Seth
“You have the prettiest eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”
My smile flickers. And fades.
I rarely mind customers flirting, and I’ll never turn down a compliment, but it’s a little harder to accept now that… well, I could put them in danger. Or at the very least, I’ll make a fool of myself. I still don’t know enough about hexes.
Even though she’s nowhere nearby, I can almost hear Rowan telling me we have other things to focus on. And she would be right.
“Thanks,” I say, handing over the change. “Have a great day.”
She drops the dollar bill into the tip jar—along with her phone number.
And that should be the end of it, but it’s not. On the way out, she slips on the ice and goes home with a bruised ass. No serious injuries, just more embarrassment. Maybe it’s the hex. Maybe it’s not. Either way, I’m ready to get rid of it.
I never wanted to hurt anyone else. And if I succeeded in that, maybe this hex wouldn’t exist to begin with. Guilt won’t get me any closer to fixing it, and Rowan won’t let me crawl into a hole and bury myself there—no matter how much I want to.
I recognize Rowan’s car as soon as it pulls up outside the shop. It’s newer than most of her sisters’ cars and still reliable—a greenish-brown Honda Civic that stands out while making the quietest statement possible.
After locking the door behind me, I lower my head, talking to her through the open window. I flash a grin. “How’d you know I need a ride?”
“Lucky guess.” She turns away, looking ahead. “If the sun’s out, you’re usually walking. Get in.”
No questions. No room for argument. I listen, buckling up and stretching out my legs as much as I can in her tiny car.
“Where are we starting?” I ask.
This is probably supposed to be my thing, my choice, but I trust Rowan. In this situation—and anything related to magic—she knows best.
It’s strange to be spending so much time with her alone. We’ve always been around each other, but we usually had other people. Other friends. Her sisters. My mother. Now, the quiet of the car, the warmth enveloping us; it feels…
New. That’s the only way to put it.
“Victoria Welsh,” she mutters in an odd, clipped tone.
“Why do you say her name like that? Are you two mortal enemies? Did I miss some lore?”
“No. But we aren’t friends.”
“She’s nice.” I play with the hole in my jeans. “And she’s the one who ghosted me, so maybe we can skip her—”
“We can’t.” She lets out a low, long breath and takes a turn. “She probably ghosted you for a reason. No offense. And I don’t see how you can call her nice when she ghosted you.”
“Nice people ghost sometimes. It happens.”
She lets out a sound between a scoff and a laugh. “You would say that.”
Ouch. Before now, I didn’t think Rowan thought much about me, but now that she knows about the hex, she clearly thinks the worst of me.
There’s nothing I can do to defend myself, and I don’t blame her for the comment.
She’s as stoic as ever. I could laugh it off, treat it like a joke, but it’s hard.
How long has she been holding these comments back?
“I try not to ghost,” I say, forcing my voice to remain as even as possible. “I know I’m a jerk, but—”
Her head twists in my direction with speed, her brow furrowing. “You’re not. Don’t speak about yourself like that.”
“We wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t true.” I look away and wrinkle my nose. I can’t take those piercing gray eyes looking at me for another second. “But I can be better, right? I can change.”
She says nothing for several moments as she turns her attention back to the road and continues onward. “Talking to Victoria is our first step to changing the situation and your life, if that’s what you want.”
It feels like there’s something more settled between us—a wedge, a wall. Neither of us breaks it on the short ride to the Welsh estate.
Victoria’s parents moved to Florida a few years ago, leaving the place to her. I’ve only ever been here for parties and hookups, but now… it looks too big for one person. Too lonely. My family home, even if it’s an eighth of the size, is warmer than this cool, perfectly white house ever could be.
“Come on.” Rowan steps out of the car and shuts the door firmly.
I listen.
We walk up the clear pathway that leads to the home, knocking gently on the door. When she doesn’t answer, I ring the bell instead. There’s a soft bark coming from inside, and I exchange a look with Rowan.
“Teacup chihuahua,” I say. “Not a guard dog.”
“That could be a guard dog.”
I guess it could be, but Victoria is a witch, so it’s really just her familiar. That may be more dangerous than a guard dog—familiars are supposed to keep their witch safe, after all.
Victoria herself answers the door, and her wrinkled nose tells me she was probably watching us through the camera on the doorbell. “What do you want? The party isn’t until next weekend.”
The dog’s barking ceases, and he sits at my feet, jumping up to get closer. He’s friendly, but I know better than to pet him without Victoria’s permission.
“We’re not here for the party,” Rowan says smoothly. She’s taking control of the conversation before I put my foot in my mouth. Smart idea. “Could we please come in for a bit? Have a cup of tea?”
It’s such a normal question for Rowan to ask another witch.
They’re always bonding over tea. If someone visits the Hawthorne house, no matter which sister opens the door, they have a spot by the fire and a teacup in hand.
But Victoria looks at Rowan as if she suggests they jump into the ocean in January.
For someone who throws so many parties, she doesn’t seem to have the hospitality Rowan and I are used to.
I didn’t realize that about Victoria when we were dating. It’s always easier to see the upsides of the people I’m hanging out with, but looking back, it all becomes clearer. I wonder how many negatives she started seeing about me…
Maybe she was the one who cast the hex after all.
“Um… sure.” Victoria steps aside, her blonde head held high. “Take off your shoes. Please.”
“Duh.” My mom would kill me if I walked around the house with shoes on; it’s second nature to leave them by the floor, my socks slipping against the hardwood as Victoria leads us to an extravagant sitting room.
There’s a grandfather clock in the corner, marble statues, and I know from experience that the couches are as hard as a rock.
Rowan learns that quickly, sitting as straight as a board, and I slide next to her, while Victoria finds a seat of her own—a stuffy, vintage-looking armchair that makes her look like she’s sitting on a throne. Fitting.
“Well?” Victoria lifts a brow, her dark eyes shifting between us. “Are you two dating now?”
I look at Rowan, but she won’t meet my gaze. The signature heat creeps up her cheeks, splattering across her face and ears.
“No,” she says. “I’m helping him with a magical problem.”
That is probably the best way to describe our situation, but it makes me twist in my seat.
“A problem?” Victoria echoes blandly. “I hope you don’t expect me to help.”
Her familiar jumps into my lap before I can stop him, and despite Victoria’s coolness, she gives me a slight nod.
“Go ahead,” she says, though she doesn’t sound all that pleased about it.
Still, it’s permission to pet, which I gratefully take as the dog settles onto my lap.
At least one of them still likes me.
Rowan clears her throat, drawing the attention back.
“I expect nothing from you.” Her expression remains unmoving, but I can practically hear her eyes wanting to roll back into her skull.
So… it’s going about as well as I expected.
“We’ve recently confirmed that Seth has been hexed, and we’re interviewing witches to see if anyone knows who could have done it. ”
Victoria recoils. “You barged into my home, and now you’re blaming me for his misfortune?”
I’m quick to jump in. “No! Not at all. Just looking for information—like she said.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not really sure what terms we ended on, because you… you know. Stopped texting me.”
I wince. This is not the conversation I want to have with anyone. It’s not like I’ve never moved on from someone, and I don’t take offense to her moving on. If anything, that was easier for me—but this? This is not.
“Don’t tell me.” Victoria leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “Starbrook’s most notorious fuckboy finally being ghosted hurt his feelings?”
Rowan rolls her eyes. “You’re not doing anything to convince me it wasn’t you, Ms. Welsh.”
She curls her nose. “Well, it wasn’t me. Convincing enough?”
“Oh, very…”
Victoria turns her attention to me. “I don’t have the energy to waste on hexing you. And you know that.”
The dog jumps from my lap and moves to his mother’s side, making his alliance all too clear. He may still like me, but not that much.
I hold up my hands. What I want is to wither away—or at least hide in my bedroom for a bit—but I’ll do anything to diffuse this situation in the meantime. “No worries, Tori. I trust you.”
“I don’t care,” she snaps. “I never asked for your trust. And don’t call me that.”
I exchange a look with Rowan. The situation still doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel resolved. It’s pretty clear why she ghosted me now.
I still can’t help but ask, “Are you sure I didn’t do anything to upset you?”
Forget the hex. I don’t want to have any problems with Victoria or anyone else. We used to be friendly. What can I do to get us there again?
“No.” The single word is clipped short. “But I knew exactly what I was getting into with you. We went on three dates, and from what my friends told me, I knew there wouldn’t be a fourth. So I cut it off once I was done with you.”
“That’s not true. I would have gone out with you again. We were having fun. Or, I mean, I thought we were having fun.”
“Prove it.” She narrows her eyes. “You only texted me once after I stopped replying. I know you didn’t care then, and you only care now because someone else wasted their magic hexing you.”
“I—”