Page 25 of Wicked Witch of the Wolf

Her expression went from haughty to serious. “Issue?”

“Margaux, I don’t like you. You know why. So, the fact that I’m bringing this to you first, instead of handling it myself, should be a sign that I trust you to govern your coven.” I held up the null bag, and she backed up a step.

“What is it?”

“A nasty little piece of magic. Can we go inside and discuss this? I promise to behave myself as long as you do.”

A line appeared between her brows. “Who?”

“Inside. Please.” At her suspicious look, I added, “Or you can come to my place. Or we can meet at a crossroads on a full moon at fucking midnight. I just need to talk to you in private.”

“Goddess, you have a foul mouth. Come inside. Take off your shoes. I just had the carpet cleaned.”

“I’m keeping them on,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “You think I have the floor spelled against you?”

“I would, if I were you.”

Her upper lip curled, and she looked down her nose at me. “Keep them on, then. Just stay on the paper runner.”

Her home was decorated in whites and creams and gold. The living room sofa and chairs looked like they’d never been sat upon. The end and coffee tables had no photos or personal items on them, only a clean stack of probably-never-read hardback books, two ceramic lamps, and four delicate marble coasters in a gold holder. No art on the walls, only large, framed mirrors so clean she had to have wiped them down just before I arrived.

It was beautiful, yet cold, like Margaux herself.

“I see you brought along one of your familiars.”

Cecil, who’d been inching his way to my shoulder, froze.

“I don’t have familiars. I have partners,” I said. “Fennel is his own cat, and Cecil is his own gnome. They are under no obligation to stay with me and may leave whenever it suits them.”

“Yet they choose to stay.” She shook her head, one corner of her deep red smile crooking up. “You gather creatures to you. People, too. Lila preferred her solitude. You’re very like her and yet very different at the same time.”

Just the subject I’d wanted to avoid—my mom. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from retorting, “Yeah, I have a good friend who would lay down her life for me if I was in danger,unlike my mom.”

Margaux stiffened. Her head whipped around, eyes narrowed, mouth open as if ready to reply with something equally scathing. It was the most animated I’d ever seen her, and I was a little taken aback.

She sipped in a breath, released it. “Are we going to trade barbs or are you going to get to the point?”

“I’m going to get to the point.” I held up the bag again. “Where can I dump this out?”

“How strong is it?”

“Strong.”

Margaux disappeared down the hall, reappearing a minute later with a black velvet square and a long, zippered pouch—the sort a knitter might use to store needles. “This should be sufficient.” She spreadit on her dining table.

We sat, her at the head of the table, and me to her right. I chanted a protection spell as I released the knot and shook the hex bag onto the pad.

Margaux gave me an annoyed look I didn’t understand before unzipping her tool bag and extracting a pair of silver chopsticks and a small scalpel. She held the sticks between two elegant fingers as she sliced open the hex.

Smoke coiled from the scalpel as it cut through the burlap. Margaux then used the chopsticks to hold open the sides with one hand while grabbing several long needles with the other. She pinned back the edges until it looked like a formaldehyde frog in a high school biology class.

“Do you recognize the ingredients?” I asked.

“I recognize the entire spell,” she replied, voice hushed. What little color there was in her face washed away. “My father—” She cleared her throat, shook her head. “I’ve seen these used on people before. Years ago.”

“And you remembered it on sight?”

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