Page 2 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
Tonight, I couldn't take it anymore.
Tonight, I reached my fucking limit.
I walked out, grabbing only emergency cash and essentials. Five years reduced to a half-empty duffle bag.
The memory makes my jaw ache. Pressure builds behind my eyes—magic responding to emotion. But there's barely anything left to respond. My power source is already dwindling, even though I'm technically still in the same town.
That's the bitch of being a siphon.
I don't make magic. Ichannelit.
For five years, I channeled it from the coven, from Kyle. Without that connection, I'm on fumes. Another day, maybe two, before I'm dry.
Three options, all shit.
Option one? Crawl back to Kyle. Apologize for my "emotional outburst." Take my punishment. Return to being the coven's prized pet siphon, amplifying their spells beyond what any of them could manage alone. Go back to ignoring Kyle's games.
I'd rather get hit by the bus.
Option two. Find another coven, human or otherwise. As a siphon, I'd be welcome anywhere. We're rare, valuable. Any coven would kill to have me. Problem is, most would eventually kill me too. Covens run on politics and power plays. I'd just swap one Kyle for another.
Vampire covens pay well for daylight protection spells, but they're flashy drama queens who always want blood "donations." No thanks. Given enough already. Alchemists need magical talent for their experiments, but they're pretentious assholes who view people as ingredients. Hard pass on that, too.
Option three isn't an option at all.
Shifters.
Just the thought makes me want to fucking puke. My hand twitches toward my face. Nope. Absolutely not. I'd sooner bind to a demon.
Technically, there is a fourth option. My sister. Cadence would take me in without question. Make up her couch, break out wine and ice cream, listen to the whole mess. Then, when I'm most vulnerable, say those four little words:
"I told you so."
And she had. From day one, she hated Kyle. Called him a red flag factory. Said his coven was like if Whole Foods started a cult.
She wasn't wrong. But I can't face her self-righteous disappointment. Not yet.
The bus hits a pothole, snapping me back. The few passengers don't react, asleep or zoned out. I should sleep too. Haven'treally rested in… has it been three days? Since finding them, I've run on anger and spite.
I rest my head against the window, watching darkness blur past. Stormvale is six hours away. Bigger city, full of supernaturals. Ryan and the others already know where I'm headed, but even Kyle won't have an easy time finding me there. A magical needle in a haystack. Somewhere to disappear, temporarily. Somewhere to find a solution that doesn't mean crawling back to Kyle or dealing with my sister right now.
My eyes droop. The road's rhythm pulls me under.
Despite fighting it, sleep takes me.
I'm in the basement of the coven house again.
Dark, lit by protective sigils cut into stone walls. Air thick with blood and fear.
"Regina? What are you doing down here?" Kyle's voice sharp with annoyance—and something else. Worry? Guilt?
I turn but can't see him in the dark. "I heard noises. What's going on, Kyle?"
"Nothing. Nothing that concerns you, anyway. Go back upstairs."
I move deeper toward the sounds, pausing when I hear a low, pained whimpering behind a heavy wooden door.
"Kyle, what's in there?"
