Chapter Eight
Effie…
And just like that, the barbecue goes from a pleasant late afternoon excursion in the park (unless you, like me, have been kidnapped) to snarling tension in a heartbeat.
No one goes full furry, but I am definitely hearing a lot of growls and a get her or two as the pack circles the table where Artemis and I are still sitting.
Some people are starting to yell about having me for dinner, and I swear there are at least four distinct still-human-sounding rage howls that bounce off the mountains surrounding Arcadia.
No one is attacking—yet—but the air is crackling with animosity and barely reined-in fuck-you-ery.
Artemis keeps a hold of my hand, but she loses that otherworldly look in her eyes that she had a minute ago. She’d called me a heart witch, which is so very not me. Ask anyone. I’m not the soft and touchy type. Well, I am touchy, but definitely not in the sweet and adorable way.
Darius is still standing next to us, but he doesn’t glance our way as he drops his balled-up T-shirt onto the table.
His hands are loose at his sides and his body’s relaxed, but there’s no disguising the power he’s holding in check.
It’s like hearing the thunder after the lightning cracks and scares the crap out of you.
It is so fucking hot.
Yes, I know. I’m questioning myself right now too, but for someone used to being the most unhinged, unpredictable wild card in the room, this is a new experience.
Darius might spend too much time looking like he just ate a whole bag of sour gnomes, but I can sense that there’s more lurking underneath.
It’s subtle, just a hum of a song you can’t remember the lyrics to, but it’s there.
And I want to see more of it. Does that make me a badass witch, or just a bad one?
Does it matter? I’m not sure. I guess that depends on the number of orgasms it results in.
While I’m picturing the perpetually grumpy alpha in nothing but a pair of socks (don’t judge my turn-ons), he is all business.
Darius shoots a fuck-off look at a pair of guys in the Aetos uniform of T-shirt and well-worn jeans approaching our table and sends them a warning snarl.
They stop their stroll immediately, and the blond with a gnarly chin scar even whimpers just a little.
“Gone? What do you mean, the spell book is gone?” Darius asks his second-in-command.
“The only thing in there is this.” Nikos holds up a speckled orange-and-brown feather with traces of inky blue.
My stomach drops—not all the way to the earth’s molten center or anything, but at least to a lower spot than where it should be—and does an uncomfortable shimmy-shake thing. “Oh shit.”
“Witch,” Darius says, turning his snarly attention completely on me.
This situation is not good for me, judging by the way Darius’s ears are starting to get pointier and the sprinkling of black chest hair across his pecs is beginning to get thicker, but I couldn’t be more proud of Leona if I tried.
Seriously.
Do you know what kind of skill it takes to pull the magic switcheroo that she must have done? Massive amounts—like doing a quadruple axel spin flip curtsy the first time you ever tie on ice skates. (And if that move is not a real ice-skating move, sue me.)
Darius goes all growly. “What have you done, witch.”
It isn’t a question, but he definitely still wants an answer. Too bad the one I have for him isn’t about to make this situation any better.
“It wasn’t me,” I say with an over-the-shoulder hair flip, because if I’m going to witch-with-an-attitude my way out of this, I’m going all in on the I-don’t-give-a-fuck bitch meter.
“My sister got you, and boy did she ever. Leona magicked one of Barkley’s feathers to look and feel like the spell book, and you fell for it—or should I say you stole for it.
” I grin at him, too full of sisterly pride not to. “Leona’s really fucking good.”
Artemis taps me on the shoulder to draw my attention before asking, “Who’s Barkley?”
“My sister Bea’s absolutely unhinged rooster familiar.” And that’s putting it nicely. Barkley is the biggest asshole with a beak you’ve ever met. “He leaves his feathers everywhere.”
“So you’re saying your sister did this?” Darius’s ears are slowly returning to their usual non-wolf shape.
For once, trying the thinking-before-speaking thing, I keep my mouth shut and nod.
“Leona,” he grumbles, making my sister’s name sound like a curse.
All my good intentions fly out the window and I laugh at his reaction.
I can’t help myself. Leona is the heir to our family’s magic and, honestly, one of the nicest people I know.
She is like goodness and dependability personified.
No one grumbles about her. I’ve always wondered why the family magic chose her to be the heir even though I’m the oldest, and now I finally understand.
It’s not because I’m too unruly or impetuous.
It’s because I may have been born first, but I’ll never play four-dimensional chess like her.
I don’t do subtle.
I just run headfirst into whatever disaster is about to happen and figure it’ll turn out okay in the end.
My sister, however, is the queen of working all the angles.
Even earlier today, when Leona was focused on how to get the pixie queen to turn her secret husband from a tree back into his witchy self, she’d also been acting as the heir should and safeguarding The Liber Umbrarum from theft.
She must have used one of Barkley’s feathers (they really do seem to attach themselves to everything) in a mirror spell that showed whoever was looking exactly what they wanted or expected to see.
And in Darius’s case, that had been The Liber Umbrarum, which is more than likely back with Leona on its way to the secured facility for safekeeping.
Leona prevented her husband from permanently being turned into a tree and saved Witchingdom too. She really is the head witch in charge for a reason.
“It just goes to show,” I say, unable to keep my thoughts to myself any longer, “it’s never a good idea to mess with a Sherwood.”
“I’m not scared of a witch,” Nikos says as he stalks over to me, his chest all puffed out and the dark hair on his forearms thickening with every step.
“That’s only because that rock”—I jerk my chin toward a boulder sitting next to the koi pond by the gazebo—“is giving you a run for your money in the brains department.”
Magic is making my fingers tingle with the urge to unleash it.
It’s a sweet, seductive tease of knowing I can change everything with a little finger wiggle.
I’d love to give in to that feeling, but I’m trying my hardest not to go with my usual impulses to magic first and deal with the consequences later.
It’s called maturing and personal growth, and it is so very not fun most of the time.
As if sensing the trouble brewing at my fingertips, Nikos stops just out of arm’s reach. Yeah, that won’t matter even a little bit when it comes to my being able to get my point across, but I’m willing to take it as a sign of peace.
There. I can be a steady Sherwood, not just a wild one.
Then the big lug Nikos tries to intimidate me by leaning close and looming over me as he gives me what I’m assuming is his best tough-guy snarl.
The man obviously didn’t grow up with a bear shifter as a dad.
He’ll have to do a lot more than that pathetic little lip curl if he’s gonna make me think twice.
“Look here, witch—”
Still standing next to me, Darius lets loose with a low warning growl that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up at the same time as my stomach does a little loop-the-loop, but my spell is already in motion.
Before Nikos can finish his sentence, I do a finger wave and the honeysuckle scent of my magic clings to the fall breeze rattling the leaves from the trees.
Nikos stops talking.
Then he starts to cough up bright plume after plume of Barkley’s tail feathers.
Everyone around us falls silent as Nikos continues trying to speak—correction, trying to yell, judging by the pure rage burning in his now-bulging eyes—but the only thing that comes out is feathers, a glorious plumage shower of shut-the-fuck-up.
Am I a little proud of myself? Yeah, so what. Come on, this is pure creativity that packs visual punch.
If only I still had my phone, I’d whip it out, open the WitchyGram app, and blast this video out, because this is a stellar trick even for me.
“Can the shit,” Darius says.
“You’re no fun,” I say with a pout.
“Yeah,” he shoots back, as if he takes pride in the fact that he has no sense of humor. “And you’re a pain in my ass.”
“Not by choice,” I retort as I process his absolute gall. “You glitched my magic and kidnapped me.”
He lets out a snort. “Only after you appeared out of nowhere on my lap.”
“So you admit it!” I yell out, ignoring the increasingly pissed-off Nikos coughing up rooster tail feathers and the grumbling of the other pack members as they grouse about witches being nothing but trouble. “You hid a charm on me.”
“I didn’t.” Darius grins at me, making himself look way more wickedly sexy than he has a right to. “But it’s what you deserve after stealing my motorcycle in the first place.” He nods toward Nikos. “Now, stop with the floor show.”
“Why should I?” I ask in an absolute non-question, because I am most definitely not interested in Darius’s thoughts on the issue. “He was rude.”
“So I’ll take care of it.” He hooks a finger in the belt loop of my jeans but doesn’t tug me any closer. He just lets it sit there like a reminder that I can’t leave his side even if I want to. “That’s my job.”
Crossing my arms, I pivot so he either has to hold me in place or let his finger uncurl from around the loop. My magic might be glitched, but my attitude is working just fine, thank you very much.
“I can take care of myself,” I tell him. “I always do.”
He shoves his fingers through his long, dark hair in obvious frustration. “Are all of the Sherwoods this stubborn?”