Chapter 8
Maggie
The house smelled like rosemary and lye, sharp and clean, clinging to my hair as I stirred a pot on the stove. The rhythm was comforting, steady, and my body needed that after… well, after discovering that barghest knots were as advertised and then some.
I tried not to think about last night. Tried not to think about the way Bram had carried me upstairs, or the way his teeth had mapped every inch of me like he was memorizing it, or the way I’d woken up still knotted to him, warm and unbearably full.
The phone buzzed against the counter. I wiped my hands on a towel and answered.
"Morning, witch," came my sister Riley's voice, far too cheerful for 9 AM. "What's brewing? Love potion? Hangover cure?"
“Soap.”
“You sound suspiciously… glowy for someone babysitting rosemary and lye.”
I grimaced, adjusting the heat under the pot. “I’m fine.”
“Maggie.” Her tone sharpened. “You met someone.”
“No.”
“Yes. Who?”
I sighed. “His name’s Bram.”
“Bram,” she repeated, savoring it. “Tall, dark, and handsome?”
"Taller. Darker. Midnight skin. Horns. Tail."
Silence. Then: “Oh. Oh.”
I winced.
“Maggie! You—oh my God. You had sex with a monster-man!”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“I am saying it like that! Was it good?”
I pressed my lips together, but my silence was answer enough.
She squealed. “It was good. It was so good you can’t even speak.”
“Please stop.”
“Oh, I am not stopping.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, like anyone in her house cared. "What variety? Big raging orc? Fae? You have to tell me!"
"Barghest," I told her.
"Ooooh!" She exclaimed. “Did he… knot you?”
The spoon clattered into the pot. “Absolutely not discussing this.”
“You HAVE to! How does that even work? What about condoms?”
I dragged a hand over my face. “I don’t need condoms. I have hot flashes. I can’t get pregnant.”
Dead silence. Then she said, with relish, “That’s not how biology works.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
"Until the ovaries fully close up shop? You're still fertile, Maggie. Hot flashes aren't a magic shield against pregnancy; they're just your body's way of torturing you while keeping all the fun biological options open. You could one hundred percent still get pregnant."
My stomach dropped. “You’re lying.”
“Google it,” she sang. “Or better yet, ask your new horned boyfriend if Barghests and humans can even make babies. Because you may be the first witch in history to need a cross-dimensional midwife.”
I groaned. “Goodbye.”
“Maggie—”
I hung up and pressed the phone to my forehead, groaning again.
The soap bubbled threateningly behind me, but all I could think about was Bram’s weight pinning me to the bed, the swell of him locked inside me, and my sister’s smug voice.
I grabbed the business card from the fridge. My fingers moved before my brain caught up, opening a new text.
So. Barghest + human. Reproductive compatibility? Asking for a friend.
I didn’t wait for a reply. I shoved the phone into my pocket, grabbed my coat, and headed for the apothecary on the square. Morning-after tea wasn’t romantic, but it was better than finding out the hard way that menopause was not, in fact, contraception.
I was sitting in the tiny tearoom at the apothecary, ingesting the bitter morning-after tea with the rest of the hussies, under the judgmental eye of the same old biddy I'd given the finger to less than 24 hours ago.
The irony was not lost on me.
Neither was the humiliation. I was forty-two years old, a witch with my own house, my own business, a woman who’d stared down protestors with megaphones and cops with too much swagger. And here I was, slurping herbal sludge in the shame circle because I’d let a barghest pin me to the mattress.
My phone buzzed against the table.
I snatched it up, praying it was my sister and not a shipping notice.
Bram.
I’ve never seen a Barghest-human, he wrote.
I stared at the words until they blurred. Not never possible. Never seen. Which was worse, somehow.
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I ducked my head as the biddy’s eyes bored into me like she could read my screen. I thumbed out a reply before I could lose my nerve.
So that’s a maybe?
The dots pulsed once. Twice. Then vanished.
I cursed under my breath and drained the last of the tea, grimacing at the taste. Around me, the other women sipped, sniffled, or sighed, each of us pretending we weren’t all here for the same reason.
When I shoved the cup back across the table, the old biddy sniffed. “Some witches never learn.”
I smiled sweetly. “And some witches don’t care.”
Her eyes narrowed, but I didn’t flinch. Because underneath the panic, the bitterness, and the tea, one thought pulsed steady and undeniable.
When Bram texted me again, not if, when, I'd answer.
Every damn time.
The dots popped back up on my phone just as I was getting ready to shove it in my pocket and stomp out of the tea room.
I should have thought. About safety. About you first. It’s not an excuse, but I didn’t think. I’m sorry.
My stomach twisted. I’d half expected silence, half expected a brush-off. But this, an apology, blunt and sincere, hit harder than it should have.
I typed back before I could overthink.
So next time you’ll bring condoms to dinner?
Three dots. Then:
Next time I’ll make sure I don’t leave you walking to the apothecary in the morning.
I bit my lip, grinning into my teacup. Big words for someone who couldn’t even resist soup and sourdough.
His reply was instant. Soup was good. Bread was better. You were the best.
Heat flushed my cheeks. I typed, deleted, re-typed, and finally settled on: Smooth, Barghest. Did you practice that line in the mirror?
Tail writes my best material, he shot back.
I nearly snorted.
The old biddy across the room gave me another dagger-eyed look. I smiled sweetly and texted: Tell your tail if it ever tries anything in public, I’ll hex it.
His reply came with a laughing emoji I wouldn’t have thought he knew how to use. Tail says hexes are welcome if they come with kisses.
I groaned, half horrified, half delighted. You’re impossible.
And still texting you.
He wasn't wrong. And despite the morning-after tea, the judgmental biddy, and the fact that I still didn't know if we could accidentally create the first barghest-witch hybrid in history...
I was still smiling.