Rowan
The shop is quiet, empty, and dark—lights out, candles on, and the winter sun is already sleeping. Ozan dutifully locks the doors, preparing for what comes next.
Magic.
Seth lies on the floor, groaning as he settles into place. Ozan places crystals and lit candles around him. All I can do is watch. For now.
There’s a change about him. Subtle. Traces of shadow magic cling to his aura, so faint that I wouldn’t spot it if I didn’t know to look.
Seth may indeed be cursed, but it would have to be a weak one. If it were stronger, the energy would be more prominent.
It’s one thing to study curses and how to break them; it’s another to learn that one of my friends could be under such magic.
It’s dangerous. Harmful. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to break it on my own.
Hopefully, Ozan is, but I doubt it. Curse-breaking is its own specialty, and witches who study it are rare.
There may not be one in all of Maine, much less in Starbrook.
“Curses are serious,” I say, not for the first time. “They take too much energy and create a lot of harm. This is a serious accusation.”
Or perhaps I’m still in denial.
Seth closes his eyes. “I know—and I’m not trying to accuse anyone. Honest.”
Seth looks… peaceful. I step closer and hover above him.
Ozan is the perfect person to own a witch supply shop. He’s an expert spellcaster, and I’ve learned a lot from him in the few years that I’ve known him. He’s a good brother-in-law, despite being an only child. Protective. Wise. A bit funny. A perfect fit for my grumpy oldest sister, Juniper.
“Do you have any other symptoms?” I whisper to Seth, kneeling by his side.
“I’ve been… kind of tired lately, I guess. I thought maybe it was depression.”
Curses can worsen someone’s mental health if they’re already struggling, but most wouldn’t describe the effects as kind of tired. Curious.
“Maybe it is. Have you considered a mental health check-in?”
He groans. “That’s the next stop, if this goes wrong. Or right. I don’t really know what I’m hoping for.”
I wouldn’t wish a curse on my worst enemy. Then again, I wouldn’t wish depression on them either.
“You know, I’ve never seen you stay so still.” There’s no humor in the words even as I attempt to tease him. I’ve never been the best at lightening the mood.
Seth still manages a laugh—shaky, halfhearted—and opens one eye. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can stay still.”
“Uh-huh.”
Ozan hands me engraved crystals, and I rise, shuffling around to set the charms on and around Seth.
The symbols of Horkos—a minor god of curses—glow as they activate: one on each hand, one on his forehead, and finally, one on his chest. I rest my hand on the crystal above his chest, and Seth’s lids flicker closed.
A small smile dances on his lips, despite the severity of the situation.
The only sign that something is off is the twitch of his feet.
Even now, he can’t stop the little dance he’s constantly doing.
And I can’t stop the way my heart dances for him. Ridiculous.
Ozan walks around us in a circle, puffs of smoke coming from his cedar bundle, permeating the air with a woody evergreen scent. My fingers flex with the urge to fix Seth’s tousled hair. Sometimes, it’s better not to look at him at all.
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply.
“Ready?” Ozan asks.
“Ready,” Seth responds.
“As ready as I could possibly be,” I mutter.
Each witch has a specialty. Ozan’s is spell casting, and mine is astro magic—which involves many, many spells. I picture the sky, where Mars rests in delicate balance, as Ozan chants under his breath.
When I open my eyes, the symbol of the god is glowing bigger, brighter—right above Seth’s head. But it doesn’t glow black and smoky as a curse would. Instead, it’s bright yellow.
Blast it all. Seth was right.
Sort of.
“Well?” Seth shifts, his fingers tapping against the wooden floor.
I exchanged a look with Ozan. Which of us has to break the news? He lifts an eyebrow at me, and though I would rather not be the one to say it, there aren’t many other options.
“Good news first: it’s not a curse,” Ozan says.
Seth perks up, grinning. “Oh, hell yeah!”
But it’s too soon for him to celebrate.
“You are…” I grimace. “Hexed.”
I’m shoved between Ozan’s hulking form and Seth’s gangly legs in Ozan’s truck—not exactly the place I want to be, but we’re all going to the same location. I’m warm next to Seth, with his arm bumping against mine.
But his smile is gone, and it hasn’t returned since we confirmed his hex. A hex isn’t as serious as a curse, but for someone like Seth—without magic—it’s bound to feel more severe than it would for a witch.
Curses can ruin someone’s entire life and affect their descendants.
Hexes, on the other hand, tend to create a bit of bad luck and wear off with time, given that the witch doesn’t continue feeding the spell.
Even though I explained the difference to him, it didn’t do much to lift his mood, not even when I told him hexes are far easier to break.
This is the best-case scenario. He doesn’t seem to see it that way.
I lean closer to him and drop my voice, even though there’s no hope of privacy when Ozan is inches from us.
“Hexes happen,” I say. “Maple once accidentally hexed herself, you know. It’s fickle magic.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “Really?”
I nod. “Turned her hair green. This isn’t so bad, in comparison.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Well… thanks.”
He’s thanking me, but I can tell I haven’t actually done anything to make him feel better.
I turn away, staring out the windshield into the inky night. “How did you know you were hexed?”
The effects of a hex aren’t always so obvious.
For some people, it’s as simple as feeling as if they’ve had a few days of bad luck.
Many go months and years without realizing they’re hexed before the effects eventually wear off.
The length of the hex depends on the strength of the intention behind it and whether the witch continues feeding the energy.
He sighs and looks out the window, the muscles in his neck flexing as he turns away. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Seth, not wishing to speak about something? Impossible. But I won’t push.
“All right…”
The silence only lasts a few moments.
He turns back to me swiftly. “My dates have all been flopping, and I was talking to Donnie… he mentioned a curse. As a joke. And I realized, yeah. Maybe.”
Ozan lets out a surprised laugh. “Then it sounds like you pissed one of your exes off.”
Seth shakes his head. “Something like that.”
But I know what he wants to say without saying it—he doesn’t have any serious exes that I know of. Seth may be an expert in dating, but relationships? Give me a break. I would know. I’ve seen him attend many first dates at the tavern or the café.
They rarely turn into a second.
I press my lips together to keep from saying anything. Whom he does or doesn’t date is none of my business.
Ozan parks outside our home. It’s always been bustling, though it’s quieter lately, with Aspen and Mac moving into a little cabin and Maple living with her husband.
Tonight, that’s not the case. We’re having a family dinner.
Instrumental music wafts from the place, cars are filling the driveway, and every light in the house is on. My mother’s spirit—the spirit of the hostess, the matron—washes over me, and my chest aches. It’s been almost five years since we lost her, and I still miss her.
I hope I never stop feeling that pain.
Seth hops out of the car and turns to me, offering a hand. He’s just being polite, I think, but it still makes my mouth dry when my soft fingers brush against his strong, calloused ones. He keeps hold of me as I lower myself from the truck.
Ozan’s heavy footsteps tell me he’s going inside, but Seth and I remain there for a moment. My fingers slip out of his, the warmth of his touch leaving me too soon.
“You’ll be okay,” I whisper. “Hexes are temporary.”
“How temporary?”
Snowflakes fall into his hair, sticking to the inky strands.
A smile threatens to tug at the corner of my lips. “Depends on how badly you upset the witch, I’m afraid. Come on. It’s cold out.”
“But—”
“We’ll talk about it later. The last thing we want is to make the others wait, yes?”
I’ve never been a fan of being late, and Seth—Seth, who was already late to meet me once—should argue with me.
He doesn’t. A rain cloud floats above his head—metaphorically, of course—as we trudge into the weathered red house.
It’s a towering home, one that has enough room for each of my four sisters.
And me. I’m still here, and I’m unsure if I'll ever leave, or if I want to.
The entryway to the home is clear of snow, thanks to Ozan—or perhaps it was Mac’s turn to clear it out. When we stomp into the home, warmed by a woodstove and too many bodies, I turn to see the water droplets sticking to Seth’s dark hair and lashes.
I scurry farther inside.
This is the only place I’ve ever been able to call home.
My mother could have said the same, and her mother before her.
Rosemary and smoke permeate the air, and there are plenty of comfortable seats—from the well-worn sofa to the large table in the dining room.
A large red rug splays over the living room floor, padding the sound of my shoes as I walk through.
Seth’s mother, Liezel, rests on a rocking chair near the fireplace, chatting with Mac’s mother, Edith.
I can always see so much of Seth in Liezel.
She’s an older Filipino woman with the same warm bronze complexion and deep eyes.
Her hair, though it’s as dark as his, is peppered with gray streaks—likely from the stress of raising three children on her own.
Still, she has nary a wrinkle on her face, aside from the beautiful lines in the corners of her eyes.
I stop by and hug her—she’s always been a hugger, and I’m willing to make exceptions for my no-hugging rule.
Hugging Liezel is warm and safe. She wraps both arms around me, tender but firm, and I inhale her familiar perfume—the same one she’s been wearing since I was young.
Mac’s mother, Eden, is not the hugging type. I offer her the same stiff nod I always have, and she does the same.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Liezel uneasily.
Many of my sisters are more comfortable around death than I am.
Juniper’s goddess is Persephone, the Queen of the Underworld.
Laurel’s patron is Hermes, a psychopomp.
My patron goddess, Athena, may be an expert in battle plans, but she’s no help in moments like these, when I’m facing the potential loss of someone I care for so deeply.
Liezel has been ill for years, but her bright spirit remains. That’s what I hang onto.
“I’ll be better once we’re eating,” Liezel says, chuckling under her breath.
I laugh and shake my head. “Soon, I’m sure. Do you know what Maple is making?”
Maple is an expert chef. Though she’s more skilled in pastries and sweets, she’s just as good at anything savory.
Eden chimes in. “Roast chicken.”
“Perfect.” I look toward the kitchen, where laughter and bantering float in.
Before I can leave, Liezel grabs my hand. “You have been watching out for Seth, haven’t you?”
I freeze. Does she already know about the hex? I certainly won’t be the one to tell her.
I clear my throat and nod, incapable of meeting her gaze. “Of course. Seth will be all right.”
When I finally detangle myself from her, I know I’m correct. Seth is huddled in a corner of the kitchen, smiling at something Laurel—my younger sister—is rambling about. I can’t watch them together.
Seth and Laurel have been best friends for as long as they’ve known each other, and while Laurel is now in a serious relationship with a demon who rules a sector of the Underworld—somehow, that still sounds so strange—I know he’s always wanted her.
It’s clear by the way he smiles at her, brighter than the rest. They’ve always been inseparable, and even now that she chose someone else, they still are.
Unrequited love is the actual curse. I would know.
“Are you all right?” Juniper asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. She’s holding a tray of bruschetta—freshly made, likely by Maple.
Of all my sisters, Juniper is the worst in the kitchen.
The others are hard at work making dinner.
Aspen and Mac fix a salad as Maple bends over the oven.
The kitchen is filled with the wonderful aroma of fresh parsley and sage.
Dried herbs hang from the ceiling, and flowers that were once fresh rest dried in a pot at the center of the table.
Even from here, I can hear the fire crackling and the older women laughing.
“I’m fine.” I hold my head higher. “What can I help with?”
“Nothing at all.” Maple stands up and fixes me with her sweet-as-honey smile. She runs her hands over her round belly, which is now covered by a pink apron. “Actually… you know what? C’mere.”
I dutifully shuffle over, and Maple digs a tasting spoon into a bowl of stuffing.
“Will you try this?” she asks.
Since her now-husband turned her—consensually, of course—into a vampire, Maple has been asking for my opinion on flavors more frequently.
I can’t quite understand the choice to change, but I’ve heard people do silly things for love.
Vampires can still eat food, but there’s no denying their taste changes.
Maple enjoys the challenge rather than being upset about the loss.
I take the spoon from her and take a bite. “More salt. Definitely.”
“Told you,” Aspen says in a sing-song voice.
Aris, Maple’s husband, enters the kitchen with a drink in his hand.
“Relax,” he says to her, soft and sweet, as she takes the glass from him.
All around me, people are in love. Laurel’s partner may not be in attendance, but I can hear her gushing to Seth—poor, lonely Seth. If he had any magic of his own, I would almost believe he hexed himself out of whatever love he carries for Laurel.
I meet his gaze from across the room, and his smile slowly fades.
“Time to eat,” Maple says, loud enough to snap me out of the moment. “Come, come. Let’s set the table.”