump. One drops a tambourine.
Behind me, Piper whispers, “Holy shit.”
Rhea whispers, “Can he do that again?”
The carolers blink in a dazed rhythm before slowly shuffling away, muttering confused fragments of lyrics like traumatized mall Santas. When the last one disappears down the snowy street, I shut the door.
Piper exhales a long, shaking breath. Rhea flops dramatically onto a counter. “Pipes. Babe. You NEED to break this curse. I don’t care if you have to kiss him, bind with him, or marry him on Christmas Eve—but I am NOT living through demon-adjacent carolers again.”
Piper’s jaw drops. “Rhea!”
Rhea shrugs. “I’m just saying. That was horrifying.”
Piper turns to me. She’s angry, and equally terrified. Confused. Too beautiful for her own good. And she whispers, “Slade… what’s happening to me?”
I step closer—slow, careful, gentle in a way demons aren’t taught to be. “The curse is waking,” I murmur. “And it recognizes you.”
Her breath trembles. “As what?”
I meet her eyes. “The one who must finish what Veda never did.”
Her pulse stutters, but she doesn't balk. I take that as a good sign.
Rhea’s amber eyes widen again. “Oh… shit.”
The ornaments tremble. Then, the lights flicker. And magic tightens around Piper like she’s the spark at the center of a long-buried fuse.