Page 93 of Do You Even Hex, Bro?
“Actually,” I say, setting down my coffee mug. “If you don’t mind, I think I should get back to my research. Now that we have Sadie helping with supplies, I want to make sure I understand every aspect of the ritual. If we're only going to get one shot at this, it needs to be perfect.”
Killian deflates slightly, but he nods. "Of course. Whatever you need."
I surprise myself by rising on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Rain check?" I offer.
He grins a little. "I'm holding you to that, witch."
He says it with enough fondness to turn it into a term of endearment. This thing I've been my entire life, always prized for but never valued. Never reallywanted.
I think I could get used to that.
And that, more than anything, scares the hell out of me.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
MICAH
"Absolutelynot," Sadie declares, tossing another bottle into her oversized mesh bag. The glass clinks ominously against what appears to be a mummified bat wing. "I don't need a babysitter."
I lean against the doorframe of her apartment, trying not to fidget. The whole place reeks of burnt sage and something vaguely medicinal and stinky that makes my nose twitch.
"It's not babysitting," I argue. "It's... security detail."
She snorts, dark-lined eyes rolling heavenward. "Security detail? For what? In case the hemlock tries to mug me?"
"You're going to Twilight Market," I remind her, pushing my glasses up my nose. "Last time you went alone, you came back with a hex that made you speak backwards for three days."
"Which was hilarious," she mutters.
“For you, maybe. I’m the one who had to translate your backwards bullshit to everyone else.”
Her apartment is exactly what you'd expect from my stepsister. Organized chaos with a heavy dose of gothic drama. Black candles drip wax on every surface. Crystals wrapped in twine and netting hang from every surface they could possibly hang from. The bookcases are stuffed with grimoires, jars of unidentifiable substances that definitely don’t smell good, and skulls from every species imaginable.
Shifters and humans included.
Sadie sighs dramatically, shoving a final packet of what looks suspiciously like dried blood into her bag. "Fine. Whatever. You can come." She jabs a finger at my chest. "But you follow my lead. No alpha wolf posturing, no growling at the vendors, and for fuck's sake, don't sniff anything. Twilight Market has rules about shifters."
"I know how to behave in witch spaces," I protest, though we both know I've never set foot in Twilight Market. Few non-witches have.
"Sure you do." She shoulders her bag, the contents clinking ominously. "Remember when you wolfed out at that coven mixer because someone offered you chocolate with lavender?"
"I'm allergic to lavender," I mutter. "And I didn't wolf out. I just... sneezed. A lot."
"Your eyes turned amber and you grew claws, Micah."
"Minor details."
She heads for the door, black combat boots thudding against the hardwood. I follow, ducking to avoid a hanging bundle of dried, skunky herbs I’m pretty sure is just weed.
"So," she says as we descend the stairs from her third-floor walkup, "this bonding ritual. You're really going through with it?"
"We are," I confirm, emphasizing the plural. "All five of us."
"Regina seems... different than I expected." Sadie's tone shifts, becoming less sarcastic, more thoughtful. "When you guys said you found your mate, I pictured some doe-eyed ingenue who'd swoon at your collective muscle mass."
I laugh, the sound echoing in the stairwell. "Regina is about as likely to swoon as you are to wear pink."
