Page 64 of Hexes and Exes

“Let’s just get this over with,” Roman huffs out in exasperation.

We must look insane to anyone that happens to walk by. If someone was out for a pleasure walk at two in the morning. Thank the Crone there are no cameras in the cemetery because we definitely don’t look like we’re up to any good.

Eight people tromping through a cemetery in the dead of night holding a box of potion ingredients. Nothing suspicious here. Keep on moving.

“That looks huge.” Ambrose points to a mausoleum that could double as a church. We must be dead center in the graveyard, which tracks because people like Ashenvale always believe they’re the center of the universe. Dead or alive.

The mausoleum is white marble. I’m sure at one point it was bright as snow, but over the years, silt and dirt have built up on the exterior turning it a dirty gray color. The building reminds me of a vampire’s castle in miniature. The ornate stonework has pointed arches, spires that reach up into the trees and it even has stained glass windows. As if the dead need a pretty view.

Josephine shines a light up at the words carved over the door. Bingo. Ashenvale.

The double doors of the mausoleum are at least ten feet high. Carvings decorate the dark wood panels, and when I shine my flashlight, I’m treated to images of what looks to be witches being burned at the stake.

Is this guy a secret Puritan? Why did he want the family mausoleum carved up with one of the pains from our history? Sick fuck.

Even the doorknob is fancy. A heavy cast-iron affair with an ornate “A” on the front.

“Why do I feel like that sucker is going to burn a brand into my hand if I touch it?” My brother frowns down at the handle.

“Because you’ve watched Home Alone too many times.” I shove him out of the way and reach to grab the doorknob. Bram snatches me around the waist and spins me until I’m behind him. He takes hold of the door before I get out a protest and turns the knob without the slightest hiss of pain.

“So booby traps are just for the movies, then. Got it.” Stellan yawns and then shrugs.

“I highly doubt the kind of booby traps that a four-hundred-year-old mausoleum would have is a burning door knob, but there might be other things inside.” Like bugs and crawling things. I shudder.

“Don’t say that,” Josephine moans.

If Roman says,don’t worry, I’ll protect you,I might throw up. Thankfully, he has the good sense to show his support with a silent arm around Josephine’s shoulders.

“Why does it feel like none of you are taking this seriously?” Bram snarls as he leads the way into the mausoleum and the rest of us trail in behind him.

“Because we’re a bunch of unserious people.” Ambrose offers.

“Speak for yourself.” Roman and Josephine shine their flashlight and inspect the inside of the building.

Despite the door opening without resistance, the air is stale inside the mausoleum as if the doors hadn’t been opened in centuries. For some reason, I assumed this was the Ashenvale family's tomb, but once we’re inside, there’s only one stone marker present. In the middle of the miniature gothic structure is a sarcophagus with a heavy stone lid on top. The stone has been carved with ornate swirls and overlapping triangles and circles. There are no other crypts or coffins anywhere in sight.

Odie and Ambrose set the lanterns they’re holding on the floor, providing enough light to illuminate the space. Even though we’re out of the wind, it almost feels colder inside. More damp and dank. Piper places her box of ingredients on top of the sarcophagus and begins taking them out one by one. I shiver and I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or the bad vibes the place gives off.

“The book said it was best if we combined all the ingredients at the site,” she explains, as if any of us were questioning why she didn’t have a prefab potion ready to go.

“Do your thing, Piper.” I stand at her side offering support even though I’m not going to touch any of the ingredients. I am not good at potion making.

Piper sets a hand-hammered copper bowl on top of a carving on the sarcophagus, its something with horns. She lists the ingredients as she drops them one at a time into the basin. “Frankincense, water steeped under a full moon, crushed beetles, henbane, salt. Table salt is fine,” she explains as if anyone asked.

“Dust from the grave.” She stoops down and swipes up a handful of dirt from the ground. I hide my grimace. What if there are bone ashes or some shit in there. Piper sprinkles it in the bowl without a peep.

“Stir thirteen times counterclockwise and twenty-four times clockwise.” Piper counts softly under her breath, the picture ofconcentration as she mixes her concoction with a wooden spoon. Even Ambrose is quiet while she works. With a little nod, Piper knocks the spoon against the top of the bowl and sets it back in her box when she’s done. I peer down into the bowl. I don’t know if I was expecting a change in color or some smoke to waft off the surface, but it’s just water with some herbs floating in it.

Sometimes magic is boring.

“Now we need to take the lid off the sarcophagus.” Piper sounds apologetic. We all knew what we came here for, so I don’t know why anyone would be surprised. That doesn’t mean I’m not slightly grossed out.

Piper lifts her copper bowl off the coffin and steps to the side, holding it protectively against her stomach. Ambrose moves her box of ingredients to the floor and the rest of us step up to the coffin.

“Everybody use those muscles.” Stellan cracks his knuckles.

“Light as a feather, stiff as a board,” Ambrose chants as he works his fingers under the lip of the lid.

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